Love... And Sleepless Nights MAY 2012 (8 page)

As on Friday, we elected to keep the surprise on hold until about
nine o’clock
. I cooked a spaghetti bolognaise for all of us (I don’t let Jamie near the kitchen if I can help it - and we certainly never have fajitas if I do) which I took my time over to impress the in-laws.

Thankfully Jane isn’t a particularly good cook herself. I once found three dog hairs in one of her casseroles.

Side note: Does anybody actually
like
casserole? I’ve never come across anyone who does. I mean, what is it exactly? Really, really thick soup? Only that’s broth isn’t it? Either that or it’s a runny roast dinner. As far as I’m concerned you can tart the bugger up as much as you like with sprigs of coriander and mint, it’s still going to look like dog sick in a bowl when you get right down to it.

Anyway, back to the point.

The bolognaise went down well. Even Jane polished off her entire plate, which amazed me.

No-one seemed to notice I wasn’t filling my glass from the bottles of white we’d opened for the occasion. I’d just surreptitiously leave the dining room every half an hour or so to recharge my glass with a carefully concealed bottle of Appletiser.

I wasn’t feeling the excitement of a withheld secret like the previous night, and I could tell Jamie was more nervous about revealing the existence of the baby as well. Telling your mates is one thing, letting your family know – the people whose opinions really matter in the grand scheme of things – is
entirely
another.

By nine, the atmosphere in the room was decidedly convivial.

Michael had told his third golden anecdote of the evening to a chorus of polite laughter, Jane had bored everyone with how much she was loving her new gym and how her instructor was really helping with her thighs, Chris had successfully steered his mother away from sensitive questions regarding his marriage to Helena the Portuguese barmaid, and Sarah was pleased to announce she’d lost eight pounds in the last month.

It seems like the appropriate time to drop the bombshell.

Jamie tinks a fork on the side of his glass. I don’t know why he does this as there are only six of us present, but he likes to obey these little customs from time to time.

‘Stop doing that Jamie,’ his mother says. ‘You’ll set off my tinnitus.’

‘Sorry mum.’ He coughs and takes the legendary deep breath. ‘Laura and I have an announcement to make.’

‘Oh God, you’re getting a divorce, aren’t you?’ Sarah says from around the bread roll she is stuffing into her mouth.

Jamie’s face crumples. ‘No, we are not getting a divorce. Why does everyone think we’re getting a bloody divorce? Do we give off divorcey vibes? Are you lot privy to some highly advanced precognitive abilities I’m not aware of?’ He takes a massive swig of wine in disgust and folds his arms. ‘Honestly, you try to tell people something important and they just make groundless assumptions,’ he mutters under his breath.

‘Don’t slouch Jamie,’ Jane tells him. ‘It makes you look like a naughty school boy. Sit up straight.’

‘Mum! I’m thirty two years old, for crying out loud. Don’t tell me how to sit!’

‘Don’t speak to your mother like that, son,’ Michael pipes up.

‘You do slouch a lot Jamie,’ Sarah adds. ‘You always have.’

‘Yeah? Well you’ve got an idiot for a face,’ Jamie sneers at her.

‘You’re such a badger’s sack, Jamie!’ Sarah wailed and the conversation descended into the kind of bickering only family members have perfected through decades of practice.

It’s giving me a headache though, so I decide to nip things in the bud.

‘I’m pregnant!’ I say over the tumult.

Everyone stops talking at once.

Silence -
pregnant
silence, you might say - descends.

Then Jane, looking squarely at my husband, says something that gives me a
really
good idea of her true feelings for me. ‘Is it yours?’ she says in a level tone.

I’ve never stepped into a walk-in freezer, but I imagine the experience is much like our dining room at that moment.

‘Of course it’s mine!’ Jamie is livid. I just struggle not to burst into tears. ‘What the hell kind of shit is that to say, mother?’

‘Don’t swear, Jamie!’ Michael says.

Jamie gives him daggers. ‘Oh sod off Dad, you swear like a paralytic docker when mum’s not around. You even did it when we were kids, so knock off the responsible parent act, okay?’

Jane swings around to stare at her husband. ‘Michael Newman!’

Michael swigs his beer. ‘Oh fucking hell woman, calm down. A bit of swearing never hurt anyone.’

‘Apologise to Laura,’ Jamie orders his mother in a cold voice.

Chris, who has wisely stayed silent, slowly moves his chair backwards and removes his glass of wine from the table. There’s an air of resignation about his movements that suggest he’s been in the middle of one of these squabbles on many occasions.

‘Well…’ Jane begins and then pauses with a look of severe consternation on her face. You can see how hard it is for her to even contemplate the idea of apologising to another human being.

Jamie has told me stories in the past that have made her out to be a harridan of the highest order. I’ve always taken them with a pinch of salt, knowing how he likes to embellish for the sake of a good yarn - but now I’m starting to realise he may have been telling the truth after all. The woman’s pretty much just intimated that I go around shagging other men.

