“Hi, everyone.” Tom shoots a cursory glower round the room.
“You know Suze, Becky’s friend, don’t you?” twitters Janice. “And have you ever met Becky’s sister, Jess?”
“Hi, Tom!” says Suze cheerfully.
“Hi,” says Jess.
I glance nervously over at her, all ready for some lecture about how spending a thousand pounds on a crib is a mark of the evil, decadent times we live in. But to my surprise she’s not even looking at the catalog. She’s let it drop onto her lap and is gazing at Tom, transfixed.
And Tom is staring back at her.
Her eyes drop to the book he’s holding. “Is that The Consumer Society: Myths and Structures ?”
“Yeah. Have you read it?”
“No, but I’ve read some of Baudrillard’s other work. The System of Objects.”
“I have it!” Tom takes a step toward her. “What did you think?”
Hang on a minute.
“His concept of simulacra and simulation is pretty interesting, I thought.”
Jess fiddles with the Tiffany bean I gave her. She never fiddles with that Tiffany bean. Oh my God. She fancies him!
“I’m trying to apply the collapsing of hyperrealities to my thesis of postmodern capitalistic entropy.” Tom nods intently.
This is fantastic! They’re good-looking and there’s chemistry and they’re talking English, only with weird in-words that no one else understands. It’s like an episode of The OC, right here in Mum’s living room!
I shoot a glance at Luke, who raises his eyebrows. Mum nudges Suze, who grins back. We’re all totally agog. As for Janice, she looks beside herself.
“Anyway.” Tom shrugs. “I should go….”
Like a whirlwind, Janice springs into action.
“Jess! Dear!” she exclaims, leaping up from the sofa. “We’ve never really got to know each other, have we? Why don’t you come back for tea, and you and Tom can carry on with your little talk?”
“Oh.” Jess looks taken aback. “Well…I’ve come to see everyone here….”
“You can see them later at the party!” Janice takes a firm grip on Jess’s tanned arm and starts chivvying her toward the door. “Jane, Graham, you don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all,” says Dad easily.
“Well, OK.” Jess glances at Tom and a faint rosy color appears on her cheeks. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye!” we all chorus.
The door closes behind them and we all look at each other in suppressed glee.
“Well!” says Mum, picking up the teapot. “Now, wouldn’t that be nice! We could take down the fence and have a marquee across both lawns!”
“Mum! Honestly!” I roll my eyes. That is just like her, getting ahead of herself and imagining all sorts of ridiculous—
Ooh. The baby could be the ring bearer!
While Jess is next door, Luke is reading the paper, and Tarquin is bathing the children, Suze and I take over my old bedroom. We turn on the radio loudly and run deep, sudsy baths, and take turns perching on the edge of the tub to chat, just like in the old days in Fulham. Then Suze sits on the bed, feeding the babies in turn while I paint my toenails.
“You won’t be able to do that for much longer,” says Suze, watching me.
“Why?” I look up in alarm. “Is it bad for the baby?”
“No, you dope!” She laughs. “You won’t be able to reach!”
That’s a weird thought. I can’t even imagine being that big. I run a hand over my tummy and the baby bounces back at me.
“Ooh!” I say. “It kicked really hard!”
“You wait till it starts poking knees out and stuff,” says Suze. “It’s so freaky, like having an alien inside you.”
You see, this is why you need a best friend when you’re pregnant. Not a single one of my baby books has said “It’s so freaky, like having an alien inside you.”
“Hi, darling.” Tarquin is at the door again. “Shall I put Wilfie down?”
“Yes, he’s finished.” Suze hands over the sleepy baby, who nestles into Tarquin’s shoulder as if he knows he belongs there.
“Do you like my nails, Tarkie?” I say, wriggling my toes at him. Tarquin is so sweet. When I first knew him he was totally weird and geeky and I couldn’t even hold a conversation with him—but somehow he’s got more and more normal as the years have gone by.
He looks blankly at my nails. “Marvelous. Come on, old chap.” He pats Wilfie gently on the back. “Up to Bedfordshire.”
