Page 57 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘Seriously, Lucy?’ Emma asks.
We’ve set up camp along one side of a swimming pool that’s surprisingly dark and underlit. It feels like a pool in a Bond film where the floor would open up and they’d release sharks to feed on all of us. To the left of us are two older women who are bundled in white towels like Christmas puddings. They are obviously here for the peace and quiet. I resist the urge to inform them they won’t be getting much of that here. Mainly because of Lucy, who has shown up today in the tiniest of bikinis that owes a lot of its construction to both crochet and strong knotting. Emma has gone safe with a one-piece and Beth is just wearing whatever fits – hoping she can use her bump as a flotation device. Meg has gone one-piece fifties style, which lifts her in all the right places, while I picked my trusty high-waisted two-piece. It means if I bomb into this pool, things will stay where nature intended.
‘Lucy, I can literally see your crack,’ Emma says in judgmental tones.
‘Lucky you!’ Lucy replies cheekily. ‘Don’t be such a prude. Where did you get that number? You look like you’re about to swim the one hundred metres freestyle and beat your PB.’
‘Girls, not now…’ Meg whispers.
Emma scowls as Lucy lies down on her sunlounger, bending up a leg like she’s taking in the sun. She would lie there naked to absorb all the relaxation if she could. Meanwhile, Beth is already asleep, as proved by the string of drool pooling from her lips. She seems to be the very opposite of what Lucy is presenting. First time pregnancy and motherhood hit her like a ton of bricks but, this time round, she’s embracing the curves and the excuse to nap whenever she wants. There is a glow in her warmer than the infrared sauna across the way.
‘Beth is asleep,’ I say, pulling a towel over her like a blanket.
‘Leave her be. I think she’s been trying to get her GCSE kids sorted before she goes on maternity leave. She was like a narcoleptic on the drive up. She’d wake up to eat crisps and then fall asleep again,’ whispers Emma.
I stroke her head.
‘I’m not asleep. I’m just boiling in this heat, like a jacket potato,’ Beth mutters with one eye open.
‘Then take off your robe,’ I say, peeling the extra towel off her.
‘I can’t. I didn’t shave. Bad enough waddling in here, I don’t want to look like a hairy walrus.’
‘I didn’t shave either, it’s not like anyone’s looking,’ Meg replies.
I often wonder how we came to be, the five of us. Meg and Lucy couldn’t give a flying fox who sees their bits whereas the rest of us attempt to show a bit more reserve.
‘Do you wax, Luce?’ Beth asks, glancing over at her.
I think we all know the answer to that question. Lucy is in entertainment – she dances, acts and twirls around things. You suspect she needs it done for costumes and such but for other reasons too.
‘I do. I have a lovely lady in Hammersmith who does it, her name is Petra. I like her methods.’
‘She has a method?’ Beth asks. ‘I just wondered if it may be easier to just see a professional and get things tidied up before I give birth to another. I can’t see mine at the moment.’
‘She hot-towels the area and then gets me on all fours for access. Smoother foof that way,’ Lucy replies.
Emma shakes her head. This is not what people discuss in spas. We should be talking about cleanses and where we buy our quinoa.
Meg laughs at the very thought. ‘B, please don’t. You’ll have enough going on down there… You want enflamed lips with regrowth itchiness on top of trapped hairs? No…’
Beth seems reassured by Meg’s words of wisdom while Lucy and I look on in interest. Another thing to separate us is that Lucy and I have not had babies – well, mine didn’t come out of me – and it’s always an education to learn how they came out of our dear sisters in such a savage fashion. They have intimate relationships with their bits now, often talking about their parts resembling the Channel Tunnel, which sometimes makes me glad I chose to adopt.
‘And I was going to announce it to the room later on tonight but I’ll give you a preview. We are having another boy,’ Beth says, smiling broadly. Her smile is contagious. Another person to welcome to the brood, for us all to love.
‘Oh, B!’ Lucy squeals and leans over her towelled body to congratulate her.
‘We found out before we came up here.’
Beth’s long-term man love is a man called Will. The year they had their first child, Joe, was tumultuous but they seemed to have found their groove in the last few years. She certainly seems calmer this time round, like a baby isn’t going to be a hand grenade in her life. She sits up and heaves a leg over the side of the sunlounger.
‘Any names in mind?’ Meg asks her.
‘Don’t even start… We’re veering towards Jude.’
We’re not appalled by this.
‘Frankly, I don’t think we’ve gone alternative enough with the names,’ Lucy contributes. ‘I want to go to a park and shout, “HEY! JULIO! LET’S GO ON THE SWINGS!”’
