I Heart London (11 page)

She looked away and bit on an already chewed-down fingernail.

‘And neither are you,’ I commanded.

‘Fine.’ She went back to pulling stuff out of my case, purring over a pair of Gucci sandals. My post-Vegas treat. I settled back against the chair for a moment and took a better look at my bestie. It wasn’t just her fingernails that were suffering. Her ponytail was covering up some pretty dodgy dark blonde roots and someone had been hitting the Batiste pretty hard. Of course there were baby-induced dark circles, and no, she wouldn’t be slipping back into that twenty-four-inch-waist wedding dress again any time soon, but that was to be expected. What made me uncomfortable was seeing bright and shiny Louisa look so faded and tired. As if she was even less interested in having a baby than I had been five minutes earlier. Which was to say not interested at all.

‘Really, Lou, it’s not on my agenda right now.’ I took my prized McQueen clutch, a January sale steal, from her hands and placed it on the dresser. ‘Don’t worry about me. Or Alex. Or our future awesome babies. They’re going to be fine.’

‘There’s just so much to think about,’ she sighed. ‘I couldn’t even start to prepare you. It’s not just the baby − it’s being pregnant, it’s buying everything, it’s trying to get ready for something you could never ever get ready for. The way it changes your body, your relationship and, oh God, the sleep.’ She stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. ‘And more than anything else, it’s giving up silly, selfish stuff because it’s not about you any more.’

‘Silly selfish stuff?’ I didn’t think I wanted to hear the rest of this sentence.

‘Running off to New York? Popping into LA for work, to Paris, to Vegas.’ She pulled on the end of her ponytail, reading my mind. ‘I haven’t even got time to go to the hairdresser.’

‘It’s not like I would do those things if I had a baby,’ I said, trying really hard not to be offended. ‘But just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean we’re going to have a kid straightaway. We’ve got stuff we want to do first. Alex has this record to tour, I have the magazine to launch. We haven’t even set a date yet, remember?’

‘I recall,’ she said, ploughing headfirst into my underwear. ‘I just think it’s best to know these things before he puts a ring on your finger. Another ring,’ she added when I held up my hand. ‘What are you going to do when he wants to go off on tour and you’re at home with a teething baby and no one to help? I won’t be there. Your mum won’t be there. His family don’t live in New York, do they?’

‘You really don’t need to worry about me,’ I promised, taking my days of the week underwear from her and pretending her disapproval was based entirely on my lack of baby-preparedness. Clearly I wasn’t ready to have a child: I was still wearing children’s pants myself. ‘There is no bun in this oven.’

‘But when there is, it’ll be
American
, Angela,’ Louisa said, a look of abject horror on her face. ‘Your kid is going to have an American accent. It’s going to go to American school. It’s going to have American friends.’

The sadness in her voice made my stomach hurt more than my mum’s shepherd’s pie.

‘And it’s going to have an amazing British aunt,’ I replied. ‘And a brilliant British best friend in Grace. And wonderful British grandparents who take it off my hands every summer for six weeks.’

‘Huh.’ Louisa threw a balled-up pair of socks in my face. ‘Maybe you have thought this through.’

‘I can’t think of a better reason to have an American baby. And my mum will be so happy. She’s only had control of Grace for half an hour and she was bloody ecstatic when she came in here just now. Imagine her with my kid for two whole months.’

‘Angela?’ The bedroom door opened again, without a knock. This time it was my dad. It really was like being sixteen again. ‘There’s a taxi downstairs. Your mother told me to tell you the Americans are here.’

That ‘A’ word really was sticking in everyone’s throat today.

‘Wait, what?’ I looked at my watch, looked down at my underwear and looked back at my dad. ‘Americans? Plural?’

‘Your mum says Americans, I’m telling you Americans,’ he said, wandering back off down the hall. ‘What do I know? It’s only my house.’

There wasn’t an awful lot of time to worry about who was coming down the drive because Jenny had smashed through the door and, from the sounds of it, taken it off its hinges before I had even had time to put my jeans back on.

‘Is anyone home?’ she yelled from the hallway. I looked at Louisa with wild eyes. She looked back, equally concerned. Someone had just let themselves into my mother’s house. Someone she had never met. Blood would be spilled. ‘For real, Angela? Annette?’

‘She calls your mum Annette?’ Louisa mouthed. ‘I don’t call your mum Annette.’

