by Anna Bell
‘La Flambé.’
There’s a collective gasp from the table and Anneka looks like she’s breaking out in a cold sweat.
‘Why would you have ever gone there?’ she says, wrinkling her nose up.
‘We went a few years ago and it was good, and Max’s dad was very insistent.’
‘Max’s dad who lives in Portugal?’
‘Yes, I see the error of our ways.’
‘It changed hands last year and it’s gone massively downhill,’ she says, shaking her head as if it should have been obvious. ‘You should have asked us. We would have suggested The Exchequer or Mamma Mia in Hartley Witney.’
‘That’s where we went on Valentine’s Day and how we ended up in this position,’ says Helen, pointing to her bump.
‘Have they still got that waitress at the Flambé who pretends to be French?’ asks Polly with a laugh.
‘Is she not French?’ says Helen.
‘No, she’s born and bred in Fleet. Apparently, she does it to get better tips,’ says Polly.
‘I guess she’d need to do whatever she could to get tips there,’ I say.
‘But you said it was good for you and Max?’ says Helen.
‘Yes, unlike the beer pong debacle, we made a joke about how awful it was and I guess it was the first time he started to relax. We talked the whole time and it stopped feeling like an interrogation, which is what it’s felt like since the incident.
‘He even told me things that were really sweet, things from when we were teenagers that he’d never told me before.’
‘That sounds like progress.’
‘Yeah, it was. He’s almost let his guard down in a way that he hasn’t before. He thinks I know everything so he isn’t holding back like he normally does.’
‘Interesting,’ says Polly. ‘So why aren’t you happier about it?’
‘Because she didn’t have sex,’ says Helen, biting the head off a gingerbread man.
‘How do you know?’ says Polly.
‘I can tell these things,’ says Helen.
‘Still watching Magic Mike?’ I say to her.
‘No, now I’m onto watching Warrior with Tom Hardy. He’s shirtless a lot in that movie,’ she says, practically drooling. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with Toby. Aren’t men always moaning that their wives don’t want sex and I’m offering it to him on a platter and he keeps turning me down and muttering about Sigourney Weaver and things poking out of my stomach.’
Anneka cringes and Polly giggles.
‘That’s not the reason I’m not happy, though,’ I say. ‘It’s just that the whole thing was nice.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ asks Anneka, stirring her tea before chinking her spoon loudly on her cup.
‘No,’ say Polly and Helen simultaneously.
‘You don’t want a date to be nice,’ says Polly.
‘He told me I looked nice and it was lovely chatting. But there was something missing. I guess it was the flirtation. I mean, I don’t know if he even fancies me any more.’
‘What?’ says Helen. ‘He’d be nuts not to.’
‘But that’s the thing, isn’t it? When we met I was all athletic-looking with glossy hair that was all short and sleek and now it’s all long and a bit frizzy at the ends and it’s more mousy than glossy. I never seem to find the time to go to the hairdresser’s like I did pre-Sasha,’ I say, examining the split ends with my fingers.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Helen. ‘We’re probably all a little guilty of not being the same women we were when we first met our significant other. Just like they’re probably not the same men they were when we met them. I know Toby’s not; he’s lost most of the hair on that massive head of his and he’s carrying a few kilos that he wasn’t before. But I don’t fancy him any less. I wish that was the bloody case as it would make the sex starvation easier to bear.’
Polly hands Helen her gingerbread man, recognising that she’s in need.
‘But that’s the point though, isn’t it? We grow with our partners, don’t we? And it doesn’t matter if you let yourself go a little when you’re with them because by that point they should love you regardless. But with his memory loss Max only knows either seventeen-year-old me, which was pretty horrific, or me now, with my ginormous stomach, my cankles and my knickers that are so big that I’m worried they could eclipse the moon. And as much as I love the bump, I can’t imagine that he’s standing there thinking, Cor, I’d love a bit of that woman who’s waddling like a whale.’
‘You’re hardly big, and it’s his baby,’ says Polly.
‘Yes, but although I’ve told him that I don’t think he really gets it. I mean it’s an odd concept to get your head around when you don’t remember having had sex with someone.’
