As the evening wore on Rob told me a bit about his life and his family, he was thirty one, and had been in two serious relationships, neither of which had worked out, the last one ending some two years previously, he had a married sister with two children, and until recently had been living in a spacious flat in Ealing somewhere, but had to move out when he’d quit his overpaid job on the magazine as he could no longer afford it, and was looking for a place around here, a cheap place, at least until he’d started making some money as a freelance that is. In the meantime he was staying with the sister, but it wasn’t ideal as she only had a two bedroom flat and they were all getting on top of each other. It was on the tip of my tongue to say you can live with me, rent free and with all your meals and as much sex as you can handle thrown in, but with heroic willpower I resisted, more though because I thought he’d run a mile than because it was a completely insane thing to suggest.
I told him about my overzealous mum, and my over generous dad, who still thought of me as their not quite an adult child. I told him a bit about Fishers, trying to leave out the most boring bits, and I told him, well I mentioned, about Alec and me finishing a year or so ago, I thought I ought to as Rob had told me about his last girlfriend. And then we moved on to the kind of music we liked, and the films we’d seen, and realised we both had a passion for visiting seaside resorts in the winter when it was virtually tourist free and the weather was on the wild side.
The more we talked the more I thought he’s the one, I mean ‘the one’ the actual one for me. It was mad we’d only just met, it had been what? An hour, two at the most, but I was well and truly hooked. I’d stopped talking and was so deep in my reverie it was a minute before I realised that he’d stopped talking as well. We looked at each other and as if this was all part of a film script he leaned in and kissed me. I elevated to cloud thirty four at least, and almost lost consciousness.
Then Shelley and Nick came back from wherever they’d been hiding. Shelley looked quite shocked when she saw just how familiar Rob and I had got, and started talking about leaving. Nick looked so surprised that it was obvious she’d only just decided it was time to leave, and I said ‘but it’s still early, I don’t want to leave yet,’ and I looked longingly at Rob, who seemed to me to be looking just as longingly back.
‘Um aren’t you forgetting something?’ she said giving me the raised eyebrow intense stare that meant she was serious.
I looked back at her matching the raised eyebrow stakes that signified an unspoken ‘What?’
She didn’t reply just carried on staring wide eyed and even more intensely.
Then it hit me. For two hours, since I’d first set eyes on Rob, I’d forgotten I was pregnant. I couldn’t get serious with anyone, no matter what level cloud I was on, even if he could have been ‘the one’ he couldn’t because I was having a baby.
‘Yes we should be leaving.’ I said sullenly.
‘Are you sure?’ Rob said breaking my heart with his look of regret.
‘Fraid so.’ Shelley said matter of factly as she started hustling me toward the door on the other side of the club, pausing only to write her number on the back of an old parking ticket she managed to find in her bag, and pressing it in Nick’s hand.
‘But . . .’ Rob started to say
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘Well can I at least have your number?’ The desperation beginning to creep into Rob’s voice made me want to cry. ‘We could meet up, when you don’t have to rush off. I’ll phone you.’
‘No she doesn’t like giving out her number, do you Judy?’
‘No . . I don’t.’ I said, the word’s dragged out of my mouth against my will.
‘Well . . . I could give you mine then.’ He said.
Shelley looked impatient. I knew she was right, I did have to go, cut this short or even right off before it could even get started. But a bit of me was thinking it was too late, it had already started.
We were half way to the door when Rob caught us up and pushed his scribbled phone number into my hand. Shelley looked at Rob and then at me and then continued frog marching me towards the exit, leaving Rob looking bereft. I felt a bit bereft myself but there was nothing else I could do.
We got a taxi, incredibly one turned up within seconds of us leaving Zee Zee’s and that never happens except on occasions like this when you don’t want it too, and took us straight home. Shelley apologised for the entire journey, saying she’d had to do it, and it was for the best and better to end it now and before I got really hurt when he found out I was pregnant and promptly dumped me, didn’t I think? But I didn’t think, I couldn’t think. I’d been literally snatched from the gates of heaven without so much as a by your leave.
