‘I farted, didn’t I?’
He nods.
14
Oscar, 9th February.
Since my hypnotherapy session, I look at this note on my phone a lot. Who are you, Oscar? Is that the day we met? Is it his birthday? Did we have a good date? It must have been for me to have associated him with such happiness. Some romantic version of myself wonders if it’s a date when I’m supposed to return to a certain place to meet him. 9th February next year – maybe that’s when we had planned to meet on the concourse of a train station. Under a clock. In my mind, Oscar looks like young Sean Bean. He’s sturdy stock with dimples and good forearms. He’d grab me at that train station and say something a bit filthy before a dip, a grope of the arse and the steamiest of kisses.
Beth looks over at me now. ‘I went through two hundred and fifty Oscars on Facebook the other night, nothing.’
The sisters and I still dig through this mystery. It gives us something to do when there’s nothing on the telly. After I said his name randomly, I didn’t recall anything else about him in that session. I was trying too hard to look for him apparently. That said, I’ll be back to see Cosmo next week because hypnotherapy randomly helped me remember the PIN number for my credit cards.
I prop myself up on Beth’s shoulder as baby Jude sleeps soundly in a sling to her chest. ‘In my head, Oscar is the love of my life. The date is marked down as the day I met him.’
‘Or, it’s most likely the date a debt collector has to be paid. He could just be a window cleaner. A window cleaner you’ve most likely shagged.’
‘Can you say “shagged” in front of a baby?’
‘You used to say it all the time in front of Joe. It was a wonder his first word wasn’t “jizz”.’
She laughs and an old lady sitting opposite us on this train gives us both looks in judgement. All right, Grandma, wind your neck in. Her glances shift between the both of us trying to work out the relationship. Beth and I have never really looked alike so we could be lesbians for all she knows, raising this little baby together. You can tell this doesn’t sit well with her so I lean over and give Beth a kiss on the cheek to make her muscles tighten even further.
‘Love you, B.’
‘Love you too. Stop winding up that old woman.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Because I know what you’re like.’
‘She’s got issues with just a kiss. It’s not like we’re scissoring on the train. Sorry, Jude.’
‘I love how you’re apologising to my baby. You were once holding Joe and told us about a bloke you shagged who had a dick as wide as a beer can.’
‘Who was this man?’ I enquire, my nostrils flared.
‘Lord knows. I didn’t keep tabs on names. In fact we used to have nicknames for a lot of them because that helped us pass the time.’
‘Like?’
‘Jetwash was the one who ejaculated in ludicrous amounts, with some propulsion apparently, you said you nearly drowned. My personal favourite was Sir Lancelot.’
‘He sounds polite, well-presented and regal.’
‘He was into medieval re-enactment. He referred to his knob as a lance, he wore chainmail and called you his wench.I shall penetrate your fortress…’ she says, in knightly tones.
I double over in laughter as Beth makes googly eyes at her little infant son. God, this girl I used to be. She really had no limits, did she? There was no line. I am duly in awe of her but intimidated in equal measure. Chainmail sounds like there’d be chafing though.
‘Did you ever think it was too much, B? You know, all the sex. Sometimes I hear all these stories back and I’m just sat here in shock.’
Beth shrugs. ‘You are too much. But it was kinda the beauty of you too. You always said when fellas do the same, it’s labelled differently and you were right to some degree.’
‘So I was a feminist too…?’
‘You were something else. You had this very strong sense of justice. There was fire in those bones. There still is. You get that from Mum.’
I smile as she says that. Despite Meg and Mum not really seeing eye to eye at all, it’s because they’re perhaps too similar and I think I’m an offshoot of that. I like Meg’s style, how she challenges the status quo. Ems, Beth and Grace have shades of Dad. It is quieter but fully invested in everything, they feel it all, they love others so very hard. It makes me wonder what will become of Jude here. How much of all our family filters into these little people? I hear footsteps thunder down the train carriage. This little one doing the thundering has shades of me in him and I like that very much.
