Olive

6

After work, I WhatsApp Cecily and ask if I can come over. I feel as if we didn’t really speak properly at Bea’s and I’m worried that I was being too jokey and mean.

Me: Hello babe are you free this eve for a visitor?

Cec: ooh that’s a LOVELY idea. Yes please. Chris is out with the lads, I’m on the sofa, feeling like a whale in thick socks.

Me: Not a whale. Yay see you v soon.

I have to see her properly before the baby arrives. Nothing beats one-on-one time. I nip home first, and grab a giant frozen tub of home-made macaroni cheese that Zeta made me when the break-up first happened and I couldn’t quite stomach anything. They say the best gift to give any pregnant woman, or new parent, is food. Not flowers, because that’s just one extra thing to keep alive. I realize on my way over that this is probably the last time I will see her before she is a mum – Cec, being just Cec, on her own. The thought makes me feel a bit teary but then she answers the door and I push out a smile.

Cecily and her husband Chris live in a big Georgian terraced, high-ceilinged, West London house – the kind with sleek white columns in front of the door. The elephant in the room is always that Cecily’s house is much nicer than the rest of ours. Bea’s is gorgeous but also a kid-infested circus. Cec’s looks like an Architectural Digest photoshoot. She has a roll-top bath with a marble floor, for God’s sake. Her hallway is big enough that it has room for a blue velvet sofa on one side as you walk in. I try not to be too jealous that Cecily’s casual sit-down-and-take-your-shoes-off hallway sofa is nicer than my main living-room sofa that took me five years to pay off. It can be awkward when your mate has way more money than you. But she is an award-winning lawyer. I am a not-yet-award-winning writer. We made different choices so it doesn’t really make sense to be jealous. But still, it’s the easiest thing in the world to compare yourself to others – especially your best friends and their velvet hallway sofas.

She answers the door in a red stretchy maternity jumpsuit and gives me a huge hug, excitedly taking the tub of macaroni cheese from my hands. I hang up my faux fur jacket on her wooden coat stand and kick off my trainers. Cec walks down the hallway; from the back, she doesn’t really look pregnant, then she turns to the side and it’s like she’s suddenly swallowed a giant beach ball. It amazes me how flexible she still is as she squats down to pick up a plate from the lower cupboard in the kitchen.

‘Want me to get those?’ I ask.

‘No, it’s all good. I’ve been going to this yoga class thing,’ she says, straining. ‘It’s good, except for the fact that it’s full of mummy bloggers.’

‘How do you know?’ I laugh.

‘I don’t. I’m just being a judgemental bitch.’

‘You’re allowed to be, you’re pregnant.’

‘What will be my excuse for being a bitch to people after I give birth?’ She winks.

‘You’ve had a whole nine months of getting away with anything and everything,’ I say, putting my arm around her.

‘Yep! And that is the only thing I’ll miss about pregnancy.’

She is so rotund now, as if the weight of the huge bump could topple her over, but she’s flexing and stretching and bouncing her legs on the floor in a sort of frog-like position.

‘Wanna see the Baby Room?’ Cec asks, excitedly.

‘Yes of course. And, look Cec, I’m sorry if I was a bit off at Bea’s at the weekend. I don’t mean to make it about me. I just don’t want to drift away from any of you.’

‘I understand, Ol. There’s a lot going on with all of us at the moment. I promise I’m not going anywhere, though. If anything I’ll be imprisoned in this house for months and will be desperate for grown-up chat.’ She laughs.

We walk down the corridor with her fluffy cream carpet beneath my bare feet and I can already see a big sign on the back wall of his bedroom, lit up, and spelling out OSCAR in pink neon writing. Piles of stuff are folded and stacked up by the cot: nappy bag contraptions and milk thermometers and some really techy-looking stuff.

‘Jeez, how much did all this cost?’ I say, doing the mental arithmetic, looking at all these miniature designer objects and freaking out.

‘Oh, I don’t know! Do you like it though?’