When we got to my place I told Shelley she didn’t have to come in with me, that I forgave her and that everything was alright and that I was alright, and she should go home and not worry about it. She asked if I was sure, and when I said yes I was absolutely certain, she said she’d phone me tomorrow, and she went.
And now it is tomorrow, and the wonderful dream of last night is just that, an impossible dream that’s never going to happen.
7
2nd August – Week 9 + 1 Day
I’d mooned about for three days thinking about Rob, sighing a lot and feeling like the heroine of a tragic love story, something along the lines of true love being thwarted at the outset. The lurid dreams I’d been having every night didn’t help either, where Rob would take me tenderly in his arms, totally disregarding my beach ball stomach and everyone else looking on disapprovingly, telling me he didn’t care about all that so long as we were together, and then . . . well you get the picture.
Eventually on day three I woke up to reality and made a concerted effort to relegate the whole sorry, wonderful, could have been, sad affair to my memory archive, and lock it away somewhere where I wouldn’t find it for a decade or two. It was sort of working but only if I tried really hard.
Yesterday we all got to see the drawing plans for the proposed reorganisation of the office. We weren’t meant to it was all supposed to be top secret, but as with most things in our office when one knew sooner or later we all knew. It had originally been e-mailed by Norman to Grahame as manager of the office, in the strictest confidence, but indiscretion is Grahame’s middle name and naturally he showed them to Martin and me. I soon got him to forward the e-mail to me so that I could have a proper look I’d said and on the understanding it was all highly confidential, and of course I straight away forwarded it on to Doreen, Vee, and Jack, who in turn forwarded it on to everyone else.
A certain something hitting the fan wasn’t even close to describing the mayhem that ensued. Work was entirely forgotten, another month end to get through or not, and nobody bothered even trying to pretend they were working or hadn’t seen the plans. Grahame was put out because this was exactly the situation he was supposed to be avoiding, and why the plans had been sent in confidence and only to him in the first place. In his usual inept style, at least where all things people related were concerned, he ineffectually tried to calm everyone down, but all that succeeded in doing was to make him the target of a barrage of complaints and reasons why this one couldn’t sit here, and that one couldn’t sit there, and where was the kitchen going to be.
He looked at me accusingly and said simply ‘Judy?’ to which I just shrugged my shoulders as if I had no idea what he was on about. I mean it didn’t have to be me that had let the cat out of the bag, it could easily have been Clare, Normans personal assistant come secretary, couldn’t it?
The seating plan war raged on all day, and everyone went home disgruntled. Then first thing this morning Norman called a meeting for everyone that was going to be affected, which basically meant all of us. We filed down to the boardroom, rarely seen by most of us, full of determined acrimony and bravado of how we weren’t going to be pushed around without some say so on the subject. I didn’t join in much, knowing it wasn’t really going to affect me given
my circumstances, but no-one seemed to notice that I was being unusually quiet.
Of course when Norman asked us all so congenially, if somewhat patronisingly, to please sit down and started to explain why he’d decided to re-jig the office, and how it desperately needed some sort of a face lift, and how he thought it would be nice for us to be able to work in a pleasanter environment, and of course with him being who he is, no-one said a word. Not one single word.
Doreen was brave enough to ask shyly about the kitchen arrangements, and we were told that a new refitted kitchen would be installed next to the new, still to be built sales office, and it would be big enough to fit two or three tables and some chairs in, so we would no longer have to sit at our desks for lunch.
We all filed out of the boardroom sheepishly, avoiding each other’s eyes. After so much talk of mutiny and defiance of any changes to be made, even if they were for our own benefit, and then no-one actually saying anything, everyone felt a bit like a deserter on D-day. The subject of office re-organisation never came up again all day, everyone stoically keeping their objections to themselves and biting the bullet of unavoidable inevitability.
