Baby, Me, OMG: Motherhood fiction (Surprise Baby Romance)

by Suzy K Quinn

  I ran out to take the call in the stairwell.

  Nick was all slurry and drunk, telling me I should be at home with Daisy.

  I asked him how he knew I was out.

  He said he’d phoned the pub and Mum had told him.

  I said it was my birthday.

  He said, ‘Is it?’

  Then he said he wanted to see me. And that he wanted things to be how they were.

  Why does life happen like that? When I wanted him to beg for forgiveness, he didn’t. And now I’m moving on, he says everything I wanted to hear months ago.

  Nick got all teary and angry, and I ended up hanging up on him.

  Then I rang Mum and checked everything was okay with Daisy.

  I heard Mum say, ‘Spit it out Daisy! Spit it out! Oh, you’ve swallowed it …’

  I shouted, ‘WHAT HAS SHE SWALLOWED!’

  Mum said it was just something brown she’d found on the floor and it would ‘all come out the other end’. Then she told me I used to eat gravel as a baby.

  Panicked for a bit. Phoned back and made Mum put Daisy on the phone. Daisy was making her usual noises, so felt better.

  When I got back to the balcony, Alex didn’t look at me. He didn’t take my hand again either.

  He was quiet in the car on the way back.

  Just as we were arriving at the village, Alex said, ‘Look, if you want to make a go of things with Daisy’s father, I’m not going to stand in your way. It’s the right thing. For Daisy to have a family.’

  I said, ‘I don’t want to make a go of things with Nick. Not anymore.’

  Alex said, ‘And yet you take calls from him at nine o’clock at night.’

  Just to make things worse, Nick was WAITING OUTSIDE the Oakley Arms.

  He looked pretty drunk, swaying around with a can of gin and tonic in his hand.

  Alex’s jaw went all hard and twitchy and he said, ‘Sleep well’ in this really formal voice, like he was reading the news.

  And off he went. Not so much as a goodbye kiss or anything.

  As soon as Alex was gone, Nick came lurching towards me doing his big smouldering puppy-dog eyes.

  He’d been waiting on the doorstep ‘for hours’ apparently.

  I said, ‘What would Sadie think if she saw you here?’

  He said he couldn’t give a fuck what ‘that high-maintenance cow’ thought. Apparently, Sadie won’t even let him sleep in the bed anymore. She says he farts in his sleep.

  Then Nick said we had a child together and shouldn’t we try to make things work?

  I asked why the sudden change of heart.

  He said, ‘Maybe I’m jealous. Your mum told me who you were out with. You know I hate Alex Dalton.’

  Eventually I said Nick could sleep on the sofa. He was way too pissed to get home – I have no clue how he even got here in that state. He can’t read a train timetable at the best of times.

  At some point, Nick got into bed with me and started pulling the moves.

  It was all so familiar I almost found myself going along with it. I mean, Nick was pretty sexy when we first got together.

  Luckily, I was awake enough to push him away.

  Nick acted all innocent and hurt.

  He said, ‘Come on Jules. You know you want to. I want you back, Jules. I made a mistake. A stupid mistake. We’re good together. You know we are.’

  Then he said he just wanted to spend the night in bed with me. Like old times. And he wouldn’t try anything. He was lonely and blah, blah, blah.

  I was so tired.

  So like an idiot I let him stay.

  This morning, Brandi came bursting in and saw us together.

  I said, ‘This is SO not what it looks like.’

  I have to admit it did look bad.

  Nick was stark naked.

  He must have flung off his clothes at some point in the night.

  I shook Nick awake and told him he needed to leave.

  God, he reeked of booze. He pulled his underwear on and asked if I’d make him a bacon sandwich.

  I told him to sod off.

  He checked his watch and said, ‘Actually, no time anyway. Sadie’s going to freak. Can I give Daisy a kiss goodbye?’

  He picked up Daisy and gave her big smacking kisses.

  Daisy stared at me like, ‘Mummy, who is this mad man?’ Then she started howling and reached out her little arms towards me.

