New Year’s Eve. Five years ago.
Belle.
Iroll my eyes but stay silent as Luisa rants about how I need to grow up and look for a person who will respect me – instead of constantly sleeping with Lost Boys, who contribute nothing and make my car smell bad.
But truth is, she may have a point. The car smells heinous and I do deliberately pick the most god-awful men that I have no intention of committing to. I know my experience of relationships is not to be relied upon – she is definitely the one winning at life – and today she can say anything she wants and I’ll happily suck it up, but ouch.
‘Oh Jesus!’ She bends over, reaching out with her hands, and grabs the dashboard as she does so. That’s definitely four minutes since the last contraction. She nods her head up and down as she breathes in and out, swear words falling over themselves in a hurry to get out of her mouth, in between the panting and the life advice.
My best friend is the picture of the perfect wife – she asked for (and received) pearls on her birthday and Boden is very much on her bookmarks tab but my God, she can curse. She is turning the air blue around us. I expect we’ll be flagged down by Environmental Health any minute now. And whilst I am dressed head-to-toe in the hospice shop’s finest, she is currently wearing a pale pink cardigan, and a grey and pink frou-frou maternity skirt that is pushed out with the merest hint of netting. We know who will be blamed for disturbing the peace.
‘Let’s breathe together. In … out … in … out … in … out, you’ve got this,’ I say.
‘I was looking forward to the gas and air. If I breathe in here I’ll be too stoned to find the maternity ward,’ she spits. Pregnancy has not made her meeker.
Her breathing regulates and she relaxes her hands before bowling straight back in to the personal attack. ‘Maybe try celibacy, work out who you are. Because the you I know shouldn’t be doing this, sleeping with men like Sam. The youIlove gave that sort of behaviour up years ago.’
‘Aren’t all relationships just trying to find someone to sleep with regularly who you don’t want to murder? I’m simply— Out of the way!’ I beep hard on the horn as some bloke misses us by not much more than a millimetre.
Luisa winds down the window and hollers abuse.
‘You won’t be able to swear like that when you’re a mum.’
‘Which is why I had better fit it all in today.’ She grins as she rolls the window back up before turning back to me and starting again. ‘I get that you have issues – dear God, if I had your parents, I’d be institutionalised by now – but you need to take charge. Stop letting their view of you shape who you are, start to believe you are worthy of more. You’re about to be a godmother, any minute now, and Belle, I need my best friend to be a grown-up.’ She grabs hold of the dashboard and starts breathing manically again.
We career into the car park of the hospital and I screech to a stop in the parking bay outside the main entrance. Today I am going to be the best friend on earth. I can let her say what she wants to, coach her through her breathing, and make sure everything goes as smoothly and as stress-free as possible.
I race around to the passenger door and help her out.
‘I’m not convinced you’re listening.’
‘I am, I am. I should definitely get rid of Sam. You’re right. But honestly, Lu, I spent my whole childhood waiting to be an adult and now I am, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s bills and chores and complicated personal relationships. More adulting at this point doesn’t really appeal.’ We shuffle towards the main doors and she gives me a look that would scare killer wasps. ‘But obviously, for you and your baby I am willing to be the best grown-up possible. I’ll just let the desk staff know Remi isn’t too far behind us.’
She stops walking; her hand grips mine suddenly, so tightly I think she may well pop the fingers out of their joints. She starts to swear at the top of her voice again, drawing disapproving looks from the elderly smokers clustered outside the main door, who have no issues smoking next to their portable oxygen tanks but who presumably have never seen or heard a pregnant woman say fuck before. I fix them with a stern glare and join in her chorus as we walk past.
‘This will all be over soon and you are going to have the most precious, the most amazing little bundle of gorgeousness. You’re doing so well.’
‘Pfft.’
‘We’re nearly there and they’ll pump you full of Entonox and all will be good,’ I say, hoping I have developed the skills of an oracle during the short car journey. Childbirth terrifies me but letting on how scared I am to the woman I love more than anybody else in the world won’t be helpful. My own anxieties don’t have a place right now. Right now it’s her day.
We’re inside, the maternity desk is in sight, our pace is slow and my fingers no longer have any feeling left in them.
My attention is distracted, just for a second, by a man on some chairs by the A&E reception. He has his head in his hands and is sobbing and sobbing, while a couple – I assume his parents – sit on the ground beside him, trying to offer comfort. My heart goes out to him. That is what truly broken must look like. I have never really seen it before. I thought I had seen a lot, but this man, the keening noises that are coming from his covered face sear into the very core of you. It blocks out Luisa’s cursing as I can’t help but look at him and feel utterly forlorn that humans on this earth ever have to endure such agony. His mother leans forward and sweeps a lock of his hair out of his eyes and he briefly lowers his hands to look at her, eyes hollow with pain, revealing himself to be a man I know from a long, long time ago.
That is my home of love. If I have ranged
Like him that travels I return again.
December First.
Belle.
Ilove my goddaughter but she’s like that baby inThe Incredibles, just older, quicker, and more cunning. I have been looking after her for the week while Luisa and Remi are away and it’s safe to say I am exhausted, on first-name terms with the Poison Unit in Birmingham, and I’m not sure how to tell Luisa that her downstairs bathroom is now covered in permanent marker, or, as Marsha would call it, Dalmatian spots. Let no one ever tell you Disney is harmless.
‘And I’m not scared of the Gruffalo because I can roar this loud … Roooooaaaarrrrr! He’d be scared of me,’ she confidently declares. I suspect she is right. The elderly gentleman crossing the road at the same time as we are certainly jumps into the air in shock. I smile apologetically, hoping he is an indulgent grandfather, and grip her hand tighter.
We are walking from the car park into Bristol Airport Arrivals, with Luisa and Remi due to land any minute. Marsha is holding my hand but is so excited that she’s jumping up and down with an energy that should really be bottled and sold.
