Wilde About the Girl

by Louise Pentland

  I still barely know Gloria but she seems nice. She bounds through the school gates each day wearing the brightest outfits over her ample curves, hair bouncing, a smile for everyone. She’s literally the physical opposite of Val and I can’t help but warm to her. If she and Gillian want to make this Ladies’ Night a success, then I want to help.

  Gillian’s a dab hand at arranging events, having single-handedly raised over five thousand pounds at the village fete she runs every year. She always told us she just did the teas and coffees, but it turns out she’s the brains behind the whole thing, it’s just she doesn’t tell anyone that bit – what a dark horse!

  Gillian and I nurse our coffees and I have a brainwave – a Spa Night!

  Together we decide to invite local beauticians, independent vendors, catering, entertainment and make-up artists to come in for an evening of shopping, pampering and relaxation. Gillian says she has contacts for some potential local sponsors and she knows I’d be just the person to invite make-up artists in to give makeovers. A brow bar, a smoky-eye workshop, twinkly summer pedis and maybe hand massages for us mums who spend too much time doing chores (or scrolling and clicking on our phones). I’m already getting carried away with ideas. I love the thought of it all. While sitting in the coffee shop, we ring Mr Ravelle to ask if he’d be up for us doing such a thing and you’d think he’d just won Head Teacher of the Year, he is so excited. At one point he even suggests we invite the local press to report on our community spirit! Steady on, Ravvy!

  I feel like I’ve seen a whole new side of Gillian. Not only her tender, vulnerable side with her – our – angel babies but also a creative, innovative, businesslike side. I’m impressed and totally inspired by her. She’s a woman of hidden depths and I’m almost a little bit ashamed that I didn’t look further and see that in her. She was so right, the whole drive home I let my brain whir over who I could invite and what I could do, rather than dwell on the pain in my heart. It’s not solving it by any means, but The Emptiness suddenly feels a little less empty.

  TWENTY-THREE

  JUNE

  I NOTICE I’M CRYING A little bit less each day.

  Not having to be at MADE IT, plus the twin distractions of helping to plan the Spa Night and the fact that Edward is coming to the UK are all working in my favour. I think the key is to keep my brain busy. If my head stays full, it doesn’t register that my heart is so empty.

  Edward and I agreed over email that he would come up to visit on the Saturday morning to spend an ‘easy-breezy’ day and night with me. Easy-breezy is one hundred per cent what I need right now.

  It’s Simon and Storie’s weekend with Lyla (thankfully, because there’s no way I’m ready to introduce Lyla to Edward yet; and pleasingly there have been no more foraging ‘incidents’), and Kath came over yesterday to help me blitz the house with a duster and hoover. ‘You don’t want him thinking you live like a slob, lovey,’ she said as she arrived with her cordless vac and cleaning caddy.

  So, the house is clean, Lyla is safe and well and I’m genuinely looking forward to seeing Edward. I don’t want him to feel I’ve made too much effort, but I still want to look reasonably nice, so I’ve gone for an indigo-blue maxi-skirt with a white cami tucked in and a really pale shell-pink cardigan to throw on top if I get cold. Hair is in a messy topknot, but that good kind of messy that actually takes a solid fifteen minutes to perfect, and make-up is soft but on.

  At about 11 a.m. he pulls into the drive in a neat little electric hire car (he’s a man that cares about the environment, then) and I feel a surprising but familiar fizz of excitement in my tummy.

  ‘Gorgeous Robin!’ he says as I open the door to greet him.

  He steps into the hall for a hug and holds me for a very long time. We go past hug level and I can feel him caring for me. One arm wrapped round my back and one hand holding my head, I feel safe and warm and everything I wanted to feel a couple of weeks ago when the whole awful thing happened. I want to stay in this embrace forever.

  We pull away and look at each other. He can see my teary eyes and I don’t care. I think we are past the point of trying really hard to be super cool with each other, although I’m not sure we ever did that anyway – that’s why it’s always worked so well, why it’s been so ‘easy-breezy’.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I say with a big breath out.

  ‘Me too. I missed you!’ He laughs.

