Page 12 of Storm in a D Cup

‘Thanks. I feel great,’ I lied, then thought, what the hell. ‘I’m so happy I’m terrified,’ I whispered.

I heard her exhale. ‘Why?’

I shrugged, as if she could see me. ‘I dunno. I just keep waiting for this bomb to drop.’ There was no way I was telling Judy about Julian’s request for a child, not yet, anyway. And it was true – I was so terrified. Even during the day I’d catch myself dreading losing it all, either through Julian’s abandoning me for another woman, or his death, which would have been, if I’d have any say in it, only minutes apart. Was our life just too perfect? Nothing bad ever happened. We were living what you’d call a life of domestic bliss. Yet this baby thing really was bugging me. Why now?

Judy inhaled deeply and I could almost see the smoke.

‘I thought you’d quit, after all you put Steve through,’ I said, meaning herquasi-divorce over her gym instructor, or The Face Eater, as I’d dubbed him seven years ago.

Judy exhaled. ‘Oh, get real,’ she said. ‘I learned to cook, didn’t I? And that’s still one more thing thanMarcyever did. Anyway, I’m glad for you that everything is perfect, although I don’t believe it ever lasts because really all men care about are looks. So keep fit or you’lllosehim.’

To hell with anybody’s feelings. That was Judy for you – blunt, tactless and inconsistent. Hadn’t she just said I looked good?

‘Actually, Julian and I are trying to get pregnant,’ I blurted out.

Whoa. Where had that come from? I’d told Julian I’dthinkabout it. And now my mouth had suddenly decided – without even consulting me – that I wanted me to become a mother for the third time?

Silence on the other end. I waited, wondering how long it was going to take her to enter her usual routine of lectures about keeping a figure. Because, unlike Renata, Judy never questioned the deeper whys and wherefores. She didn’t disappoint me, of course.

‘Oh, Erica, what the hellfor?’ she gasped, and I could almost see her eyebrows shoot into her hairline with what could only be described as disgust at the thought of a levitating me. ‘You already have two – why the hell do you want another one?’ Judy had three herself, but her second was a twin birth so she’d got shafted, in her opinion. But if you look at it figure-wise, she only had to get fat twice for three children. So far I’d gotten fat three times for two. It figured, didn’t it?

‘Erica,’ Judy continued. ‘If you were still, say, in your thirties and didn’t have any, I’d understand, but I just don’t get why you want to put yourself through all that again.’

‘Uh, because Julian wants a child of his own?’ That would have been the perfect moment for any woman to question the reason behind a man’s wishes. As per her character, Judy let the moment pass.

‘So what?’ she said flatly. ‘Tell him to get a surrogate. You don’t want to totally blimp out again, do you?’ Then she gasped. ‘Did you say yes?’

‘Er – not exactly.’

‘Well put him out of his misery and tell him if he wants a baby to look around somewhere else! You already gave. Unless—’

‘Unless what?’

‘Are you guys in a rut?’

Oh my God, was it really true then, that a baby this late in a marriage is usually a fixer-upper situation? Judy was the man expert. If she confirmed Renata’s opinion then it had to be right. We were in a rut and Julian thought that the only way out was having a kid? What ever happened to working on things? And why were things cooling between us? Although we’d been married for five years, we’d been together for seven, so we were still technically subject to the Seven Year Itch.

True, we hadn’t had sex in quite a while because we were always so busy. But it wasn’t the first time it had (or rather, hadn’t) happened. The kids alone had soaked up three-quarters of our marriage when they were younger and –oh. OK. I think I got it now. I needed to focus more on my wonderful, fantastic husband. Do more for him. Get the sex rolling again. Be ever-attractive, sexy, beautiful.

But the mirror told me I was going to have one helluva time doing that, and that months of munching on rice cakes and lettuce was not going to make me look anything like Angelina Jolie.

4

A Family Affair

One week later, we were on day three of my family’s stay and having a lazy lunch under the wisteria-laden pergola. Thinking back now, I could put it all down to the excessive heat, maybe even the scirocco breeze that is known to have driven people to murder in the past. But we all knew the truth. Even in Arctic temperatures, Marcy managed to damage relationships. Per se, she wasn’t really that bad once you got to know her. Once we’d cleared our past of all those cobwebs, we’d become quite close, even if I was in my late thirties at the time. All we had to do was understand that it was the booze talking whenever she hurt your feelings. She had a drinking problem that was getting worse and worse, but she would never admit to it.

After berating her three lovely sisters who, for my sake, chose to ignore her, Marcy came up with one of her outrageous (but not out of the ordinary) comments about my cooking. Dad made the big mistake of snorting and saying something under his breath, something that he never did. I can’t remember all the details but it went something like this:

‘Edward, what are you muttering about?’

‘Nothing, dear.’

‘Nothing? You’ve been like this for months now. Will you please tell me why you are never happy?’

Dad stared at her for a long moment before he said, ‘I’mnever happy? Jesus Christ, Marcy – if anyone here is always complaining, it’s you. Just leave everybody alone. And stop ruining everything.’

That alone shocked us all, because Dad never raised his voice. He was the mildest man in creation. And Marcy wasn’t used to anyone talking back at her. It earned him a smile but also a silent admonishment from my eldest aunt Maria who could smell trouble a mile off, especially where Marcy was concerned.

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