The Cows

by Dawn O'Porter

  Cam

  Cam still feels dreadful. Only two days to go before she can have the abortion, she hopes the relief will be instant. Her body is physically rejecting being pregnant. She’s heard of morning sickness, but this is twenty-four-hour. Her boobs are massive and rock hard, and she pees after the smallest sip of water. The entire thing is awful, but she feels more of a solidarity with her body than ever before. It’s backing her up, confirming what she already knew; she is not mentally or physically into the idea of being a mum. After this, even the tiniest inkling of doubt will have gone.

  The only thing she’s managing to keep down are roast-beef-flavoured Monster Munch, so about an hour ago she managed to drag herself to the shop to get seven packets of those. She’s currently on her sofa wearing a white Bella Freud t-shirt with ‘close to my heart’ written on it, and she’s about to finish her fourth packet of crisps. Tara’s interview just finished on the TV, and Cam feels genuinely sad for her friend, because it was truly awful. Her phone beeps.

  Cam, please answer your phone.

  It’s Mark. This is his twenty-seventh text today and he’s called constantly; he is desperate to talk to her but she just can’t face it. She’s pretty sure he wants to keep the baby, and that he will make her feel bad for not wanting it. She should never have told him. He didn’t need to know. She wonders why it matters so much to him. What is it about an egg and a sperm connecting that makes people so emotional? Do they forget, in situations like these, that literally a minute before they found out about the conception they had no desire or intentions to have a child with that person? She understands the baby part, of course, but there is no baby yet. It’s just a mass of cells, it shouldn’t make people lose sight of the reality of what allowing this blob to grow into human form would mean. Yet Mark is willing to change the course of his entire life for it? That doesn’t make sense. If he wants kids, doesn’t he want to wait until it’s with someone he loves? He’s young enough not to do this. He sends another text.

  OK, that’s it, I’m coming over.

  Cam quickly gets up and turns off all the lights and the TV. She huddles up under a cashmere blanket and waits for the doorbell to go ballistic. Taking advantage of the twenty minutes it will take him to reach her place, she emails Tara.

  Hey, I saw the interview. You must feel shitty. All is not lost, I think I can help you. We can do something through my site? It will all be OK, I promise. Let’s discuss tomorrow. Hopefully I won’t puke on you … I’ll explain tomorrow. Can’t wait, C x

  Scrolling through her emails, there are more from Stella Davies.

  Camilla, the day is getting closer. I’ve got it all planned. Did you know you can do things to help decide the sex of your baby? I want a boy, why? So they never have to deal with the shit I’ve had to deal with.

  My plan is pretty simple. Later this week I will seduce my boss, get pregnant with his child, and get what I want. Just as you said. You use that twenty-eight-year-old for sex, I use my boss for sperm. What is the difference?

  Huge, actually.

  What you are doing is worse, so don’t judge me. I’m not wasting anyone’s time, leading anyone on. My plan is a simple transaction. You’re just a selfish, heartless bitch. If only the rest of your readers saw what I see.

  I hope my child turns out to be nothing like you.

  Cam tries not to let it get to her but something about this girl’s tone is getting through. She can’t work out if she is threatening her or not. She’s seems smart, unlike other trolls whose spelling usually shows them up as stupid fools with nothing else to do. But Stella’s language is so vicious, so calculated. And what she is doing to her boss, that’s so wrong.

  Or is it?

  Maybe it’s Cam that was crazy, for telling Mark about the baby? Is this Stella really hurting her boss by giving him some sex then disappearing without a trace? How can it be cruel if he never knows? By not telling him, she’s not hurting him, right? That’s accidentally what Tara did, and yes, it wasn’t quite as calculated but it all adds up to the same thing, doesn’t it?

  What you are doing is worse, so don’t judge me. I’m not wasting anyone’s time, leading anyone on. Why is that line playing over and over in her head?

