Mother's Story (12 page)

Jessica shook her head and lifted her foot to rest on the chair. ‘No, I think it's amazing and wonderful and exciting! And actually, Poll, it is the most natural thing in the world. It's what we are designed for.'

‘You, maybe. Think I'll pass. I like having tits that I don't have to tuck inside my shin pads and I definitely don't want the whole stretch-mark thing – these hips should have a preservation order on them. And don't even get me started on breastfeeding.' Polly mimed retching.

‘I can't wait to feed my baby.' Jessica felt her nipples tighten at the prospect, looking forward to the closeness it would bring.

Polly stared at her friend. ‘But don't you think boobs are a bit…'

‘A bit what?'

‘A bit sexy. There, I've said it.' She exhaled. ‘If I think of my boobs, I think of them as sexy and I can't imagine offering them to a baby.' She visibly winced.

‘You are the limit. Boobs can be sexy, of course, but their primary function is to feed our babies. You'll probably feel differently if you ever get pregnant.'

‘
If
being the operative word. I might consider it if there comes a point when I have achieved all my career goals and need to snare a Greek billionaire shipping tycoon.'

‘Assuming things don't work out with Yoga Boy.'

‘Oh, he's just fun. I don't really think he's my forever-and-ever lover.'

‘Careful what you put out into the universe, Polly. That might come back to haunt you!'

Polly scoffed. ‘Oh purlease, you're not going to go all hippified on me, are you, and start knitting your own jumpers and chanting to whale music?'

‘No, Poll, I'm leaving that to Topaz. God, I can't even say the name Topaz without laughing. If I'm being honest, mate…' Jessica studied her friend's acrylic nails, strawberry-blonde hair extensions and the limited-edition Boy Chanel flap-bag that had been plonked on the table. ‘I can't really see you hooking up with a yoga master.'

‘Why not?' Polly paused in her eating, looking a little hurt.

‘Because…' Jessica considered how best to phrase it. ‘Because you are shallow and materialistic and he probably isn't. But I love you regardless, obviously.'

‘Obviously,' Polly agreed. ‘And I know you are right. I am indeed both those things. But I've thought about it. I have a plan.'

‘Oh, well, good.' Jessica was intrigued. ‘What's your plan?'

‘I'm going to lie.'

‘That's foolproof. What could possibly go wrong?' Jessica laughed.

‘You can laugh, but I have it all figured out. I shall simply agree with everything he says and learn a little of his philosophy along the way. I've even bought myself a stretchy leotard thing and a sign that says “Love, Light, Universe” which I've put up in my kitchen.'

‘What does it mean?' Jessica asked.

‘Fuck knows, but maybe Topaz can explain it to me.' Polly grinned.

‘I think it's going to take a bit more than a sign in the kitchen of your flat and a stretchy leotard for him to believe you are a spiritual being. Is he a vegetarian too? Like Mikey?'

‘Oh God, don't talk about him. I can't even hear that name without wanting to puke!' Polly shuddered.

‘But can't you see, this is Mikey all over again. He's a Mikey upgrade; he's like Mikey but with MC Hammer pants! You told
him
you were a strict vegetarian.'

‘I had to! He ran the raw vegan restaurant on the Kings Road. I ate bloody alfalfa sprouts and drank broccoli juice for three whole months!' Polly hacked at a large lump of cheese and shoved it on her tongue as if to erase the taste memory.

‘And why exactly did you finish, again?' Jessica was aware she sounded like a prompting primary schoolteacher.

Polly sighed. ‘Because he caught me…'

‘Caught you
what
?' Jessica wouldn't be satisfied until she heard it all.

Polly tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘He caught me in the airing cupboard at three in the morning eating a bacon sandwich! Don't know what he was more mad about: the freshly scorched slices of pig I was gobbling or the fact that I'd gone for white bread and non-organic ketchup.'

Jessica slapped the tabletop and laughed loudly. ‘Precisely. And that, my friend, is why you will not be able to keep up the pretence with Sapphire or whatever his name is.'

‘Topaz,' Polly corrected.

‘Yep. Him.' Jessica smiled and ran her fingers over the ends of her dark brown hair. ‘I tell you what. You might think it's a little yucky, what's going on in my body, but my hair is glorious – thicker than ever and so shiny!' She pulled the band from her hair and let it fall over the back of the chair.

‘You've always had fabulous hair; it's one of the reasons I hate you. Does Coral still advise you to chop it all off every time you see her?'

‘“Oh, Jess, a shorter hairdo would look so pretty!”' they chorused before collapsing on the table.

Jessica stood. ‘Bacon sandwich?' She had a sudden craving.

‘Yep, on white, with ketchup. As long as I don't have to eat it in the airing cupboard!' Polly smiled.

Two hours later, Jessica held her fingers under her nose as if stifling a sneeze. ‘This room stinks,' she whispered to Polly, who was busy applying bronzer and combing her lash extensions. ‘It smells like old gym kit.'

‘No it doesn't,' Polly snapped. ‘Just suck it up, Jess. This is important to me.' She fixed her with a stare.

‘Suck it up? I'm pregnant, I've travelled all the way here on public bloody transport, put lycra leggings on and am now stood in a room that smells of cheese and sweat! You need to be more grateful!'

