Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy (2 page)

BOOK: Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy
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‘Ha ha. I’ll be back in London in a couple of days. I miss you Cokes, say hi to Adam.

She rang off and Adam came in holding two gin and tonics and wearing only an apron.

‘What do you think?’ he asked turning round to show his lovely naked backside and footballer’s legs.
 

‘I think…’ I said but I didn’t get any further as I suddenly had to bolt to the toilet where I threw up again.

‘Hun, are you okay?’ asked Adam through the door. ‘What did I do?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I think it must be something I ate.’

But we’ve both eaten the same things and Adam is fine.

Tuesday 3rd January
 

I was still feeling sick this morning, so Adam said he’d take Rocco for a walk. I hadn’t slept well, and woke up feeling bloated and old. We watched ‘The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button’
last night. When it got to the bit where the older Cate Blanchett sees the young Brad Pitt. Adam joked,
‘Ha! That’ll be us soon!’
I got VERY upset, but he couldn’t understand. ‘
Cokes, it was just a joke,’
he kept saying.
 

Do men know nothing about women? Adam is only six years younger than me, but men age so much better. Sean Connery is still thought of as sexy, but what about all his Bond girls?

When Adam had gone, I stood on the back of the sofa, slipped off my long sleeping t-shirt, and took stock of my naked body in the huge mirror above the fireplace.
 

 
My tummy was quite flat, bottom a bit big, but fairly smooth. My boobs were, well, quite wonderful… Sore but big and pert. Most unusual. I was about to start working out when my period was due, when I heard the front door close softly. There was a rustling noise of someone in the hallway. I thought it was Adam, but Rocco normally runs round the house when he comes back from a walk. I heard some quiet creaks moving away towards the kitchen and I immediately thought – it’s a burglar, and he’s after our Christmas presents!
 

I pulled my t-shirt back on and slowly inched along the back of the sofa to the door. On the way out of the living room I pulled a rolling pin from one of the boxes.

I peered round the door into the hall. The kitchen door was closed. It had been open before, I’m sure. I walked slowly towards it, took a deep breath and burst in brandishing the rolling pin shouting, ‘We’re Jehovah’s Witnesses, we don’t give gifts!’

Ethel’s head appeared above one of the cupboard doors. A clear plastic rain hood was tied tightly under her chin. We both screamed.

‘Gawd,’ she said clutching at her rain mac. ‘You nearly gave me ’art attack!’

‘What are you doing here?’ I shrilled.

‘Since when are you a Jehovah's Witness?’ she said.

‘I’m not, I thought you were a burglar. I said that to scare him…’

‘I’d ’ave said I ’ad a gun,’ said Ethel rolling her eyes.

‘How did you get in?’
 

‘Wiv me key,’ she said.
 

‘What key?’

‘Me key!’ she was holding a dusty old packet of coffee machine filters from the open cupboard. ‘Don’t look at me like that Coco, you gave me a key!’

‘When?’

‘Oh gawd, I can’t remember back that far… nineteen ninety, was it? Ninety-one? When was Thatcher booted out?’

‘Ethel…you can’t just barge in. Adam and I have only just moved back.’

‘You gave me a key!’
 

‘Well, a lot has happened since then. You had a key because I was married to your son. I’m not anymore!’

‘And ’oose fault is that, eh?’

‘His, actually Ethel.’ She pulled a face. ‘Now, let it go, I’m not having this conversation again.’

‘Talking of letting things go, you’ve only been married to that Adam for five minutes,’ she said pointing the bag of filters at me.

‘I’m not dressed yet,’ I said pulling the t-shirt over my bottom.

‘Is that your way of letting the dog see the rabbit?’
 

I ignored that.

‘You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?’

‘Mince pies,’ said Ethel.
 

‘Mince pies?’

‘I’ve started a book club,’ she said importantly. ‘’An’ I wanted to offer me book clubbers some sherry and mince pies, but no one’s got ’em. I’ve bin up the big Marks on Oxford Street but they’ve only got
Easter Eggs
. Easter Eggs in January!’

‘I haven’t got any mince pies,’ I said putting my hand over hers as she went to open another cupboard.

‘Ate ’em all ’ave ya?’

‘Yes.’ I said pulling my t-shirt down further.

‘Well ’ave you got any nice coffee?’
 

I rummaged around and found her a packet. Ethel squinted at the label.


Bump n’ grind blend
?’

‘Chris sent me a Christmas hamper from West Hollywood,’ I said.

