Was going to fire Rog as soon as I headed to the shop, I really was. But got there to a stressed Marly: Rosie was out of action with bad cramps, so we were needed on the farm! We left Toby in charge at the shop. (Spoiler alert as I am writing this at the end of the day: he survived! Which, let’s be honest, it did not look as if he would when I suggested the idea.)
We were enlisted to clear rocks from Pipit Spinney, one of my favorite spots on the farm. It’s this wedge-shaped little field that’stoo small to be much use—you can hardly get a tractor in there—but I love it because it has the most amazing sea view, and because it’s surrounded by wild hedgerows packed with flowers and minibeasts. This morning I swear I saw a stoat, which I thought was an extinct animal, so got very excited about it until Marly told me “they’re like bloody rats, don’t encourage them,” as though maybe I’d make them too big for their little stoat boots. She didn’t let Ginger catch it, though, which is about as close as Marly gets to having a soft spot for something.
Anyway, Jones and I rolled our sleeves up (or, more accurately, tucked our trousers into our socks) and waded into the post-pig mud to clear the stones. It was totally backbreaking work, and Jones was obviously better at it than me because he’s a big muscular man and I’m very much not that. But was also surprisingly lovely. Ginger wagging between us, the smell of freshness and roots and reality in the autumn air…Gorgeous.
Brianna rang me while I was there. I stepped out of earshot to take the call, finding a tree stump where I could sit down.
“Hey! Ooh, wow, it’s nice not bending over for a minute.”
“Hello,” Brianna said, “whathaveI interrupted?”
“Moving rocks!”
“Moving…Never mind. I saw your short list—are you seriously considering letting a man called Keith put his sperm into you?”
“Bri! He won’t be putting anything anywhere, it’s a medical procedure, very straightforward, very nonsexual, and also, he’s not actually called Keith. I just gave them all names so I don’t get the contenders muddled—they’re just called, like, Donor 1989 or whatever.”
“Oh. Why would you choose Keith? Nobody fancies Keith.”
“I don’t want to fancy him,” I said, a little impatiently. “That’s the joy of this! I’m not required to sleep with him at all!”
“Are you still very anti having sex with anyone?”
Found myself gazing at Jones across the field as she said this.
“Sex is not relevant to the sperm conversation,” I said. “Once again, Bri, this is the point.”
“No, I get that, I’ve segued.”
“Seamless, as always.”
“What if youdomeet someone one day? What if they mind that Keith’s your baby daddy?”
“Then they’d need to work on being a bit more open-minded, wouldn’t they?” I said. “Seriously, though, I don’t want to think about meeting someone or falling in love. I’m done with that. I want to do this alone, for me.”
My voice broke a bit on that last word. God, authenticity is embarrassing.
“And you know I love that for you,” Brianna said. “But please. Not Keith. He’s a Pisces, anyway—it would never work.”
“It doesn’t have to—”
“I’m teasing, I’m teasing.” There was a beat. “Do you think, if you met someone who really wanted to be a father…”
“Your obsession with me having a traditional family structure is giving me the ick.”
“It’s not about that. You know I totally support you in becoming a single mum. I just don’t know that I want you to write off romantic love forever aspartof this decision.”
“You’re just way too happily married to talk to about this. It’shardto find someone who’s as perfect for me as Stu is for you, and I’m done with waiting on that miracle to occur before I get to have a baby. I know some people are lucky and get pregnant well into their forties, but I’mscared, Bri—I might not be one of those people. And honestly, I don’t want to wait until then anyway. You know what it feels like, wanting a baby—how overpowering that feeling can be.”
“Well, what if your little one is five andthenyou meet the love of your life?”
“My little one is going to be the love of my life!” I chirped, then I toned down the Cheerful Charlie voice—am really trying to give up on all that fake stuff. “I’m just not thinking about romantic love right now.”
“I get that. Believe me. You know I love my kids more than life itself. But I also love my husband, and it’s not either-or, that’s all I’m saying. You’ve got more than one love story in that big smushy heart of yours.”
“My heart is not smushy. Smushed, maybe.”
“Oh, please. You sound happier than you’ve sounded inyears. Are you telling me you’re still heartbroken?”