‘All roads lead to you two getting it on,’ says Helen. ‘Seems like it’s the answer to everything.’
I half smile at her.
‘Perhaps you need to nudge some intimacy along. Where are you going on your babymoon?’ asks Anneka.
‘You don’t have a babymoon when you’ve already got another child at home.’
‘Why not?’ asks Helen.
‘They’re like an essential part of the pregnancy, just like your folic acid,’ says Anneka.
I’m not going to point out how wrong that sentence was.
‘George and I are off to Stratford-upon-Avon next week for ours,’ she continues.
‘Nice,’ says Helen. ‘Toby and I are going to London for the night to a spa. We’d originally booked it as a dirty weekend, but I think I’ve got no chance of that, so I booked prenatal spa appointments instead. If we can’t get dirty, we might as well get clean. How about you, Polly?’
‘We’re going to Bristol for a friend’s wedding in a few weeks so we’re making a weekend of it.’
‘See,’ says Anneka. ‘You’ve got to do one, Ellie.’
‘What about Sasha?’ I ask.
‘I’m sure your mother-in-law would have Sasha,’ says Helen, waving her hand to dismiss the problem.
‘Is there anywhere that you could go that would bring back romantic memories for you?’ asks Polly.
‘Our best mini-break was when we went to Paris,’ I say, my cheeks flushing at the memory. ‘I know it’s a big fat cliché but Max had gone for a conference and I’d flown over for the weekend last minute and it was so romantic.’
‘I love Paris,’ says Anneka. ‘I’ve got many a happy memory there.’
‘With George?’
‘No,’ she says, a twinkle in her eye. ‘George doesn’t really do short haul. He says it’s a waste of effort to get to the airport only to arrive an hour or two later.’
I’m desperate to meet George. I’m building up the craziest impression of him from Anneka.
‘You should definitely go to Paris,’ says Helen. ‘Everyone has sexy time in Paris. You can catch the Eurostar,’ she says, ‘avoid the whole doctor’s-note-flying thing.’
‘Much better for the environment anyway,’ says Polly.
‘But I don’t know if it’s a good idea going abroad so late in my pregnancy.’
‘Why not?’ says Anneka.
‘What if I go into labour? Second ones aren’t usually late.’
‘They have hospitals there too. Just take your notes with you.’
‘I couldn’t give birth in a French hospital. All I can ask for in French is directions to the discotheque.’
‘You’re going to Paris, not deepest, darkest Peru. I’m sure you’d be able to find a doctor that would speak a little English and if not there’s always Google Translate. Plus, you’d have a great birth story, wouldn’t you?’ says Anneka. ‘Ooh and you could call them something really cute and French like Margot or Hugo.’
‘You know – before we even get ahead of ourselves – the chances of you going into labour in the next couple of weeks are pretty slim,’ says Helen. ‘Just make sure you stay somewhere central so that you don’t have to walk around too far.’
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sp; ‘Paris,’ I say, thinking of the lazy afternoon Max and I spent sitting in the gardens of the Palace of Versailles in the spring. I’ve never been anywhere quite so beautiful or romantic. We were both lying down on the ground, me with my head propped against his chest, when he suddenly blurted out that he loved me for the first time. ‘What if it ruins the memories we have of the city?’
‘What if it doesn’t?’ says Polly. ‘Think positive, remember?’
‘Positive, right.’
‘And, plus, before you go, I’ll book you in with my hairdresser. She’ll sort you out,’ says Anneka. ‘I’ll text her now and see when we can arrange it. Are you free all week?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Perfect, leave it with me,’ says Anneka.
‘OK, thanks,’ I say, not thinking I have much of a choice.
‘I’ll also send you a link to a very good lingerie company that specialises in maternity wear. I’ll send it to you too, Helen,’ she says, tapping away at her phone. ‘You never know, it might just be the ticket for Toby.’
Helen picks her phone up straight away when it beeps.
‘When’s your next date?’ asks Polly.
‘We’re going to a music festival.’
