Page 99 of Love and Loathing

Aubrey just chuckled, hand on the small of her back as they walked, exactly where it ached the most. He probably knew it well. Spent a large part of his evening when he came home from work rubbing that exact spot.

It really was difficult to remembernotbeing pregnant. It was such a strange, all-consuming thing. Terrifying and thrilling.Uncomfortable and boring. Ungainly yet sensual. Curves and breasts and cravings and a new awareness of her body, inside and out. Aubrey loved it. Was besotted with her bump. But Aubrey didn’t get the heartburn and the hip ache, or lie there awake wondering how long it was since the baby last moved, panic mounting, until it flipped over in her belly or kicked her soundly in the bladder.

But no, she was besotted, too. Spoke constantly to their daughter, fingers splayed gently over the strangeness of her new shape. Sang songs to it in the shower. She stared at every pram that went past in the street, wondering if her baby would look like that. Though they all sort of looked the same.

The summerhouse was busy. There were lots of the regulars here—families and volunteers from the houses and tower block nearby. Evie smiled at them, said hello. But there were lots of new faces, too, this being one of the fundraising open days, with activities for the kids and a small bric-a-brac sale. She’d made Aubrey buy fifty tickets for the raffle. “Yes,” he’d said dryly, “I do desperately want that second-hand pair of curling tongs.”

He ducked into the crowd of the summerhouse and emerged with cold drinks for them. They walked to their usual seat—a bench, hand-made by that gnarly old retired builder, under a trellis frame half filled by young roses.

“I’ve thought of a name,” Evie said once they sat down. She looked out over the garden, at the flowers and the birds and the bees, and yes, at the children laughing and the rainbows hand-painted by the primary school on the fence. She looked at the sunshine on the green leaves and smelt the flowers in the air, tipped her head to the blue, blue sky.

“Another one?” Aubrey asked. “That’s five this week.”

She nudged him with her shoulder, still sitting with her head tipped back, her closed eyes to the sky.

“Summer,” she said.

Aubrey said nothing, so she opened her eyes and looked at him. He was looking at her, then he swept his gaze over the garden, taking in all the things that she just had.

“Summer Ford,” he said.

“Summer Blackton.”

He gave her a flat look. “Summer Blackton Ford.”

“Or let’s make our own new surname! Some people do! And I’ve no love for mine. My brothers can carry it on. Summer Blackford? Summer Fordton?”

His flat look barely changed, then he leant down, put his hand on her bump. “What do you think, Summer? Is Mummy mad?”

The baby wriggled. It always did when he spoke to it. He felt the movement and grinned.

“We have a verdict.”

“But you like Summer?”

“I love Summer.”

Evie smiled and put her hand over his where it lay on her stomach. Summer seemed to give a stretch, then go still, falling asleep in the drowsy heat that lulled her mother. Evie settled her head on Aubrey’s shoulder. He tucked her more firmly against his side, the heat of him matching the heat of the sun until it all seemed like one.

“I wish we could stay all afternoon,” she said.

“If only there wasn’t the small task of moving house to attend to.”

She grinned. “I feel guilty being here while the removal men are packing all our stuff.”

“It’s what we’re paying them for.”

“And we get to walk into the new place, and everything’s unpacked. Just like that.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It’ll mostly still be in boxes. And mostly probably in the wrong rooms.”

“So long as there’s a kettle. And a bed to lie on.”

She felt him shift his head, his mouth against her hair as he murmured, “Definitely the bed. Apparently sex is a good way to induce labour.”

“I suspected you were listening to that part of the prenatal course.”

“It caught my attention.”

---