  ‘I must be getting under your skin,’ I tease, and just like that, old comfy banter resumes and we leave his bag in the hallway and head through to the kitchen because we are British and we cannot possibly have any kind of interaction in a home without a cup of tea.

  As agreed, we spend the afternoon on the sofa doing very little. I didn’t want him coming all this way with the wrong impression, so I explained to Edward on the phone a few nights ago that I don’t feel at all physically ready for any kind of action and he was so understanding and respectful, it made me feel completely comfortable about inviting him all the way across the Atlantic just to hang out on the world’s squidgiest sofa. But even though sex is off the cards, there is a comforting level of sexual chemistry, and as we chat through some of my beloved Netflix films (that Edward describes as ‘utter dross’), I feel myself leaning into him and his arm scooping around me.

  We stay like that for a long time. Sitting side by side, saying very little but just being, it’s good. It’s healing. We don’t talk about the baby, but I feel like we don’t need to. I don’t need to explain anything to him; we just sort of get it and enjoy being with one another.

  By evening, we’re both shattered. How is it that when you do nothing, you feel more tired? Admittedly he can claim jet lag, but I can’t. We order Chinese takeaway and while we wait for it to arrive, we flick through Saturday-night TV, talking about the stuff we used to do in our ‘youth’. It turns out Edward was much less of a rebel than I was and had regular ‘TV nights’ with his mum and dad. They’d order pizza every Saturday as their one takeaway a week and all sit down together to watch Noel’s House Party, Challenge Anneka and The Generation Game.

  ‘How wholesome you were! Did you then all say how much you loved each other before you went to bed in matching striped PJs?’ I joke.

  ‘Errm, yeah, kind of! I mean, we didn’t have the matching PJs, but I always told Mum I loved her lots before going up to bed and still say it every time we finish on FaceTime,’ he says, as though it’s perfectly normal to be that happy and get on so well with your family.

  ‘That’s really sweet,’ I say seriously, sensing it’s not really a thing to mock. ‘My family weren’t quite like that. Dad lived most of his life in his shed at the end of our garden allotment, probably hiding from us. And Mum, well, Mum has very high standards and I’m not sure we ever really met them, especially not me. She was always disappointed that I wasn’t slimmer, didn’t take up an instrument and didn’t share her passion for her charity work. She was always organising lunches or fundraisers and bossing everyone around.’

  ‘So not like you and this Spa Night you’re doing? That’s not organising a fundraiser?’ he ventures.

  ‘Ha! Well yes, it is, but I’m not going to be bossing people around and I don’t have impossible standards like she did. That’s why I’m here with you!’ I say, poking him fondly in the arm. Quite firm, muscular arms, I think before I drag myself back to his words.

  ‘Are you with me?’ he asks suddenly, the tone changing completely.

  ‘Well, I’m here, aren’t I? And you are here with me, aren’t you?’ I say, smiling to try to encourage the easy-breezy atmosphere back but realising what I’ve just said and wishing I could gobble it back into my mouth again.

  ‘So, in your mind you’re not “with me with me”?’ he says, almost as more of a statement than a question.

  I feel trapped and panicked. I like things how they are, with no labels or boundaries or expectations. The last time I expected things of a man and thought about things like this I got really b
loody hurt and I can’t have that this time.

  ‘Edward, I don’t really know. I don’t know what we are, but I know I’m enjoying spending time with you and I enjoy what we have at the moment,’ I say, knowing really this isn’t enough.

  ‘But what do we have? I thought we had something with a bit of substance,’ Edward probes. I wish he wouldn’t.

  ‘Well, we have a good friendship, and …’ I trail off.

  ‘We have a good friendship? Robin, we made a baby and I was in it for the long haul with you!’ he says passionately, making me almost wince at the ‘B’ word.

  ‘I know,’ I say, looking at my lap. I want so much to be enthusiastic but it’s as though Theo completely damaged me and I’m now incapable.

  ‘I don’t like playing games and I don’t like messing people around. I like you. I really, really like you. I think I’m seriously falling for you. I’m saying I could move back to the UK and try to make this, whatever this is, work,’ he says, picking up both my hands as he says ‘this’.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick. I can’t handle this level of emotional pressure. This was meant to be a night of nothing, and all of a sudden it’s a night of something. Something big. My mind feels like it’s gone into overdrive. After weeks of everyone walking on eggshells around me, this is way too much. I can feel my anxiety squeezing around me like a fist. I should be delighted. But his declaration has set my pulse racing for all the wrong reasons. I can’t speak; I can barely breathe.

