And Baby Makes Two

But not enough extra to go by bus, obviously.

“End of August,” I echoed. The end of August was when the baby was due. I touched my glass to his. “Well, I hope you have a good time.”

Wrenching My Guts Out, Wish You Were Here

I had an appointment at the clinic four days before I reckoned the baby would be born. I put on my cool maternity outfit, but the only shoes that were really comfortable were my trainers, which kind of ruined the effect. I put on my make-up and tied my hair back, which made me look older. Then I put some dance music in my Discman and practically skipped to the practice, I was that happy. Only a few more days and I wouldn’t be pregnant any more. I couldn’t wait. I felt like I’d been pregnant most of my life by now. It was hard to remember being able to sit at the table for more than five minutes before my back started aching. It was even harder to remember being able to have a cup of tea without feeling like somebody was pouring acid in my blood. But soon that would all be over and things would go back to normal. The best part was about to begin.

The doctor told me off for not going to the birthing classes.

“I thought you promised me you’d try and go.”

It was more a question than a statement.

“I know I did,” I said. It was incredible how many people sounded just like my mother. “And we were going to, really, but my boyfriend had to go to the States for a few months. For work. It was sudden.”

She peered at me over her glasses. “You could have gone on your own.”

I smiled, sort of shy and embarrassed. “I didn’t fancy going without him.” Which I didn’t.

“It’s not too late,” said the doctor. “There’s a class next week.”

By next week I shouldn’t need any classes. By then I’d be a mother.

Or maybe not.

The doctor said I’d got the date wrong.

“The baby seems small, Lana. Do you think you could have made a mistake?”

I said I supposed I could have.

“This is all new to me,” I joked.

She gave me a Queen Victoria smile. You know, like it hurt.

“Well, you’re doing very well,” she assured me. But the baby wouldn’t come until September. “Virgo,” she said. “That’s a good sign.”

I got a book on horoscopes out of the library on my way home, so I could see for myself whether Virgo was a good sign or not. I didn’t have much else to do. It was the summer holidays, wasn’t it? Shanee and her family had gone to her grandad’s in Ireland for a few weeks. Les was in Greece with his mates. Even Gerri and Amie were away.

Plus, I already had everything ready for the baby. It was laid out in my room. My nan bought me a cot, and Charley bought me a pushchair, and my sisters bought me a load of clothes, all in yellow or green, since they didn’t believe I was definitely having a boy. I’d decided against breast-feeding because I reckoned I was bound to want to leave him sometimes, so I could see my friends and go out with Les, stuff like that. Hilary had to be able to feed him then. So she bought me bottles, a sterilizer and a box of disposable nappies. She called it “the starter set”. I even had my bag packed for the hospital with some stuff for the baby and my pyjamas, dressing-gown, slippers and toiletries, like it said in one of my pamphlets.

I hadn’t picked his name yet, though. I had a book of boys’ names that I got in Smiths. I reckoned I’d have plenty of time after I’d had him and knew what he was like to read through it and find the perfect one.

My mother said the doctor could be wrong.

“Is this from all your years of making appointments for other people?” I asked. “Is that what makes you an expert?”

“Don’t get clever with me,” said my mother. “I have had three children of my own, you know. All I’m saying is you seemed sure about when you stopped bleeding. Maybe the baby is small. Some babies are.”

“And all I’m saying is what the doctor told me yesterday. That he won’t be born till September.”

“But how do you feel?” pushed Detective Spiggs.

How the hell did she think I felt? She was the one who’d had three children of her own. She must’ve remembered feeling like a hippo with the flu.

“I feel brilliant,” I told her. “Never felt better.”

“So you don’t mind if I spend the night at Charley’s? You’ll be all right on your own?”

That was her latest torture. She didn’t want to leave me because I was so close to my delivery date, in case I was early or something and needed her help. I needed her help like Armani needs Calvin Klein.

“Of course I’ll be all right.”

She hesitated for a couple of seconds. I could tell she was torn between doing what she thought was right – staying home to torment me – and doing what she wanted to do – going to Clapham to torment Charley. She’d never had trouble making this decision before, I can tell you that. She’d been leaving me on my own for as long as I could remember. I reckoned she didn’t want the guilt if I died in labour while she was living it up south of the river.

“Well,” she said at last. “You have the number if you do need me.”

“Burnt into my brain,” I said.

It turned out to be a long night.

After the Spiggs went off, I made myself a tin of soup and a toasted cheese sandwich and curled up on the couch to read about Virgo. I couldn’t really get comfortable because my back ached so much. No change there.

I concentrated hard on what the book had to say. It was pretty good news. Virgos are practical and down- to-earth. That sounded all right to me. Shanee was very practical and down-to-earth and I got on fine with her. Also, he’d be adaptable, which wasn’t a bad thing. I wondered if I should call him Virgil. Or maybe Vigil. I put them in my mind as definite possibilities.

I had a couple of spoonfuls of soup, but it started repeating almost as soon as I swallowed it. The cheese tasted off. My back was killing me.

I readjusted the pillows and put on a video I’d already seen. I just wanted to hear some human voices, I didn’t care what they were saying.

My stomach started to ache. I shuffled into the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea.

It was hard to watch the film at all, because I was so uncomfortable and everything hurt so much.

I started thinking about Les.

He’d been gone four days, but I still hadn’t had a postcard. If I’d been Les, I’d’ve sent me one from the airport, you know sort of as a joke and sort of not as a joke. So I’d know that he missed melike I missed him. But guys aren’t the same as girls. It wouldn’t even occur to him. Guys live in the present, but girls live in the future. I’d read it in Cosmo.

I wondered what Les was doing right then. It was too late for swimming in the sea, but he might be in the pool. Or in the bar with his mates. The bar seemed more likely.

Maybe he was thinking of me.

He was sitting at the bar. I could practically see him. Usually Les drank lager, but because he was on holiday he had one of those fancy cocktails with three kinds of spirits, fruit juice, a cherry and a paper parasol stuck in the crushed ice. I’d always dreamed of sitting at a bar, sipping one of those. And Les knew it. He was thinking how much I’d like a drink like that. Since it was Greece, I reckoned there’d be little dishes of olives on the bar as well. And maybe crisps.

Les takes the postcard he bought in the village from his pocket. It’s a photograph of a Greek street, like the one Charlene sent me when she went to Greece with her husband. The houses are small and old and painted pink and blue and green. There’s a string of onions hanging outside one and a goat sleeping in the shade of a small