“Tarkie’s such a good dad,” I say in admiration as he disappears out of the room.
“Oh, he’s great,” says Suze fondly as she starts feeding Clementine. “Except he keeps playing Wagner at them all the time. Ernie can sing Brunnehilde’s aria from start to finish in German, but he can’t speak much English.” Her brow crumples. “I’m getting a bit worried, actually.”
I take it back. Tarquin is still weird.
I get out my new mascara and start applying it to my lashes, watching Suze make funny faces at Clementine and kissing her fat little cheeks. She’s so lovely with her children.
“D’you think I’ll be a good mother, Suze?” The words pop out of my mouth before I even realize I’m thinking them.
“Of course!” Suze stares at me in the mirror. “You’ll be a brilliant mother! You’ll be kind, and you’ll be funny, and you’ll be the best-dressed one in the playground….”
“But I don’t know anything about babies. I mean, honestly, nothing.”
“Nor did I, remember.” Suze shrugs. “You’ll soon pick it up!”
Everyone keeps saying I’ll pick it up. But what if I don’t? I did algebra for three years, and I never picked that up.
“Can’t you give me some parenting tips?” I put away my mascara wand. “Like…things I should know.”
Suze wrinkles her brow in thought. “The only tips I can think of are the real basics,” she says at last. “You know, the ones that go without saying.”
I feel a twinge of alarm.
“Like what, exactly?” I try to sound casual. “I mean, I probably know about them already….”
“Well, you know.” She counts off on her fingers. “Things like having a bit of first aid knowledge…making sure you’ve got all your equipment…You might want to book a baby massage class….” She hoists Clementine onto her shoulder. “Are you doing Baby Einstein?”
OK, now I’m freaked out. I’ve never heard of Baby Einstein.
“Don’t worry, Bex!” says Suze hastily, seeing my face. “None of that really matters. As long as you can change a nappy and sing a nursery rhyme, you’ll be fine!”
I can’t change a nappy. And I don’t know any nursery rhymes.
God, I’m in trouble.
It’s another twenty minutes before Suze finishes feeding Clementine and hands her over to Tarquin.
“Right!” She closes the door behind him and turns with sparkling eyes. “No one’s about. Give me your wedding ring. I just need some string or something….”
“Here.” I rummage in my dressing table for an old Christian Dior gift-wrap ribbon. “Will this do?”
“Should do.” Suze is stringing the ribbon through the ring. “Now, Becky. Are you sure you want to know?”
I feel a flicker of doubt. Maybe Luke’s right. Maybe we should wait for the magical surprise. But then—how will I know what color pram to get?
“I want to know,” I say with resolution. “Let’s do it.”
“Sit back, then.” Suze knots the ribbon, meets my eye, and grins. “This is exciting!”
Suze is the best. I knew she’d have some way to find out. She dangles the ring above my stomach and we both stare at it, transfixed.
“It’s not moving,” I say in a whisper.
“It will in a minute,” Suze murmurs back.
This is so spooky. I feel like we’re at a séance and all of a sudden the ring will spell out the name of a dead person while a window bangs shut and a va
se crashes to the floor.
“It’s going!” hisses Suze as the ring begins to sway on its ribbon. “Look!”
“Oh my God!” My voice is a muffled squeak. “What does it say?”
“It’s going round in circles! It’s a girl!”
I gasp. “Are you sure?”
“Yes! You’re having a daughter! Congratulations!” Suze flings her arms round me.
It’s a girl. I feel quite shaky. I’m having a daughter! I knew it. I’ve been having girl vibes all along.
“Becky?” The door opens and Mum is standing there, resplendent in purple sequins and matching lurid lipstick. “People will be here soon.” Her eyes shoot from Suze to me. “Is everything all right, love?”
“Mum, I’m having a girl!” I blurt it out before I can stop myself. “Suze did the ring test! It went in a circle!”
“A girl!” Mum’s whole face lights up. “I thought it looked like a girl! Oh, Becky, love!”
“Isn’t it great?” says Suze. “You’re going to have a granddaughter!”