‘You’re not Jenny,’ I explained, pressing my hands to my face. ‘Do I still look shit? Oh God, I still look shit, don’t I?’

‘Yeah, but it’s only your mate, it’s not the Queen,’ she replied. ‘What’s the big deal?’

‘And you must be Jenny.’ I heard my mum on the approach downstairs and leapt to my feet.

‘Come on,’ I said, pulling Louisa along. ‘There’s going to be hugging − you don’t want to miss this.’

And I was right. I hurled myself down the staircase just in time to see my mum give in to a giant Jenny hug. It’s not that we weren’t an affectionate family, it’s just that our idea of expressing emotion was to be incredibly passive-aggressive when angry and gift each other with Penguin biscuits when we were happy, with a little light shoulder touch if we were particularly moved.

‘Angie!’ Jenny discarded my mother, who stumbled into the side table, arms out wide, and barrelled into me. ‘Baby, it’s been like, three days. What the hell − you look like shit.’

‘I haven’t got changed since I got here,’ I told her as every ounce of breath was pounded out of my body. ‘Or had a shower.’

‘You do smell kind of funky,’ she confirmed in a stage whisper. ‘Maybe spritz a little something before Alex gets in?’

‘I thought I might try and have a shower before tomorrow,’ I replied.

‘Tomorrow?’ Alex appeared at the door, laden down with suitcases that I knew for a fact were not his own. ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

‘Alex.’ My heart actually expanded to five times its normal size and threatened to explode then and there. Not only because I hadn’t seen him for one whole night and almost two whole days, but also because he looked painfully adorable. While I was still wearing my skanky striped tee and by now extremely baggy jeans, Alex was wearing actual trousers, with an actual shirt and tie under his leather jacket. It was unnerving and extremely hot at the same time. Weird.

‘Well, hello.’ He smiled, put down the cases and opened his arms for my Jenny-inspired rush. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’ I nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his Alexness, while trying to ignore my overwhelming Angelaness. ‘Just, I thought you were coming tomorrow?’

‘I was,’ he said, breaking my dry hump and coughing loudly. ‘But I figured why wait? We finished up recording early so I came out with Lopez. Which was a mistake.’

‘Hey, just because you have no interest in fine cinema or social issues does not make me a bad travel buddy,’ she rallied, punching him in the arm.

‘
Breaking Dawn
and
Us Weekly
do not fall into the categories of fine cinema or social issues, Jenny,’ he said, shaking his head and taking off his leather jacket. ‘Learn some boundaries. And some taste.’

I stood in the middle of my Jenny/Alex sandwich and felt myself light up. Granted, I still needed a shower, a swipe of blusher and a change of clothes in the worst way, but just having them close to me made my heart beat a little faster, my smile shine a little brighter. It felt good. Or at least it did until my mum regained her composure and righted herself with the help of the coat rack.

‘Mrs Clark, Mr Clark.’ Alex dropped me like a hot rock and stepped over to my parents, holding out his hand. ‘It’s so great to meet you at last. I’m Alex.’

‘Apparently so.’ Mum took his hand and shook it with all the grace she could muster. Which wasn’t much. My dad went completely silent but I saw his knuckles turn white as he accepted Alex’s handshake. ‘Come in, come in. David, get the kettle on. Tea, or will it be coffee?’

I winced as she spat out the ‘c’ word.

‘I’d love tea,’ Alex replied, following her into the kitchen and throwing me a wink. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Shit, son, coffee for me,’ Jenny said, yawning loudly. ‘I have to get me some caffeine.’

‘I’ll take the bags upstairs,’ I called, grabbing a suitcase and Alex’s weekend bag. Thank God one of them was able to travel light. ‘Mine’s a tea. Two sugars.’

‘Pass me that other suitcase,’ Louisa offered from halfway up the stairs. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

Louisa. I’d completely forgotten she was there. But from her pale, terrified expression, I knew she had been watching. Her first sighting of Hurricane Jenny. God help her when she got to an actual one-on-one encounter. I passed up the second small-for-Jenny-but-giant-for-anyone-else suitcase, only pausing for a second to think how light it was for its size, and followed Louisa back up the stairs.

‘I’m going to jump into the shower,’ I shouted down the stairs. ‘I’m literally throwing myself in and out,’ I added to Louisa, who was still looking shell-shocked. ‘Two minutes.’

