by Jemma Forte
‘Damn it!’ he shouted. This was going to be a hard one to explain. Literally.
23
As Monday morning dawned over London, Mike Connor was enjoying being back in his own bed in Chiswick. He’d never felt so happy to be home after a holiday in his life, nor so excited to be returning to work, which by comparison would be just the rest he needed. What a disaster the whole experience had been from beginning to end and how lovely it had been last night to climb between familiar sheets. To know that if they ran out of nappies he wouldn’t have to drive five kilometres down a mountain to buy them.
He vowed not to go away again with the kids until they were at least twelve. If Diane insisted then he might contemplate going to one of those Mark Warner-type places, where they had kids’ clubs, babysitters galore and fish fingers and chips on the menu. All things he’d previously abhorred, but which now sounded like a thoroughly sensible idea. The reality of a villa in Tuscany had been quite a different kettle of fish from the blissful idyll they’d imagined.
Carefully, he turned over, desperate not to wake Diane and incur her wrath. He’d had enough of that over the last fortnight. The whole trip seemed to have passed in an unhappy blur of preventing Grace from drowning and arguing with each other, to the point where he wasn’t sure who’d done the most crying, baby Ava or Diane. Without his usual excuse of work to fall back on, he’d also been obliged to do the odd three in the morning feed, though he didn’t know why he’d bothered. Diane’s boobs were so sore, she’d always ended up getting out of bed anyway, seemingly reproachful that he couldn’t produce milk from his own intact, non-cracked nipples.
Last night he hadn’t exactly had the deep sleep he’d anticipated either. He’d been woken up by a bloody fox rummaging around in the dustbins at some ungodly hour and had been staring at the ceiling ever since, his eyes adjusting slowly to the ever-decreasing gloom. Diane, lying next to him, was seemingly so done in by their ‘holiday’ that she remained oblivious to the racket the mangy animal was making. She’d even started snoring at one point, something she vehemently denied she did whenever he brought it up, which always antagonized him because how could she actually know one way or another? God, when had life become so deeply unsexy?
He sighed. If before he’d been worried about Diane, then the holiday had only seemed to prove that his concern wasn’t unfounded. He’d barely recognized the neurotic, stressed-out version of the woman he’d married and, rather than provide the pick-me-up their relationship so needed, the trip had only served to highlight how difficult Diane was finding Motherhood this time round. He resented how little she desired him these days too. At times it felt like she’d rather do anything than have sex with him. Grout some tiles, bleach the toilet, do a tax return – anything so long as it didn’t involve having to make physical contact with him.
He looked at the digital clock on his bedside table. 05.45. The girls would be awake soon. Maybe he should shower now. That way he’d hear them when they woke up and Diane could have a bit longer in bed. A treat before he left her to it …
A few hours later, the sun had fully risen in the sky and, over in Hampstead, Jessica was in danger of running late for work for the first time ever. She’d had no trouble waking up on time and had even managed to fit in her usual run; it was just choosing what to wear that was delaying her, which was ridiculous given that she’d seen Paul at work every day for a couple of weeks now. Yet since their kiss everything felt different, as if all the cards had been thrown into the air. What to wear suddenly seemed crucial and butterflies weren’t just fluttering in her belly, they were positively flapping their wings furiously, and the wings felt the size of Dumbo’s ears. Eurgh, what an image, she thought, grimacing as she pulled a comb through her hair. Think about something else. Think about the kiss again, that amazingly wonderful kiss that was causing her so much turmoil as she wondered what, if anything, it had meant to Paul.
OK, now she was delaying herself even further. Right, denim skirt, Havaianas flip-flops and her blue and white top. Done.
