The lady shook her head and left, muttering something about kids these days…
‘Cheers, you’re now costing me customers, thanks to your potty mouth.’ Pippa began to apologise again but quickly realised Zoe was far from being serious. ‘So, have you told Jason? What did he say? Is he as excited as you are?’
‘I haven’t told him yet. Look, I’ve got this.’ She pulled a card out of her bag.
‘Surprise!’ Zoe read the swirly lettering that embossed the front of the card. Opening it she smiled, saying ‘You’re going to be a Daddy.’
‘Isn’t it lovely? Do you think he’ll like it?’
‘He bloody better! Couldn’t you just, you know, ring him and tell him the good news?’
‘No! I’ve waited seven years for this moment.’
‘And how long have you had the card for?’ Zoe smiled at her and Pippa felt embarrassed that they both knew what kind of answer she was going to give.
‘About six years.’
Zoe laughed again and cut a slice of Bakewell tart from the counter. ‘Here, you nutter, have this. It was made with love by a very special person.’ She winked at her.
‘Flattery will get you nowhere. Which reminds me, I’ve made a coffee and walnut cake in addition to your order this week as I had a load of walnuts left over from that wedding cake I made.’
‘Amazing! I love coffee and walnut cake – can we just add that to the regular order anyway?’
‘No problem, I’ll drop it all in tomorrow afternoon as I’ve got doctors first thing. Have you got enough stuff to tide you over?’ She looked into the display cabinet at the nearly empty containers that normally housed her cakes and pastries.
‘Yeah, should be okay. I’ve still got some Victoria sponge out the back, too.’ She pushed the plate with the Bakewell on it over the counter. ‘Anyway, enough of work. Eat!’
‘Oh no, I can’t. I really need to watch what I eat from now on.’ She slid the plate back towards her friend.
‘Oh behave! It’s a slice of cake and we are celebrating! You can be all strict with your food after you’ve had the baby, when you’re trying to shift the baby weight.’
‘Well, if we’re celebrating, where’s your slice?’
‘That, Pip, is a good question.’ She cut herself a piece.
‘Oh my goodness, do you know what I just thought?’
Pippa looked at her with suspicion, ‘What?’ she asked, cautiously.
‘Now that you are expecting, you can come to the mums’ meetings here!’
Pippa smiled, feeling warm inside. Zoe didn’t realise how long she had waited to hear those words. ‘You’re right. When do I start?’ She couldn’t hide the grin from her face.
‘As soon as you are ready, my love.’ Zoe shuffled behind the counter, ‘Cheers,’ she said, holding up her slice. ‘To baby Pip!’
Pippa smiled as a warm, fuzzy feeling drizzled through her body. She tapped her cake with Zoe’s. ‘To baby Pip!’
*****
Imogen
‘Miss, can I get the paint out?’
Imogen snapped her attention to the little blond boy staring up at her from the table and realised she had been completely daydreaming. She glanced over to the class teacher, who was teaching phonics to some children on the carpet.
‘When Mrs Anderson has finished her sounds, we will get the paint out. Let’s wait for the others so they can join in, yes?’
The little boy ran off without even acknowledging their conversation.
A wave of nausea started to build up from Imogen’s stomach and she felt the sweat begin to bead over her forehead. She needed to get to a bathroom, and quick! She tried to discreetly get Mrs Anderson’s attention, but it failed and she soon found herself in a position she would never want to be in again, where she had no choice but to run out of the classroom with no warning whatsoever to the class teacher. She practically skidded around the corner of the corridor at the end of the hall, where she sprung into the staff toilets just in time to reach the toilet bowl. A tirade of mixed feelings erupted as she vomited. She took a moment to compose herself afterwards – and to make sure there wasn’t any more – before standing to look at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked a mess. Whilst her wavy, light-brown hair was still in the ponytail she had placed it in just a couple of hours previously, there were numerous straggly sections that had dropped out around her face and were now stuck to her cheeks with the sweat from the hot flush she had just seconds before the vomiting started. Her eyes were red and bloodshot and her eyeliner had bled slightly into the fine lines around the edges of her eyes. Sporting a look that was a cross between someone who had just finished a marathon and a gothic clown, she spent a few minutes sorting her appearance before making her way back to the classroom.