  Nick said, ‘She’s probably a bit tetchy. First thing in the morning. Like Daddy, aren’t you? Daddy hates mornings too. Love you Daisy boo.’

  Then he left, promising to see us soon.

  What on earth was I thinking, letting him sleep in the bed with me? What on earth was I thinking?

  I just pray that Alex never finds out.

  Sunday November 29th

  WHY hasn’t Alex called?

  CALL ME, CALL ME!

  The Christmas carol bus drove around the village today, full of singing children dressed as elves.

  I still get excited by the free lollypops they throw out, and was pleased to catch my favourite flavour – strawberry.

  Daisy managed to get hold of two lollypops and refused let go of either, sucking them alternately.

  When I tried to prise one out of her hand, she clung on so hard her knuckles turned white.

  Mum can never turn down a free lolly either, and Dad likes a carol, so we all watched the bus drive past and joined in singing with the kids.

  Dad’s voice goes operatic when he sings, no matter how silly the songs are.

  Mum sings every song like a rowdy pub sing-along. She kept forgetting herself and singing the rude-word versions.

  Monday November 30th

  Once again, today started well and ended terribly.

  I worked up the courage to Facebook Alex and thank him for the other night.

  He replied, ‘You’re welcome.’

  And then, even more courageously, I said, ‘So are we going running tonight then?’

  He wrote, ‘Juliette, I don’t want to get in the way of your family. Nicholas Spencer is Daisy’s father.’

  I wrote back a long reply saying I honestly wasn’t interested in Nick. And that I’d moved on. And that Daisy and I were better off without him.

  Alex wrote, ‘I think you need time. And space.’

  I wrote that I’d had plenty of time and space. And that I really needed his help with running. That I ran so much better when he was with me. And that the marathon was REALLY soon.

  Alex wrote back, ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’

  I felt that happy glow in my chest again.

  Alex showed up at eight on the dot, just like always.

  While I was doing my calf stretches in the pub garden, I tried to explain that Nick had come round totally uninvited last night.

  I said, ‘About Nick coming over last night –’

  But Alex cut me off with his hand and said, ‘That’s none of my business.’

  Very unluckily, Brandi picked that moment to come clattering down in skeleton leggings and Ugg boots, bleached blonde hair in a big messy bun.

  She said, ‘Jules didn’t do anything with Nick. You can sleep in a bed with someone without anything happening.’

  Thanks, Sis.

  Alex’s face went really stern.

  I think Brandi knew she’d said the wrong thing, because she added, ‘I’ve slept in LOADS of guys’ beds and not done anything. Sometimes you just need somewhere to crash.’

  And Alex’s jaw started twitching. He looked at me – a mixture of anger and disappointment. I felt about a foot tall.

  Brandi gave me a hapless shrug as if to say, ‘Well there’s no pleasing some people.’ Then she tottered off to her pink Kia and gave us a little friendly toot as she left.

  Alex said, ‘I think you’ve done enough stretching.’ All cold and formal.

  The village was glowing with Christmas; decorations and holly everywhere, plus the amended lights flashing away.

  On the waterfr
ont, people were drinking cups of mulled wine and calling out ‘Merry Christmas!’ as we ran past. But the atmosphere between Alex and I was totally not festive.

  We ran for miles, Alex always a little bit ahead.

  Sometimes he’d turn around and bark, ‘Keep up.’

  Towards the end, he pulled right away from me.

  He’s never done that before.

  I shouted at him to slow down, and he told me that I needed to work on my self-discipline. That I needed to push myself through the pain barrier.

  I said, ‘Can I try that tomorrow?’

  He said, ‘No.’

  I said, ‘Why are you pushing me? Is it because Nick –’

  And he said, ‘I’ve heard enough of that man’s name today.’

  And then we ran on in silence.

  When we got back to the pub, I said, ‘Are we running tomorrow?’

  He said, ‘I’ve trained you as much as I can. The rest is up to you.’

  Then he left.

  Tuesday December 1st

  Still no word from Alex.

  To take my mind off things, I helped Althea make her Christmas presents.

