Page 109 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
The sisters listen intently.
‘I spoke to Deena about her, my old school mate,’ Grace says. ‘What about the rumour that she’s got some condition where she has no body hair?’
I look at Grace bizarrely. ‘She has hair on her head?’
‘No, I mean she’s got no hair anywhere else. Like all the boys said she was as bald as a Barbie.’
‘She stayed at my flat. Why would I know if she has body hair? I wasn’t exactly looking.’
‘Maybe she’s always waxed down there?’ Lucy adds.
Emma looks horrified. ‘Who waxes down there at such a young age?’
‘I don’t even wax, I shave. And I didn’t even do that until my twenties,’ Grace adds.
‘With the orange Bic, right?’ Lucy says. ‘The one that was in the bathroom on the shelf.’
‘Myorange Bic?’ I say.
‘I always thought that was Meg’s?’ Emma adds.
My sisters and I descend into giggles as we realise what we all used the orange Bic for, hoping our own dear Dad never used that thing on his face. Lucy escapes for a moment to stop Violet eating the sprinkles via spoon like cereal.
‘But she’s keeping that other bloke’s baby?’ asks Grace.
‘Looks like it. His name’s Harry Banstead. Complete shit.’
‘And we’ll assume the wife doesn’t know?’ Emma adds.
I shake my head. Emma looks deep in thought. Recently, she’s also had to disentangle all the lies her husband told her over the years and we’ve seen how painful that’s been for her. I pull her in for a hug.
‘Secrets come out eventually,’ she says. ‘Just look after you, B. You’ve got enough going on with Will without having to take that on too.’
I shrug. She may be right. But however Yasmin conducted this affair, I still feel some sympathy for her. She’s alone in all of this and I know how that feels.
‘No, Jago…not like that. Come on, we have to go.’ I suddenly hear a voice next to me in raised angry tones. I turn around to see another mum. Her light brown hair is pulled back from her face and she’s wearing well-fitting jeans with gold Converse. She’s better styled than me but I see the frustration that comes from wrangling two children alone on a shopping trip. Her baby girl cries in her buggy. I peer over to sympathise but the girl faces us and looks familiar to me. I know you. I’ve met you. Your name is Delilah. Oh… Noooo. Oh fuck-a-doodle-do. Her mum looks up at me and realises I’ve clocked who she is. I’ve stalked her on social media with Yasmin. Harry’s wife. Standing right here. Did she hear any of that? She did. I am pretty sure she did judging by the way she’s looking at me.
‘You OK, B?’ asks Grace, watching my reaction. How do I tell the sisters everything with the power of my eyes?
Harry’s wife stuffs everything into her buggy and drags her children away, out of here. I need to explain; I need to do something. I follow her sheepishly.
‘Hi…I’m sorry. This is Delilah, right?’
She looks up at me cautiously. ‘Yes. Who are you?’
‘I’m Beth. Delilah and Joe did a music video together. I’ve met Harry.’
‘So I gather,’ she responds sarcastically.
My face floods red with embarrassment, mainly because I was standing around gossiping about her family, her life.
‘I…what you just heard there…’
She comes over to me so that she’s unfeasibly close to my face, standing away from her kids. Oh my days, I’m going to have a stand-off in a low-rent Christmas grotto. ‘I pretty much knew already. Thanks for the confirmation though, Beth.’
Shit. I can see tears glass her eyes and I put a hand to her arm. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask her.
‘How far gone is Yasmin?’ she whispers.
