by Katy Lilley
Maisie settled down with an all singing all dancing salad that for once she’d taken time over, and devoted an hour to catch up TV. Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was a sucker for cookery programs that made the type of food she’d never attempt, and reruns of old but still good comedies. The sort of things she perhaps should watch, to further her knowledge, she did under duress. Usually when she knew she’d need to be able to talk about them at school.
Dinner over, she washed up, put Barns out to do his business and got out her diary. The week was shaping up to be a doozy.
Monday, a dog.
Tuesday, a due date?
What should she expect for on Wednesday? Triplets?
Argh, just get the next day over and done with, then think again.
By the time Bryony picked her up for her hospital appointment, she was a nervous wreck. ‘How did you cope?’ she demanded as soon as Bryony set the car in motion. ‘What if they say something is wrong? What if…’
Bryony shot her hand out and maybe by more luck than judgement got it over Maisie’s mouth. ‘Do not what if. It’s a waste of time, nerves and energy. Let’s go with a positive attitude. Okay? And if, and I stress that is a big if, there is a what if we will all, all, sort it. You are not on your own in this, father in absentia or not. So, stop muttering. Note I didn’t say stop worrying, I know that’s not possible, but for God’s sake Mais, remember even if someone doesn’t know what’s going on, they will support you. Thick and thin.’
For the first time, Maisie realised how hard it must have been for Bryony not to talk to Dario about Maisie’s circumstances.
‘Oh, Bry,’ she said remorsefully. ‘Sorry I’ve been a cow.’
‘Moo. Er, how?’
‘Not letting you tell Dario. I’m so sorry.’
Bryony blinked and used one hand to pat Maisie’s knee. ‘Ah, no worries. To be honest, I reckon he’s guessed, as he hasn’t given me the third degree. You look like I did a few months ago. You can tell him when you are ready. And only as much as you want to. Now, we never ever did talk about how the school harvest festival went, though Luke said it was ace, and Lisa said one Mark Donkin threw up and they all knew it was because he’d scoffed too many liquorice laces.’
Maisie laughed and rolled her eyes as she remembered it all. ‘That’s about it in a nutshell. ‘C…Rik’—shit she’d almost blown it, no one called him Cam—‘led it perfectly and only stopped to put the fear of God via the Vicar as I heard one mum say, twice. Mark confessed, Ken Dent put the fear of himself—or Mark’s mum—into him, and Pam stopped Roman Diggins from pinching the biscuit Miffy Target had intended to nibble during the service. All par for the course for a primary school teacher. Overall, though, it went well. No one was actively violent or obnoxious, they all sang ‘we plough the fields and sca-a–ter’, at the top of their voices, took their harvest treats home and we broke up for half term in a good mood. Well, except Liz Kidder said the singing was out of tune, but hey it’s kids - excited kids at that - so what does she expect? Now I’ve got through all that, I’m trying to forget Halloween, but know I won’t be allowed to, and it won’t be long until we head straight first into Christmas. However, before any of that, I’ve got today to cope with,’
‘Then, let’s get it started.’
Three hours later, Maisie was shell shocked. And desperate for a wee. ‘The loo first,’ she gasped as she and Bryony left the ante natal unit. ‘Then tea and let me draw breath. I need to think.’
Bryony headed toward the nearest loo, waited until Maisie had done what was needed and steered her to a table in the café. ‘Do not move.’ She got two cups of tea and two mini packets of Jammie Dodgers and sat down. ‘Okay, spill.’
‘Look.’ Maisie stared at an ultrasound picture, with a sappy smile on her face. ‘Oh God, I’m having a baby. And the date thingy is no help. Mid April, like the doc said and I’m no closer to deciding who might be daddy. I didn’t dare say that in there, just that he wasn’t in the picture. It could be Stan, it could be the one nighter. The only certain thing is I’m the mum and Wilma or Wilf will be born sometime during April, God willing and the creek don’t rise.’ Damn it she was repeating herself. She scowled at the murky contents of her cup. ‘What is this?
‘Hospital tea. Get used to it,’ Bryony advised. ‘It’s par for the course. So, Wilma or Wilf?’ Bryony had held her hand all the time except for when she’d had an internal. Then she’d opted to go to the café. ‘Wilma, Wilf. I like them.’
