‘You don’t need lipo, Poll, you are beautiful.’ Jessica smiled at her friend. She knew that, despite her bravado, Polly harboured insecurities about her appearance and her future.
‘Oh my God! Talking of beautiful…’ Polly slapped her forehead. ‘I nearly forgot! The most amazing piece of gossip. You know my cousin, Callum?’
‘Geologist, tall, bit superior, red hair?’ Jessica asked.
‘The very one. Well, he has just told the family that he is no longer going to be Callum and as of now is living as a girl called Collette! My aunt and uncle are under sedation. Can you believe it?’
‘No! I can’t!’ Jessica squealed.
‘Has he got boobies and things?’ Matthew was curious.
Polly shrugged. ‘Apparently!’
‘Good on him, that’s not easy,’ Jessica said. ‘It’s a very brave thing.’
‘It’s a very weird thing,’ Jake replied. ‘Urgh, makes my flesh creep!’
‘When did you become so enlightened, Jake?’ Matthew asked his clueless friend.
Jake flicked the Vs in response.
‘Anyway…’ Polly once again steered the conversation. ‘Going back to my weight, it’s easy for you to give advice, Jess. You have nothing but plain sailing ahead.’
‘What d’you mean? Why’s it easy for me?’
‘Well, you’ve already landed Mr Perfect – not perfect for me, but perfect for you,’ she clarified as she pointed her finger and narrowed her eyes at Matthew.
‘The feeling is entirely mutual!’ Matthew raised his glass at his wife’s best friend.
Polly continued. ‘You have the lovely house, the gooey marriage and in five years, apparently, there’ll be the pitter-patter of tiny trolls on your stairs…’
Jessica smiled. Polly was, unlike her, not fond of babies. Or, more specifically, not fond of the prospect of looking after them.
‘But some of us are still in the race, trying to make it to the finish line.’ Polly sighed and crunched on another cheese-laden cracker.
‘We’re not gooey. Are we?’ Jessica looked at their guests.
‘No, you’re just sickeningly happy. And seeing someone that happy with their lot in life can be seriously irritating!’ Polly delivered this with a straight face and was rewarded with a high five from Jake.
‘We really must do this again soon: please come over to our house, eat our food, drink our wine and insult us. How are you fixed for next week?’ Matthew shouted.
‘Don’t be grumpy.’ Polly wagged her finger at Matthew. ‘And don’t worry, you know we’ll be here again next week.’
‘Well thank goodness for that!’ Matthew gave a sarcastic clap.
Jessica stood and pointed towards the sitting room. ‘I think it’s charades time!’
The other three got up noisily from the table, wobbling as the effects of the booze travelled to their unsteady feet. They shoved the chairs under the messy table and elbowed each other out of the way: no one wanted the end seat on the sofa and the last one in was the first to start, that was the rule. Jessica laughed as her husband and friends fought for space, running into the sitting room and jumping onto the sofa, hugging cushions to their chests and squawking with laughter. They might be a gooey couple with a lovely grown-up house, but they still knew how to have fun.
4th February, 2013
They finally took down the bare tree today. It was long overdue. The sight of the spindly arms and dried needles was quite sad, the last thing we need to look at is more decay. My first Christmas in here was horrible. I felt like I was carrying a boulder in my stomach that grew heavier and heavier until I could barely move. I ached to be home – home, wherever that was. The thin strips of tinsel in the recreation room, the plastic baubles hung from light fittings and the paper plates of biscuits with fingerprints smudged into the melting chocolate had the opposite effect to what was intended. They just highlighted the fact that we were trapped; the forced cheeriness jarred with the depressing, clinical environment. Mostly I try and pretend I am somewhere else, anywhere, fooling myself into calmly passing another day. But with the Christmas decorations everywhere I found it harder to pretend. They reminded me of what I was missing. What I had lost.