“I can get out your old doll’s house, Becky!” Mum is suffused with delight. “And I’ll have the spare room painted pink….” She comes close and examines my bump. “Yes, look at the way you’re carrying it, love. It’s definitely a girl.”
“And watch the ring!” says Suze. She lifts the ribbon above my stomach again and steadies it. There’s utter stillness—then the ring starts moving back and forth. For a moment no one speaks.
“I thought you said a circle,” says Mum at last, puzzled.
“I did! Suze, what’s happening? Why’s it going back and forth?”
“I dunno!” She peers at the ring, her brow wrinkled. “Maybe it’s a boy after all.”
We’re all staring at my stomach as though we’re expecting it to start talking to us.
“You are carrying high,” says Mum eventually. “It could be a boy.”
A minute ago she said it looked like a girl. Oh, for God’s sake. The thing about old wives’ tales is, they’re actually total crap.
“Let’s go down anyway, loves,” Mum says, as music suddenly blasts from downstairs. “Keith from the Fox and Grapes has arrived. He’s making all sorts of fancy cocktails.”
“Excellent!” says Suze, reaching for her sponge bag. “We’ll be down in a sec.”
Mum leaves the room, and Suze starts applying makeup at speed while I watch in astonishment.
“Bloody hell, Suze! Are you training for the makeup Olympics?”
“You wait,” says Suze, brushing sparkly shadow onto her eyelids. “You’ll be able to do your makeup in three seconds flat too.” She unscrews her lipstick and slashes it on. “Done!” She grabs her elegant green satin dress and steps into it, then takes a jeweled hair clasp from her bag and twists her blond hair into a knot.
“That’s nice!” I say, admiring the clasp.
“Thanks.” She hesitates. “Lulu gave it to me.”
“Oh, right.” Now that I look at it again, it isn’t that nice. “So…how is Lulu?” I force myself to say politely.
“She’s fine!” Suze’s face is lowered as she wrenches her hair into place. “She’s written a book, actually.”
“A book ?” Lulu never struck me as the book type.
“On cooking for your children.”
“Really?” I say in surprise. “Well, maybe I should read that. Is it good?”
“I haven’t read it yet,” says Suze after a pause. “But obviously she’s the expert, with four of them….”
There’s a kind of tension in her voice that I can’t place. But then Suze looks up—and her hair is such a terrible mess, we both burst out laughing.
“Let me do it.” I grab the clasp, take it out of the knotted hair, brush it all out, and twist it up again, pulling little tendrils out at the front.
“Fab.” Suze gives me a hug. “Thanks, Bex. And now I’m dying for a cosmo. Come on!”
She practically gallops out of the room, and I follow her down the stairs with slightly less enthusiasm. I guess mine will be a Virgin Fruity Bland Something.
I mean, obviously I don’t mind. I’m creating a beautiful new human being and all that. But still. If I were God, I’d make it OK for pregnant women to have cocktails. In fact, I’d make it healthy to have cocktails. And your arms wouldn’t swell up. And there wouldn’t be any morning sickness. And labor wouldn’t exist….
Thinking about it, I’d pretty much have a whole different system altogether.
Even on virgin cocktails, it’s a fabulous party. By midnight the marquee is full, and we’ve all had a delicious dinner. Dad has made a speech about how wonderful Mum is, as a wife and as a mother and now as a prospective grandmother. And Martin, our next-door neighbor, has performed his magic show, which was really excellent! Apart from the bit when he tried to cut Janice in half and she freaked out when he turned on the chain saw and started crying “Don’t kill me, Martin!” while he kept revving it up like some horror film maniac.
It was all right in the end. Martin took off his mask and Janice was fine after she had some brandy.
And now the band is playing and we’re all on the dance floor. Mum and Dad are grooving away, all rosy-cheeked and beaming at each other, the lights sparkling on Mum’s sequins. Suze is dancing with one arm round Tarquin’s neck and the other round Clementine, who woke up and wouldn’t go back to sleep. Tom and Jess are standing at the edge of the dance floor, talking and occasionally doing a kind of awkward shuffle together. Tom looks pretty good in black tie, I noticed—and Jess’s black embroidered skirt is fantastic! (I was totally sure it was Dries van Noten. But apparently it was made by a women’s collective in Guatemala and cost about 30p. Typical.)