‘Mrs Anderson, she’s back!’ little Becca screeched as Imogen walked into the room.
Mrs Anderson came over to her, immediately looking worried and, if she was honest, a little pissed off. ‘Everything okay?’ she asked, cautiously eyeing her up and down.
‘Yes, sorry. I just felt really sick all of a sudden.’ She put her hands onto her hips to help convince her that she was okay.
Mrs Anderson eyed her up and down before saying, ‘You don’t look too great. Do you need to go home?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Just need to grab some water, that’s all.’
‘You don’t need to be a hero, we all get sick. If you need to go, then go. I don’t want the whole class coming down with a bug.’
Imogen closed her eyes for a second as two little boys ran past her screaming, one of them barging into her and causing a wave of nausea to wash over her again. ‘I can’t, you need me in here. There’s no one to cover. I’ll be fine, honest. I just need some water.’ She felt another surge of acid in the back of her throat and frantically swallowed to hold it back.
‘Imogen, that’s not your problem. You can’t help being ill. We can pull in another assistant from somewhere, just let Mr…,’ It was too late. She had to run again. This was not a good feeling, she thought to herself, as she bolted back into the toilet. After round two had finished she admitted defeat and went home.
Walking through the front door and throwing her keys down into the bowl, she slumped onto the sofa and picked up her phone, pulling up Alice’s number.
Had to come home, been sick twice this morning already.
Alice almost immediately called her back. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I was fine when I got up but I’ve been sick twice at work.’ Just the thought of it made her stomach churn.
‘Really?’ The excitement in Alice’s voice did not go missed. ‘Well, that’s great news!’
‘Thanks. Glad to see my misery is causing you so much happiness.’ She let out a feeble laugh and immediately stopped because of the feeling it gave her in her stomach.
‘Sorry, baby, but you know what I mean. This could be it!’
Imogen shook her head. ‘No, don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t go getting your hopes up again. Not like last time.’ The painful memories of previous attempts of checking and every time it being negative swam around her brain, making it feel cloudy.
‘Oh come on. This is different. You don’t normally feel sick, let alone actually be sick. This could be our month! Oh my God, I’m so excited. Have you done the test yet?’
‘No.’
‘What? Come on, don’t be silly. Just do it already. You were going to do it tomorrow anyway, what’s a day early?’
‘Don’t you want me to wait until you get home?’
‘No way! It’s 10.30 in the morning; I’ll never be able to concentrate all day knowing this. Come on, just do it. It’s in the cupboard.’
Imogen stood up, but immediately sat back down as a wave of sickness began to descend again. ‘Fine, I’ll call you back.’
‘Make sure you do. I’ve got a meeting in about fifteen minutes so I’m timin
g it. You’ve got ten minutes. Go!’
Imogen laughed. ‘Okay, fine. Bye.’
‘Love you! Bye!’
Imogen hung up with a little giggle to herself. She absolutely loved how excited Alice was. She always got so passionate about things, that’s why Imogen fell in love with her.
Their relationship hadn’t been an easy ride. Imogen’s parents were not exactly supportive when she told them she was gay. Actually, unsupportive is probably an understatement. Imogen’s mum cried. She cried for about two weeks every time she saw them. First they were tears of anger – although Imogen never quite understood why she was angry – and then tears of sadness.