‘It’s very cute.’ It looked like an IRL Pinterest board.

‘I like the fact it’s pink. Fuck the “boy” and “girl” colour norms,’ she smiles to herself, admiring the room she’s created for Oscar.

‘It’s very cool. God Cec, I still can’t get my head around it. You’re going to be a mum.’ I reach down into the cot and pull out a small, soft bunny.

She puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s a new beginning for sure, but things won’t change too much.’

‘But who am I going to call now at 2 a.m. when I’m in the middle of a panic attack?’ I laugh. ‘And who’s going to try out the latest supper club with me? Go dancing and get filthy takeaways?’ I’m trying to sound upbeat, but my voice starts to shake slightly.

‘Oh, Ol, I’ll still be available. I’m not disappearing off the face of the earth.’

‘I’m excited for you. I am,’ I say, rubbing her arm.

‘Thank you.’ Cec looks so content. ‘C’mon, let’s go downstairs. Ooh, I can make you a posh hot chocolate with my new drinks kit from Liberty. It was a gift from Chris’s mum: she drives me insane, but at least she gives good gifts.’ She winks.

Seated in Cecily’s kitchen, I slurp at my hot chocolate, having eaten all the miniature marshmallows that were floating on top in record time. Suddenly, now feels as good a time as any to broach the break-up.

‘Talking of new beginnings …’ I say, with marshmallows still in my mouth.

‘Oh yeah?’ Cec asks, excitedly.

‘Oh, it’s not a good thing …’

‘Oh right, sorry.’

‘I don’t really even want to say it, to be honest.’

‘Go on …’

‘Jacob and I broke up.’

‘Huh?’ Cec can’t hear as her noisy kettle is making a weird sound and I guess I did have my mouth slightly full.

‘Jacob. And me. We … we split up,’ I say, more loudly this time.

‘No?’ Cec’s eyes widen in shock.

‘Oh god, I don’t want to stress you out; you’re with child.’ I fold my arms on the table then and hang my head.

‘Ol! You’re not stressing me out. When, what, why? When did this happen?’

‘Oh, really recently,’ I lie. ‘I didn’t tell you because, well, I wasn’t sure if it was definitely over. I mean it definitely is now. Haven’t heard a peep for weeks.’

‘Weeks? And you didn’t tell me?’ She looks genuinely hurt.

‘Sorry, I just … It didn’t feel like something I could say over a message, and I didn’t want to be annoying when you’ve been busy preparing for the baby.’

‘Oh fucking hell, Ol. Having a baby doesn’t mean I will forget that everyone else exists.’

‘OK, sorry.’

‘What happened?’ she says, handing me a piece of homemade cake.

‘We just realized that … we want different things.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

I look down at my mug. Cec’s Siamese cat Harvey wraps his tail around my leg, as if he knows I need comforting.

I take a breath. ‘Well, I guess we just had one last bad argument that seemed to be the final blow. The last available opportunity to get all those feelings off our chests, but we both knew there was no coming back from that. He accused me of having no emotions, using the people closest to me for story ideas to pitch to the magazine. He would often joke that – when something really terrible or really great happened – he could see the cogs of my brain turning immediately to come up with a headline or caption.’

‘Woah, yes, that is harsh.’

‘Do you think I do that? Mine people for their stories, for .dot?’

‘Not really. Not in a malicious way, anyway. You write what you know.’

‘Exactly. He complained a lot about how I was never truly “in the moment” or “living my life”. He started sounding like a Buddhist monk and it really started to piss me off.’

‘It does sound a bit smug.’

‘Very smug! Like, mate, you’re not a bloody guru.’

‘Olive, was there anything else?’ she asks gently. ‘I mean, it sounds like a disagreement, but not something to throw away nine happy years for. Is there something else going on between you two?’

‘Well … actually, yes.’

‘Go on.’

‘He’s ready to have kids,’ I say bluntly.

‘And?’

‘I’m not.’