‘Ooh no love. I can’t give my lady book clubbers gay coffee…’

‘It’s not gay coffee.’

‘Well it don’t sound straight! ’Ere, that Italian chap what rented yer house last year ’ad lovely cappuccino’

‘How do you know he had lovely cappuccino?’
 

Ethel paused.

‘Well ’e was Italian, they don’t drink Mellow Birds over there, do they?’

‘Ethel? Did you break in when he lived here?’

‘Iss not breaking in when you’ve got a key,’ she said.

‘Come on you. Out!’ I said prodding her towards the kitchen door.

‘I think ’e was a bit of a playboy. There was always a different bra on the carpet, and often not the bedroom carpet!’ she said.

‘Out!’

‘You’re looking very peaky,’ she said as I shooed her to the front door.

‘I’ve been sick the last couple of mornings,’ I said. ‘I thought it was my time of the month, but… anyway.’

‘I’d get yerself down the doctor’s love,’ she said as I opened the door. ‘Sounds like you’re on the verge of the change.’

‘I am not having the change!’ I said with horror.

‘When did you last ’ave one of yer monthlies?’ she asked stepping out onto the front step.

‘None of your business.’
 

Then I realised that my last period had been back in… well, November?

‘Menopause love,’ she nodded sagely. ‘’Appens to us all in the end.’

‘Can I have the key please Ethel?’ She reluctantly placed it in my outstretched palm and stomped off to the front gate. ‘And I’m not menopausal,’ I called after her.
 

‘Well congratulations love,’ she said rolling her eyes. ‘You must be pregnant!’ she slammed the gate and stalked off down the street.

I came back inside and tried to unpack some boxes, but I kept hearing Ethel’s voice:

Well congratulations love, you must be pregnant
.

 
Seized with fear, I grabbed my coat, walked round to the Boots at Marylebone Station, and bought a pregnancy testing kit. I felt a fool, really. What business have I got buying a pregnancy testing kit? I’m forty-four years old with a son in his twenties.
 

It
must
be the menopause, I thought as I queued up at the till, but that little chink of pride in me was hoping I was still fertile, fertile enough at least to have a near-miss.
 

I studied the girl behind the till as she put the Blue Pulse Pregnancy Test through and swiped my credit card. What was she thinking?
Is she buying it for herself or her teenage daughter?
I realised that either way I was a middle-aged mother, or a grandmother.

‘I work with troubled teens,’ I said trying to throw her off the scent, but she merely looked bored and bagged up the pregnancy test.

When I got home I hurriedly tore the box open and, balancing awkwardly, peed on the stick. Technology has moved on so much that I nearly fell off the toilet when it wasn’t a blue line that swam into view, but the words: PREGNANT 9 WEEKS

A chill swept through me. Shaking my head, I tore the rest of the cardboard off the second test in the packet and went to pee on it, but I had nothing left to pee. I looked for the toothpaste glass but it still wasn’t unpacked. Cursing, I pulled up my jeans, ran downstairs and filled up a pint glass downing it quickly, water dribbling down the corners of my mouth and onto my t-shirt.

The front door slammed and Rocco came bounding in, followed by Adam.

‘Hey sexy,’ he said. He pulled the newspapers out of a carrier bag and put them on the kitchen island. Rocco had a drink from his bowl then ran out of the kitchen.

‘Has it been a fertile morning?’ said Adam.

‘What?’
 

‘You said you might unpack a bit?’ he added, looking round at the cardboard boxes.

‘Oh, yes, yes…’ I nodded. I straightened my hair and tried to look normal.

‘Hey hey!’ he grinned holding up the page three girl in the
Sun
. She was pouting, her pert nipples straining from a see-through wet t-shirt. I looked down and saw my own t-shirt had gone transparent.

‘That’s disgusting!’ I snapped crossing my arms over my breasts.

‘You are so much hotter than she is,’ grinned Adam. ‘How do you fancy being bent over the kitchen island?’

‘Maybe later…’

Adam opened the fridge and put a new carton of milk in the door. He felt the inside.

‘You know, you being sick could be this fridge. It feels a bit warm… maybe it’s not keeping the food fresh. I don’t eat hummus. You do. Maybe you’ve been eating off hummus?’

‘Maybe…’ I said. On that cue, Rocco appeared in the doorway wagging his tail with the pregnancy test between his teeth. He gave a cheeky little wuff of excitement, thinking a game of chase was about to be played, then darted off. I dashed after him into the living room, and he jumped up and stood on the back of the sofa.

