by Gil McNeil
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then I think it all comes down to education, and talking to them. They need to know how much work babies are, that kind of thing. I want Olivia to have choices, but I want her to have all the facts too. I’m sure your Lauren is far more sensible than you think, Linda, and you talk to her all the time.’
‘I know. Much good it does me.’
Angela’s collecting up plates.
‘Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with women deciding to have babies on their own, not any more. I used to, but I think that was just a way of keeping women in their place. Penny’s been explaining it to me.’
Tina smiles and nods.
‘And the same goes for getting married, doesn’t it? Marrying too young can be a life sentence too.’
Linda sighs.
‘Tell me about it. God, when I think of the years I wasted it makes me sick. And I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t mean I wasn’t pleased for you or anything. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. Look, why don’t you bring Lauren round for a few hours of nappy-changing when I have the baby, maybe midnight to six in the morning? Do you think that would help? Let her see the less glamorous side of it.’
‘Oh would you, really? I’d be ever so grateful.’
Tina puts her arm around her again.
‘Lind, she’s only winding you up. Your Lauren’s a lot more sensible than you think.’
‘Well, I bloody hope so because I’m nowhere near ready to be a granny yet. Sorry, Ange, but I’m really not.’
After commiserating with me and Connie about the impending Summer Fayre In Victorian Costumes Disaster, we move on to talking about Gran’s wedding and what everyone will be wearing, and the mood’s much lighter as they’re all leaving. Linda gives me a long hug, so I think she’s okay, which is a relief. That’s one of the drawbacks of small-town life, I suppose: everything you do becomes public property. Used by teenagers to taunt their mothers. Christ. I’m so not ready for teenagers.
I’m feeling extra tired when I’m washing up the cups with Connie and Lulu.
‘You should go home and sleep. And don’t let your mother upset you. Promise?’
‘She’s not Con. It’s fine.’
‘No, it is not. With the baby and the shop, sometimes I think it is too much. Some people you cannot please. So you stop trying.’
‘Okay.’
‘Brava.’
‘God, I’ve just remembered, I’ve got to take her shopping tomorrow if her bloody case doesn’t turn up.’
‘No, Lulu will take her, or I will, not you. You will be in resting before the wedding.’
‘Will I? Has someone told the boys?’
Lulu brings the last of the plates in.
‘I’m happy to go shopping with her.’
She’s so sweet sometimes, Lulu; naive, but sweet.
‘I should probably warn you, she tells shop assistants off, all the time. And throws stuff on the floor if it doesn’t fit. Actually, she’s a total nightmare in shops.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘You’re on.’
Vin’s watching telly when we get home, surrounded by train track.
‘Nice time knitting, girls?’
Lulu sits on him.
‘Shut up, Vin. Nice time playing trains?’
‘I’ve told you before, real men don’t play trains, they facilitate their nephews’ enjoyment.’
She kisses him.
‘You’re such a wanker, Vin. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Get off me, you big lump. I can’t breathe.’
‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
‘Oh I get it, you’ve had your woolly women’s group and now you’re all fired up and ready to pick on me. Great. Well, you’d better keep it down because Mum and Dad are asleep, and she was in a foul mood last time I saw her, still in a strop about her outfit. Apparently it’s orange. Can you wear orange to a wedding?’
‘If you want to look like a nutter, yes. What time did the boys conk out?’
‘Around eight-thirty.’
‘Vin.’
‘Just before ten.’
‘Well, at least we might get a lie-in. Lulu’s volunteered to take Mum shopping tomorrow if the case hasn’t turned up. Talk about mission impossible. Try to prepare her, would you, so she knows what she’s in for.’
Lulu smiles.
‘I like the way she dresses – it’s unusual.’
Vin kisses her.
‘I worry about you sometimes, Lou. You wait until Saturday – she’ll probably have a tiara on with flashing lights.’
‘When can we see your outfit, Jo? I’m dying to see it.’
Vin sniggers.
‘Me too.’