‘OK,’ she says. ‘And do you know when you might be?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I close my eyes and try to imagine myself as a mother but, for whatever reason, I just can’t.’

‘Each to their own, Ol. I remember when we used to chat about the big “baby” question. We both weren’t sure for a long time.’

‘But then most people move on and decide to do it. I mean, look at you. Can I ask – how did you know, that you and Chris were ready to have a baby?’

‘Hmm, well, I always sort of knew deep down, I think. I thought I’d be a much older mum, though, because I wanted to be a partner in my firm before I did the baby thing. But my body sort of took over and I started obsessing over the idea, I guess. Sometime around the end of last year, I woke up one morning and it was like my body wanted it. Craved it like sugar. Like I didn’t have a choice. It was weird; I was as surprised as you, honestly. Then, you know, it just happened quite quickly.’ Cecily laughs, and runs her hands over her bump.

‘Wow. I just feel like everyone’s always so surprised when I say I don’t think I want kids. Like they’re sad for me.’

‘Babe, it’s your life. I’m proud of you for staying true to yourself even though you must be hurting right now.’

‘Thank you.’ I hug her. I miss her, even though she’s right here.

‘Oh Ol. Let’s put on a film and get the blankets out.’ Cec waddles over to her big wooden cabinet and gets out cosy things like candles, hand cream, room scents and extra cushions. Time to nest. Each moment we have alone together now is a ticking time-bomb before OAP comes. The minute she has this baby, nothing else will matter. She says it will, but it won’t. I’ve already experienced it with Bea: our friendship suffered massively when she had her first baby. We didn’t speak to her or see her for six months, maybe even a year. None of us anticipated how much of a shift it would cause. It was like losing a family member – and in some ways perhaps that triggers me. Cec will have a new love, a deeper love. And that’s the way it should be. But it won’t be the same between us after that. I hug into her closely on the sofa that evening and, when I go to leave later, I linger by the front door awkwardly.

‘The next time I see you, you’ll be … a mum!’ I say.

‘I know, eeeeek! Love you. So nice to see you, Ol. Remember … I’m here if you need me.’ She smiles and hugs me before waving me off – she’s a ball of excitement.

I walk down the street to Barons Court Tube station with tears prickling in my eyes. I’m so happy for Cec, she’ll be a brilliant mum, I know she will. But I can’t help feeling that her moving forwards is just a reminder that I’m only moving back.

I sit on the Tube and get my notepad out, and start writing before my brain even feels connected to my hand. My old drinking buddy, Cec. My wild friend. The one who would always dance on the tables and never wanted to go home. Now, she stays in all the time, she’s pregnant and burns scented candles. But she seems to like her new life, the choices she’s made. So, what do I really want? Perhaps there is a different future out there that I’m taking for granted. I stare into the distance and struggle to re-focus, the baby/no baby dilemma rearing its head.

Pros for having a baby:

1. I’d get invited to stuff more – such as, but not limited to, mothers’ meetings, children’s birthday parties, picnics in the park etc.

2. I would feel part of the gang and not like a total gooseberry (see point one)

3. I would feel this ‘different kind of love’ that people always talk about

4. I would feel more ‘normal’ in my life choices and wouldn’t have to make up fake life milestones at reunions

5. I know what my future would look like ‘on paper’ – and I would feel part of a bigger family unit

6. I could find a way back to Jacob. Maybe

Cons for having a baby:

1. NO SLEEP!! (I LOVE SLEEP)

2. I would be constantly unsure if I truly did actually want the baby – like is it peer pressure? Wouldn’t that be an awful reason to have a baby?

3. Life would be sort of ruined (my bank balance would struggle A LOT)

4. I would feel trapped in general and I wouldn’t be able to put myself first or make spontaneous travel plans

5. Long, stressful, screamy airport visits and flights

6. I could regret it and be one of those anonymous mums on Mumsnet pulling her hair out and saying she wants to give it back

I look down at the list. Six pros, six cons. Oh. Crap. Maybe I’m ‘on the fence’. Am I on the fence?