  Cam knows that Mark will struggle with her decision for ages. Her terminating this pregnancy will be something he has to deal with his whole life, because he wants kids and terminations are hard for people who feel that way. If she had never told him, and just done what she knows is right, then he would probably be doing a late-night session in the gym right now, happy as usual with his simple and easy existence. Nasty as Stella seems in her emails, is what she is doing really so crazy if it’s what she wants this much? Of course, there is the worrying factor of someone who is clearly this mentally unstable being a mother, but maybe she’ll be good at it. Maybe it really is what she needs.

  Then the doorbell rings. One continuous brrriiiiiinnggggg. Cam puts her phone on silent and lies down with a cushion over her ear. She knows she has to face Mark and be a decent person at some point, but she can’t face it tonight. This is her decision, and nothing can get in the way of it.

  An hour and a half later, he eventually gives up.

  Stella

  Looking into my bathroom mirror, I stare back at my reflection and laugh. A loud, hearty guffaw that erupts like champagne out of a shaken bottle. I have a shaved head. Holy shit.

  I hadn’t wanted to do it at first, for the obvious reason that I don’t really have cancer, and I’m not really having chemotherapy. But then, as I realised I needed to do everything I could to pull off this lie, the idea didn’t feel so stupid. And something about the photoshoot, me feeling like a piece of art, Jason looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world, and my need for something to change – something dramatic, something distracting – it all made sense to go through with it. I run my hands over my head. It feels so small, so cold, so odd. I can’t believe it’s me.

  I cut chunks off with scissors, and then Jason wet shaved my head with the razor he keeps at work. It was strange and freaky, but weirdly erotic. I wondered at one point if it might lead to something, like I could have turned it that way if I’d wanted it to. But it wasn’t the right time. I have to wait for ovulation, in case it only happens once.

  Alice and I used to stand in front of this mirror together and stare at our faces, trying to spot differences that the naked eye could never see. I had an extra freckle on my left cheek, Alice’s chin was marginally squarer. But that was it. It was just our natures that set us apart. But now, me and Alice, we are not the same. A stranger would take a minute to identify us as sisters, let alone identical twins. For the first time in my entire life, I look back at my reflection and see myself as my own person. I like it.

  I quickly strip off every item of clothing. My naked body is as bald as my head, apart from a dark, dense triangle of pubic hair. If I’m going to do this, I might as well really do this. From a drawer under the sink I retrieve some scissors and a razor. With one foot on the toilet and one on the floor, I begin to chop it away. Every chunk that falls to the ground feels like the old me falling away. I am making space, clearing the way for Jason to penetrate me, feeling like my future is just around the corner. When I’m done, I look at my bald vagina. My childhood feels like yesterday as I remember Alice and I laughing at the first sprouts of pubic hair. We were so innocent then, so unaware of the emotional chaos we were yet to endure.

  I want to see that innocence in someone else. My own child. I want to preserve it and protect his heart.

  I’m going to nail motherhood. I just know it.

  14

  Tara

  I didn’t know what to wear to meet Camilla. It’s not a date, of course, but it feels a bit like one. I’m properly nervous. I open my work wardrobe and grab my favourite silk navy jumpsuit, nude wedges and black leather jacket. It’s cool, relaxed but sexy. I don’t know why I want to feel sexy meeting Cam, but I want her to find me attract
ive in every way. I want to impress her, for her to admire me. If I wear a good outfit, it might help distract from how nervous I am. I put on some red lipstick. My curly brown hair was so distinctive in the video, so I scrape it back as hard as I can. I look good, I think. And it feels nice to have made a bit of effort.

  My experience of Internet dating is that people can present a version of themselves online that doesn’t translate in person. I’ve seen Cam on TV once or twice, and I can’t lie, she isn’t great. She’s a little stiff and awkward, but it’s OK, she’s a writer, she doesn’t have to be a free-flowing, perfectly articulate TV presenter-type. But I hope she is more relaxed with me tonight, otherwise there might be an anxiety overload. She’s written a lot about her social issues. I’m expecting her to be lovely, of course, but harder to talk to than write to. I keep telling myself anything is better than Sophie, who was a hot mess of over-the-top, fake love. I’m quite up for the harder-to-get attitude; I think maybe I could trust it more.