‘My mum’s best mate and my champion. Auntie Wilma. Red haired, loud mouthed, a laugh like a crow on speed and a heart of Cockney gold. My mum made me swear never to call a child Gertie after her. Gertrude Nellie. So, if it’s a girl, Wilma it is. Wilma Bryony or Wilf Bryan MacLean. Think he or she’ll cope?’
Bryony sniffed. ‘Sure to. With names like that they’ll be kick ass.’
That was what Maisie hoped. She hugged Bryony. ‘Thank you for everything. I love you.’
‘I love you too, Mais, but I need to get home.’
‘And I guess I need to think what I’m gonna do next.’ Maisie smiled as she tucked her precious picture in her handbag and pushed her chair back so she could get up. ‘If you want, I’ll come with you and let Dario in on the secret. Will he be home and able to chat?’
Bryony nodded. ‘Yep, he’s on a break. Says he needs time to cuddle me and Theo and breath fresh air not murder and mayhem.’
‘Then let’s go beard the lion.’ And hope her knees didn’t knock.
‘I guessed,’ Dario said simply. ‘You’re a carbon copy of Bry at around three months right down to the way you cover your mouth when I ask if you want coffee. I also guessed Stan wants nothing to do with you or the baby.’
Maisie nodded and sipped the flat lemonade Dario handed to her. She’d not hit him with the idea that it might be someone else’s, and no one but no one was going to find out it might be Cam’s before the man himself did and decided how to play it. ‘Over and done with, burned the t-shirt and his football pennants. Just me and Wilma, or Wilf.’
‘And us,’ Dario added. ‘In fact I reckon you and Lots can toss to decide who pops first. After Bry of course. What do you want us to do? Beat up Stanley? Knit?’ He laughed. ‘Scratch that, get Lots to knit. She’s improving now she can gaze at a picture of her beloved as she does and mutter sl 2, k2tog, dec1 alt st or whatever.’ He shuddered, very theatrically. ‘All that complicated stuff. I tell you knitting codes are harder than Morse.’
Maisie agreed with that. She could just about manage stocking stitch scarves on big thick needles suitable for five year old fingers, as long as no one dropped a stitch. Maybe she could coerce Lottie to come into school and take the knitting class? ‘Just carry on being you, please,’ Maisie said as Dario hugged her. ‘And loan me your wife as a birth partner.’
‘Hey,’ Bryony said indignantly. ‘Why ask him?’
‘He’ll have to be babysitter,’ Maisie pointed out. ‘I need him on my side.’
Bryony looked struck. ‘True. Then, my darling, can I be birth partner for Maisie pretty please?’
‘As long as I get the first hug of Wilma—Wilf—after you two, go for it.’
Maisie high fived him. ‘Deal.’
They did an awkward three-way hug, which ended as Theo, who was sitting in her bouncy chair made a raspberry and said what sounded suspiciously like ‘sloppy lot’.
Thank goodness for friends became Maisie’s mantra over the coming days as the week just got better. She found her wok—in amongst the cleaning equipment—her left slipper under a pile of newspapers she was collecting to put under budding artists painting equipment at school, and shredded and burned a pile of old receipts, the latest from five years previous, and managed two days without feeling icky. Her favourite jeggings still fitted, her new bras—ordered online with some trepidation—were comfy and also fitted, and her feet didn’t swell when she put her sparkly trainers on. Win, win.
She was wandering across t
he village green when Cam came out of the vicarage and spotted her. He waved.
‘Hold up a sec.’
Reluctantly, Maisie slowed and stood still as Barns did his usual sniff, cock a leg and wee on a dandelion. Cam approached and Barns woofed, doing an ecstatic wriggle and yipping with glee as Cam rubbed his neck.
‘Someone’s pleased to see me anyway,’ Cam remarked. ‘You, on the other hand, seem to be intent on going in any other direction but mine.’
‘Not really,’ Maisie said uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t see you.’
‘Nor any of the other times, I guess,’ Cam said wryly. ‘I’m beginning to think I must have B. O. If you don’t want to be friends just say so.’
‘It’s not that, either of it, it’s just this is a tiny community, and rumours start very easily.’