When I got home I was so tired I fell asleep on the settee, barely managing to take my jacket and shoes off before flaking out, and I missed the witching hour of my evening sickness altogether, I just slept right through it. I was feeling tired all the time lately and could fall asleep anywhere and at any time. If I made a superhuman effort I managed to avoid falling asleep at work, and of course there were always distractions at work, but when I got home . . . well that was a different story.
At half nine I stirred sleepily and had a strange craving for a cup of tea. I dismissed it as weird, but annoyingly it wouldn’t go away, so in the end I gave in and made myself a cup. Bizarrely it tasted like divine nectar. My first craving, I self diagnosed, and it was for tea of all things. I’d spent twenty eight years of my life saying how gross tea was and now suddenly I loved it.
I decided to phone Shelley, for a chat primarily, but also to let her in on this new latest development. She was interested but something told me she wasn’t paying proper attention, notably because I had to repeat everything three times before getting any kind of response. Then she let slip the reason for her lack of concentration. Nick was there, at her place, on a Tuesday night. This was serious, you just didn’t see blokes on a Tuesday night unless it was getting serious. A Friday or Saturday was fine, even a Thursday was acceptable. But Tuesday . . . well that just didn’t happen. And it was way too soon for serious wasn’t it? I mean she’d only met the guy for the first time just over a week ago.
It turned out that this was not the first time Nick had been to her place, she hinted that he’d been there a couple of times already for coffee after they’d been out for a meal, and then another night to see a film, but this was the first time he’d been to hers with the intention of staying. Now whether that meant staying the night or just staying for longer than it takes to drink a cup of coffee she didn’t make clear, so chances were it was still undecided at this point, a see how it goes first time on their own all evening sort of date, that would resolve itself in due course as the evening progressed. I cut the conversation short as good manners dictated in a best friends got herself a boyfriend scenario, and she promised to phone me back tomorrow, hopefully with all the gory details.
So, I thought as I closed my mobile, Shelley’s been seeing Nick. And unbelievably for Shelley after several dates she still liked him, liked him enough to invite him round to hers on a Tuesday night, I couldn’t get over the whole Tuesday thing. I couldn’t see Rob again, but she could see his mate Nick. Life was so unfair.
At that moment I hated my body, I hated the baby that was controlling my body and making it do things I didn’t want it to, and even though I’d sworn off relationships long before there was a baby to hate I was green as grass envious of Shelley and her new bloke, so I hated her as well.
I knew the hating Shelley thing was only temporary, but as for how I felt about the baby and what was happening to my body . . . well that was of a more permanent nature.
8
14th August – week 11
This morning I was due for my duty visit from Mum. I’d spent most of yesterday cleaning and tidying in preparation for the monthly state visit, and was now sipping tea at my very small dining table, seated on the roomiest chair natch, and waiting with decidedly un-bated breath for the appointed hour.
She was right on time, and didn’t disappoint in the disapproval expectation department, as the first thing she said was wasn’t it about time I cleaned my windows, followed closely by what was that rubbish I was listening to on the radio. It was Heart FM for God’s sake, what was she tone deaf? I gritted my teeth and smiled, no easy feat, and let the all too familiar criticisms pass without comment.
I made tea for her and another cup for myself, I was really getting into this tea thing and couldn’t get enough of the stuff, and prepared myself for round two that was sure to follow.
‘So what have you been up to, still staying out till all hours on a Saturday night with those friends of yours I suppose . . .’
‘No Mum I haven’t I’ve . . .’
‘Don’t bother trying to tell me any different because it’s obvious you’ve been burning the candle at both ends, you look awful, those dark circles under your eyes are a dead giveaway and . . .’
‘Mum I haven’t been out on a Saturday for . . .’
‘I knew when you first started hanging round with those girls that you’d end up in trouble one day, and now look at you. It’ll start affecting your work you know all this partying and late nights, and then you’ll get the sack. Well don’t say I didn’t warn you, if you’d just try . . .’
I didn’t interrupt again, it was easier to just let her have her rant and get it out of the way, then we might be able to have five minutes at least of normal conversation before she went home again. I sipped my tea and tuned out for a while.