‘A festival. What like one with camping?’ says Anneka, wrinkling her nose.
‘Yep. It’s a family-friendly one, so we’re taking Sasha and going with Max’s sister Rach and his best friend Owen plus their respective girlfriends. Sasha’s going to be so excited – Mr Tumble’s going to be there.’
‘Mr Who?’ says Anneka.
‘A man you are going to be well acquainted with by the end of next year.’
‘Who’s headlining for the grown-ups?’ asks Helen.
‘Pilot Dawn.’
‘I’m so jealous,’ says Helen. ‘Do you think their lead singer, what’s his name – Miles – is still hot?’
‘He must be really old now,’ says Polly. ‘Surely he’s in his fifties?’
‘That’s not that old,’ Anneka snaps.
‘No, not at all,’ I say, remembering that Anneka mentioned that George was in his sixties.
Helen does a quick google and nods her head in approval of his picture. ‘Still would.’
‘You should come!’
‘Ha, in a tent, with this bump, are you kidding?’
‘Not to mention the toilets,’ Anneka grimaces.
‘But I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.’ Polly is all upbeat. ‘And we look forward to the report about you and Max.’
‘And how fuckable Miles is,’ says Helen.
‘Will do,’ I say, draining my drink.
‘Oh, I’ve got to run, ladies,’ says Polly. ‘This was lovely. We’ll have to do it again, yeah?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say.
She gives us each a hug and then hurries out the door.
My phone beeps and I look down – Anneka has sent me another link.
‘It’s to a boutique hotel I went to once in Paris,’ she says wistfully. ‘It’s dead central and absolutely stunning.’
‘I’m not sure we’ll have the budget for anything too pricey; buying our house wiped out nearly all of our savings.’
‘Oh no, this was pre-George. It’s a bit shabby chic but I think it’ll suit you down to the ground.’
There’s a noise from the library as the doors fling open and a stream of women file out, all carrying babies. I spot Max in the crowd easily – as the only man – and I give him a wave.
‘Ah, hi, um,’ he says, walking over to us and suddenly going a little pink in the cheeks like he’s embarrassed that he doesn’t know them. ‘Hi, ladies.’
‘Hello,’ they chant, smiling up at him.
A couple of women walk out of the library and past him. ‘Bye Max, see you next week,’ they say, waving.
‘Oh, I see you’re making friends,’ I say.
Anneka has a very smug look on her face.
‘I actually went to school with them, they were in my year. I couldn’t tell you their names, but they remembered me.’
‘Everyone remembered you,’ I say.
‘Oh, you were that boy in school, were you?’ says Helen.
‘Yep, that was Max.’
‘You’re making me blush,’ he says. He lets Sasha down as she’s been wriggling in his arms.
‘And this is Sasha, is it?’ says Helen, smiling warmly.
Sasha gives her a smile before she comes to me. I give her a cuddle but it’s the crumbs on my plate that she really wants, as well as my spoon, which she starts banging against the china cup. Suddenly my relaxing cuppa with the girls has become anything but.
‘Did you want to head home?’ I ask Max.
‘Yeah, or if you wanted to stay, I could take Sasha to the park. There’s one behind here still, isn’t there?’
‘Yeah,’ I stutter, ‘there is.’
‘Great, well, why I don’t take her and then you come join me when you’re ready to come home.’
‘OK,’ I say, trying to pretend this is totally normal behaviour.
‘Nice to see you, ladies,’ he says before he bends down to Sasha. ‘Do you wanna come to the park?’
She starts babbling about the park and takes his outstretched hand and off they go.
I watch them go around the revolving door, still in shock.
‘You’ve got him well trained,’ says Helen.
‘Hmm,’ I say, widening my eyes. ‘He’s morphed into Super Dad.’
‘That’s not a bad thing, is it?’ asks Anneka.
‘Surely that’s the dream,’ says Helen.
‘Don’t get me wrong it is. It’s just – did you see how they were holding hands and talking to each other?’
‘Um, yeah,’ says Helen.