‘I don’t think they’ll guess we had a one night stand if we say hello or share a pizza, but up to you. Here’s my number just in case you change your mind.’ He handed her a scrap of paper. ‘Enjoy the rest of your break.’ He sounded hurt. That was the last thing she wanted.
‘Look, sorry,’ Maisie said in a rush. ‘Hell, that seems to be my most used word at present, I’m a bitch, and I don’t mean to be. It’s just I’ve a lot on my mind at the moment.’
‘And you don’t want to share? I’m very good at keeping confidences. It’s part of my job description.’
‘It’s complicated,’ Maisie said lamely. ‘I’ll bear that in mind though.’
‘Fair enough. Hope the next part of the term goes well.’ He winked. ‘And you get no more hassles.’
On a scale of one to ten, the first day back after half term was a minus number. Sore footed, bloody minded and with a raging headache, Maisie was glad to get home and be greeted by an ecstatic Barns, who behaved as if he’d been alone for days, which was a load of rubbish, as once she’d said she was worried about leaving him all day, dog sitters popped up like daisies on a lawn.
Maddie had texted to say she’d popped in at lunch time and Lottie WhatsApped to say she had visited him halfway through the morning, and found him asleep until he realised she was there, and then he howled and appeared pitiful. The rest of Lottie’s note made her laugh. ‘I’m gonna spring him every day now and take him to work. His howls grated on my preggy sensitive ears. I’ve got my old dog’s bed and a new cover for it. Be prepared, love Lottie. PS why does he want my bratwurst?’
‘No idea. Greedy maybe?’
That got a laughing emoji.
Maisie hoped it was a good omen.
Her phone rang as she was washing up. She’d cheated with a ready meal and a promise to herself she’d cook healthily the next night. Maisie dried her hands and checked the caller’s identity.
Rik the Vic. She hesitated and then picked up the call.
‘How’d it go?’ he asked.
‘So far so good, but it’s early days still. A certain person isn’t exactly obstructive but nor are they helpful. Anything I say can be construed however they choose and used in evidence against me.’
‘It’s a bugger isn’t it?’ Cam said. ‘You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t, so to speak.’
‘True. How was your day?’
‘Busy. I’d forgotten how much is needed to be done in a parish every day. I spent the morning with the church treasurer, and the afternoon at the Women’s Club—which also has male members. They’re worried their name is sexist and are going to have a poll of members on what they should call themselves. The ideas were varied to say the least. I’ll be interested to see what comes out on top. The one thing they are all adamant is it’s not the golden oldies as the age range spans a good four or five decades. Hippies at Heart and The People Club, were the forerunners as far as I could tell.’
‘Love it. Pity they can’t be the ‘Swinging Sixties.’
Cam burst out laughing. ‘Grief, for one minute I thought you said the Swingers Sixties. That gave me some mental images I’d prefer not to have.’
Maisie sniggered. ‘I bet.’
‘Before I forget, tomorrow it’s quiz night at The Red Pig.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Do you fancy going? I can’t, and Lottie and Gibb are looking for partners. They said and I quote, they needed to get out and about and forget about decorating for a while.’
Maisie thought about marking and all the other bits and bobs she needed to do. ‘Great idea. I could do with making my brain think of other things other than how often my five year olds need a loo break, how to learn to count and hold a pencil.’
‘I’ll pick you up, so you don’t renege.’
‘It’s only three buildings down. I promise not to get lost—or renege.’
‘Oh go on, humour me. We can go and bags a table for them, and I can make my apologies.’
It sounded feasible. ‘Okay, see you tomorrow.’
In the end she went down the road to the pub alone after a brief text from Cam saying he was delayed and wouldn’t make it. Strangely her relief wasn’t as profound as she imagined it would be. She walked into the lounge, pleased she’d been there before and could at least nod to a few people. From the far side of the room, Lottie waved.
Maisie made her way across to her and Gibb. ‘Greetings fellow quizzers, who wants what to drink?’
Lottie pointed at her glass. ‘I’ve got mine and Gibb is getting yours. As a welcome, thank you or why not, you choose which. Where’s Cam?’
‘Can’t come, he sends his apologies.’
‘Apologies rescinded,’ Cam said breathlessly as he approached the table. ‘Crisis over. Sorry I’m late.’