Our first Christmas after Danny died was even worse. None of us wanted to celebrate, but no one had the confidence to say so. I guess we thought we might spoil it for everyone else. I was only ten, but I wanted the day to be over the moment I opened my eyes. My mum went through the motions, trying to smile. My nan cooked our lunch. My dad made a joke about overcooked sprouts and we all laughed awkwardly. We were still at that new stage of grief where laughter is immediately followed by all-consuming guilt. The food was like cardboard on my tongue. Our tree was sparsely decorated, as though someone had lost interest halfway through the job. Even the fairy lights flickered on and off, as though they couldn’t be bothered to make the effort either. We didn’t put the telly on and there was no music. If I had to give the day a colour, it would be grey. Everything was muted and sad and no one knew what to say. I was embarrassed in my own home, with my family.
Opening presents was excruciating. I was watched by three pairs of sunken eyes and everyone must have been thinking back to the previous year, wishing we’d all paid more attention, captured more detail, unaware it was to be his last.
I went upstairs after lunch and lay on my bed. I could hear my mum crying in her room. My dad stayed at the kitchen table and I imagined him trying to make small talk with my nan, bless him. I opened the little drawer in my bedside cabinet and I saw the 3-D bookmark Danny had given me the year before. It was a crappy present that I hadn’t really liked, but as I lifted it towards my face and tilted it back and forth to make the teddy bear smile and wave, I realised it was the last present he would ever buy me and how much I loved it. His hands had touched it and those hands were now cold. I placed it on my chest and sank down under the duvet. Closing my eyes, I decided to pretend that he was downstairs with Dad and Nan, doing his crappy magic tricks like he used to. I smiled, remembering the corner of the ace that used to poke out of his sleeve. He was really crap at magic.
Six
‘Jess? Jessica?’
She heard Matthew call out and the familiar clatter as he threw his keys into the bowl on the console table in the hallway and stamped the rain and dirt from his shoes.
‘Where are you, wife of mine?’ He was home early. It was only four o’clock. She hadn’t expected him until later. She pictured him performing his little rituals, placing his briefcase on the table in the empty kitchen, walking around as he loosened his tie. He was probably glad to be home if their conversation before lunch had been anything to go by. He had apparently been enduring a very dull day.
‘Hey, honey, I’m home!’ For this kitsch statement he employed his best Midwestern accent.
Jessica smiled from her hiding place and chose not to respond, not yet. She heard the faint sound of water running and the tell-tale flick as Matthew filled the kettle and flipped the switch before grabbing a mug, the clunk of it hitting the work surface reaching her ears upstairs. Jessica pictured him running his eye over the empty oven and pristine hob that had taken her a good hour to scrub. Matthew knew how much she hated cleaning, so he would be touched by the time she had taken over it.
Jessica had recently been preoccupied with drawing flowers, repeatedly trying to capture the delicate, almost transparent nature of the poppy and to perfect the shading of variegated ivy. She wanted to do the very best job she could for the publisher who had commissioned her, knowing this was how to get repeat work. Her obsession had been worth it; she had heard today that her work had been very well received. She’d done some work and cleaned the house, but she hadn’t planned anything for supper. She smiled to herself, imagining Matthew’s father’s reaction if he were to arrive home to find that dinner hadn’t even been thought about. Anthony Deane was used to walking into a kitchen where sauces simmered, cakes rose, freshly baked bread cooled and meat roasted, a
ll in preparation for the daily feast. Today of all days, this was the last thing on her mind. She was somewhat distracted.
Jessica heard the slam of the metal bin lid as Matthew lobbed a teabag into it and made his way along the hallway. She heard the sitting room door creak as he poked his head inside. ‘Jess? Je-ss?’ he shouted, louder this time.
‘Up here. I’m in the bathroom!’ Her voice echoed around the sparkling, white-tiled walls.
She heard the familiar groan of the bottom three Victorian stairs as he climbed towards her.
‘What are you doing?’ he enquired.
‘I’m in the loo!’ she called.
‘Well I know that.’ Matthew laughed. ‘That’s why I’m talking to you through the door. The question is, what are you doing in there?’ He tapped an irritating irregular rhythm on the frame.
‘What kind of question is that? What do you think I’m doing in here?’ She rolled her eyes.
‘You know what I mean – you’ve been a very long time.’