‘Well, that’s it. They’ve managed to get their relationship back on track so quickly, if not better now that they’re spending more time together.’ I sigh. ‘I’m jealous of it, how awful is that? I feel so guilty.’
‘Ellie, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re dealing with something huge. No one is going to judge your feelings at the moment.’
‘But,’ says Anneka, and Helen gives her a warning scowl, ‘this is just another reason why you need to go to Paris, and to do your dates, because once you rebuild your relationship with him, all those insecurities will disappear.’
‘Paris,’ I say again.
‘All roads lead to Paris,’ says Helen. ‘And sex.’
I nod my head slowly. I need to move things along; let’s hope it’s that simple.
Chapter 15
I glance at myself in our hallway mirror as I pass. I’m not sure pregnant rock chick is a fashion trend that’ll catch on. I’m wearing my elasticated denim shorts, a floaty white top, a baggy loose-knit wool cardigan. Along with the Hunter wellies that Anneka’s lent me. I don’t think I’d fit in at Coachella, but I might just be passable at a family-friendly festival in Dorset. I’ve also packed a pair of jeans and a fleece that are perhaps less rock ’n’ roll but maybe a better reflection of the British weather in mid-September.
I walk into the kitchen, tugging at my shorts, which didn’t seem quite so short on the very few occasions I braved them in the summer. Max has his head in the fridge and is pulling a couple of cans of Coke out when he catches sight of me.
‘Whoa,’ he says, almost dropping the cans as he puts them into the icebox. He tilts his head to the side and blatantly stares.
‘You’ve got legs,’ he says, before he shakes his head.
‘I know, it’s incredible. I’ve heard that you have them too.’
‘I just mean, that it’s the first time I’ve seen you without leggings or a long dress on.’
It reminds me of the night we got together in Clapham, when he couldn’t keep his eyes off my boobs in the Wonder Woman costume.
‘Those shorts are cute; you should wear them more often,’ he says, unable to look away.
‘I hardly think they’re that practical, coming into autumn.’
>
‘I don’t know, maybe turn the heating up and wear them around the house,’ he says with a shrug.
I see a flicker of a look pass over his face. I know exactly what that look means and what it usually leads to. It might have only been on his face for a split second, but it was there and that has to be a good sign.
‘I’ll, um, just pop this in the car,’ he says, lifting the cool box and heading out.
I finish packing up the bits in the kitchen and, hearing voices outside, I pick up Sasha to investigate and find Judy talking to Max.
‘Ah, I’m so glad I hadn’t missed you, Ellie. I’ve dropped off some bits for you.’
She points to a pile on the ground near our boot.
‘What’s all this? We’re back on Sunday.’
It seems like an excessive amount of stuff to take for two nights away.
‘All essentials,’ she says. ‘I’ve found you a camping chair.’
‘A camping chair?’
‘Oh yes, love, you can’t be sitting on the ground at your stage.’
I look at the chair in a bright-green casing, not very rock ’n’ roll but I hadn’t really thought about sitting down; perhaps it’ll come in handy.
‘Are you going to be warm enough in those? What about mosquitos?’ she says, pointing at my bare legs.
‘She’ll be fine,’ says Max, slotting the bits into the boot.
‘I hardly think there are going to be any but I’ve packed some natural spray just in case,’ I say. ‘And I’ve got trousers to cover up for the evening if I need them. What’s in the box?’
‘That’s the stove, saucepan, kettle, first aid kit, plates, bowls – you know, all the essentials.’
‘You do know we have to carry this all to the campsite, don’t you, Mum?’ Max says, stuffing everything in wherever he can find space.
‘You’ll be fine. There’s six of you going, aren’t there?’ she says, leaning forward to tickle Sasha. ‘Is she going to be warm enough in that?’
‘She’ll be fine,’ I say, ‘Thank you so much for dropping these bits off.’
‘I’ve also popped some sandwiches in the box for you,’ says Judy.
‘Mum, I might have lost five years of my memory but still I’m far too old for my mum to make me a packed lunch.’
‘Speak for yourself. I’m all about the snacks at the moment. Thanks, Judy,’ I say, giving her a quick hug.