Meanwhile, not far away in Tufnell Park, Paul and Luke were embarking on their usual commute, only today they had a very special guest in tow. In the end, Kerry was the only person to have been asked back to their place in the early hours of Sunday morning. Not that Paul had seen much of her or Luke. They’d been holed up in his room the entire time, emerging only to use the bathroom, make cups of tea and once to pay for an Indian takeaway. Paul was pleased for them, really pleased, yet Kerry’s presence in the flat only highlighted the fact that he was alone. As a result, he’d spent most of Sunday wondering if he’d offended Jessica when he’d pulled away from her in the club. He hoped not because, apart from anything else, he didn’t really care what anyone thought about him liking her. After all, even a box set of The Wire couldn’t distract him from thinking about Jessica Bender for very long.
Now the motley bunch were headed for the tube, Luke sporting a smile so wide it looked painful and Kerry wearing the same dress she’d worn to go clubbing, only with one of Luke’s T-shirts over it, stretched across her ample bosom. Paul was slightly alarmed by how his two friends seemed to have transformed overnight into Liza Minnelli and David Gest circa their wedding. Watching someone’s tongue entering and waggling around in another person’s mouth is never a particularly pleasant sight. What might feel nice to the people partaking always looked revolting to those watching. Funnily enough, he’d never have had either of them down as the touchy-feely type and yet now they were seemingly glued together and were being hideously tactile. Still, hopefully they’d settle down a bit eventually. In the meantime he was just looking forward to getting into work and seeing Jessica again. He wanted to set things straight in her mind and to let her know that his relationship with Natasha was a thing of the past, something he’d realized once and for all.
Back in Chiswick, once Mike had left for work, Diane Connor’s day got underway. The holiday she’d been counting on to solve all her problems was over. Not only was it over but it had been worse than useless in terms of sorting out her head. If anything, she felt more wretched than she had before. She probably would have felt better if she’d stayed at home and drunk an extra cup of tea, she mused.
She gazed down at her baby daughter and tried to adjust the position of her mouth at her breast, but little Ava was having none of it. The sheer power of her suck was incredible, like when you try to vacuum the sofa and you think the whole cover’s going to come off. Still, once she’d found her stride the sensation that hot needles were passing through nipples started to subside. Then the doorbell rang.
‘Buggeration,’ swore Diane, trying to manoeuvre herself up without disturbing the baby’s feed. By walking carefully she managed to make it all the way to the front door without Ava losing her latch. So pleased was she by this that she failed to take into account the fact that whomever was at the door was about to get an eyeful of her veiny udders.
‘Er … flowers for Mrs Connor …?’ said the stunned-looking delivery boy.
‘Oh, fantastic, thanks,’ said Diane, realizing too late the offence she was causing and quickly trying to shield herself behind the door. Even Ava couldn’t hold on at this point and released her grip. As she did so, milk spurted out from Diane’s breast in a jubilant arc. Lovely.
With the arm that wasn’t holding Ava, Diane grabbed the flowers, signed for them as best she could (her signature not actually comprising of any letters), muttered her thanks and quickly shut the door again as the delivery boy legged it as fast he could back down the path.
Ava, who wasn’t impressed by the interruption to her feed, started to scream, so Diane concentrated on wrangling her bosom back into her mouth before shuffling back through to the kitchen. A wry smile spread across her face as she recalled the look on the delivery boy’s face. Exposing herself to him had probably been rather undignified but it was all a matter of perspective. Having recently given birth, someone seeing her boob felt like small fry compared to a medic
al student watching her moo like a cow while naked on all fours.
Minutes later, Ava had finally drunk her fill and was nuzzling nicely into her mother’s shoulder. Diane closed her eyes and was just drifting off into a nice sleep-deprived stupor when the phone rang. She jumped out of her skin. Her nerves really were shot to pieces at the moment and with Grace napping upstairs, still tired from the day of travel they’d endured yesterday, she prayed the ringing wouldn’t wake her. Wondering if she was destined to be kept awake for the rest of her life, Diane snatched the receiver up, desperate to stop the incessant noise.
‘Hello?’ she said impatiently.
‘It’s me,’ said Mike.
Diane gulped. She didn’t want another row but was already struggling to contain the rage that had sprung up inside. ‘I told you not to ring on the landline during the day,’ she said, trying and failing to sound offhand.
