Page 4 of Are We Nearly There Yet?

We both swallow hard as she keeps going, ‘... And when we had the scan this morning Al, and I heard that tiny heartbeat, I can’t ... I don’t even know how to describe the feeling ...’

I interrupt her. ‘Wait, what, the scan?’ I am puzzled. ‘Why would you havethe scan so early?’

‘Oh,’ she smiles wide. ‘It wasn’t early. It was thethree-month scan. That’s why we can finally tell people!’

My head spins. Three months. Three months?! She’s kept this from me all this time? For months? She has kept this thing inside her, literally and emotionally, for weeks and weeks and weeks. Was shepretendingto drink all those times we’ve been out? When shevomited on a grave, was that all amorning-sickness-relatedLIE? Every day we chatted and texted and FaceTimed, she didn’t say a word. Eva and I have never hidden anything from each other, ever. I know everything. Every single thing.

But not any more, apparently. Not only has she gone off and taken a giant step without me, she’s done it behind my back. She and Jeremyare having a baby, andthat means they have a private, secret life that I’m not allowed into. The stomach ache becomes a tight ball of pain.

I can feel tears stinging my eyes, and she takes my emotional display to be a good sign, hugging me as Amelia approaches.

‘Eva!’ Amelia barks happily, as my best friend, who’s been keeping this secret for months, whispers in my ear, ‘Don’t say anything to anyone, I wantto tell them!’

She and Amelia bustle off conspiratorially, and I stand there for a few more seconds. I don’t know what to think, I can’t believe it. I mean, of course I’m happy for her. Of course I am! Aren’t I? I mean, if I wasn’t happy for her that would make me a Full Monster and I’m not Full Monster, am I?

Yes, I’m happy for her! She’s happy, so I’m happy. Everyone around me is havingbabies and getting married and bringing their husbands whose names I don’t know to my birthday dinner and having lives and moving on and I am totally, absolutely, completely happy for everyone.

Happy happy happy.

I look down at my hands and they’re shaking a bit. All the information jumbles around my brain like a washing machine.

Eva and Jeremy are having a baby. Eva didn’t tell me.Jeremywill now be around forever. Even if they break up – which obviously they will at some point because they’re so wrong for each other – he is going to be in our lives for good. He’s going to be the dad to Eva’s child. Eva’s going to have a child.

Then the rest of it hits me: Shit, I’m going to have to move out. It’s Eva’s flat – her parents own it – and she’ll want it for her, Jeremyand the baby. After eight years of living together, Eva will throw me out, to make room for her new family. Her new gang, which I’m not a part of.

Fucking hell.

I knew everything was going to change when I turned thirty, but I thought it would be more along the lines of hand wrinkles and body confidence. Instead, I’ve lost my best friend and my home all in the space of a few minutes.

I feel so lost, standing there at the edge of my own birthday party, and a sudden intense longing for my bed overwhelms me. I wish I was there right now. I wish I was under my duvet armed with afive-pack of Creme Eggs.

The thought makes a single tear dramatically roll down my face. It’s my birthday and it’s such a small want, but I can’t even have that.

Fuck this, I’m textingTD.

Dan Heam – also known as Twat Dan orTD– and I have been on/off for the last four years. I say on/off, but he ‘doesn’t really like labels’ so we were never really officially ‘on’ or properly together. Even though of course we were! We were mad about each other at one point. I know he loved me and I know I was his girlfriend. Nobody else really understood our relationship, but I did, and hedid. We got it. It was us against the world. And there were times it was so good. So good. And also bad. But that’s any relationship, isn’t it?

Either way, we are definitely off right now. Except I keep sleeping with him because I’m an idiot and I hate myself. There’s no point trying to fight it though. I am who I am. And that person is an idiot with noself-control or willpower.

‘Youawgknf?’I type. Shit, I’m a bit blurry with the emotion, and also probably all the shots.

I try again:‘You around?’

His reply is instant:‘Yep cum over.’

Not even a question, just a command. Twelve characters ofnon-affection. He didn’t even invest the effort it takes to write ‘come’ properly. Because obviously an ‘o’ and an ‘e’ require so much more time and care. Maybe if he’dadded a comma after ‘Yep’, maybe I could’ve seen some kind of yearning in that, some kind of sign of love. Commas are on the other keyboard, so that would’ve signalled intention and interest.

But no. I cannot find any evidence of actual effort.

God, I hate him and his presumption – as if I am powerless to his demands! As if I will obviously do what he says, without question!

And,OK, fine, yes I will come/cum over. But not yet because I havesomedignity! And also, I need to eat dinner, which is just coming around now.

An hour and a half later and I am sitting under the table. I can hear Slutty Sarahstage-whispering about ‘attention-seeking’ but she can bloody talk. Who even uses the word slut any more? No one, that’s who. It’s an awful nickname but she insistswe keep using it. We’ve tried casually calling her just ‘Sarah’ – we’ve even tried to explain how sexist the word ‘slutty’ is – but she is adamant. She made a speech about empowerment and reclaiming words but everyone knows that is all patriarchydouble-agent bullshit, she’s doing it for the shock value and because she thinks it’s funny when she introduces herself to new people andin-laws.

Anyway, I don’t care if everyone – even Slutty Sarah with hernipple-ring party trick – is judging me. I’m drunk, it’s my birthday, I’ve lost my best friend and I have nowhere to live. I have a right to throw a tantrum and hide under a table.

Obviously I would hide in the loo, but then people might not notice I’m throwing a tantrum?

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