‘Rocco, come here, NOW!’ I hissed.

‘Or do you want to be bent over the sofa?’ asked Adam coming into the living room unbuttoning his shirt. ‘What’s Rocco got in his mouth?’ he added. Rocco spat out the pregnancy test on the sofa cushion.

‘Ooh there’s my iPod,’ I said grabbing it.

‘Isn’t your iPod green?’

I put the test behind my back. I bit my lip.

‘Coco, what is it?’ he asked. I took a deep breath and showed him. I saw the penny slowly drop. He looked between the pregnancy test and me. Rocco barked again.
 

‘No…No…’ he shook his head. ‘We’ve been using…
Condoms.’
 

He sat on the sofa. I sat beside him.

‘There was that one time we didn’t, remember? Before The X Factor Live show,’ I said. Adam picked up the test and stared at it.

‘Bloody hell. We’re going to be parents!’ he grinned. It shocked me, the ease with which he said it.

‘Hang on, hang on, hang on… We are?’ I said.

‘Aren’t we?’ said Adam, his face clouding over. ‘When did you find out?’
 

‘When you were out.’
 

‘Do I have a say in the decision?’

‘I haven’t
made
a decision. All I’ve had time to do is pee on a piece of plastic and freak out!’

‘You don’t want it?’
 

‘I don’t know… I’m forty-four, I’ve had a son, you’ve got a daughter already.’

‘Coco. Having a child is such an amazing experience!’

‘Oh, you’re an expert are you?’ I asked. ‘You’ve done your bit, ten minutes in front of the X Factor and that’s you finished.’

‘Hang on!’

‘No. Adam. Are you mad? Me, have a baby?’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not? I’ll get fat, and have piles and stretch marks on top of the ones I’ve already got. And when I’ve been through the agony of childbirth, it’s not over – there’s years of clearing up poo and being responsible for a life. Then we’ll finally wave it off to college – if it hasn’t become a drug addict or a porn star – and I’ll be…’

‘You’d be sixty-two,’ he said helpfully.


SIXTY-TWO!
Being a man you’re going to get more and more sexy, and they’ll think I’m your mother when we walk down the street… I’ve got a career I’m just starting to make work, and I want to go on some nice holidays.’
 

I gave a heaving sob and burst into tears. Adam pulled me into him for a hug.

‘Okay, it’s okay,’ he said stroking my hair. Rocco barked and put his paws on my leg.

‘Let’s do another test,’ said Adam. ‘They aren’t 100% accurate…’

‘Ok,’ I said hopefully.

 

We dashed upstairs, and I peed on the second test. PREGNANT 9 WEEKS showed up again.

‘How accurate are these things?’ I asked.

‘Pregnancy tests are ninety-seven to ninety-nine percent accurate,’ said Adam reading the leaflet. Clinging onto that two percent chance, I sent Adam back round to the station to buy more.
 

Several pints of water later, we were both in the bathroom perched on the edge of the bath and staring at a row of eight pregnancy tests lined up on the radiator under the window.
 

They all read: PREGNANT 9 WEEKS.
 

‘You should make an appointment with the doctor,’ said Adam, who was now quiet as things were sinking in.

‘Do you think there’s a problem?’
 

‘Course not, but you’ll need to have a check up and a scan, won’t you? Was ultrasound invented when you had Rosencrantz?’

I turned to him.

‘What?’ he said.

‘Of course it was invented, it was 1989!’

I’m going to see the doctor tomorrow. Surely it’s not natural that I have to wear reading glasses to find the surgery number and book a pregnancy consultation?

Wednesday 4th January

I can’t remember the last time I went to the doctor. And I certainly haven’t been to a pregnancy clinic since Madonna was young, fertile and singing
Papa Don’t Preach.
Although, this time round I have no father to judge me, just the whole world. These days no one bats an eyelid at an unplanned pregnancy (which is a good thing), but being an older woman having a baby seems, I don’t know, needy? Greedy? I had a whole speech prepared if anyone asked me why I was at the surgery.
 

‘Bunions.’
I was going to chuckle.
‘Years of wearing designer shoes and partying!’
and I’d stroke Adam’s arm which would indicate that I only want the bunion sorted so I could carry on partying. Although quite why I’d attend a pregnancy clinic with a bunion, I don’t know.

BOOK: Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy
8.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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