‘Stop it, both of you. It’s pink, that’s all I’m saying. Head-to-toe pink, and lots of it. Right, I’m off up to bed, and try not to make any noise when you come up, because if Archie wakes up you’re on your own. Help yourselves to anything you fancy in the kitchen. There’s Jammie Dodgers in the cupboard by the washer, and cocoa if you want some.’
Lulu claps her hands and Vin winks at me: Jammie Dodgers and cocoa are Lulu’s favourites, and I’ve got an extra pint of milk in the fridge specially.
‘Shall we bring you some cocoa up?’
‘No thanks, I’ll be asleep as soon as I get into bed. I’m totally knackered.’
It’s 2 a.m., and I can’t get to sleep so I’m having one of my slow-motion panic attacks instead, which is bloody annoying. I think the combination of Mum and the baby is really starting to get to me. And the prospect of having to dress up as a blancmange in front of my nearest and dearest isn’t really helping, and then we’ll be in Scotland with Ellen and she’s still talking about kilts, and I’m uncomfortable and hot and I can’t get to sleep so I’m going to look like a sodding pastel panda in all the wedding photographs.
If everything could stop for a minute I might be able to get my breath back. Actually, a few weeks would be good; being a tragic bloody widow was bad enough, with everyone thinking I’d lost the love of my bloody life and me knowing he wanted a divorce. But this is far more complicated, and Linda’s right, babies are a big deal, and I’m really not sure I can do this on my own.
Christ. It’s all so ridiculous. I hardly even know Daniel; how can I be having his baby? Except it’s not really his, not like the boys were Nick’s. And anyway, I thought I knew Nick pretty well, and look how that turned out. And I’m pretty sure Mimi the bloody teenager nymphet UN worker wasn’t the first person he’d had a fling with either. I was thinking about that the other day and it suddenly dawned on me how disconnected he’d been from us, for ages. He’d been gone for years really, when I think about it. But I’m not having this baby by myself, I’ve got to remember that; I’ve got the boys, and Gran and everyone else popping in on a daily basis. So the only difference will be missing out the middle bit where you marry him and then he leaves you, or drives his car into a bloody tree. So at least this baby won’t have to go through what Jack and Archie have had to cope with, feeling lost and frightened and worrying that losing their dad was something to do with them, like Jack did, and still does a bit, I think. If Daniel’s going to be around at all, then we all know right from the start that he’s not part of our family, which has got to be better for the baby. But still, Christ knows how I’m going to do it all and keep the shop going and everything.
What I really need is a nanny, not another bloody husband. Actually, two nannies: one for the baby and one for me. And then someone else can be in charge for a while; someone else can sort out the boiler, which is now only heating the water when it feels like it, and the cold tap in the bath, which has started dripping. All of it. I’m completely bloody fed up of being strong and getting on with it. I don’t want to get on with it, I want some other poor sod to be getting on with it while I run away with my boys and lie down somewhere quiet.
I’ve got no idea what’s bloody going on and
how it’s going to turn out. And my knees hurt. And my back. And I’m too tired to go downstairs for tea and biscuits. There should be a bell I could press for emergency assistance, and someone would arrive in a clean uniform and sort it all out for me: a cross between Mary Poppins and a brilliant PA with a splash of Nigella thrown in for good luck. I could be off on a spa break deciding what colour I want my nails.
Actually, that’s another thing I’ve got to add to my bloody list: Gran’s spent ages finding the perfect shade of pink polish to match the blancmange dress so I need to paint my bloody nails in the next twenty-four hours. Maybe I should haul myself downstairs and do it now.
Someone gets up to go to the loo, and then flushes. Great: that’ll be Archie awake any minute.
‘Mummy.’
‘No, Archie. Back to bed.’
He stands in the doorway, swaying slightly.
Bugger. I’ll have to get up if I want to put him back into his own bed without him having hysterics and waking up Jack.
‘All right. But be as quiet as a mouse.’
He shuffles across the floor and gets into bed, wrapping himself in most of the sheet and the duvet.
I tug hard and retrieve myself a bit of sheet.
‘Lie still, Archie.’
He makes a squeaking noise.
‘I’m being a mouse.’