  My own anxiety is taking some controlling too. I have to remind myself before I walk into the bar that the world has more important things to think about than me, that not everyone will have seen the video, and that behind every door there are not hordes of people waving placards saying ‘WANK WOMAN IS IN THE HOUSE’.

  When I walk in, I see her sitting in a booth. She is bigger than I imagined. Very skinny, but her shoulders are broad; she has a touch of the Amazonian about her. She sees me and stands up, then walks towards me quickly and puts her arms around me, squeezing me quite tight with her exceptionally long arms. I wasn’t expecting that.

  ‘I’m so happy to see you,’ she says, holding onto me firmly. It’s a really friendly gesture that feels completely impulsive, but the hesitation before she pulls away suggests she isn’t quite sure how to follow it up. I help her out.

  ‘It’s strange to think this is the first time we’ve met.’

  ‘I know,’ she says, letting go. ‘Sorry, that hug was a bit intense. I’m nervous, why is that?’

  ‘I think it’s because we really want to like each other. And also that we are both suffering with anxiety disorders. Is it just me or is everyone in here staring?’ I look around, there are about seven people in the place, none of them are looking at us, but that doesn’t calm me down.

  ‘No, they’re not. Come on, come to my booth, it’s safe over here.’ She takes me by the hand and leads me over. Her hands are big, cold and knobbly. Mine feel fat and hot in comparison. A waiter comes over to take our order.

  ‘I’ll get a ginger beer please,’ Cam says, ‘and what salty snacks have you got?’

  ‘Nachos? They are excellent, they have melted cheese, salsa—’

  ‘Great, two portions of those, please. Tara?’

  ‘Can I get a whisky and Coke please, thanks.’ The waiter walks away. ‘Ha, if it wasn’t you I’d think you were pregnant,’ I laugh. ‘I lived on ginger beer and salty snacks when I was up the duff.’

  Cam opens her huge eyes wide and tilts her head. She looks at me persuasively. It’s quite clear what she means by it.

  ‘What? No, really?’

  ‘Yup. The Face of Childless Women is pregnant. You couldn’t make it up.’

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to presume this is bad news.

  ‘Right, um … How are you feeling?’

  ‘Awful. Disgusting, I hate it and can’t wait to get it out. I have an abortion booked for tomorrow and I just want it done.’

  ‘Phew. I don’t know what went through my head there but I think I would have felt really weird about you keeping it. Shit, sorry, that sounded terrible. Obviously if you wanted to keep it I’d have been all—’

  ‘No, it’s fine, it would have been really weird. I’m “The Face of Childless Women”, having a baby would have meant that I’d been talking shit, and that would not be cool.’

  She’s right. I would have been disappointed.

  ‘Can I ask the obvious next question?’ I say.

  ‘Whose is it?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘The twenty-eight-year-old I’ve written about.’

  ‘Right, are you going to tell him? Welcome to my specialist subject …’

  ‘I did. I told him right away and I regret it. He wants to keep it.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Yep, fuck. He wants kids; he doesn’t seem to care about the scenario under which he has them. I wasn’t expecting this reaction from him at all.’

  ‘What’s he said? That he doesn’t want you to get rid of it?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’ve been a total bitch since we found out and not spoken to him, it’s just the impression I get. He is calling every five minutes, all “Babe, we need to talk about this.” I just can’t take it. I can’t answer the phone.’

  I think of Nick at his front door, his pregnant wife behind him, the look of terror on his face as I told him about his six-year-old child. I was right the first time. I wish Cam had asked me what to do. But every situation is different, this isn’t something you can give advice about, I suppose.

  ‘He’ll be OK. It will be like a breakup; he’ll feel all consumed by it then it will just suddenly stop bothering him. Especially as you’re not keeping the baby.’

  ‘Exactly. God, who knows what the right thing to do is. I think your way might be right; why does the guy have to know?’

