Bea and Cec seem to know exactly what to say to Isla in these scenarios. I feel helpless and muted. How can I not know what to say to one of my best friends?
‘What have you got planned for tonight – something relaxing?’ Bea asks softly.
‘Nothing. Mike is just cooking a lasagne.’
‘Nice. We’re just gonna curl up and watch a shit film, can’t move much …’ Cec says, holding her back.
‘Cool. I’d better go now. Food’s ready actually. Have a good time though, guys, I miss you,’ Isla says, sounding forced. She hangs up.
‘Poor Isla,’ I say.
‘I feel terrible for complaining about how uncomfortable I feel in front of her,’ Cec says, rubbing her bump.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Bea says, snapping her laptop shut.
We snuggle back into the sofa. ‘So, guys … I …’ I take a deep breath, gearing myself up to get a few things off my chest. The break-up with Jacob has been swirling around in my brain and now seems like a good time to get their advice, or at least a little pep talk. Round two.
‘Aw, I just felt a kick!’ Cec yelps, stroking her bump with both hands, her mouth curved upwards with glee.
‘No way!’ Bea rushes over. ‘Let me feel!’
‘Come and feel this, Ol,’ Cec says, laughing.
She lifts up her jumper, revealing her soft, silky skin. I place my palm on her tum alongside Bea and feel a little upwards push.
‘I think it’s a foot,’ Bea says, smiling.
I smile and stroke her belly, feeling unexpectedly bottled up.
Later in the evening, we settle down to watch a Drew Barrymore film on Netflix and Bea gets out a bottle of red from her fancy wine cabinet. I end up drinking mine and Cec’s share. It goes down so easily these days. Bea has ordered us so much takeaway pizza and the boxes are spread out all over the floor. Jeremy, Bea’s husband, is looking after their kids in the next room, but Arnold keeps wandering in to show us his new Lego set and six-year-old Amelia wants to play her violin to us. No offence, Amelia, but you’re not very good. Arnold, the three-year-old, wanders in and hands me a Lord of the Rings action figure that has some sort of dried crust on it. I love you, I think, but please don’t touch me with your snotty face and hands.
I’m glad I don’t have a hangover, otherwise I wouldn’t have survived. Bea shoos the kids out of the room and we are alone again.
‘When do they go to bed?’ I ask.
‘Ha, by eight p.m. normally, but it changes.’ There is a noticeable strain in Bea’s voice. ‘It’s so nice when Jeremy is home because I get to hang out with you guys all night.’ I get the sense that when Jeremy is around he ‘owes’ Bea – he can be quite absent. I pour Bea and myself more red wine.
‘So guys,’ Cec says, clearing her throat. ‘Can I read you my list of “the worst things people have said to me whilst pregnant”?’
‘Of course,’ Bea says, intrigued, turning down the sound levels on the TV.
‘I’ve got a list typed out on my iPhone and I add to it every time something annoys me,’ Cec says.
‘Go on,’ I say, glugging down some more wine.
She clears her throat, smooths down her bob and puts her glasses on.
‘Right. Are you all listening? Here’s the first one. People coming up to you and just saying, wow you’re big. Are you sure you’ve just got the one in there?
‘Number two: when people text me just saying ANY UPDATES?? Like, obviously I will tell people when I’ve given birth.
‘Three: Is that all? You look so much further along!
‘Four: How much more do you weigh now?
‘Five: Are you eating for two?
‘Six: Good luck! My labour was absolutely awful!
‘Seven: Better get all the sleep you can now!’
I squirm. Before having pregnant friends, I’d definitely been guilty of saying such things. I’ve been that person who touches a stranger’s bump, rubbing my hands all over it and going ‘Ooh, it’s sooo weird, isn’t it?’ Cec has made me realize that it was technically akin to reaching out and squeezing someone’s boob without asking. Definitely encroaching on personal space.
‘So, that’s my list,’ Cec says, leaning back and rubbing her belly. ‘But I’m sure I’ll add to it. In general it seems that being pregnant means being stared at and touched more than usual. But then also sort of ignored by men because you’re off the table, too. Like one big oxymoron?’
‘I felt that too! Like obviously it’s not great to be sexually objectified, but also I kind of missed it,’ Bea says.
Cec starts yawning loudly. ‘Right guys, I think I’m gonna hit the hay. Me and Oscar need our beauty sleep.’
‘OK, night Cec, come on, let’s fill these up,’ I say to Bea, waving my wine glass at her. ‘Seeing as Jeremy’s got the kids, eh!’
‘Ah, I really shouldn’t, Ol. I’ve got to take them to football and swimming tomorrow morning,’ Bea says, now also yawning. ‘Sorry …’
She hugs me goodnight and asks me to turn out the lights in the hallway when I come up. I hear their footsteps upstairs as they brush their teeth. I grab another bottle from Bea’s wine cabinet and tuck it under my arm, then nip outside for a cigarette. I stand outside Bea’s porch in pyjamas, wellies and Jeremy’s big coat, watching the patterns of the smoke coming from my mouth. As I inhale, I feel a gnawing unease. A sense of loneliness settling over me. I want to hear about how Cec and Isla are feeling, I really do. Isla’s been struggling for months now and I’m worried about her. But I also want to tell them about Jacob – the exact reason why he and I broke up. I want to tell them how I’m really feeling. I wanted them to stay up past 11 p.m., for god’s sake. Everyone else seems to have exciting or important news, while my only update is that my relationship has come to an end.
I sigh and pace up and down on the grass, trying to stamp down on my anxiety and the niggling feeling in my chest that I can’t quite make sense of. Perhaps I acted selfishly this evening, perhaps not. We are all at a crossroads, that much is clear, but things are about to change even more. With Cec’s impending baby, she and Bea will have even more in common as they talk nonstop about kids, and then if Isla’s IVF works out, I will officially be the odd one out. What if I have nothing to talk about with them any more, drifting further and further away? My friends have always formed a part of my identity; they make me me. But without them, who will I be then?
I wake up abruptly the next morning, feeling as though my eyes have been closed for all of ten seconds. Shit, why hasn’t the alarm on my phone gone off yet? Bea sneaks in and puts a cup of tea beside the blow-up bed.
‘It’s 11 a.m., babe,’ she whispers.
‘Oh fuck, really?’
In that moment I feel like I might be Bea’s teenage daughter.
‘Cec’s already gone, she didn’t want to wake you. Do you want some pancakes?’
There’s the Bea I know and love: a feeder, a mother hen. And right now, to be honest, I’m more than happy to be taken care of.
5
I sit down at my desk at work holding a mint tea in a chipped mug that says ‘World’s Best Wife’ on it. The communal mug cabinet really does have some atrocities in there. Colin wanders over, holding a mug bearing Paris Hilton’s face.