And then I realise: something must be wrong. Very wrong.
I phone her, right there, sitting on the toilet.
‘Is Dad dead?’ I say as soon as she answers.
‘What?’ Her voice is sleepy. I’ve woken her. That’s never happened before either – my mother isn’t a big sleeper. ‘Is it you? Are you sick? Is it cancer?’
‘Julia,’ says my mother, her voice stronger. ‘Have you been drinking? Or have you taken something?’
‘Of course not – I’m pregnant and it’s 6.30 a.m..’
‘Then why are you sounding so crazy? Of course Dad is not dead. Of course I don’t have cancer.’
‘Then why did you send me that message?’
And suddenly it’s quiet between us. Because I’ve bought truth into the spotlight – that a message from my mother telling me she loves me can only signify a crisis.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘That.’
Neither of us know what to say, obviously. Eventually I break what feels like several years of silence. ‘So, you’re okay?’
‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I’m fine. And so is Dad.’
‘Okay. Well, just checking. Bye then.’ There’s another short silence.
‘Bye,’ says my mum.
Only after that do I look at my other messages. Claire has responded with her perfect blend of politeness and graciousness. I read her message several times, but I can’t fault her.
When I get to the kitchen, Daniel is drinking a cup of coffee. I don’t want to be cross with him any more, but I find I still am. To try to change that, I touch his shoulder and he reaches for my hand.
‘I told Claire the situation,’ I say. ‘She’s keeping Mackenzie this weekend.’
Daniel lets go of my hand. ‘You spoke to Claire?’
‘Well, I messaged her and she messaged back. We all need to be civil if we’re going to put Mackenzie’s interests first.’ Which is a bit ironic, because of course it’s Claire and me who are putting Mackenzie’s interests first – Daniel’s just doing whatever pops into his head.
‘You think I’m a bad person,’ he says, looking at me in that intense way he has.
I have to think about that. ‘I guess I’m just finding out you’re not quite the saint I thought you were,’ I say slowly. ‘I guess that’s part of getting to know someone.’
Daniel stands up and I think he’s angry; I think he’s going to walk away. But then he puts his hands on my waist – or the place where I used to have a waist – and he says in a husky voice, ‘What did I do that made you think I was a saint?’ His one hand creeps round to my breast, and the other one pulls me against him so I can feel his erection. ‘I’m no saint,’ he whispers. ‘I am so bad.’
I really, really don’t want to be turned on by him. I really want to be angry. But apparently, along with my new energy, I’ve finally hit the stage of pregnancy I’ve read about where you’re interested in sex again. Very interested.
I resist for a moment, but I can’t. ‘Show me,’ I whisper. ‘Show me how bad you are.’
So he does. And I’m late for work. On the good side, I’m in a better mood than I’ve been in for weeks and it’s taken my mind off my mother. On the bad side, I’m still cross with Daniel. Apparently great sex doesn’t make that go away.
Claire
When I sit down to work, I realise that I’m not as in control of my diary as I usually am. I haven’t written in some of Mackenzie’s school things, and I need to fill in the change to the childcare arrangements. When I open the diary, the first thing I see is that Mackenzie’s on holiday next week. I’d completely forgotten because it’s not the usual holiday time, but an extra week off because of some course the school is sending all the teachers on. So now, not only do I have to keep her entertained all weekend, I also have her at home all of next week. It suddenly seems too much – and for a moment I just want to give up. But it’s not my style, and I have no real choice.
Mackenzie is on holiday next week. Want to take her for a few days? I text Daniel, even though this kind of thing isn’t in the agreement set out by my dad’s lawyer. This separation business should also work for me. And anyway, Daniel needs to make up the time he’s missing this weekend.
Sorry, babe, he texts back almost immediately. Busy week.
He’s still calling me ‘babe’. I look around my office as if there’s someone I can tell, but the downside of self-employment is that there never is. ‘Babe,’ I spit at the computer, which remains impassive.
Between Janice going to Italy, and telling Tiffany and everyone else the truth, I’m exhausted. I wish I was going to Italy like Janice. I wish I was going anywhere. Me and Mackenzie, and forget the rest of the world.
And then I have an idea. That’s exactly what we’ll do.
I go online and scout around. A week in Mauritius, at a child-friendly resort – that’s exactly what the doctor ordered. Exactly.
I phone my mum. ‘Mummy,’ I say, ‘I need a break.’
‘Well, of course you do, my love,’ she says. ‘I keep telling your father you’re working far too hard and that bastard putting you in this terrible position . . . I don’t know how you do it. I just don’t. What can we do? Should we take Mackenzie? Do you want to go to the farm?’
My parents own part shares in a game farm, and for a moment I think maybe that’s a more sensible plan. But now I have a vision of myself sipping piña coladas on the beach while Mackenzie frolics in the sea – possibly with dolphins.
‘I was thinking Mackenzie and I might go to Mauritius for the school holiday next
