Gigi smiled. ‘You make it sound okay, you know.’
‘Because it is. Or it will be …’
Gigi almost believed her.
Tess
‘Hello.’ Tess hadn’t seen Olly. She’d forgotten for a moment where she had parked, and was cursing her pregnancy brain, holding up the keys and clicking the fob in the hopes she was close enough to trigger the lights. He appeared from her left and made her jump. But in a nice way, she realized.
‘Olly! Hi.’
‘How are you?’
Her car flashed, identifying itself in the next row.
‘You leaving already?’
She nodded. ‘Early shift. This’ – she indicated the bump – ‘is waking me up pretty much at dawn. I’ve given up trying to sleep longer. How about you? What’s your excuse?’
Maybe he was looking for me, she thought. God. So sad. Have you seen yourself?
Olly shrugged. ‘I was awake too. I love this time of year – when the mornings are so light so early and the days feel so long.’
They stood for a moment, Olly shifting from foot to foot, beaming at her.
‘How is your granddad?’
‘Good, I think. Good. How’s Iris?’
‘She’s good.’
‘Good. Good.’
Tess smiled. ‘So we’ve established we’re all good.’
‘Yep. Good.’ They both laughed. ‘So where are you off to?’
She sighed. ‘I was going to tackle Mothercare. Can’t put it off a minute longer; according to the book I was supposed to have done it all by now.’
‘There’s a book that nags you?’
‘There sure is. Got a list as long as my arm. One tiny person needs an unbelievable amount of kit. Really …’
Olly laughed. ‘I am familiar. My brother’s baby, Ava, pretty much needs her own trailer when she goes anywhere.’
‘Apparently that’s normal. The baby bible says I should have it all by now, so I’m off to shop.’
‘On your own?’
She shrugged. ‘Yep. My friend Holly was going to come with me, but something’s come up her end, and I’ve sort of got the bit between my teeth now, so yes.’
‘Do you have to go right now?’
She didn’t immediately understand his meaning. ‘Iris is asleep.’
‘I mean, can you wait, say, ten, fifteen minutes?’
‘Why?’
‘If you give me a few minutes to see my granddad, just to say hi. I’d like to come with you.’
Tess was taken aback. ‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’
Oliver shrugged. ‘Because it sounds fun.’
‘Really?’ She was incredulous. ‘I find that incredibly hard to believe.’
‘Because I’m big and strong?’
Tess giggled. ‘Did your mother put you up to this?’
‘No, she did not!’ He sounded indignant. ‘And you might buy me lunch for helping you … and I’ve a free day and nothing much planned … We could go in one car, come back here later.’
‘Are you serious?’
He smiled. ‘Why not?’
‘And it’s not a pity invite?’
‘You didn’t invite me. I invited myself.’
‘You know what I mean. You’re not feeling sorry for me. Poor single mother …’
‘Not a chance. Not one ounce of sympathy. On my life.’ He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. ‘Swear.’ He put one hand reverently across his heart.
Tess laughed, and decided.
‘You’re mad.’
‘I’m helpful. Face it, you need the help. That’s not pity, that’s just fact. That was you not remembering where your car was just now, wasn’t it?’
‘I thought I’d got away with that.’
‘Nope. I see all.’
Tess clicked her car locked and put her keys back in her handbag.
‘Okay. I’m going to give in graciously. It would be lovely if you came with me. And helpful. And more fun. Thank you.’
Olly gave a mock-bow and ushered her towards the door.
The Mothercare superstore was on an industrial estate on the outskirts of town. It took about fifteen minutes for them to drive there in Oliver’s car. He left the radio on, so they didn’t talk much except when she gave him directions, but it was companionable sitting next to him while he drove. A couple of times, when he was stopped at traffic lights, they looked over at each other and smiled, a look that lasted just a tiny bit longer than social convention dictated. Olly parked up and collected a trolley while Tess unfolded the sheet of paper she took from her handbag. She read out loud from the list:
‘Moses basket, baby monitor, sleeping bag. Receiving blankets. Are they different from other blankets?’
Olly shrugged. ‘Search me.’
