‘What’s there to think about?’ I was starting to feel flustered. One minute I thought I was dragging him down the aisle, and now he was carting me off to the maternity ward. ‘We carry on as normal, one day I eat a bad curry, puke, and the next thing you know, we’re knocked-up. It’s really as easy at that. According to everyone I ever went to school with.’
‘You’re hilarious.’ He sat up, took back his sunglasses and dropped them into the picnic basket. I noticed we hadn’t popped the champagne yet and this was not a conversation I wished to have sober, so I took matters into my own hands. ‘There would be heaps to think about,’ he continued. ‘We’d have to move. We’d have to get better health insurance. I don’t know, maybe we’d even think about having the kid over here?’
‘Now I know my mother has been brainwashing you,’ I said, struggling with the metal cover on the cork. Never had I wanted a drink more in my life. ‘Seriously, if you don’t tell me what’s brought this on, I’m going to crack this bottle over your head.’
Alex utched away from me slightly and took hold of the two champagne glasses. If it came to a fight, I was worried he would break them and try to glass me. Much more manageable than bludgeoning someone to death with a champagne bottle. He was wily.
‘Don’t freak out, because I’ve been thinking about this for a while, before I found this out, but I know if I don’t tell you, you’ll find out and make a way bigger deal of this than it is because I’m really, really not interested.’ He took a deep breath and gripped the glasses a little tighter. ‘My friend Steven is still pretty good friends with the gang in Paris, and he mentioned that Solene is pregnant.’
The champagne cork popped and fizzy white bubbles spurted all over my hands.
‘Congratulations, Solene,’ I said flatly and swigged straight from the bottle. So Alex’s Parisian ex was up the stick and suddenly he wanted me barefoot and pregnant and relocated to London? Of course the two things weren’t related.
‘Don’t.’ Alex waited for me to finish drinking. And waited. And waited. And eventually took the bottle from me. ‘You shouldn’t be drinking on those painkillers.’
‘You shouldn’t be talking shit about us having a baby just because your ex is knocked-up,’ I retaliated. ‘Is that what this is all about?’
‘No.’ He put the glasses down and took his own glug from the bottle. I knew I wasn’t picnic basket people. ‘You know we have to talk about these things before we get married. It’s just a coincidence.’
‘I know you’ve never mentioned it before.’ I was furious. And slightly woozy. ‘Is that what all of this is about? Is this why you were so keen to go along with the wedding in the first place? Trying to beat her down the aisle?’
‘She’s already married,’ he said quietly.
‘Well, fuck a duck.’ My voice was far too loud for my choice of words. ‘I’m sorry you’re coming in second. Maybe you should have married her in the first place. Oh wait − she said no.’
‘Angela, you’re overreacting.’ Alex placed the champagne bottle way out of my reach. ‘All I wanted to do was have a conversation about having kids. It’s something important to me. You’re the one who keeps wanting to have the family-oriented deep and meaningfuls.’
‘Yeah, about why you’re being such a creepy weirdo about not wanting your parents at our wedding.’ I really wanted that champagne. ‘Not about trying to get knocked-up so I can win in some pissing contest against my ex.’
‘OK, I’m not talking about this.’ He lay back down and closed his eyes. ‘This isn’t happening.’
‘I don’t know why you even told me,’ I said, barely able to form words, my lip was sticking out so far. ‘You couldn’t have just let me think you were on some weird broody-boy kick?’
‘Remember that whole thing where we promised to tell each other everything?’ Alex snapped from across the blanket. ‘Full disclosure?’
‘Yeah, but that doesn’t count when it’s stuff that would just piss off the other one,’ I ranted. ‘Like, I didn’t tell you when Mark tried to kiss me because there was no point.’
Oops. I cut myself off abruptly. The most important part of not telling the other person things that would hurt them was the not telling them later. Otherwise it tended to be ever so slightly more hurtful than it would be in the first place.
Alex didn’t say anything. I waited as long as I could for him to speak, for him to get up and walk away, for him to do something, anything. But he didn’t.
‘Alex?’