  Althea doesn’t believe in ‘buying plastic crap’.

  This year, she’s gotten into welding. I arrived to find her in the garden, showing Wolfgang how to use the welding gun.

  Wolfgang was clapping his hands with delight at the orange sparks. He did have a welding mask on, but it was a little big for him – covering not only his face but most of his torso.

  Althea had already made a load of wrought-iron Christmas wreathes, and had moved on to welding Christmas tree decorations.

  I pointed out that wrought iron is too heavy to hang on Christmas trees, but Althea explained they were ‘concept pieces’ – to show the weighty financial burden Christmas puts on the common man.

  Althea is a good business woman, because she’s already sold three of the wreathes to her neighbours. I just hope they have some really strong nails.

  Wednesday December 2nd

  Nick keeps calling me.

  But now I want Alex to call.

  I’ve been Facebook stalking Alex, but there’s really nothing to see. He never puts up pictures or status updates or anything.

  Althea is pleased as anything that Nick wants me back. She thinks it’s a good opportunity to torture him.

  ‘Karma,’ she said. ‘I told you it would come around.’

  I said, ‘Doesn’t karma mean that I shouldn’t torture him, because the universe will do it for me?’

  She said, ‘No, sometimes you have to step in.’

  Then Althea told me she’d heard a rumour about Sadie.

  Apparently, she’s getting fat now.

  So I suppose karma really does exist.

  Friday December 4th

  Mum went to B&Q and bought a load of new Christmas lights today.

  She bought waving Santa, jumping Santa, Santa’s sleigh, three flashing Christmas gift boxes, Rudolph reindeer and eight free-standing reindeer – all made of tube lights.

  The front of the pub is already covered in neon Christmas lights, so she’s set the new ones up in the back garden.

  Now a rumour has gone around the village that there’s going to be a Santa’s grotto at our pub. We keep getting little kids knocking on the door with letters for Father Christmas.

  Saturday 5th December

  Took Daisy to see Santa at Harrods.

  It was Althea’s treat – she’d booked it for us months ago.

  Althea is totally anti-establishment, but she loves anything creative, which includes seasonal stuff.

  For the Harrods trip, Althea dressed Wolfgang as a punk Christmas elf, with safety pins through his green elf ears.

  When it was our turn to see Santa, Althea warned the door elf that Wolfgang was ‘quite sensitive’ and tended to bite when angered.

  The lady elf reassured us that Santa was very good at putting children at ease. Then she led us into the grotto, where a big, jolly Santa welcomed us.

  Wolfgang shouted, ‘Fat! Fat!’

  Santa chuckled politely and gave Wolfgang a toy truck to snap in two.

  Daisy wouldn’t take her dolly present. She pushed it away and said, ‘No, no!’

  Wolfgang tore off the cab compartment and a wheel from his truck, and gave it to Daisy.

  She chewed the wheel happily.

  Wolfgang really can be a kind little boy sometimes.

  Monday December 7th

  Did a ‘bad mother’ thing today.

  Needed to get the forms filled in for all the legal stuff with Nick.

  Put Daisy on her baby gym while I was doing it, thinking she’d be safe. But somehow she managed to pull my handbag off the sofa, unzip it, pull out a bag of Cheesy Doritos, open the packet (HOW?) and eat a big handful of tortilla chips.

  I had a heart attack thinking about all the salt.

  Spent an hour obsessively googling ‘baby salt death’, with Daisy crying in my arms.

  It turns out a baby died from eating Ready Brek!

  And Ready Brek can’t be half as salty as Doritos.

  Panicked.

  Took Daisy to Accident and Emergency.

  After a few hours, two midwives came to see me.

  They laughed when I told them about the Doritos.

  Then they told me all the salty things they’d given their babies.

  Pretzels. Bacon. Chicken chow mein.

  ‘And they turned out just fine,’ they kept saying.

  Midwives are strange. One minute, they tell you to sterilise everything. The next minute, they’re taking the piss out of you for being overly cautious.

  You just can’t win.

