by Emma Gannon
Marcus is out with his friends tonight, and I am excited to be hanging out with mine. It’s the first time they’ve seen the flat, and I’ve tidied and cleaned extra hard for their arrival.
“Congratulations, Olive! Homeowner!” Cecily says, popping open a big bottle of champagne in my new kitchen. Isla ducks as the cork goes towards her head. It spills onto the wooden floor, but I don’t care. Bea finds a tea towel and mops it up.
“Thank you! And thank you guys for my gorgeous present; I love it.” They have clubbed together to buy me a vase—and Bea has painted a face on it. They’ve also bought me a big bunch of sunflowers, which are now sitting on my kitchen table, the bright-yellow petals reflecting how I feel inside. Bea pours a glass for us all. She has made us some smoked salmon nibbles too. We all say “cheers.”
“Show us your room, then!” Bea says, sipping on her bubbles and linking arms with me. Cec leaves her glass on the side.
We run down my tiny corridor as though we are sixteen again. I swing open the door and reveal my huge custom-made bed, positioned in the middle of the room, plants either side, with a view of the bustling streets of Soho. Light is streaming into the bedroom and reflects off the shiny leaves of the new plants. Everything feels like it is so full of life.
“Huge bed!” Bea says as she practically face-plants into it, her body planking and bouncing upwards. Isla and Cecily join her. Then me, trying not to spill my drink on my fresh linen sheets. Four in the bed again.
“Where the magic happens,” I say, leaning back with a smirk.
“This is the life, isn’t it, Ol?” says Cec, looking out of the big window onto the Soho streets below.
“It’s lush. Maybe I could bring a date back here one night when you and Marcus are away,” Bea laughs, smoothing out the duvet and flicking her hair around.
“Oh my god—yes,” I laugh. Bea and Jeremy’s divorce was finalized around three and a half years ago now, and she is loving her new single status and the freedom it brings her. She is glowing, physically fitter than ever, and still manages to somehow remain friends with Jeremy while they coparent—separately but pretty happily.
“At least Oscar now sleeps in until at least 8 a.m. most days; I think the bags under my eyes are just about disappearing,” Cec says.
“Cheers to that,” I say. Oscar is now five, and very polite, with a totally adorable side-parting. He has really grown on me. He calls me Auntie Ollie, which is pretty cute.
“So, guys,” Cec clears her throat. “I have a little housewarming gift for you, Ol, but it’s actually something for all of you.” She reaches into her handbag and hands us each an envelope with our names on.
“Oh, you are so sweet, Cec! Thank you,” I say, taking the envelope. “Should we all open them together?”
“Yeah!” Cec says, shuffling around on the bed with excitement.
“Okay,” I say. “One, two, three!” We all tear the envelopes open, and pull out another small, thin piece of card.
It is a scan. Of a baby.
I can see the shape of its tiny nose.
The curve of its back.
The outline of a foot.
Tears are suddenly brimming, fresh salty water that falls down my cheeks and into the corners of my mouth. Bea and Isla have the same reaction. Isla is smiling with her mouth closed, her face resting in her hand. Bea and I have our mouths hanging open.
At the bottom of the scan is Cec’s handwriting. It reads: “Will you be my godmother?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you guys the first time ’round, you know, with Osc. I was totally overwhelmed and had a lot of postpartum stuff going on; I just wasn’t thinking about anything like that. I was feeling too sad and scared,” Cec says.
“Oh, Cec, we totally get it—this is so lovely!” Bea says, practically hugging the piece of paper.
“Isla, I hope you don’t mind me doing this, I just . . . I didn’t want to be weird . . . I love you and want you to be involved, if you want to, that is,” Cec says, feeling nervous, biting her lip a bit.
“Oh, Cec.” Isla moves to sit right beside her. “You’re so sweet for saying that. I am okay! I really am. We don’t need to tiptoe around it anymore, I promise.”
None of us knows quite what to say yet, so we wait for Isla to continue.
“I still have my moments when I feel sad about it all, but honestly, I am genuinely making peace with it. It’s not that I feel I ‘have’ to get over it; it’s just that—I know it sounds weird—but I don’t have the same urge as I did. As you know, I’ve just opened my new practice, work is better than ever, Mike is happy too—we are happy; we are okay with how our future is looking, even if it’s not the one I expected.” Isla puts her hand on top of Cec’s.
“That is wonderful, Isla,” Bea says.
“It’s funny how things change, isn’t it? I’m happy and feel like I might want different things now. And anyway, down the line, if I do still want a family, I could always consider adopting.”
“I am so glad to hear that, Isla,” Cec says, as if the words “phew” were written on her forehead. “She is so lucky to have you as a godmother.”
“She? A girl! Oh, Cec, I am so excited to meet her,” Isla says, kissing Cec on the cheek. “Thank you guys for getting me through those horrible few years. I couldn’t have managed without you. I’m so glad to be out the other side now.”
“Of course, Isla. Thank you, guys, for being there,” Cec says to all of us. “Being pregnant feels . . . different this time ’round.”
“Enjoy it, Cec; they grow up so quickly. Mine hardly need me anymore,” Bea says, laughing, clearly enjoying her own new phase of motherhood.
“We’ve all come a long way, haven’t we?” I say, holding my three best friends as tightly as I can.
There are things we can choose—and things that we can’t. But one thing is for sure: I choose these friends. Over and over again.
Acknowledgments
You know what they say about novels. It takes a village.
The biggest thank you to the team at HarperCollins. Kimberley Young, for seeing something in my first draft. Charlotte Brabbin, for inspiring me to go that little bit further with each edit. To the best Marketing and PR squad in the biz: Sarah Shea, Fliss Denham, and Liz Dawson. To Ellie Game for creating one of the most beautiful covers I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe it gets to be mine.
Thank you to my friend and literary agent, Abigail Bergstrom, for reading and reviewing countless drafts before we sent it out. (And for the wine and chats. A very important part of the process.)
Thank you to Kim, Justin, and Lynsey at Diving Bell for your support, friendship, and the enthusiasm you have for all of my creative projects.
Thank you to all the women I spoke to in confidence when researching the themes in the book. You helped me build Olive from the inside out—you are all amazing; it’s no wonder I fell in love with her.
To Elizabeth Gilbert, Marian Keyes, Louise O’Neill, and all the fellow authors who read early proofs of Olive and provided me with such generous support during your own busy book schedules. I really appreciate it.
Thank you to my past self for sitting down and writing the damn thing. I’ve tried so many times and failed. This one stuck.
To my amazing friends, family, and Paul for making my personal life so supported and full of love. Thank you for always putting up with my overactive imagination.
About the Author
Emma Gannon is an author, speaker, columnist, and the host of the multimillion downloaded podcast Ctrl Alt Delete. She has been published everywhere from the Guardian to Glamour (UK) and is the author of The Multi-Hyphen Life and Sabotage. This is her debut novel. She currently lives in London with her partner.
www.emmagannon.co.uk
Instagram: @emmagannonuk
Twitter: @emmagannon
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Olive copyright © 2020 by Emma Gannon. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers (UK).
ISBN: 978-1-5248-6998-4
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020938778
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