‘He tried to kiss you?’
‘Yes.’ My voice was considerably quieter than it had been five minutes ago. ‘But I didn’t let him. I hit him with my handbag.’
‘Sounds about right.’ His voice was completely level. ‘And was this before or after you invited him to the wedding?’
‘Before?’
‘Right.’
Another minute of silence.
‘So I figure you leave all your Solene shit here and I do the same with your ex, OK?’ he said, still flat on his back. Still not looking at me.
‘That seems fair,’ I agreed, trying to stealthily grab the rest of the half-eaten cookie. I didn’t actually think it was fair, but wasn’t marriage all about compromise? Alex getting on my case about spurting out a baby just because his ex had spawned was hardly the same as me accidentally getting into a lip-lock against my will.
But the ability to move on after an argument was another important factor in a successful relationship, so I let him sulk in silence for a few minutes before cutting off a piece of baguette, smothering it in blue cheese and handing it across the blanket. Alex took it and traded me the champagne bottle and all was right with the world again. Sort of.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Alex dropped me off at Louisa’s place later that evening, empty picnic basket in my arms and a huge apology in my pocket. The rest of the afternoon had been a little strained, but we’d made our peace. I hadn’t mentioned Solene and he hadn’t mentioned my inability not to cock things up, and it ended up being a very nice afternoon, all in all. Much nicer than the next hour was likely to be, anyway.
Tim answered the door with his usual trepidation and pointed me towards the back garden, hovering around the door and then racing upstairs to avoid the fallout. I tiptoed through the toy-strewn kitchen and out into the garden, wondering whether or not I should have kept the bottle of champagne with me as a weapon.
‘Hey.’ I raised a cautious hand and waved. Louisa raised a glass of wine instead and ignored me. Damnit, she had a bottle! I only had my bag, although that had proved to be a pretty handy weapon to date. ‘Do you hate me?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, rocking Grace’s cradle with her foot. She was fast asleep on the floor, covered in soft, pink blankets. I peered inside the cradle and tried to imagine having one of my own. Couldn’t do it.
‘Can I sit down anyway?’ I asked.
‘Do you need to ask Jenny’s permission first?’ she replied curtly.
‘Touché,’ I answered, pulling out one of the metal chairs and putting my bum down before I caused any more trouble. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I hear.’ She leaned around the table to look at my ankle. ‘Jenny said you knackered your foot up pretty well.’
‘You spoke to Jenny?’ I had to admit it was a surprise. Sure, Jenny had said she was sorry for what she’d said to Louisa, but I had assumed I’d have to pull some sort of romcom-worthy stunt, sending them both texts asking them to meet me in my mum’s bathroom before locking them in there until they had a deep and meaningful talk and realized they both wanted the best for me.
‘She came by earlier,’ Louisa nodded. ‘We talked it out. There was hugging. She cried. The whole thing was very awkward.’
‘I can imagine,’ I gasped. Hugging? Crying? Oh my. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It wasn’t as horrible as it could have been,’ she admitted, passing me the wine. Apparently I just drank right out of the bottle now. But just a
sip. ‘I don’t know how you put up with her day in and day out, but her heart’s in the right place.’
I nodded. The irony of the fact that I was sitting in front of a baby drinking out of a bottle was not lost on me.
‘And she wants Saturday to go off without a hitch. Pardon my pun.’
‘I’m not worried about her side of things.’ I put the bottle down and wiped my hand with my mouth. ‘Once Jenny has decided something, it happens. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a good idea or a bad one, as you’ve probably noticed − it just happens. I’m more concerned that I’m the one messing up.’
‘Is everything OK?’ Louisa reached down to pick up a fussing Grace but never took her eyes off me.
‘Me and Alex had a bit of a row.’ I felt my voice get tight and strained. This was stupid. I was being stupid. ‘And he says everything’s OK, but I don’t know. I feel stupid and you know I really hate feeling stupid.’
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure it’s just pre-wedding stress, whatever it was.’
