Page 48 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
‘Use a sheath.’
Holy balls. I just said that, right? They both try to hold in their giggles. That was an adulting fail on all accounts.
‘We will,’ mutters Harvey, confused but still surveying the carnage.
‘We’ll see you after Christmas, Miss,’ says Imogen.
They both nod and scamper out of the bathroom as Joe lies there looking at me.Don’t worry, Mum. What they’ve just seen here was contraception enough.
Track Eleven
‘Shallow’ – Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper (2018)
What is an awful thing to do in a relationship? Like the pinnacle is probably violence, murder and abuse, but something like bigamy would rank up there too, wouldn’t it? Some serial affair that went on for decades that spouted extra children and layers of deceit. Maybe a different sort of lie? Gamblers, addicts, perverse political opinion. I know someone who dumped their boyfriend because she discovered months down the line that he was a flat earther. He was so adamant that this was a truth that she threw a mug at his head because of his stupidity. We all have our deal-breakers. I once dumped someone at university who referred to his penis as a meat Calippo. These thoughts go through my head on the train as I think about what I did this morning. I had a sneak peek on Will’s phone. We can call it a moment of hormone-addled lunacy but the truth is I was worried. I haven’t been able to confront him about the fact he’d met up with Jason that night and why he didn’t tell me. The day of my school visit, he came home. We had pasta for dinner and I did the typical Beth thing of not grating enough cheese. We spoke about school, I described how Joe exploded like a dirty bomb, and went through details of my meeting with my head, Alicia, who patted Joe like a farm animal and made my molars hurt with boredom as she described the new prospectus to me and the different fonts she’d chosen.
But I couldn’t ask him about that night. It was an easy enough question but in the back of my mind, I knew he’d kept it from me for a reason and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to hear what that was just yet. So, we shared a family bar of Dairy Milk for dessert and we watched a few episodes ofOzarkin silence. The moment he fell asleep, I looked through old WhatsApp messages and texts. I then put the phone back on the dresser and lay there staring at the ceiling thinking about the infinite bad possibilities of what could be happening. On the train now, I look down at Joe, whose eyes dart in time with the golden autumnal scenery dashing past the window. I don’t think your father is a bigamist. I don’t think he thinks the world is flat. But there’s a feeling that makes me wonder if he hung out with Jason so he didn’t have to hang out with us – and that is the worst feeling of all.
We’re on a train today on our way to see Giles, who wants to discuss our future in baby modelling. I haven’t thought as far as Tuesday to be fair, Giles. But it felt like a good excuse to get out of the house and delve a bit further into what this could entail. The video was fun if absurd and there was money at the end of it, so it feels good to invest in Joe’s future and save up for trainers and tertiary education. We’re meeting for brunch which is probably the main reason I accepted this invitation as well. Brunch is my favourite meal of all the meals simply because it’s an excuse to eat breakfast without having to wake up too early. It was a stock meal for Will and I as people with weekend social lives. We used to pour out of bed, have eggs and Bloody Marys, swap sections of theObserver, and friends would join us and we’d compare the size and horror of our hangovers. I ask myself where those friends are now and I realise they’re far away enjoying their boozy brunches alone, without the risk of a baby spoiling things. No one needs a hangoverandthe extra work of having to a find a highchair.
As we pull into Wimbledon station, I scan my phone and a text sits there from Will. I open it and it’s a picture of someone on the Tube wearing a dress with a giant owl sweeping down the front. I think there are feathers to the arms.You knew that would make me smile. I send an owl emoji back. He replies with a lemon. I kiss the top of Joe’s head and put my phone away. To doubt you, to think you’d lie to me or do anything to hurt me is just stupid. Almost as stupid as me thinking that I could carry Joe on the train in a carrier. Why did I think a carrier was a good option today? I had visions of Joe swaddled against my bosom, all secure, bonding skin-on-skin. I was fooled. You know what happens when you have to get off a train and are carrying a baby bag and a baby and are trying to remember what pocket your wallet is in? You sweat like balls. I am goingto look like I’ve jogged here. I traverse the commuters and make our way through the barriers to find Giles waiting for us on the other side: the epitome of cool in a peacoat and turn-up jeans, a style that I think Will has been trying to emulate for years.
‘Yay! Baby Joe and his Mama Bear Beth!’
This is a new nickname. Is this a reference to my body hair or my size? I’m not sure how to respond. Should I growl? He’s going to notice that I’m wearing that maxi dress again, isn’t he? This is my version of ethical fashion, wear something to death until it’s falling apart.
‘Hey! It’s Giles!’ I can’t think on my feet to come up with a suitable nickname in return.
‘Is he always so cute? It hurts my eyes.’
He reaches over and strokes one of my son’s cheeks. Joe, who seems to know when compliments come his way now, looks over and smiles. This is part of your power now, eh?
‘How are you? I am so glad you could make it,’ Giles continues.
‘It was kind to be asked. And to be fair, I’m a sucker for brunch,’ I tell him, though conscious that it sounds like I’m here just for bacon.
‘Aren’t we all, lovely? So, a slight change of plan – we were initially meant to be meeting in a café but the other person here today offered her home. It’s literally around the corner, and I thought it’d be more comfortable for Joe?’
‘Oh, yeah sure.’ That person had better brew coffee strong enough to strip paint. I smile politely. Giles is right though, this may mean less baby juggling and I appreciate the gesture.
‘She literally lives down here. I’ve never been to her house before but…’ He studies the maps app on his phone. We’ve turned away from the main busy high street on to a residential road where the houses start to stretch into the sky and the frontages are sleeker and more contemporary. I am going to assume we’re going to see a director or possibly someone famous. I hope it’s someone cool like Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Maybe she wants to cast Joe in a film or give him a long-running role in a sitcom. He’d be a sitcom baby. Like the baby inThe Hangover.
‘And here we are.’
I glance at the modern font of the house number and the ivy hanging over the custard yellow door. Whoever lives in a house like this definitely gets their milk delivered too as they have a wooden holder for the bottles. I buy my milk from the petrol station on the corner of our street. This is all lifestyle goals on steroids. Giles rings the bell and the door swings open. Oh, bollocks. Seriously?
‘Yasmin, hey!’ Giles says politely.
‘Hi, guys, come in!’ She gives me a smile. If you can call it that; she has that stony resting bitch face thing going on that makes me question the sincerity. I guess the last time we saw each other was in that corridor where she was going full tongues snog with someone who wasn’t her boyfriend. She’s in a slouchy cashmere jumper, showing off the straps of her vest, cropped leggings and bare feet. I suddenly feel overdressed. A chihuahua runs up to my feet and starts barking.
‘Down, Dicky.’
Dicky? Small dogs like this scare me. My worry is that I’m going to trip over or tread on them. He scurries around my feet and gets lost underneath my maxi skirt. I have visions of him climbing my leg like a tree. I am lucky she bends down to retrieve him and picks him up, cradling him in the nook of her arm. Look at us with our respective babies. I glance around the hallway. Sleek concrete floor, check. Cylindrical copper light fittings, check. Full nude photo of her by the door, crossed leg and a bended knee blocking her foof, check.
‘Do you want to leave your coats here?’
I nod as she slides a door back. It’s an actual cloakroom that houses at least thirty different pairs of shoes, baskets full of maps, sunglasses and keys. This is the difference between the rich and the poor, they have space to put everything. I keep all my trainers under my bed and my sunglasses at the bottom of handbags.
‘This is a beautiful home,’ Giles mentions.