‘Oh, shit, sorry, were you sleeping? Did you go back to bed?’ asked Mike.
‘No, but if I had done then you would have just woken me anyway.’
‘Right, well, thanks for the earache and I’m sorry. I was only phoning to see if you got my flowers.’
Diane was immediately filled with shame. ‘I did. They’re lovely, thank you.’
‘Did you read the note?’
‘Yes,’ lied Diane. ‘It was really … sweet.’ She resisted the urge to say that the thought of having to unwrap them from their cellophane, cut their stems and find a vase felt like far more hassle than they were worth.
Mike paused. ‘Look, I know things are tough at the moment but you’re doing a great job.’
Diane blinked back tears before replying incredulously, ‘Really? Doesn’t feel like I am. I’m so bloody tired all the time and feel like I’m going mad sometimes.’
Mike took a deep breath. Why did she have to be so flipping dramatic about everything? ‘OK, well, I’m going for a quick early evening pint after work but I’ll be back in time for stories.’
Diane opened her mouth to protest but no words came out. The thought of being able to be so spontaneous was too much. She was overwhelmed by the unfairness of the situation.
‘Mummy …’ A small voice floated over the baby monitor.
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Diane, putting down the phone.
‘Mummy,’ came the voice again, only more insistent this time.
‘Muuummmy!’ yelled an indignant Grace, who by now was out of bed and standing at the top of the stairs, furious that the safety gate was shut.
‘I’m coming,’ called Diane numbly, only she didn’t notice one of Grace’s plastic Dora figures on the floor and her right foot skidded on it.
‘Aah,’ she gasped as she lurched about, concentrating hard on not dropping Ava. ‘Bugger Dora the fucking Explorer,’ she cursed as pain seared through her still-sensitive nether regions.
‘Mummy?’ said an outraged voice from upstairs. ‘Don’t say that naughty word.’
‘What word, darling?’ called Diane hesitantly, mortified that she’d been heard.
‘Buggen. Buggen’s a naughty word, Mummy.’
Diane slumped down at the foot of the stairs, anxiety spreading its spidery way around her system and at that precise moment it occurred to her that maybe she wasn’t one hundred per cent. Normally what Grace had just said would have made her giggle, or at the very least have raised a smile. She’d have made a mental note to tell Mike the latest gem to come from his daughter’s mouth (playing down how much she’d sworn). Today, however, it seemed entirely possible that she might never find anything funny again. She plodded upstairs.
What she wouldn’t do to have today off. She was so exhausted and the thought of getting through the day alone with two demanding despots for company made her want to weep. So she did. She sat down on the middle stair and cried silently, big, fat, salty tears falling on to Ava’s face. Drunk on milk, the tiny baby opened one lilac eye to give her weeping mother a curious look, which seemed to say ‘Oi, you, what’s your problem?’
24
When Kerry swaggered into the office that morning, looking very eighties in a man-size T-shirt which she’d tied in a knot at the waist, Jessica gestured to Mike’s shut door.
‘He’s back.’
‘Have you seen him?’ asked Kerry, putting her clutch bag down on the desk.
‘No,’ said Jessica, eyeing her friend suspiciously. ‘Hey, hang on a minute. Is that the bag you had with you on Saturday night? And is that the same dress you were wearing underneath?’
Kerry couldn’t pretend a second longer. She simply had to share or she would burst.
‘Oh my God, Jess, we were going to be discreet but actually there’s no point because Paul knows anyway, plus I’m not sure I’ve physically got it in me. I’ve spent the whole weekend at Luke’s.’
‘No way! Where is he?’
‘Gone to get coffees with Paul. But, Jess, listen to this. I have had the best sex of my entire life, and not just because I was gagging for it, which obviously I was, but because actually he’s just so lovely,’ she gabbled, looking ridiculously happy.
Jessica felt truly delighted for her friend, who had just sunk into her chair, a dreamy expression plastered across her face.
‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’ said Vanessa drolly, coming over to say hello.
‘And, oh my God, some of the things he said to me in bed,’ replied Kerry, her eyes wide.
‘Oh, it’s so romantic,’ said Jessica.
‘I know,’ squealed Kerry in agreement. ‘My knickers are twitching just thinking about him.’
‘Less romantic,’ said Vanessa, and Jessica laughed, just as the cause of Kerry’s ‘twitching knickers’ walked into the office. Bringing up the rear was Paul. Jessica immediately stopped laughing and felt herself turn to jelly. Then her cell phone started to ring. It was Angelica. Damn, she kept forgetting to call her back, but now certainly wasn’t the right time to talk (again), so she switched her phone off.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ announced Luke to the entire room. A statement, not a greeting.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Julian. ‘Is this what it’s going to be like around here from now on? Like a frigging episode of Friends.’
‘Told them all, then?’ said Luke, rolling his eyes in mock frustration, when actually you could see he was only too happy to shout about his conquest from the rooftops. He kissed Kerry tenderly on the forehead before delivering their coffees on to the desk.
Meanwhile, Paul strolled casually over to Jessica, hoping to get away unobserved while people concentrated on the Luke and Kerry sideshow.
‘Morning, you,’ he said softly.
‘Hello,’ Jessica said shyly, looking up.
‘How’s Mike’s garden?’
‘Watered,’ she smiled back.
‘Lucky it,’ said Paul. ‘So I hope you know you left me high and dry, playing gooseberry for the whole weekend with love’s young dream over there?’
Jessica giggled as she followed his gaze. Luke had draped himself across Kerry’s desk and was giving her shoulders a massage. They were both laughing about something and Kerry’s expression was positively euphoric. Just then, Natasha arrived through the door. She looked flustered about being late, but not so flustered that she couldn’t stop next to the loved-up couple and pretend to stick her fingers down her throat.
‘Well, I’m sure you managed,’ Jessica said flatly to Paul. The sight of his ex was a timely reminder not to get carried away flirting.
‘Did Dulcie get off all right?’ enquired Paul, who’d spotted how Jessica’s face had fallen as soon as she’d seen Natasha. He’d realized in the club that someone must have filled Jessica in on his dating history, and this had confirmed it. He just hoped (for his ego’s sake) that she didn’t know all the details about how it had ended.
Jessica nodded. ‘Yeah, she got away fine.’
‘Look,’ said Paul, keen to get things back on track, ‘just say if you think I’m being forward, but I would real
ly like to get to know you better and, while I don’t give a shit what the rest of the office think about that, it’s probably best not to give them stuff to gossip about at such an early stage … so …’
‘So,’ echoed Jessica.
‘What I’m trying to say is that I think we should go out. I mean, I’d like to take you out.’
‘And you don’t care what anyone here would think about that, but want to keep it secret?’ asked Jessica, feeling as confused as she sounded. Should she be worried about Natasha or not, because she didn’t fancy taking her on as a rival for Paul’s affections.
‘Yes,’ stated Paul, who was trying not to laugh now. ‘Look, I’ll spell it out. Just in case you think I do – and I could be way off here – I don’t care what Natasha in particular thinks, OK? I thought in the club that might be what you were thinking, but I really don’t. However, I do think it would be better for both of us to see how things pan out without putting extra pressure on ourselves by having everybody talk about us.’
‘I see,’ said Jessica, blushing at the mere sound of the word ‘us’. ‘Of course, I mean, I totally agree,’ she said coyly, her heart starting to race again as she stared into Paul’s eyes.
‘So when can I take you out?’ he asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
He was nervous, realized Jessica. Adorable.
‘Well …’ she said, playing for time, knowing she should play it cool. Should tell him that she was busy tonight and tomorrow for that matter. That he could take her out on Wednesday or even wait until the weekend. ‘How about tonight?’
Paul grinned. ‘Tonight sounds perfect. Shall we go straight from here or would you prefer me to pick you up from home later?’