‘Scratch mitts. Hats, socks, sleepsuits. A changing mat.’
‘You’ve got to get this thing my brother has. It’s like a white plastic Dalek. You feed it stinky nappies and it exterminates them. Neutralizes them. Something like that. Completely essential.’
‘It’s not on the list.’
‘Trust me. When did you last change a baby’s nappy?’
‘God. Not forever. Dulcie. So that’s years ago.’
‘Well, once smelt, never forgotten. Ava can make my eyes water, I swear. Put it on the list.’
Tess laughed. ‘Nappy Dalek. You change your niece’s nappies?’
‘Okay, I did it once. Under duress.’
‘Baby sling.’
‘They’re brilliant. Ava loves it. Pushchair? You’ve got to get one that you can collapse without a manual. When Ava was born, my sister-in-law Emily once had to leave her car in the multistorey and walk all the way home because she couldn’t put hers down.’
‘God. Okay. Simple pushchair. I suppose so. Car seat, definitely. I don’t think they even let you out of the hospital without one of those. Baby bath. Bath thermometer.’
‘Don’t you just use your elbow?’
‘I feel like you know more than I do about babies.’
‘It’s all spin. But, to be fair, you do appear to know not a lot.’ His twinkling eyes. His big smile. His teasing voice. She wanted to lean into him. Let it all wrap itself around her. He made everything seem fun and doable and light. It was infectious and completely appealing. She had to remember he wasn’t hers. He wasn’t anything to her. Or this baby. He was just a nice man being kind and sweet to her. That was all.
‘That’s fair. Although I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be bolstering my confidence, not scaring me to death …’
He stopped and looked at her, suddenly serious.
‘You’re going to be a good mum, Tess.’ He said it like Dulcie had. Almost like she ought to believe it.
‘Oh, really? How do you know?’
‘I haven’t known you long, and I don’t know you well, but I’ve seen you with your gran. It’s bloody obvious. I think the kid got lucky.’
He held her gaze for a moment. Then broke his own spell.
‘Did you know babies can see only black and white until they’re about five months old?’
‘I did not, Dr Spock.’
‘Not sure what that’s got to do with Star Trek, but okay. So people go mad with all these colours and colourful stuff, and basically their babies would do better with a room decorated like a barcode. Have you decorated yet?’
‘Not yet. Long story …’
‘Quelle surprise. Stripes. Black-and-white stripes.’
‘Sounds awful.’
‘When is your baby coming again?’
‘She’s due in August.’
Olly stopped, and beamed. ‘She’s a girl?’
Tess was touched by his reaction.
‘Pink, then. Lots of pink. Oooh, and a mural. Fairies, unicorns – all that stuff. She’ll see it eventually. Come on. This isn’t going to fill itself …’
Ninety minutes and a staggering amount of money later, they emerged, blinking at the natural light, with a trolle
y full of boxes. Inside the store he’d been surprisingly serious and fully engaged – discussing the safety features of car seats with the sales assistant. When she’d referred to the baby as his, he hadn’t corrected her. When they’d passed the nappy bins, he’d picked up the top-of-the-range model his brother had and added it to the trolley. ‘A gift,’ he’d smiled. ‘You’ll thank me …’
He’d watched closely in the clothes section, as she considered the rows of tiny cotton garments. ‘Excited?’
And she realized that she was. She smiled at him, her eyes bright and wide. ‘Yes.’
He’d squeezed her shoulder gently, his thumb briefly stroking her.
‘Did we get everything?’
‘Pretty much. God. It’s a lot …’ Tess tried not to think about Donna’s guest room, maybe fourteen feet by twelve. There wouldn’t be a lot of space, once this lot was all unpacked.
‘My first car wasn’t much more expensive than that.’
‘Mine neither.’
‘Is this even going to fit into your car?’
‘I hope so.’
She lifted something off the top of the load.
‘Oh, no, you don’t. Put it down, lady. Do you realize you’re pregnant? You’re not moving any of this. Back off.’