  ‘I guess it’s more about the kid than him, maybe. I’ll have some big explaining to do one day. I think about that a lot. Also, people who want kids have blinkers on. Every embryo feels like their last chance; they worry that getting rid of it will mean they won’t get the opportunity again. It’s why I kept Annie. I think that thought terrifies people, makes them crazy.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. I feel bad for him, but I just can’t go there, you know?’

  I nod, and our first awkward pause reminds us how bizarre this is. How we don’t know each other. How much we want to like each other.

  ‘Hey, speaking of crazy,’ Cam says, changing the subject. ‘This girl has been emailing me the weirdest stuff. She’s so horrible, like really aggressive, mean stuff. But then she also confides in me, it’s really bizarre. I’ll have to forward it to you, it’s fascinating reading. She’s got this plan to seduce her boss so she gets pregnant, but she’s not going to tell him. She’ll just quit her job and he’ll be none the wiser. I thought that sounded really cruel until I saw Mark’s reaction and now I think, is she crazy? Or is she actually really together?’

  ‘I don’t know, that all sounds a bit calculated and psychopathic to me. I think getting pregnant accidentally is one thing, but actually going out to deliberately get pregnant by your boss? That’s fucked up.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose it is. Jesus, I think my crazydar is wonky. I’ve been on the fence about it. Anyway. How are you?’ Cam asks as the waiter brings over our drinks. She sucks the entire glass of ginger beer up through a straw and orders another one. ‘I could puke on demand,’ she adds, burping into her hand. ‘And I literally can’t stop thinking about doughnuts. Like, I could break into a Krispy Kreme shop and wipe the whole place out. But I won’t, I will not give in. Anyway, sorry. How are you coping with everything?’

  ‘I’m OK. Kind of. Not really. The interview was a disaster. It’s so annoying because I actually dealt with it really well. I didn’t apologise, I stood my ground, but they edited me to look like a total fruit loop. I wish I’d never done it.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s going to go one of two ways doing TV. You don’t have any control; they can do what they want.’

  ‘I should have known better. That’s my world and I feel like I walked straight into a wasps’ nest.’

  Cam looks at her hands for a second, obviously thinking about what she’s going to say next. Her nervousness pokes through sometimes; it’s less obvious than I thought it would be but it’s there, for sure. Online, she has such honesty and openness, it allows her to say abrasive things without coming across as too spiky. In real life, she’s harder. Still kind
, still gentle, but the edges are more defined. I get the impression that she has to think about what she says more than she has to think about what she writes.

  ‘I think we can turn this around. I have an idea,’ she begins hesitantly, obviously not wanting to presume I’ll jump at whatever it is she is about to suggest.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘My sponsors want me to have some guest bloggers. Mums, specifically. They are worried my desire not to have kids will push away the readers that do. They suggested the kinds of mummy bloggers and Vloggers that give me nightmares, so I wondered if maybe you wanted to do it?’

  ‘Oh, wow. I’m not sure. I mean, I can’t write?’

  ‘Yes you can, of course you can. All writing is getting down what’s in your head. You’ve been through a lot, and as a mum, I think my readers would respond really well to it.’

  ‘Really? I’m hardly a beacon of inspirational parenting.’

  ‘It depends how you look at it. www.HowItIs.com has always been about the alternative. My readers want to break free from the shackles of society and do their own thing. My job is to encourage them to do that. You might be controversial to some, but to others, you’ll be an inspiration. Raising a kid alone because it’s what you wanted? I love that story. God, being a woman can make you feel like you’re in a meat factory sometimes. We’re supposed to fall in love, get married, have kids. But more and more women aren’t doing it that way. They are choosing not to have babies, or finding a way to do it on their own. And I think it’s important to promote those alternatives positively. Women can do, and be, whoever they want, and women like you and me can help them do it. Don’t follow the herd, you know? Live your life your way.’

  I smile at her. That speech sounded just like the voice I hear when I read her work. That was the Cam I’ve been following all these years.