‘I’m never going to have grandchildren,’ her mum would wail every time it was brought up. Which was a really silly way to look at things, but she had supposed that it was just her mum’s way of dealing with the shock of it all. But no, things just continued to get worse. It went from never having grandchildren, to never going to her daughter’s wedding – which she didn’t – to ‘what will the neighbours say?’ It broke Imogen’s heart to see her mother so distraught but equally, it made her angry, too. She wanted her family to be more like Alice’s. Alice’s parents embraced her sexuality and had been like surrogate parents to Imogen. They were truly amazing people and Imogen was glad to have that positivity in her life when there were already so many negative people trying to inflict upset on them. Like their neighbours, who insisted on shooting them disgusted looks every time they went out together.
Alice’s view was very much just let them get on with it. She was an incredibly strong person, who didn’t take any crap from anyone. Whereas Imogen was a worrier. She cared what people thought and what they said. Which was the sole reason it took her so long to eventually come out. She tried to act as if people’s comments didn’t bother her, but they did. A lot.
Thank God she had Alice. Her rock.
She pulled the test out of the shiny white bathroom cabinet and opened it up. She didn’t need to read the instructions; it wasn’t as though this was the first time she had done one of these.
She sat on the toilet and took a deep breath. ‘Here goes,’ she whispered, praying for a miracle. She wasn’t sure she could handle another negative.
Chapter 2
‘Ellie, what are you doing here?’
Zoe whipped her sister into a huge, warm embrace and Ellie instantly felt the urge to cry. She had held onto the emotion for the whole three-hour drive it had taken to get to her sister’s café, but the second she had wrapped her arms around her, tears rapidly filled her eyes …
‘Just wanted to see my sister, that’s all,’ she croaked, knowing full well that this line was not going to work on her.
Zoe pulled away from Ellie, looking at her in a way clearly indicating that she didn’t buy the story. She still had her hands on Ellie’s shoulders when she added, ‘Really, Els, what’s up?’
‘I just needed to get away.’
She didn’t need to say any more. Zoe smiled at her – you know, the kind of smile that said Okay, you don’t want to talk, that’s fine – and ushered her into the kitchen at the back of the café. ‘Here, sit down and I’ll make you a cuppa.’
Ellie took the proffered stool and instantly felt a rush of relief. Everything was going to be okay. She was here, her big sister would help her and everything would be okay. Zoe and Ellie’s relationship was a close one. They hadn’t been particularly close growing up, but once they got into their teens, their closeness began to grow. And when Zoe decided to fly the nest, she did it properly and moved what felt like a million miles away to Shropshire. It broke Ellie’s heart, not that she showed it, and even though they spoke on the phone pretty much every day, she missed having her big sister just around the corner. When Ellie had flown the nest, she’d moved a hundred yards down the road from their family home. Whilst she was adventurous in the sense that she pursued her career as a make-up artist, slaving away for pretty much no money for hours every day just to get experience until she qualified, she still liked to be close to the family home. When their mum died, nearly ten years ago now, Ellie fell apart. Zoe had come back home to London – it had only been a few months since she had moved to Shropshire – and picked up all the pieces whilst Ellie went off the rails a little. Not a fact she was proud of but she needed to do it. It was her way of coping. Being the older sister had its unwritten responsibilities and Zoe stepped up whilst Ellie crumbled. But Ellie never forgave herself for that.
Yet, here she was again – running to Zoe to help pick up the pieces. She would never match up to her perfect sister, so why bother trying?
‘So, come on. You clearly haven’t driven 170-odd miles just to have a cuppa with me. What’s going on?’
‘Nothing major. Just needed a break and I figured I haven’t seen you for a few months and it was time I came to you.’ She shrugged to add effect to the I’m fine, what’s the big deal persona she had created the second she entered the café.
Zoe didn’t buy it, but instead of grilling her, she just said, ‘Hmm, fair enough. How long are you here for?’