  Tuesday December 8th

  Althea and I took the kids to Bethnal Green playgroup today.

  We had to get there really early, because London playgroups are like nightclubs – once they’re full, they’re full, and then it’s one in, one out.

  Today was especially busy, because Santa was visiting.

  Stupidly, Santa asked Althea if she’d planned her Christmas dinner yet.

  Althea shouted at him about ‘assumed gender stereotypes’ and ‘teaching my son that a woman’s place is in the fucking kitchen’.

  Santa cowered against his cotton-wool throne.

  One of the kids said, ‘Mummy, if Santa goes to prison, will we still get presents?’

  Wednesday December 9th

  Went through the bin bag of stuff from the old apartment today. The one Nick packed up for me.

  I really should have gone through it ages ago, but there have been so many more important things to do – like stopping Daisy sticking her fingers in plug sockets.

  Silly Nick. He put the odds and sods coffee tin in there, which has his emergency credit card in it.

  I spent a long time staring at the credit card, wondering if I should take it on a big spending spree.

  But no. I will be mature. The courts will (eventually) order him to give me money. And Sadie is getting fat now, so I don’t need to take revenge.

  Thursday December 10th

  Marathon in two days’ time.

  I should be thinking about running and timings and carbs. Plus the weather – there are rumours it might snow. (Is there such a thing as running gloves? Must google it.)

  But all I can think about is Alex.

  Maybe I’ll see him at the marathon? Maybe he’ll call and want to meet at the starting line? Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  I check Facebook probably fifty times a day, but he hasn’t messaged.

  Althea thinks I’m having rebound syndrome and don’t really fancy Alex at all.

  She could be right I suppose.

  Laura called off her studying to come running with me tonight.

  I dragged myself eighteen horrible, awful miles. By mile ten, Laura was so sick of me moaning that she banned me from talking at all.

  It was different with Alex. Maybe I was too embarrassed to moan. Or maybe it was just so exciti
ng being with him. I don’t know. But the miles used to fly by.

  I have no idea how I’m going to do those twenty-six miles.

  Wait – twenty-seven miles.

  Friday December 11th

  Christmas Marathon TOMORROW!!

  Why am I so nervous? It’s not like I’m running in the Olympics or anything. But I really am shitting myself.

  Mainly because I might see Alex.

  Had my last supper – a huge plate of spaghetti bolognaise. Apparently you’re supposed to load up on the carbs before a marathon.

  Since I was loading, I had sticky toffee pudding too.

  And a large packet of peanut M&Ms.

  Then Mum, Dad, Brandi and I watched Chariots of Fire.

  I had tears in my eyes at the end of the movie.

  I will do this! I will finish! Even if it snows tomorrow.

  I will make Daisy proud.

  Saturday December 12th

  MARATHON DAY!

  Woke up at 5am feeling really nervous.

  Annoyed, because then I couldn’t get back to sleep.

  Daisy woke up at 6am.

  It was bloody cold.

  Frost on the ground.

  I didn’t bother moaning because I knew Dad would start telling me about ‘frost inside the windowpanes’ and ‘proper winters’ when he was a kid.

  When he was little, they had one outside toilet that froze over in winter. Apparently it was very important not to poo directly on the ice. You had to pee first to defrost it.

  Had a bottle of Lucozade for breakfast and three strawberry energy bars.

  Ended up completely wired, jiggling on the spot and telling Daisy I was going to win the marathon.

  When I said bye, I got all teary and weirdly hormonal.

  Like I was going away to war or something.

  Mum told me she had a bag of pork pies ready for the halfway mark.

  I told her it was a sporting event, not a 1970s wedding.

  She said, ‘Scotch eggs then?’

  Dad was all dressed up in his 1980s marathon gear, ready to cheer me on. String vest, royal blue shorts with rainbows around the pockets and his London Marathon medal.

  He ran the London Marathon in 1986 in just under four hours. His time would have been better, but he stopped to take photographs of all the London landmarks.

  I asked him if he’d be cold in just shorts, but he insisted this was ‘all too exciting’ to worry about the temperature.