Love Is Usually Where You Left It

by Gary Locke

  If so, she wished he would have told them – she really didn’t like the idea of getting married to Clive in the black dress she had chosen to wear. In fact, she didn’t like the idea of getting married to Clive at all. She was already married to him and, as things stood, was pretty close to the ending that marriage.

  A church ceremony wedding didn’t cross Clive’s mind at all. Instead he again thought about church pews - that he may now be expected to sit on for some unknown length of time. He hoped beyond hope that Jeremy hadn’t brought them to some kind of christening ceremony. There’s nothing worse than having to sit on those arse-numbing wooden seats for hours on end when all you want to do is be somewhere comfortable and have a little sleep.

  Clive was also confused as to why Jeremy had driven around the car park, ignoring at least half a dozen empty parking spaces, and had now decided to park in the yellow striped spot that said “loading only” by the side door. He laughed to himself as he wondered whether Jeremy was planning a quick getaway – perhaps they were here to break into the church safe and would be given tights to put over their heads any second now?

  Gayle tried to breathe in and out slowly in an attempt to suppress her road/parking rage instincts. Why the hell was Jeremy parking here? There was bound to be a delivery while they were here and ……. ok, just breathe in, and out; breathe in, and out …..

  As they all got out of the car, Gayle and Clive saw what Jeremy was wearing properly for the first time. From inside the car they could see that he was wearing a black coat but could see now that, underneath the coat, was a green and yellow chequered jumper that clashed hideously with his bright blue trousers.

  Gayle frowned as she looked at him.

  Was he trying so very hard to appear eccentric or was he just as crazy as a fish tank of lemons? Clive was confused at first but then realised that the green and yellow colour scheme did make some sense seeing as though he was Australian.

  Damn it, he’s not Australian.

  Now that they were out of the car, Gayle and Clive could see the full glory of that black coat; that was a long, leather Matrix-esque number. It looked pretty cool if you could ignore the yellow/green jumper / blue trouser combo, and the fact that he wasn’t a martial arts expert in a dark, sci-fi classic movie but rather a weird looking Doctor Who wannabe arriving at a church on a Saturday afternoon.

  Clive and Gayle followed Jeremy as he walked purposefully towards the large double doors of the side entrance to the church hall, aggressively swinging one open as if he was entering a Wild West Saloon and hoping to make an entrance of intent. For a split second his coat flapped behind him, almost in slow motion, hinting at that cool bullet time effect that looked so good in the original Matrix. (Before, pretty much every other TV advert attempted to copy the effect and made it appear pretty bland.)

  Clive followed closely behind but watching his step, just in case Jeremy’s entrance had wiped out a couple of poor old age pensioner church volunteers. Gayle then walked into the building, as Clive held the door for her, wondering what on earth they were actually doing here.

  In the small entrance hall area things began to become a little clearer. For a start the noise from the main road was now muffled by the closing of the large wooden doors, and the zooming of speeding cars from the road outside was replaced by the unmistakeable wails of crying babies coming from behind an internal green door. Another small hint came in the form of the large posters that clearly read “Bumps and Babies every Saturday 3 p.m. to 4 p.m.” Jeremy had brought them to a baby group, similar to the one that they used to attend prior and post the birth of Jack.

  Jeremy noticed that they were both looking at the posters and so knew that they now realised what was going on.

  “I’ve arranged for you to join in this session today.” he began “Hopefully it’ll bring back some of those memories and feelings you had when your Jack was born. Seems like a good place for us to start.”

  He turned around and reached out for the handle of a green door before checking his movement and turning to add:

  “Let me do the talking. You two just..... let me do the talking.”

  They both nodded.

  Gayle was slightly confused by what he meant.

  Jeremy obviously wanted to do the talking, which was fine by her, but did he mean that he wanted her and Clive to not do any talking? A bit strange!

  Oh well, it didn’t seem out of character for Jeremy, he was very strange and did seem to really like talking. If fact, he struck Gayle as one of those people who tend to talk a lot; so much so that a large percentage of it, inevitably, ends up being complete bullshit.

  Jeremy pulled at the green door and opened up the sight into the room beyond. It was a large oak-floored room where there was a large circle of adults, sitting on the floor, most of whom were either holding a baby or had a baby laying in front of them on a colourful mat.

  Most people turned to see why the door had just opened, no doubt intrigued to see why anyone was arriving now, nearly twenty minutes into an hour-long session.

  “Can I help you?”

  A loud, lone voice shouted out from the back of the room.

  Jeremy immediately began to walk clockwise around the circle and headed for the woman who had just shouted out the question. Everyone else turned back to what they were doing and Clive and Gayle couldn’t help but hear snippets of conversations that were uncannily similar to conversations they, themselves, had been part of nearly twenty years earlier.

  “Yeah, the health visitor said: get used to eating cold meals and she was right. This little one seems to know exactly when I’m about to eat my meal and suddenly becomes a little crying machine!”

  “Me and Liam have been alternating the night feeds while the other one sleeps in the spare room. One good night’s sleep every other night is better than not sleeping at all!”

  “What’s the best way to make sure you wind her properly?”