  ‘Edward,’ I manage. ‘I can’t do this right now.’

  I’m saved by the doorbell ringing. We may have gone from wanton sex to wonton soup in a matter of weeks, but I practically jump off the sofa to avoid Edward’s gaze and collect our food. Never have I been so glad to see a takeaway arrive.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  EDWARD AND I DID a good job of being friends, hanging out, until he left on the Sunday lunchtime. The weeks since have ticked by and although we’ve kept in touch by text and banter has been as it always was, there’s been a peppering of serious moments, too, where we touch on real life. Unfiltered moments, like his dad being taken into hospital for tests and how hard it can sometimes be for him to live so far away, or when I told him about the day I just sat in the supermarket car park crying about what could have been with the baby. He never fails to be supportive and I feel like a real friendship is developing, like roots are growing in where I least expected them to and it’s good. We haven’t spoken any more about his offer of moving back and the ‘falling for me’ situation. That feels like the big scary monster looming in the corner, and I can’t really handle facing that right now.

  Lacey is blooming. She is the only person I know who enjoys morning sickness, or rather, I think she enjoys boasting about it to anyone who will listen (‘Yeah, it’s so bad, I was sick eight times this morning – eight!’). Despite having no visible bump at all yet, she insists on wearing completely and only maternity wear and I’m sure she’s faking a slight waddle as she walks. But she could be wearing a (maternity) sack and still look amazing, thanks to the almost permanent smile she wears as she rubs the small of her back.

  After my storming out of Dovington’s, we didn’t speak for a couple of days. I don’t think either of us knew how to move forward from that. Once I’d cooled down, I could admit to myself that I knew she didn’t mean what she said. Maybe the fact that she’s always got her foot in her mouth and I wear my heart on my sleeve is part of what makes us friends. Normally, I’m the one who’ll let the tears flow at anything (I think of the goldfish funerals I led for us as children, or the weep-fests I had over teenage crushes), and she’s always been just a teensy bit emotionally stunted, I guess. Keeping things on her level, I sent her a couple of heart emojis followed by the dove emoji. She took the peace offering well and we haven’t spoken of it since. Nothing like just completely sweeping things under the rug to keep relationships healthy, eh?

  Her knock on the door is a welcome distraction and so I hop up to let her in, lead her through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Lyla is on a play date with Honor and Roo and since it is Saturday and nobody is required to exert themselves in any fashion, I’ve not even got dressed yet.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so hot!’ Lacey says, flumping down dramatically onto one of the dining chairs and dropping her bag, keys and phone as loudly as possible on the surface.

  ‘Really? It’s not that warm, is it?’ I say, thinking maybe I’m going mad.

  ‘Well,’ she says, drawing out her words, ‘it’ll be the baby, won’t it? All pregnant women are too hot. I’ve got an app and it’s one of the things it says.’

  ‘Oh, right. I’ll open the back doors then, give you a bit of a breeze.’

  ‘Thanks, Robs. It’s hard work being pregnant!’ she adds sagely.

  I’m trying to be graceful and I don’t want to stop her talking about the baby or how excited she is, but I can’t help feeling my hand hover over my stomach for just a second, feeling for the baby that isn’t there anymore. I would have been sixteen weeks pregnant by now. My life feels ruled by weeks. Ten weeks till the Isso Project at LFW; sixteen weeks is how far along I would have been; ten weeks is how far along Lacey is; thirty weeks till we meet her baby; thirty weeks to get over my loss.

  ‘I’m glad you popped by,’ I say, attempting to change the subject. ‘I was meant to be tackling the house today, and the last thing I fancy is getting all the cleaning stuff out and doing it.’ This isn’t true. I wasn’t going to do anything, but I needed to say something to break my chain of thought.

  ‘Bloody hell, no! Just the smell of all the products is enough to trigger my morning sickness. Karl says while I’m pregnant we can hire a cleaner but to be honest,’ she laughs, ‘I’m going to keep her on once the baby’s here and say I still have smell aversions! So, what’s your news?’