And I’m wearing my new pink dress with the handkerchief hem, and dancing (as best I can, given the bump) with Luke. Mum and Dad dance by and wave at us, and I smile back, trying not to cringe in horror. I know this is their party and everything. But my parents really don’t know how to dance. Mum’s wiggling her hips, completely out of time, and Dad’s kind of punching the air like he’s fighting three invisible men at once.
Why can’t parents dance? Is it some universal law of physics or something?
Suddenly a terrifying thought hits me. We’re going to be parents! In twenty years’ time, our child will be cringing at us.
No. I can’t let it happen.
“Luke!” I say urgently over the music. “We have to be able to do cool dancing so we don’t embarrass our child!”
“I’m a very cool dancer,” replies Luke. “Very cool indeed.”
“No, you’re not!”
“I had dance lessons in my teens, you know,” he retorts. “I can waltz like Fred Astaire.”
“Waltz?” I echo derisively. “That’s not cool! We need to know all the street moves. Watch me.”
I do a couple of funky head-wriggle body-pop maneuvers, like they do on rap videos. When I look up, Luke is gaping at me.
“Sweetheart,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“It’s hip-hop!” I say. “It’s street!”
“Becky! Love!” Mum has pushed her way through her dancing guests to reach me. “What’s wrong? Has labor started?”
Honestly. My family has no idea about contemporary urban street dance trends.
“I’m fine!” I say. “Just dancing.”
Ow. Actually, I may have pulled a muscle or three.
“Come here, J-Lo.” Luke puts his arms round me. Mum dances off to talk to Janice and I look up at Luke’s glowing face. He’s been in a good mood ever since that business call he took during coffee.
“What was your call about?” I ask. “Good news?”
“We’ve just had the go-ahead in Barcelona.” His nose twitches, like it always does when he’s delighted with life but wants to look deadpan. “That takes us up to eight offices, Europe-wide. All down to the Arcodas contract.”
He never told me Barcelona was on the cards! That’s so Luke, keeping it quiet until the
deal’s done. If it hadn’t come off, he probably never would have said a word about it.
Eight offices. And London and New York. That’s pretty stupendous.
The music changes to a slow track and Luke pulls me closer. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Jess and Tom have sidled farther onto the dance floor together. Go on, I will Tom silently. Kiss her.
“So, things are going pretty well?” I say.
“Things, my darling, could not be going more fantastically.” Luke meets my eyes, the teasing gone. “Seriously. We’re going to treble our size.”
“Wow.” I digest this for a few moments. “Are we going to be squillionaires?
“Could be.” He nods.
This is so cool. I have always wanted to be a squillionaire. We can have a building called Brandon Tower! And Luke can have his own Apprentice-type reality show!
“Can we buy an island?” Suze has got her own Scottish island and I’ve always felt a bit left out.
“Maybe.” Luke laughs.
I’m about to say we need a private jet too, when the baby starts squirming around inside me. I take hold of Luke’s hands and put them on my abdomen.
“It’s saying hello.”
“Hello, baby,” he murmurs back in his deep voice. He pulls me even tighter and I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of his aftershave, feeling the music thud through me like a heartbeat.
I can’t remember ever being so happy. We’re dancing cheek-to-cheek, our baby is kicking between us, we’ve got a fabulous new house, and we’re going to be squillionaires! Everything’s just perfect.
BECKY BRANDON
NURSERY RHYMES SELF-TEST
MARY, MARY QUITE CONTRARY…
Had a little lamb.
And
TOM, TOM, THE PIPER’S SON…
Went to London to look at the
Fell off the wall.
And he called for his pipe.
And all the king’s horses and his fiddlers three.
Couldn’t put
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
LITTLE JACK HORNER…
He had ten thousand men
Met a pieman
LITTLE BOY BLUE…
Lost his sheep
Oh, fuck knows.
Shopaholic & Baby Page 6