  “How many feeds is he still having in the night?”

  “When you’re breast feeding, do you get shooting pains in your tits?”

  Gayle winced at this last comment as a sympathy déjà vu pain spiralled through her own mammary glands. Clive just smiled like a schoolboy because someone had said the word “tits” out loud. Both of them however couldn’t help but be mentally taken back to the time that Jack was just a baby. They too had experienced the demands of a baby around your own meal times meaning that the microwave became the star of the kitchen appliance team. Meals were very often nuked five or six times of an evening taking the culinary phrase “it’s a little dry” to a whole new level. Thank God for Reggae Reggae Sauce.

  Clive looked over towards Jeremy and saw him putting what appeared to be some form of identification back into his wallet. He then pointed over to where he and Gayle were standing and proceeded to lead the woman he had been talking to over towards them. As they got nearer, Clive could see that she was wearing a name label that read: Zoe – Bumps and Babies Leader. What the hell was Jeremy up to?

  Chapter Thirty One: Bumps And Babies.

  Clive breathed a tiny, and hopefully silent, sigh of relief as it became clear that Jeremy was leading Zoe towards Gayle and not him; hopefully this relief was also untraceable on his face.

  Gayle began to panic a little as she realised that it was her who the “bumps and babies” leader was actually headed towards. Things were certainly not helped by the little grunt that Clive had just made and the ridiculous, childish look that was shining out of his face.

  “Hello” Zoe said wearing a friendly smile and offering a hand for Gayle to shake as she and Jeremy got close enough. “I’m Zoe. Jeremy has just been explaining your situation to me and I just want to say thank you. People like you are so important to those children most in need. Just wait here and relax for a couple of minutes whilst we quickly do a group exercise, then I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  She reached over to shake Clive’s hand and added “It’s a pleasure to meet
you..... thank you so much!”

  As she walked off towards the circle of new parents, Clive and Gayle looked at each other, both clearly displaying “What the hell was that about?” eyes. They both instinctively looked at Jeremy who, either consciously or subconsciously, was fixing his own eyes on the far wall, and therefore had no chance of “noticing” Gayle and Clive glaring at him.

  “Ok then everybody” began Zoe, effortlessly at high volume, addressing the circle of people she was now standing in the middle of. Some individuals are just naturally equipped to speak to large groups of people.

  “We are going to do another get-to-know-you exercise. I want you to quickly go around in a circle telling us the name of your baby, and why you decided on that particular name. We’ll start here with Freddie and Fanny and then go around clockwise. After we’ve all had a go, there’s a couple of special people I want to introduce you to.”

  She finished the last part of that sentence looking and smiling over at Gayle and Clive which made Gayle feel even more uncomfortable than she had before.

  What was Zoe talking about?

  She looked over at Clive to exchange concerned looks again but could tell his mind was miles away. No doubt he was amusing himself with the fact that Zoe had just revealed that the attractive looking blonde girl she wanted to start this exercise was called “Fanny”.

  Who in their right mind, in this day and age, calls their daughter “Fanny”? pondered Clive, allowing his mind to chuckle like it belonged to a twelve year old school boy.

  It beggars belief.

  At least this Fanny must know what it’s like to grow up with a name that’s a sitting duck for the immature Mickey-takers in life (people like Clive) and so will have thought long and hard about giving her child a more sensible name. He looked over and, after careful deducing skills were employed, came to the conclusion that her babies pink baby grow suggested she was probably a girl.

  Ok then, what would Fanny and Freddie have called their daughter?

  Ooh this was fun.

  He was going to have a guess at the name of each baby as they went around the circle, judging by what their parents looked like. He’d already seen a couple who looked like they were wearing horse riding gear who had a baby name of “Tarquin” almost nailed on.

  Ok Fanny and Freddie may well have gone for a name beginning with “F” as well, so could it be Florence? That feels a bit retro-modern.

  Faith? That’s nice.

  Freya? That’s cool, if a bit Norse-Goddess-y.

  Fionn? No, that’s a bit odd.

  Oh no, Fanny was standing up and about to reveal the name, Clive needed to be quick.

  Felicity? Faye? Farrah? Fiona? Salma?.....

  Salma?, that doesn’t even begin with “F”, what was going on? Oh yeah, Clive remembered that he didn’t like to go too long without thinking about Salma Hayek. Ok, Fanny was about to speak; need to guess now.

  Florence.

  Clive was going for Florence.

  Fanny cleared her throat and looked down to where Freddie was still sitting and smiled at him.

  “Freddie and I decided to name our beautiful daughter after Freddie’s late Grandma.”

  She reached down and picked her daughter up; who was staying remarkably calm despite several other babies deciding now was a good time to test out their crying skills in preparation for the night ahead.

  Clive smiled in anticipation: she sure looked like she suited the name Florence.

  “This is..... Bertha!” Fanny said with the seriousness of a deadpan comedian.

  Bertha?

  Was she being serious?

  It appears she was!

  Oh my, she would have been better naming her after herself and going for Fanny the second. Surely even “here comes our little Fanny” is better than the inevitable “Big Bertha” that poor child is inevitably going to have to endure.