  ‘Well,’ I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster for a woman who’s living the life I didn’t know I even wanted until a few weeks ago. ‘You know I’m organising a Spa Night at the school with the PaGS? Well, it’s turning into a real project! People have really dug deep and got involved. Even Kath’s going to set up a stall for her lavender creations. She’s actually doing really well with them. After Moira’s frankly disturbing endorsements, all the women from her Cupcakes and Crochet Club have put in their orders and I think she’s even sent a batch down for Mum and her Rotary Club ladies!’

  ‘Who knew Kath was such an entrepreneur!’ Lacey smiles, sipping the tea I’ve put in front of her.

  ‘I know! She’s branched out from creams and bath bombs to liquid and solid soaps, bubble bath and hand sanitiser, all infused with lavender. She puts the liquid soaps in little glass jars and leaves a full sprig of lavender in there so it actually looks really pretty in your bathroom, too. She’s a powerhouse, Lacey!’

  ‘I bet Lyla loves it, doesn’t she?’ says Lacey.

  ‘Oh, she’s a proper little assistant! Kath often enlists Lyla’s help and they sit doing it for hours. Lyla feels so special, popping in the sprigs or sticking labels on jars, it’s so sweet to see. And apparently, Kath’s made quite good friends with a chap called Colin from the wholesaler where she buys the lavender, and he’s helping her turn the garage into a workshop. I absolutely love how driven she’s being, how much she thrives on it, you know?’ I say, genuinely enthused.

  ‘Yeah, she’s doing brilliantly. Do you think the bubble baths would be suitable for pregnant women?’ Lacey asks a little absent-mindedly.

  ‘Probably, I’ll ask her. Don’t you think it’s impressive that she’s taking life by the horns and making a little something for herself, though?’ I ask, wondering if everything I say will keep coming back to being pregnant.

  Sensing my frustration, Lacey snaps out of it.

  ‘Absolutely! She’s a woman on a mission. Maybe she could make up packages, and I could put them next to the till at Dovington’s? I bet all the men in the doghouse buying “I’m sorry” bouquets for their wives and girlfr
iends would love to pick up one of her products, too!’

  ‘That would be amazing. I’m sure she’d love that. She’s really on a roll now. I’m going to help her make some business cards and leaflets, too.’

  ‘Perfect. Oh, by the way, are you free the week after next?’

  ‘I think so. I’ve cut back my hours at work for it to be more manageable and to spend more time with Lyla for a little while, so I should be free. Do you fancy doing something nice?’ I ask, excited that I’ve finally got my Lacey back and it’s not all about the baby.

  ‘Well, yes! The hospital have booked me in for my twelve-week scan and Karl is running a training day that he literally cannot leave. We’ve already had two private scans just for peace of mind so he’s not going to miss out on much, but I don’t want to be that sad sack that has to go alone, so I wondered – will you come with me?’ she asks, smiling.

  ‘Oh. Um, doesn’t your mum want to go?’ I ask, shocked at her request. She seems completely oblivious to what she’s asking of me.

  ‘It sounds silly, but we’ve already had a scan together. I’m addicted to this private scan place. Eighty pounds and you get twenty minutes just looking at the baby and all the little features and movements. I mean, not that it has a lot of features yet, but you can see it’s a baby, you know? Anyway, it’s at 11.30 a.m. and I could drive us if you like.’ Lacey carries on, absorbed in her own excitement. I shouldn’t be so surprised. Her heart’s in the right place, but she doesn’t always engage her brain in time. When we were fifteen I got dumped by my first ‘boyfriend’ at the end-of-year school party but that night all she talked about was how three different boys had asked her out and she wasn’t sure who to choose. I think she was trying to distract me. I’m a grown woman now, but part of me feels like that fifteen-year-old girl all over again. I know my lovely Lacey doesn’t mean to hurt me, and it’s all part of something she’s waited so long for, but right now I want to shake her. She’s always been such an amazing friend so I need to find the right words to show that I really am pleased she’s pregnant, but there are some things that are just too painful for me at this stage.