‘Well, be a mouse who’s asleep then.’
I can feel him smiling in the dark.
The baby moves.
‘And you can stop that right now – I’m not in the mood.’
‘I’m not doing anything.’
‘I’m talking to the baby.’
‘Night-night, Mum, night, baby.’ He pats my back, and the baby shifts again, with a small jab towards my left hip.
Excellent. Another child that doesn’t take a blind bit of notice of anything I say. What a surprise.
It’s nearly ten on Saturday morning, and total chaos. For some reason best known to herself Gran has decided to get married from my house, so we’ve got Linda upstairs doing her hair, while Vin is round at Reg’s helping him get ready. Elsie’s tying white ribbon on to everything, including Trevor, who’s now sporting a big white bow round his neck, which Mr Pallfrey’s trying to persuade him not to eat while he has a final tweak of the border of white geraniums and lavender that he’s planted on either side of the front path.
Martin’s been volunteered as our parking valet by Elsie, and is busy rearranging all the cars in the street so there can be a line of wedding cars outside the house, while Mum is busy putting the final touches to her outfit in the bathroom. Her suitcase arrived yesterday, thank God, although I almost wish it hadn’t now I’ve seen the full extent of the orange outfit, with hallucinogenic scarf and matching hat. She looks like a Pearly Queen on acid.
Lulu’s giving her nails a final coat of my tea-rose pink while I try to do my sandals up; the bloody things fitted perfectly three week ago, but now I can’t get the straps done up so I’m trying to make an extra hole with a darning needle. I’d forgotten about the pregnancy ankle-puffing thing, but I need to keep a low profile about it or Gran will have me on the sofa for half an hour with a flannel over my face.
I’m having a quiet five minutes with a packet of digestives when Mum comes in, looking narky.
‘That mirror in your bathroom is absolutely dreadful, darling. I can’t imagine why you don’t get a proper one.’
‘I haven’t got round to it yet, Mum. Is Gran ready?’
‘No, and that woman wouldn’t let me into the room, said she didn’t want to spoil the surprise. She was quite rude, actually.’
Good for Linda.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘No thank you, and don’t keep eating biscuits, unless you want to get fat.’
‘I think it might be a bit late to start worrying about getting fat, Mum. What do you think of the outfit?’ I parade up and down the kitchen.
‘Very nice, only do try to stand up straight; you don’t want to waddle down the aisle. Pink’s never really been one of your colours, but never mind. I still think it’s a mistake having a bridesmaid at her age, but my opinion obviously counts for nothing, as usual. Where’s your father?’
Dad’s very good at disappearing during times of crisis: usually by doing a bit of urgent DIY. He was threatening to take one of the living-room windows off its hinges earlier; it keeps sticking and he wanted to sand it, but I diverted him on to small-boy patrol, with the promise of a nice bit of sanding later on.
‘In the living room keeping an eye on the boys.’
‘Trust him to be sitting down somewhere while I do all the work.’ She stands in the doorway. ‘Derek, have you done your tie properly? Actually, perhaps a cup of tea would be nice. Could you bring one in, darling?’
I’m putting the kettle on when Lulu comes in with Martin.
‘The cars are here.’
‘Thanks, Martin.’
‘They’re vintage, really beautiful, but just so you know, Mum’s desperate to go in one. I’ve tried telling her. I mean it’s not as if we’re family or anything, but you know what she’s like.’
‘It’s fine, Martin. Everyone can squish up, and you are, practically family, I mean. Could you go up and tell Gran the cars are here, Lulu? And don’t let Mum hear you or she’ll try to get in to see Gran before she’s ready.’
‘Sure, no problem.’
Martin’s wearing what I’m guessing is his best suit, and looking rather handsome.
‘Great suit.’
‘Thanks, you look great too.’
‘Martin, there’s no need to be kind. I look like a large blancmange.’
‘I like blancmange. I’ll go and tell Mum the good news then, shall I? And then I’d better get off to the church.’
‘Please, and thanks for sorting out the cars.’
‘No problem.’
‘God, I’m nervous. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before, and Mum says I’m starting to waddle. So that’s a good start.’