‘Well hey, Mr Lawyer, your interrogation skills need to be a little sharper and more specific. And what do you mean “a very long time”? How long am I allowed, exactly?’
‘Jessica, stop mucking about and please tell me why are you locked in the loo when any business you might need to conduct in the loo is usually taken care of after a few minutes and even then rarely with the door locked. And by my reckoning…’ Matthew pulled the sleeve on his shirt and glanced at his watch. ‘You have been in there for at least ten minutes.’
Jessica was silent. How to start? She wanted to be alone. She was nervous.
Matthew made a fist and used his knuckles to tap on the door.
‘You are banished,’ was her response. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘You can’t banish me! Not from the bathroom – it’s not your kingdom. You are not queen of the loo!’ he hollered from the landing.
‘I think you’ll find I am, actually,’ she replied casually as she rested her back against the side of the bath and read the instructions. ‘Go away and come back in four minutes!’
‘Four minutes? Jesus Christ,’ he muttered. She heard him cross the landing into their bedroom, where the television sprang to life with the sound of canned laughter and the bed springs squeaked under his weight.
Her fingers now shook as she fumbled with the foil wrapper and grimaced at the indignity of having to pee on a spatula. Jessica did her best to pee adequately, finding it harder to wee on demand than she had anticipated. She placed the test on the side of the sink and washed her hands, thoroughly, hardly daring to glance at the little stick and not wanting to jinx the result by looking too soon. She was flooded with excitement and nerves. This might just be the very moment that their lives changed forever.
The result appeared almost instantly. There was one dark blue line and a second that was slightly fainter. Clutching the little plastic wand to her chest, she closed her eyes as her stomach leapt with excitement. Oh my God! We did it! We actually did it! Oh my God!
Suddenly floored by uncertainty, Jessica retrieved the crumpled instructions from the bin, unable to believe the result. Had she got it wrong? Was this a positive reading? She needed to be certain. What did two blue lines mean? She squinted at the results paragraph and stared in the mirror, beaming at her reflection. ‘I’m going to be a mummy! Oh my God!’ she whispered, feeling a wonderful combination of happiness, pleasure and something else… She felt satisfied, content that she knew where her life was heading. Holding the test in her hand, she ran her index finger over the little window, a glimpse into her future. She couldn’t wait for it all to happen.
‘Okay, Jess.’ Matthew’s voice drew her; she had quite forgotten that he was waiting for her. ‘I’m going to give you two more minutes and then I’m going to kick the door in.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t think you know how to kick a door in, Matt.’
‘I do, actually. I might not have grown up on the mean streets of Romford like you, but I know a thing or two about forced entry.’ He sounded indignant, as though her comment was in some way a slight against his masculinity.
Jessica ran her palm over her still flat stomach and pictured the teeny tiny seed of a baby on the other side of her tum. ‘I shall always take care of you, baby. I love you already.’
‘I love you too, my mummy!’ The little voice was clear and golden. It rang out and made her heart sing. Jessica beamed.
‘Right, that’s it. I’m going to barge the door in now!’ Matthew shouted.
Jessica cracked open the door a fraction of an inch and put her face to the gap. Matthew was equally close on the other side; their noses practically touched.
‘Hi,’ she whispered.
‘Hey, Jess. How are you?’ Matthew enquired, softly.
‘I’m good.’
‘How was your day?’ he asked, raising the mug of tea in his hand and sipping at it.
‘Fine.’ She smiled.
‘Well I’m jolly glad to hear that. Are you coming out of there?’ he asked with his head tilted to one side.
She shook her head. ‘Not just yet.’
‘Right.’ He smiled. ‘In that case, can I ask why you are hiding in the bathroom? Have you got your hot Spanish lover in there? Did I come home early and catch you unawares; are you planning on sneaking him past me while I get changed out of my suit? Is that it?’
‘No.’ Jessica smiled. ‘Juan always leaves before three o’clock, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Very wise.’ Matthew nodded. ‘Can I come in?’
Again she shook her head.
‘Well, this is all very mysterious. Can you at least tell me what you are doing in there?’ he asked, calmly.