Ellie hadn’t thought that far ahead. When she saw the little pink line on the test, she’d panicked. She hadn’t even said anything to the director of the shoot she was on, just grabbed her stuff and left. She had numerous calls on her phone throughout the car journey here and a few stroppy voicemails too. This was not going to be good for her reputation. But she didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t run to her dad for help, he would go mad at her. Ellie was ever the disappointment to him. She was nothing like his Zoe. ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister,’ he would throw at her in the years following their mum’s death. Because Zoe, whilst she mourned, took it as a springboard and catapulted herself into work, opening up the café and making it a success. Whereas Ellie struggled to stick at a job and then decided to take up being a make-up artist – much to the dismay of her father. Their relationship broke down and she barely spoke to him now.
And normally, in a situation like this, she would go to Chris for advice. But that was off the table, too.
So here she was. In Shropshire and indirectly calling out to Zoe for help. She just needed to pluck up the courage to actually tell her.
‘I don’t know yet. I’ve taken a little break from work and I thought I’d come and explore the countryside. See what all the fuss is about!’ she smiled at Zoe, a big fat fake one, and sipped the tea. ‘Ah man, Zoe, you do seriously make a wicked cup of tea. I’ve missed these!’
‘Why, thank you. Do you know what you’re missing, though?’
Ellie shook her head.
‘A slice of cake. Bakewell or Victoria sponge?’
Ellie thought for a second; there was only one reply to this question at a time like this. ‘Both.’
*****
Pippa had just finished boxing up all the cakes for tomorrow’s delivery to Zoe when Jason walked in the front door. She jumped in surprise at the sound of the door slamming and knocked a box of cupcakes onto the floor.
‘Damn it!’ she cursed, hurriedly picking them up and inspecting the damage. ‘Great!’ All but one cupcake out of the box of twelve, had split open, causing a frosting crime scene. She dumped the box on the side and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. She could whip up a batch of cupcakes with her eyes closed, but she had looked forward to having a sit-down after her hectic day today, she was so tired. In all the pregnancy books she had read – which was a lot – right about now the baby would be the size of a lentil – how was something that small making her feel so shattered?
Jason strolled past the kitchen door without even popping his head in to say hello. Pippa knew instinctively that this must mean he hadn’t had a good day at work. She glanced at the clock; he wasn’t due home for another hour yet. She placed the bowl down onto the side and made her way into the living room.
‘Hi honey, you’re home early?’ He was slumped on the sofa, already flicking through the channels. He didn’t answer. She
walked over to him and sat down next to him, placing a hand on his knee. He wasn’t a big man but, at the same time, he wasn’t slim. But that’s what Pippa had always loved about him, having a bit of meat to hold onto. Except that recently he had started to lose weight. Not enough to change his appearance massively, but enough to be noticeable. She knew he had been stressed at work lately because his whole attitude had started to be short and distance. And now it was clearly having an effect on his weight. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Fine,’ was his reply. He didn’t move to indicate he had felt her hand.
‘What’s happened?’ She tried not to take his bad mood personally, but she couldn’t help it. His sharpness stabbed at her emotions like a knife and she felt the tears prickle behind her eyes as frustration showed its face.
He exhaled impatiently and stood up. ‘Just a bad day.’
‘Well, talk to me. I’m your wife, that’s what I’m here for.’ Same argument, different day.
He turned to look at her in frustration, hands brushing through his short, cropped brown hair. ‘Why? You’re hardly going to be able to help me. I come home to chill out, not bring my work home and spend hours talking about it. See, this is what you don’t understand. You skip off every day to your silly little job baking cakes and talking to women when I’m at work slogging my guts out to bring home a decent wage. This house, the bills… those clothes you’re wearing. It’s all because of my job. My hard work. So when I’ve had a bad day, the least you can do is let me chill out and not annoy the hell out of me!’
‘Jason…’ she started to talk but the tears had now filled her eyes and she hiccupped as one rolled down her cheek.
He looked at her and for a fleeting moment she saw irritation in his expression, before he exhaled. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just been a really shitty day at the office and I’d rather not talk about it.’ He put his arm around her and hugged her close, stroking along her back as she snuggled into his chest. ‘Come on, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. You know I don’t mean all that.’
The First Time Mums' Club Page 2