‘And why are you drinking tea? You hate tea. Judy are you listening to me? I said why are you drinking tea?’
‘Tea? oh yes tea.’ Damm and blast it I’d forgotten that I’m not supposed to like tea. ‘I don’t know I just fancied it, weird huh?’
‘Very, after all this time, and you just suddenly decided you like it now did you?’
‘Yes something like that.’ I said evasively, to which she pulled a querying look, but didn’t offer any more comments on the subject thank goodness.
‘Well I’ve had my stomach problem again, it’s my ulcer, you’ve no idea how it plays me up, and just when I thought I’d got it under control with that diet the doctor gave me, and I’ve been so careful, but now it’s . . .’
I tuned out again while I waited for the monthly countdown of ailments to run its course. There were a couple of new ones this visit, but a couple of the old favourites seemed to have been dropped so it all came out about even in the ‘you don’t know how I suffer’ stakes.
I got up to wash the cups up and as I stood at the sink, sideways on to Mum, she paused for a moment from her one woman diatribe to ask if I was putting on weight.
‘Um . . I don’t think so, am I?’
‘Well I’d say so yes. Whatever have you been eating?’
‘Nothing specially different from my normal.’
‘By normal I take it you mean microwave muck and chocolate?’
‘I don’t always eat microwave meals, I cook myself fresh vegetables sometimes, and I only have chocolate when I’m stressed out at work.’ I said with my fingers crossed behind my back where she couldn’t see them.
‘Well it doesn’t look like it. Maybe you need more exercise, why don’t you join a gym or something? I’m sure sitting in that office of yours all day can’t be good for you, you need to go jogging or playing tennis or something, and you can get some fresh air at the same time, you’re really looking decidedly peaky.’
Play tennis? Where did that come from, I’ve neve
r played tennis in my life and neither has she that I know of. ‘Mum I’m fine, stop fussing.’
‘I’m not fussing, you are looking very pale you know. . . Judy are you alright?’
I wasn’t alright, in fact I was feeling more light headed with every second passing that I carried on standing there, my knees started to buckle and I could feel myself on the verge of feinting.
Mum jumped up and helped me to the chair again, feeling my forehead as she sat me down. Then she opened the window as wide as it would go and made me put my head between my knees. After a minute or two I began to feel a bit better and sat up again.
‘So,’ she said in interrogation mode ‘would you like to tell me what’s going on, are you ill or just hung-over?’ Albeit concern over my welfare was her primary consideration, her question still came out as more of a command than a query.
‘I’m not ill or hung-over, I just haven’t been sleeping well lately that’s all.’
‘You know Judy, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were pregnant, you’re showing all the symptoms, pale and washed out, dark circles under your eyes, putting on weight, fainting and suddenly having a liking for tea. You’re not are you?’ She said half laughing.
‘Mum I . . .’
‘Oh my God you are aren’t you, you’re pregnant.’
‘It’s . . I . . well a little bit I am, yes.’
‘You’re pregnant?’ She said shocked, even though she was the one who’d thought of it and said it first. ‘And what do you mean a little bit, how can you be a little bit pregnant? Either you are or you aren’t.’
‘I’m sorry Mum.’ I mean what else could I say, I was sorry I was pregnant that much was true, but I wasn’t quite sure why I was apologising to my mother about it. But like I said what else could I say.
‘Who’s the father?’ She said stone faced.
This was the difficult bit I was dreading. When the truth finally came out as I knew it would have to sooner or later, and as if having to tell Mum I was pregnant wasn’t bad enough, now I had to try and explain that what’s-his-name was the father and that it was a mistake, a one night stand that should never have happened and wouldn’t have if I’d been sober. Ever since I was old enough to go out clubbing on a Saturday night Mum had been giving me lectures about not staying out too late and not drinking too much, and how it was all going to end badly if I wasn’t careful, and now . . . now I’d given her the ‘I told you so’ ammunition and I’d never hear the end of it, not ever.
39 Weeks Page 5