It wasn’t necessarily the way she’d imagined it being expressed, and he certainly wasn’t the person she’d expected to say it, but it was the order she’d wanted to hear for so long. From someone other than Holly. She wanted to weep with joy.
He worked fast, oblivious to the effect his words had had on her. ‘Where are you taking me for lunch? Come to think of it, I think I’d better buy lunch.’
Tess laughed. ‘I think I can stand you lunch. As long as you’ll be happy with a Starbucks.’
‘Bugger that. I’ve earned a gastro pub at the very least. Come on. I know a good place not far from here. We can argue over who’s paying while we eat.’
At the bar, Olly ordered a tomato juice for Tess, a pint for himself, and two Welsh rarebits, with chips.
Tess watched him order from a table in the corner. He chatted jovially with the young girl behind the bar, like she’d seen him chat comfortably with the nurses and catering staff at Clearview, making them laugh. She envied him his easy way with people. Turning towards her with their drinks, he beamed at her. It made you feel warm, and safe, that smile. Gigi’s was the same.
He clinked his glass against hers. ‘Here’s to being ready.’
‘To being ready. Thank you. Really.’
‘My pleasure. My absolute pleasure.’ He held her gaze for just a moment longer than necessary. Then he looked down at his pint. When he raised his head, his expression had changed.
‘It wasn’t an accident, you know.’
‘What wasn’t?’
‘Me … you … the car park …’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I hadn’t come to see my grandfather.’
Tess raised an eyebrow, confused.
‘I’d come to see you.’ For the first time Tess could recall, Olly blushed. It made him look boyish.
‘How did you know I’d be there?’
Olly shrugged. ‘I took a chance.’
Now Tess felt herself colour.
‘Why?’
‘Okay. Here goes …’ Olly took a deep breath. ‘Because I like you, Tess. Really, really like you. You still don’t know? It’s not sinister. I just want to get to know you better. To spend more time with you.’
‘You don’t know me very well –’
‘You’re right. And I’d like to change that. I just like everything I’ve seen so far.’
She nodded several times, buying herself thinking time. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘You could say you like me too. If you do, that is.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Not just to be polite.’
‘I’m not. Of course I do …’
Olly winced. ‘God. There is such a but in that sentence.’
‘But …’
‘No.’ He put both hands up as if to shield himself from a blow. ‘No but …’
‘But Olly … look at me …’
‘I am looking at you.’ This Olly was unnerving. At least to Tess.
‘Well, I don’t get it.’
‘What don’t you get?’
‘Why?’
‘Because.’ He sounded like a schoolboy.
‘That’s a daft answer. It’s not an answer at all, actually.’
‘What’s the question?’ His eyes were twinkling.
‘Why? I’m very pregnant. My ankles have all but disappeared. I’m quite homeless. I’m sad, lots of the time. I’m a bit of a mess, frankly. Most of the time you find me snotty and weepy …’
‘Wow. You should definitely not write your own Tinder profile.’
Tess laughed in spite of herself. ‘As if. I’m being serious, Olly.’
‘You’re being tremendously negative.’
‘I’m being honest.’
‘And so am I, Tess. You’re … there’s something about you, all right?’
‘Are you a pregnancy fetishist?’
‘See, you’re funny. That’s one thing. Kind, sweet, gorgeous, funny … And the greatest of these is funny, by the way. And no. I’m not. I haven’t got a thing for cankles either, before you ask.’
‘Pity cases?’
‘I don’t feel sorry for you. Okay, that’s not true. I do, a bit. You’re obviously having a shitty time. But that isn’t it either. I know we have something. It’s simple.’
‘It isn’t. You just broke up with somebody. I just broke up with somebody. The father of this baby.’ She gestured at her stomach.
‘Who is clearly stark raving mad, by the way.’
‘Says you.’
‘Look. I’m not asking you for anything, Tess, except to let me like you. Let me care about you. From a distance or from as close as you like. I’m not trying to complicate your life.’
‘Good. I don’t think I can take any more complications. And you don’t need mine.’
‘Isn’t that up to me? You’re not exactly hiding anything. I know what I’d be getting into.’
‘And I can’t be getting into anything at all. Not now.’