‘You’re not,’ Gibb said. ‘We got here five minutes ago, and Maisie beat you by thirty seconds. My round, what do you both want?’
Maisie closed her eyes briefly. Life and its bloody curveballs. Or just balls ups. She asked for a soda, rolled her eyes and added she was on antibiotics. No one queried it.
‘I’ll help you,’ Gibb said and left Maisie with Lottie.
‘I’ve got to ask,’ Lottie said as soon as they were alone. ‘What did Liz Kidder say to you that make you diss Sleazy Dave Soole? According to Bryony, Faye grinds her teeth when your name is mentioned, and he’s going about looking sheepish. He saw me yesterday and started his sleazy, touchy feely ‘what am I up to,’ crap, and I almost, almost reverted to snotty grotty Lottie. I reserve the right to bring that part of me out to play if he starts. However, I bit my tongue, accidentally hit him in the privates with my shoulder bag, and said learning advanced self-defence. He doubled over, called me a bitch, I agreed and dropped the bag on his foot. It had three tins of tomato soup, - I have a yearning for it - and a bag of sugar in it.’ She sipped her drink, saw Maisie glance at it, and grimaced. ‘Yes, it’s ginger beer, no I do not like it, yes it is supposed to settle a dicky tummy, and yes I know you know. I’m taking the fifth for another week and five days before I share all.’ She grinned. ‘Not quite all. I’ll be four months then, and probably rounded. I know they say three months and share and all that, but to be honest, those of our friends and relatives who need to know do know or have guessed and it’s no one else’s business.’
Which according to Maisie’s reckoning, meant Bryony had been about right with the fact Maisie and Lottie could give birth around the same time. By the summer there would be babies everywhere. Now all they needed was for Maddie to join in.
‘I agree with you there,’ Maisie said with a grin. ‘As for Dave and Faye? I have no idea. I did ask Liz if they were related when we went for our interviews. Something about the way she looked at me, and her attitude. Faye to a ‘T’ and they are some sort of cousins. Since then, I’ve not said a word. Or seen Dave. I saw Faye when she brought Krystal into class yesterday, but that’s it.’
Lottie nodded. ‘Probably didn’t give Krystal everything she wants. Which to be fair never seems much. She’s so quiet you sometimes forget she’s there.’
‘Eager to learn though, and that’s good.’
The men r
eturned, they handed the quiz fees over and within ten minutes were groaning over the questions.
‘Who was the Poet Laureate before John Betjeman?’ Maisie said and groaned. This was no friendly quiz. People were scowling and staring at other teams with ferocious intensity. The quizmaster, who was also Jim the postman, had passed out the first round questions with a stern ‘five minutes only and if I see anyone on their phones they’re disqualified’.
Maisie looked at Lottie who shrugged. ‘Not a scooby.’
‘Cecil Day-Lewis,’ Cam said. ‘It was a crossword clue and I remembered it.’
‘Good on you,’ Lottie wrote it down. ‘Next question, Maisie?’
‘Where does the Regent’s canal run from and to?’
The questions went on. Some they knew, some they didn’t, and some they guessed. The one where they were asked to name as many songs as they could in three minutes with brown in the title caused a lot of hilarity. Maisie chose Golden Brown and Brown Sugar, which she said reminded her of times gone by and her ignorance of what the titles could mean.
‘What could they mean?’ Cam asked with a pseudo innocent expression.
Maisie thumped his shoulder. It was too darned difficult to stay aloof. ‘Rotter.’ Her decision not to talk about her pregnancy was getting harder the better she got to know him.
He grinned and bowed. ‘Thank you. I choose Brown Eyed Girl.’ He looked at Maisie. ‘Even if yours are hazel.’
‘Any more?’ Lottie asked. ‘How about Brown Girl in the Ring?’
‘Sweet Georgia Brown, Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown,’ Gibb added.
‘Mrs Brown you’ve got a lovely daughter,’ Cam said. Lottie scribbled it down just as Joe shouted time up.
‘Not bad, we got seven.’
‘Let’s hope we get some more questions we can answer,’ Maisie said and rolled her eyes. ‘I need to expand my reading matter. What’s suitable for five year olds isn’t going to help me much here.’