‘Ignore her. That’s what I do with mine.’
‘Good tip. But it doesn’t really matter as long as Gran enjoys it, and the boys don’t start shoving each other by the altar. Or bickering.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be fine.’
‘I hope so.’
‘Mummy, Jack keeps pushing me. Tell him.’
Martin grins.
‘Or maybe not. I’ll see you later.’
At ten-past eleven everything suddenly speeds up, and the crowd departs, leaving me and Gran at the house. Elsie makes it into the second car, and Martin takes Betty, who’s arrived in her wedding outfit complete with a massive hat.
‘She’s ready.’
Linda stands at the bottom of the stairs as Gran starts to come down, very slowly, holding her bouquet of pink roses and being very careful in her new shoes.
‘Oh Gran, you look beautiful.’
‘You don’t think this hat is silly?’
‘No, it’s perfect.’
She’s got a cream silk hat to match her suit, with pale-cream dots on it and a tiny veil.
‘Aren’t the flowers pretty?’
‘Lovely. It’s all lovely, Gran.’
I’m beginning to feel tearful as Linda pats me on the shoulder.
‘Don’t you start, love, or we’ll all be at it. Right, I’m off to the church. See you there, Mary, and you look a picture. Reg won’t know what’s hit him.’
‘Thanks, Linda. What time is it?’
‘Ten to, so take your time. Have a gin or something. Always does the trick for me.’
We’re sitting sipping tea with clean tea towels over our frocks, just in case, when Gran delves into her handbag and hands me a small box, wrapped in pink tissue paper.
‘They’re from me and Reg, to say thank you for being our bridesmaid. And they’re real diamonds, only little ones, mind. But still. I hope you like them.’
‘Oh Gran, they’re gorgeous. Here, help me put them on.’
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I put the silver-heart earrings I wore when I married Nick on to the dresser. Actually, I’m glad I’ll be wearing something new today – it seems more fitting. Which reminds me.
‘So what’s your something blue, Gran?’
‘My pants. I couldn’t think of what else I could wear that wouldn’t show, and I’ve got my old pearl necklace on, and Betty’s lent me her earrings, and they nearly match, look. Isn’t that lucky? And my new is the watch Reg got for me for Christmas. I’ve only worn it once, but that still counts, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m sure it does.’
‘Takes me back to marrying your grandad.’
‘Gran.’
‘I know, but I can’t help thinking, pet. He was such a handsome boy. Of course he’d be an old man now, but still. I was talking to Betty about it, and we reckon he wouldn’t mind, not after all these years.’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t, Gran.’
‘And I’ll tell you something else: I wish your Nick was here, even if he hadn’t come to his senses and he’d gone ahead with the divorce and everything. I wanted you to know that. I know he made mistakes, and it would be better all round if his mother knew it, and then maybe she’d be a bit nicer to you, but what’s done is done and it’s a shame, that’s all. I can still see him in his wedding suit on the day you got married. So young. Like my Tom. Life can be very cruel.’
Bloody hell. If she carries on like this we’ll be sobbing all the way to the church.
‘Yes, but not today, Gran.’
‘No, but it’s on days like this that you remember. I know you’ll have been thinking about it, pet, but it does get easier as the years go by, that’s all I can say. And I’m so proud of you. I wanted to say that too. If it wasn’t for you taking over the shop I doubt me and Reg would be getting married. It means the world to me having you here. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Gran.’
‘Good. Well, we’d better be off then. I don’t want to keep Reg waiting. He’ll be getting nervous and his stomach plays him up something terrible when he gets nervous. Come on, hold my hand and walk your Gran to the car, pet. I’m still not feeling right in these shoes.’
The church is packed when we arrive, and Mrs Davies has put flowers everywhere so it smells of roses and hymn books with a hint of freesias. ‘For Those in Peril on the Sea’ is playing, and the Lifeboat people are attempting something tricky with the chorus; I didn’t know they were meant to be singing, but I’m guessing they’ve been practising because they’re all standing in a bunch at the back wearing smart suits and their Lifeboat badges.