‘And I understand that. But I’m not going anywhere.’ He leant forward and kissed her cheek. Left his face close to hers after the kiss for just a couple of seconds. He smelt of shampoo.
The waitress arrived with their meals.
‘Ah. Saved by the rarebit. I’m starving.’
Week 29. You can open your eyes! The web says you are the size of a little pumpkin, and so I weighed one and it’s more than a kilogram, and that’s you. You are going to triple that weight before you’re born, so, basically, I can eat whatever I like from now on! You’re all over the shop, turning and kicking, making the most of the room before you get too big and have to keep still, I suppose. In the picture the baby’s head has downy hair on it. I feel you every day now. It’s weird and fluttery and lovely. It’s our secret. I try to figure out whether you’re reacting to me and what I’m doing or whether you’re just doing your own thing in there. Your in utero cultural education is going pretty well. We’re working our way through the classics, music-wise. You’ve heard a lot of Abba. Rolling Stones. Especially ‘Wild Horses’ because that’s the best song ever in the history of songs. Except maybe ‘Let It Be’. But you’ve heard plenty of the Beatles too. I’ve not neglected the classic classics either. Lots of Elgar. Bruch. That makes me cry, but apparently it makes you dance. ‘Dancing Queen’, nothing. Bruch’s violin concerto and you’re doing the dance of the seven veils in there.
Gigi
A few weeks before the official end of the term, Megan asked both her parents to pick up a load of the stuff that she no longer needed with her at university. She just had exams, then parties, to come, she said, and she could get herself home if they’d leave her the basics. The house had to be deep-cleaned if they had any c
hance of getting their deposit back, and that would be easier ‘with less crap in it’. She asked them separately, and afterwards none of them – except Meg – knew whether it was self-absorbed student ditziness on her part that she’d asked them both, or a daughter’s calculated move to force them to spend the day together. Perhaps it didn’t matter which it was.
Megan was in a rented house. Rented hovel, Richard called it. She was sharing with two guys and three girls. She’d lost the room ballot and got the attic room – slightly bigger than the three on the next floor down and the cupboard of a room next to the kitchen, which smelt permanently of fried food – but draughty as hell, with rattling windows and peeling wallpaper. And a hatch instead of a door, and something more like a ladder than stairs leading up to it. Potentially fatal after a drunken night out, Richard had said, when she’d first shown it to them. Megan had winked at him and thrown an arm around his shoulder. ‘Good job I don’t drink, then, isn’t it, Dad?’
Three emails and two phone calls after Megan’s double booking was first uncovered, they’d agreed to go together, in one car. Gigi had said she’d prefer to drive, but really she wanted to pick up Richard, not have him collect her. She hadn’t told Adam they were going together. She hadn’t lied, exactly, but she’d definitely said ‘I’ and not ‘we’. He hadn’t pushed her, although he’d had to have known she would be dropping Megan off at Richard’s. He’d said he’d be home that evening if she fancied a drink after all the exertion of the day. His tone was light, but his face had the shadow of something sad across it. Gigi tried to ignore the guilt, forcing herself to remember Emily’s words, but the feeling persisted.
Richard was waiting by the front door when she pulled into their driveway in the early afternoon. He kissed her cheek when he got into the car. She wondered whether to mention his flowers, but decided not to in case it embarrassed him. They made small talk for a few minutes, chatting over the safe territory of the kids, and of Ava, but neither of their hearts were in it, and by the time they got to the M25 Gigi had put the radio on and lost them both in the chatter of Radio 4. Politicians evaded answers and blamed their opposite numbers for everything that was wrong. This was a shared interest – they had both voted the same way for the last forty years, except for 1997, when they’d fought over Tony Blair and his New Labour vision – and for the rest of the journey they were on the familiar ground of hectoring Jonathan Dimbleby and his guests. Gigi fleetingly wondered how Adam voted. They’d never talked politics. Never gone together to vote. Gigi always got emotional when she voted. Richard could repeat the speech she made every time, about the suffragettes and the black South Africans in line for hours in 1994, word for word. How many times had he heard it?
Letters to Iris Page 34