I looked at my friend, the girl I’d known since we were as old as Grace was now. She looked knackered − bags under her eyes, at least a stone heavier than the last time I’d seen her − and yet, with that ring on her finger and the baby in her arms, I couldn’t say I’d ever seen her look more content.
‘How did you know that Tim was the one?’ I asked.
‘Oh.’ Louisa pulled a face. ‘Well, we met when we were young, you know that. But then one day I just woke up and I couldn’t imagine him not being there. Then it wasn’t just the thought of him not being there in the morning, it was him not being there at the weekend and at Christmas or on my birthday. After that, it all just got bigger and bigger and I couldn’t picture my life without him.’
‘And did you always know you wanted babies?’
‘I’ve always wanted kids.’ She looked down at her bundle of joy. ‘But it wasn’t like I wanted to get knocked-up at sixteen. We’d talked about it, we knew we wanted it one day, and then, one day last spring, I woke up and I knew I wanted to do it. So we sat down and discussed it and decided to go for it. But you know me, I’m a planner. Can you imagine me just getting knocked-up? Jesus.’ She grabbed her wine with her spare hand and took a deep drink. ‘Anyway, are you going to tell me what’s brought this on?’
‘Me and Alex were having a picnic,’ I started, wiping my imaginary sweaty palms on the sleeves of my cardigan. ‘And he started going on about having kids and when I thought I might be ready and why I hadn’t gone all gooey over Grace and how he wanted to have them soon and I sort of freaked out. A bit.’
‘Well, I have been trying not to be offended by your lack of gooeyness,’ Louisa said. ‘I mean, she’s not Blue Ivy, I know, but my baby is bloody cute. But aside from that − and I’m trying really hard not to say I told you so − I did ask if you’d had this conversation and you said it wasn’t a big deal.’
‘I didn’t think it was,’ I stressed, taking another sip out of the bottle. Classy. ‘And the thing is, I don’t know if it is. And I don’t know how much of it is because his ex is pregnant. And married.’
‘Bugger me, Ange.’ She shifted in her chair, making herself and Grace comfortable. ‘No such thing as an easy life with you, is there?’
I shook my head, mouth too full of wine to reply.
‘So what’s the story with the ex? Was it serious? Do you think he still has feelings for her?’
‘It was serious,’ I said, the words bitter in my mouth. ‘But she is what we would refer to in the trade as a psycho-hose beast and they broke up years ago. It’s that French bird who tried to get back in his pants last year.’
‘Ohhh.’ Louisa’s face clicked with recognition. ‘So no feelings, then. He’s totally over her?’
‘Definitely.’ I was as sure as it was possible for a woman who was engaged to a man with a functioning penis to be.
‘Maybe her getting pregnant just sparked something in his mind?’ she suggested. ‘Alex doesn’t strike me as the type to be easily led, but he does strike me as someone who loves you very much. I think the real question here is whether or not you want to have kids.’
‘I do,’ I protested, slamming the bottle down on the table and promptly waking up the baby. I’d killed my Tamagotchi inside a week, my Sea-Monkeys inside two, and if the miracle of nature that was Sea-Monkeys couldn’t hold my attention, how was a baby supposed to do it?
‘Just not tomorrow. And I wasn’t expecting it to come up as an immediate concern.’
‘Well, apparently it is one.’ Louisa stood up and handled me a little red-faced bundle. ‘So let’s see how you get on. I’m going inside to get her formula. You’ve got three minutes.’
‘I thought you − you know −’ I took Grace in my arms and willed every atom in my body not to break or drop her − ‘did the breastfeeding thing.’
‘She sleeps longer if I give her formula at night,’ she shouted back from the kitchen. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
‘She said three minutes, didn’t she, Grace?’ I bounced my toes, trying to lull Grace back to sleep in my arms. ‘Your mummy is a complete liar.’