‘Say sorry!’ Jamie snaps, and for added emphasis bangs his hand on the table. Sadly his fist hits the fork still on his plate, neatly catapulting a healthy amount of bolognaise at my head.

Within the space of a minute I’ve been called a slut and had food thrown at me.

This usually doesn’t happen to people outside terrible American soap operas.

Jamie looks mortified. ‘I’m so sorry honey!’

I look down at the lovely cream blouse I’d elected to wear, knowing it will be going in the bin later.

‘I love this blouse,’ I tell the table. ‘It was on offer in Jane Norman.’

Then the tears - held back thus far by my indignance - begin their onslaught on my eyeballs. Try as I might to avoid crying in front of my adopted family, I just can’t help it.

…and it’s snotty.

That’s always the worst, isn’t it? Water leaking from your eyes is bad enough, but add mucus dripping from your nose to the equation and you’re presenting an image to the world a hag fish would find unattractive.

I feel a little light-headed. Bolognaise sauce drips off my ear.

Jamie grabs a napkin and starts dabbing at my face with it. I look up at him. ‘Your mum thinks I’m a slag, Jamie. Why does she think I’m a slag?’

‘I never said you were a slag, Laura,’ Jane remarks haughtily.

‘Indeed,’ Michael agrees.

‘You pretty much did mum,’ Sarah argues.

Chris remains silent and looks at his watch.

‘I’m sorry if that’s how it came across,’ Jane says. ‘I’m just very surprised. Jamie has always been dead against having children, so I thought – ’

‘You thought my wife would go and kick her heels up in front of the first passing provider of fresh semen?’ Jamie finishes.

‘That’s not what I meant.’

I hold out a conciliatory hand. There’s a blob of sauce on it. ‘It’s okay Jane,’ I say in a slightly sing-song voice. I think the stress of the evening has been a bit too much for me. I’m not sure I’m completely in control of my faculties. ‘I’m not bothered.’

‘Thank you Laura,’ she says with a nod of her head.

‘After all,’ I smile sweetly, ‘it’s not your fault you’re a bitch, is it?’

I’ve never dipped my whole head into a jar of freezing liquid nitrogen Mum, but I imagine the experience is much like our dining room at that moment.

Jane looks like someone’s stuffed a lemon up her arse. Sarah is gob-smacked. Chris is concentrating very hard on the table cloth and Michael is looking at my tits.

Jamie, sensing that the only way out of this horrifying situation is to act very calmly, clearly and with authority says ‘I think maybe this is a good time to end the meal.’ He stands me up. ‘I’ll go help Laura clean herself off.’ He gives his mother an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sure it’s the pregnancy hormones, mum. You probably remember, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she says, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice. ‘I don’t recall insulting anyone like that though!’

Trying to retain some dignity I wave off Jamie’s arm and stand straight. My hair is matted with sauce and there’s a strand of spaghetti waggling off the end of my nose, but I still intend to exit the room with the final word.

‘Thank you for coming everyone,’ I tell them. ‘I’m sorry if things got a bit testy there at the end, but I hope that you’re happy for us. We’re going to be parents and we’re very pleased about it.’ I look directly at Jane. ‘Unless of course the baby is Fernando’s, the Mexican delivery boy I screwed last month in the chair you’re sat in Jane.’

I’ve never visited the crushing, ice cold depths of the ocean floor, Mum… I’m sure you know the rest of that by now.

Jamie’s family departed pronto. Jane was out the door slightly faster than a cat with its tail on fire. Michael got in one last sneaky stare at my chest before following his irate wife out into the night.

Sarah kissed both of us and congratulated us on the pregnancy. Chris looked at me with what I thought was a new found sense of respect, before asking where we bought our table cloth. He left with the name John Lewis on his lips.

After they’ve gone Jamie closes the front door very slowly.

I gulp. This could go badly. I’ve just insulted the woman who brought him into the world.

‘That,’ he says, ‘was absolutely brilliant!’ He gives me a huge hug.

‘Really? Your mum is going to hate me.’

‘Meh, she wasn’t keen on you to start with. Don’t take it to heart though, she’s never liked any of my women.’ His eyes gleam with merriment. ‘None of the others ever told her she was a bitch though. Priceless!’

He kisses me through the sheen of bolognaise sauce I still haven’t managed to clean off.

‘I am delighted to be married to you,’ he says. ‘And even more delighted that you’re having my baby.’

I don’t know if I’d call that a win Mum, but if a man says he loves you even when you’ve just mortally insulted his mother, and you look like an Italian restaurant has thrown up over your head, I guess you must be doing something right.

Love you, miss you, and wish Jane could take a leaf out of your book!

Your still slightly light-headed daughter, Laura.

xxx

Jamie’s Blog