Jessica took a deep breath. ‘I’m doing an experiment.’
‘Oh right.’ Matthew pretended to be placated, folding one arm across his chest and drinking his tea, which had almost cooled to the right temperature. ‘What kind of experiment? Is this like the time you bought that science kit and we made a volcano in the sink?’
‘No, this is more like a “how do Matt and Jess cope when an unexpected meteor comes along and explodes the world as they know it” kind of thing.’
‘Okay, well that sounds a little more taxing and expensive. Have you broken something? Should I be worried?’
‘Depends,’ Jessica whispered again, feeling coy and unexpectedly tearful. She watched as Matthew leant in even closer.
‘Jess, can you please come out of the bloody bathroom!’ He raised his voice a fraction. The joke, whatever it was, was wearing a little thin.
‘I can’t. I’m shy.’ She nodded. This was close to the truth.
Matthew threw his head back and laughed loudly. ‘Oh, Jess, that’s priceless. Some of the things we do on a very regular basis are illegal in several countries and you won’t let me in because you are shy?’
‘This is different…’ She couldn’t explain why. Maybe, secretly, she had wanted the knowledge to be all hers, just for a short while. ‘I have been peeing on a stick,’ she said.
‘Why are you peeing on a stick? I don’t get it!’ He shook his head.
Jessica reached behind her, gathered the pregnancy test from the sink and poked the end of it through the gap in the door. She watched Matthew’s expression change as he instantly recognised the enormity of her experiment. He placed his mug of tea on the chest of drawers and grabbed at the plastic strip. He stared at the little window as Jessica finally crept from the bathroom and stood in front of him on the landing, holding her cardigan close around her body with one arm, and with her thumbnail firmly between her teeth.
Matthew looked from her to the pregnancy test and back again, staring into her eyes. ‘Is this two lines good or two lines bad?’ he asked.
She smiled at his Orwellian humour, even at this pivotal moment. ‘That depends…’ She bit her thumb, anxious; this was about five years ahead of schedule and not even close to what they had planned.
‘On what?’ he countered.<
br />
‘On whether you want to be a dad, Matthew.’
It was a loaded question. Was he ready for fatherhood? The top of Matthew’s nose creased as he responded. ‘I do, Jessica. I want to be a dad as long as you are the mum and I want to take care of you, for always. That’s always been the case, nothing’s changed.’
Her response was considered and slow. ‘Then it’s two lines good, Matt, because this means that I am having our baby.’
Her husband stepped forward and held her with a new tenderness in his touch. ‘My darling!’ She was already a precious thing, carrying their offspring, which he would protect and shield.
Jess felt as if she’d been elevated to a higher status. No longer was she simply sweet and slightly bonkers Jess who drank cocktails and danced in her pants – she was going to be a mother. A mother.
‘Oh, baby! This is wonderful! Wonderful!’ Matthew held her tight.
‘Are you sure? We were supposed to wait. It’s not what we planned,’ she prompted, biting her bottom lip, remembering their discussion and agreement that five years on would be a good time to start thinking about a family.
‘Nothing is ever, ever what we planned. I figured that out a while ago. With you, Jess, there is absolutely no point in having a plan. It’s best to just go with the flow.’
‘But we’re only twenty-three, how will we know what to do?’ She blinked away the tears that gathered.
‘Lots of people do it a lot younger and manage just fine.’
‘I guess…’
He placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face upwards until she had no choice but to meet his gaze. ‘You and I can do anything, anything as long as we are together. That’s what we’ve always said, isn’t it?’
Jessica nodded.
‘And this is one of those things. Together we will be the best bloody parents in the world! It’s going to be brilliant!’
She reached up and kissed her man.
‘Do you feel okay?’ he asked, holding her at arm’s length.
‘Yes, of course! Bit sick, but I think that’s normal. And I’ve got a funny taste in my mouth like I’m licking a copper coin! But I’m fine. I’m not ill, just pregnant. There is no way I am going to be one of those women who go all earth mother and start chanting and building a yurt in the back garden.’
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