Grace blinked her blue eyes at me and opened her mouth, but this time no noise came out. It was amazing. I was a natural. She grabbed hold of my finger and squeezed hard. Someone was going to be a professional wrestler when she grew up. I sniffed her a little bit and waited to be overwhelmed by the instant desire to brew up one of these myself. I supposed it wouldn’t be too awful. And then, from a part of my brain that hated me, came an image of Alex walking down the street with Solene on one arm and a little tiny black-haired version of himself holding onto the other. My blood boiled, my heart pounded. Imaginary Angela punched out imaginary Solene. Imaginary Alex and imaginary mini-Alex looked on approvingly. So maybe I couldn’t quite picture myself having a kid just yet, but the thought of anyone else having Alex’s babies caused quite the reaction. And I couldn’t imagine waking up without him beside me, regardless of his clearly worrying parental issues, his inability to keep me off carbs or his insisting that he tell me the truth all the goddamn time. I wanted him there on Christmas morning, I wanted him there on my birthday, on Valentine’s. I wanted him to come to the pension office with me. I wanted him to make sure I took all my pills.
‘Would you look at that?’ Louisa held up her phone and snapped a picture of me and Grace bonding.
‘Did you get the bottle in the shot?’ I asked, still rocking back and forth.
‘Yes, I did,’ she replied, picking it up and drinking it dry.
I smiled. ‘Good girl.’
The house was buzzing when I got home. Craig had vanished, giving me a chance to keep my dinner down, but Jenny was still making calls and confirming arrangements well past sunset. Alex and my dad were huddled around his computer watching old Rolling Stones footage, while my mum was very busy watching Coronation Street on ITV+1 and destroying my Aunt Maureen with a 43-point word. So that was how I’d picked up the multitasking gene.
I excused myself from the fray under the pretence of going upstairs to review my Gloss presentation. Any animosity between me and Alex seemed to be forgotten and he wrapped an arm around my legs and rested his head on my stomach when I came over to say goodnight. My dad studiously concentrated on the screen and wished me goodnight without acknowledging Alex’s and my controversial PDA. It was for the best.
‘I’ll come and say goodnight,’ Alex promised. ‘I guess I won’t see you now until Saturday.’
‘You won’t?’ I asked, stroking his back. ‘How come?’
‘He’s spending Friday night elsewhere,’ Jenny yelled, making everyone jump. ‘The groom can’t spend the night before the wedding in the same house as the bride. It’s bad luck.’
‘It is?’ I mouthed at Alex.
‘Apparently so,’ he replied, smiling. ‘But don’t worry. I’ll totally show.’
‘I wasn’t worried until now.’ I tried to laugh but it didn’t really work. ‘If
you don’t come, I’ll just marry Graham.’
‘He’s a really great cook.’ Alex squeezed my hand and sent me on my way.
Upstairs, I popped two more painkillers and swallowed them down with the water Graham had left by the bed that morning, thankful that I’d kept to sips of wine since lunchtime. My head was clear and I had thinking to do.
I opened my laptop and pulled up a new Word document. I didn’t need to look at the Gloss presentation. I knew every word of it off by heart. And looking at it would only make me panic anyway. Instead, I started writing my vows. Or at least I tried to. Every word I tapped out on the keyboard seemed hackneyed and overused. There was no way I could say what I wanted to say to Alex without it sounding like something I’d read in a book or seen in a movie or, even worse, heard in a song. And not even one of his.
I swapped the laptop for a notebook, thinking the look of pen on paper might make the process feel more personal. Might make it feel more like me. But it didn’t. After several false starts and three torn-out pages, I slid under the covers for just a moment and closed my eyes, letting all my memories of me and Alex wash over me. The day we met in the diner. The show he took me to at Bowery Ballroom. Our first kiss. MoMa, the Empire State Building. Our first sleepover. That wasn’t something I wanted to share with my family, friends or the officiating Uncle Kevin. I thought about the day he’d shown up in LA when I’d been interviewing James. The more romantic moments in Paris, the day I’d moved in, and more importantly, the night I’d moved in. I curled up, pulling the blanket around my chin, and wallowed in happy memories. And that was when it hit me. My vows didn’t need to be about the times we’d had. That wasn’t what the wedding was about. They should be about all the time we had ahead of us, all the memories we had yet to make. And if I hadn’t immediately fallen asleep, I would have written that down before I forgot.