For the first time, I was ecstatically happy that nothing had changed about my mother’s house. I dashed into the bathroom, pulled on the shower cord, grabbed a spare razor from the mirrored cabinet and hopped under the hot water. It felt so incredibly good. Probably all the better for knowing that Alex was waiting for me downstairs, but still, really, really good. Five minutes later I was dry, deodorized and pulling on my pants in front of Louisa, much to her distress.

‘Pass me that jumper,’ I demanded, pointing at a pale grey Vince Henley sweater that was insanely comfortable and showed off just enough boob to make it cute enough for Alex but within the bounds of parent-friendly, and paired it with my black skinny Topshop jeans. Perfect. Well, I was clean and dressed.

‘What are you waiting up here for?’ I asked, swooshing bronzer and blusher across my cheeks and waking up my eyes with mascara. ‘Your tea will be stone cold.’

‘I was waiting for you,’ Louisa said, colouring up. No need for blusher there. I stared at her while I whacked on half a tube of lip balm. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ I answered, taking one last look in the mirror. That’ll do, pig. ‘Just not used to you being shy.’

‘I’m not being shy,’ she snipped. ‘I was waiting for you.’

This was an interesting development. In all the years we’d known each other, Louisa had always been the one dragging me off into social situations I would otherwise have avoided. I even went to the same university as her to avoid spending three years sitting in a hall of residence watching
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
on my own. I still ended up doing plenty of that, but thanks to Louisa, I also played netball (badly), acted in the drama society (badly), and got wasted in the Student Union every other night (very successfully). But now here she was fiddling with her hair, hiding in my bedroom and risking missing a hot cup of tea. This was not my Louisa.

‘Isn’t your baby downstairs?’ I asked with narrowed eyes.

‘Oh God, Grace!’ She jumped up and sprinted out of my bedroom faster than when my dad busted us with a bottle of Kiwi 20/20 and a VHS copy of
The Camomile Lawn
. (We were curious.)

I followed Louisa downstairs at a more leisurely pace. The excitement of my best friend and fiancé being in the same house as me was clouded somewhat by the realization that my best friend and fiancé were in the same house as my mother, but I couldn’t hear anything breaking and no one was raising their voice, or at least no one was raising their voice any louder than usual (Jenny), so it couldn’t be going too badly.

‘Oh my God, how cute are you?’

I rounded the corner to see Louisa frozen to the spot by the kitchen door and a tiny human that I assumed to be Grace sitting on Jenny’s lap. Dad was busily pouring out cups of tea and cutting up slices of cake as if his life depended on it, while my mum sat at the table and stared at Alex, trying to find something, anything, wrong. The subject of her visual interrogation was ignoring it all and smiled at me as though this was perfectly normal. It was quite the tableau.

‘Grace.’ Louisa faltered, turning to look at me for help. I could kind of understand. A stranger had her baby. And the stories Louisa had heard about said stranger were enough to have curled Grace’s hair while she was still
in utero
.

‘Jenny, stop trying to steal the baby’s soul,’ I said, gently pushing Louisa towards the table. ‘Sacrificing her won’t atone for your sins.’

Sulking, Jenny held out Lou’s bundle of joy. The new mother grabbed hold of the baby and immediately relaxed. I leaned against Alex’s open arm as it wrapped around my hip and watched ten years’ worth of premature ageing slip off her face.

‘Hi,’ she whispered at the baby. ‘Do you want to meet Auntie Angela?’

It was all too much. Jenny, Alex and a baby in my mum’s kitchen?

I thought back to when I’d stood in this room the morning before Louisa’s wedding. I was carrying my bridesmaid’s dress and strutting up and down the kitchen trying to get used to my heels, while Mark and my dad were looking at his car. The ‘check engine’ light had been flashing for ages and he’d decided to have a look at it on the morning of my best friend’s wedding. And now here I was barefoot in jeans with a pair of tiny stick-hands thrusting at me, feeling considerably less stable than I had in the four-inch Louboutins.

‘Can I hold her?’ Alex piped up from the table, pushing away his tea. ‘She’s beautiful, Louisa.’

‘Oh, of course,’ she said, colouring up all over again. ‘And … nice to meet you properly.’

‘You too.’ Smiling, he held his arms out for the baby and my legs almost gave way. Even my mum let out a little gasp. Jenny, of course, was stuffing her face with scones and completely impervious. Louisa rested a hand on my arm and gave me a sly grin.