‘It was around puberty that I became consciously aware that I didn’t want children, and I haven’t changed my mind since.’

Michelle, 27

7

2011

‘Let’s see the ring then!’ I grabbed Bea’s freshly manicured hand. ‘Oh Bea – it’s lush! Absolutely gorgeous.’

‘Thank you, I love it. It’s a bit different I guess!’ The ring was a deep blue sapphire with small diamonds around the outside. ‘Well done Jezza, he nailed it,’ I said.

Bea’s parents were throwing Jeremy and Bea an engagement party dinner at a gorgeous restaurant in Covent Garden. There were about twenty people altogether on a long trestle table, and the restaurant was loud and full of noisy atmosphere. Cec, Isla, Bea and I were there, plus a few other friends, and around ten family members, including Jeremy’s parents and brother. The four of us girls were sitting down one end of the table. Cec had dyed her hair even blonder for the occasion, Bea was wearing a bright headscarf, and Isla was wearing a cashmere beret with her signature fringe poking out. I was wearing a pair of velvet dungarees, hoping they wouldn’t give me thrush. Jeremy was at the other end with his family. I liked the fact that Bea had chosen to sit with us. It was a sign, however small, that she wasn’t quite ‘leaving us’.

‘I’m not doing the whole bridesmaids bullshit, by the way, but will you guys please sleep in the room with me the night before the wedding and we can get ready all together in the morning?’ Bea asked, folding out her napkin.

‘Hell yes,’ Cec said. ‘I’m so excited. Weddings are such fun. What do we wear? Nothing too slutty right?’

‘Whatever you want!’ Bea said.

‘Should we coordinate though?’ Isla asked.

‘Nah! I find it really weird when brides make grown women wear a lame pastel-coloured dress. I wouldn’t want to do that to you,’ Bea laughed, ripping off a piece of sourdough from the bread basket.

‘Such an exciting next step, Bea. I can’t believe you’re getting married,’ Cec said.

‘I know, but marriage changes literally nothing. Just an excuse for a piece of bling on the ol’ finger and a big old knees-up with my favourite people! But it feels so nice to know Jeremy wants all the same things as me. We want to get on with it – build a family, you know?’

‘Yeah, yeah – but it’s also about the party!’ Cec said, excitedly. We all knew Cec was going to go wild – she had been known to lead many a conga around a marquee.

A cold bottle of champagne arrived in a silver cooler, and everyone was poured a glass by a good-looking waiter in a suit. Bea’s mum Sonya tapped a fork on the side of her glass, getting a folded piece of paper out of her pocket to do a little speech.

‘My darling Bea! It makes me so happy to see you blossom, to find so many things that bring you joy. The galleries, your best girlfriends, and – of course – the lovely Jeremy … You have built all of this yourself with your spirit, energy, and the way you summon such positivity into your life. I’m so proud to be your mum.’

I started welling up. Sonya might be a bit woo-woo, but she was right: just knowing that Bea was on her own brilliant path to happiness, and with her best friends very much beside her through it all, was a lovely feeling.

The whole table carried on eating and laughing and sharing anecdotes, clearly the loudest group in the restaurant. Sonya presented Bea and Jeremy with some crystals that would ‘guide their marriage’. We finished our mains, waiters continued topping up our glasses and a giant dessert was brought out, complete with sparklers. We cheered and whooped and Bea and Jeremy waved the sparklers around, smiling the biggest smiles as we all looked on and clapped. The night ended with loud music and dancing on tables, and the restaurant staff seemed to love it just as much as we did, pouring us free shots straight from the bottle into our mouths. Mine and Bea’s song suddenly came on – ‘Red Red Wine’ by UB40 – and we grabbed each other and started singing from the top of our lungs, like we were the only two people in the room.

Even though this was a turn in the road, a new chapter, Bea was still my Bea.

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