  What the hell were they thinking?

  Clive looked at Gayle as the name Bertha reminded him of the nickname that they’d given the school cleaner that Mr Jackson had been so fond of; that, in turn, reminded him of that first detention that they had shared together that turned out to be the start of them getting to know each other. Gayle didn’t notice him looking and instead looked around the group wondering if anyone else was in as much shock as she was.

  Why would anyone call a baby Bertha?

  Clive focussed back on his game and thought: that’s it; if people aren’t going to take this seriously then I am no longer going to play anymore.

  Next around the circle were a couple introduced as Steph and Jim who appeared to be in their mid-twenties and looked like they were “cool”. (When the word is used to describe those who are up to date with the latest fashions). They both had fairly long, dark hair, were both bare-footed and were wearing tight jeans that were severely ripped. So, like I said, they were either “cool” or had lost their shoes during what must have been a brutal tussle, and frantic escape, whilst they encountered a large tiger en-route to the baby group.

  “This is Paris” said Steph, smiling as she looked down on her baby, who was adorably gazing back at her.

  “We named her Paris,” added Jim, stroking his long hair with an air of cockiness “because we’re pretty sure we were in Paris when we conceived her!”

  They both sat down, looking very pleased with themselves.

  The rest of the group “oohed” and “arrgghhed” a little, but there was no shock or objection to the fact that they’d all just been given some “information” that, even just a few years ago, would have been labelled by, at least one person, as “too much”. I suppose it’s a sign of the times. Thankfully, for their daughter, she wasn’t conceived in Scunthorpe.

  The next couple along, Neil and Liz, looked about similar age but far less cool. (Or maybe, as per Clive’s earlier logic, they were far “cooler” because they weren’t trying so hard to be cool and were just wearing “regular” jeans and shoes.)

  “This is a coincidence” said Neil, appearing a little nervous to be addressing the group. “We named our little girl Paris as well. Not because she was conceived there.....”

  Everyone in the group laughed a little.

  “ .....But because Liz and I both absolutely love.....”

  He began to cough, a little at first, but it quickly escalated into an out of control coughing fit.

  Clive thought about it.

  He and Gayle had been to Paris and it was a beautiful place, so if you were going to name your daughter after a City, then Paris was quite a nice choice really.

  Neil carried on coughing for at least ten seconds before thankfully getting a little control back as Liz passed him a bottle of water she pulled from her handbag. Well, after removing a make-up bag, a small mirror, a mobile phone, a couple of pens, a box of headache tablets, a perfume bottle, some keys, a small leather bag (yes, a bag within a bag), a pack of tissues, a purse, several tubes of hand cream and lip balm, a small diary, some sunglasses, a hairbrush and a box of tampons. (How the hell do women get all that in a handbag?)

  As Neil recovered from his coughing, and Liz prepared for the hour or so it would take to squeeze everything back into her bag, Clive couldn’t help but think that Neil was only a couple of seconds worth of coughing away from someone needing to step forward and attempt the Heimlich Manoeuvre on him.

  Clive felt a bit disappointed. He didn’t know how to do the manoeuvre himself but felt like he would have wanted to try. Not because he wanted to experience the sensation of dry-humping a man whilst standing up, but because it must be pretty good for your “life CV” to be able to say you’ve saved someone’s life. He also thought it was probably for the best that the manoeuvre was invented by Henry Heimlich, because Heimlich is a pretty grand name for such a life saving action; if it had been invented by someone named Henry Butterworth it wouldn’t nearly have the same kind of gravitas.

  The Butterworth Manoeuvre?

  No way.

  This life-sa
ving musing led Clive to ponder things further. It was probably the reason that, whenever he and Gayle had gone anywhere on an aeroplane he had always tried to book a seat on the aisle of the emergency exit. Sure the extra leg room was a bonus, but he liked that idea that if the plane crashed, and everyone was lucky enough to survive, then he himself wanted to be the one to break open the emergency exit and inflate that big yellow inflatable slide. He would stand by the door helping everyone out, one by one, making sure the whole plane was clear before triumphantly descending the yellow slide himself – face first.

  He used to have similar feelings when he would take Jack to his swimming lessons, all those years ago. He would watch everyone in the pool closely to make sure that if anyone was struggling, and it had somehow gone unnoticed by the swimming teachers, then he would dive in and rescue them himself. Of course you have that whole dilemma about how long to leave someone flapping around in the water before jumping in. Are they really struggling or just messing around? Can they rectify the situation themselves by calming down and remembering the swimming techniques they have learnt? Will one of the teachers notice and go to assist? (Which is a fundamental part of their job.) If after all those things you decide you must dive in to help, you are left with the biggest dilemma of them all. Would you look completely shallow if you take your time, before diving in, to remove your mobile phone from your pocket and find somewhere safe and dry to leave it?

  Thankfully Clive’s random, life-saving considerations were broken by Neil who had regained his composure and was once again addressing his audience.

  “Sorry about that. As I was saying we named this little one Paris because Liz and I both absolutely love..... Paris Hilton!”

  What?

  Really?