‘I
am
grateful, but I am only just about coping with this situation, and with you reminding me about the lingering smell of feet, you're making me feel sick. I'm nervous enough as it is.' Polly rubbed her enviably flat stomach.

Jessica pulled a face at her friend and looked around the room at the ten ladies and two men, who seemed to be lithe and limber, ready for their session. They all held towels and water bottles. She wished she had similar props to occupy her.

Suddenly, an uber-posh voice boomed from the back of the hall. ‘Good morning, ladies, gentlemen, friends and those we carry within.'

Jessica shot Polly a look that she deliberately ignored; this was no time for inappropriate giggling. But Jessica knew if he used the phrase ‘those we carry within' once more, she just might lose it. She stared at the floor and tried to think of something sad.

The voice continued. ‘Welcome to all newcomers. I am Topaz and I will be your yogic guide, helping you reach a state of enlightened bliss and ultimate relaxation for you and your babies. Now, grab a mat, find a space and make it your own…'

Jessica felt the lightest touch on the back of her head as Topaz, with arms extended at shoulder height, made his way through the room, brushing his fingertips against the backs of the heads or shoulders of all those he could reach. Jessica shuddered involuntarily but also felt a warm quiver of joy; it was quite a nice sensation.

Topaz pranced to the front of the room and stood with his arms outstretched, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. Polly dug Jessica in the ribs with her elbow. Jessica looked at her friend, who mouthed ‘WOW!' And she had to admit, he was indeed wow!

Topaz, resplendent in rose-pink cotton Indian pants, was naked from the waist up, baring a tanned and muscular torso. This, along with his lithe figure and fey head-twitching – necessary to shake his shoulder-length streaky blond-and-brown hair from his eyes – put him firmly in the rock-star bracket where looks were concerned. His bright blue eyes scrutinised everyone in the room and the smile that played about his mouth gave the whole experience an illicit air. Jessica was willing to bet her last cent that this guy would be able to score every single hour of every single day, even with a name like Topaz.

Suddenly he faced the group and announced, as though addressing an audience, ‘Mothers-to-be, you are the creators of the fantastic! The coveted vessels that nature has blessed with the gift of life!'

Jessica stared at Polly's shiny pink toenails; bent double with her face a few inches from the floor, it was the only way to control her giggles. She bloody well hoped Poll would get a date out of this, because trying not to laugh and not to pee at the same time for two whole hours was going to be a serious challenge.

September 25th, 2013

I'm feeling angry today. ‘So you didn't like your parents coming to visit you? Do you like them?' That's what the psychiatrist asked me during my one to one and I wanted to scream. It's not that I don't like them, of course I do! I love them, I love them very much, and I always have. But the thing is, I don't want them or anyone I love coming in here. It's shit with its boiled vegetable smell and its magnolia walls, and I just hate the thought of them being in here, even for an hour. I tried to explain this as the psychiatrist adjusted her glasses and sat with her pen poised ready to capture any clues that tripped off my tongue. The worry and guilt I feel about those I love spoils any joy I get from their visit. I know they then go away and analyse how bad I look, how quiet I am, how sad. Well, they are right. I am sad. Sadder than I ever knew was possible. And I'm ashamed. And having them see me in here makes me even sadder and more ashamed. It's a horrible cycle.

She actually asked me to describe my shame – as if it wasn't obvious. But I tried anyway. I've learnt that the more I cooperate and the sooner I give the answer she is looking for, the sooner the session is over and I get a gold star on my crappy file. I always thought depression is for other people. I remember my mum saying, ‘Oh, poor Mrs So And So, she's a bit depressed.' And I would think, Oh, buck up, woman! I thought depressed was another word for miserable or, worse still, weak. Even when Mum lost Danny, she didn't succumb to depression. Terrible things happen to people all the time and they just seem to cope, they can see the silver lining. But me…? I can't explain it. What did I have to be depressed about? I had it all.

At the group session afterwards, one of the girls was talking about her fella, remembering how they had met and how he had wooed her with mix tapes and love letters. It was sweet and nice to see the softer side of one of the tougher women in my block. I didn't share – I never do; my old life has no place in here – but I allowed myself to drift into the memory of meeting Matthew at the barbecue, something I usually try and block out. It was a sunny day. Polly and I arrived late. We'd been in two minds about whether to go or not as it was at the house of a friend of a friend. I sometimes think about how different my life would have been if we had decided to stay in the pub. I'm glad we didn't.

It was the usual set-up. A pile of charred meat sat in a heap, raided every so often by the drunkest of the crew, who grabbed and gnawed while they chatted to their mates. One of the boys was wearing a string of bunting around his neck. A couple of kids ran around the garden and the host's wife fretted and sweated about whether there was enough beer. Matt was standing under a tree chatting to Jenny, laughing at something. I noticed him because he was laughing so naturally, head back and loudly. He looked happy and happiness was what I wanted. He turned his head and caught my stare and something incredible happened. He looked, then looked away, then immediately looked back at me as if unable to take his eyes off me. His smile got wider. My heart hammered in my chest and we stared at each other, without embarrassment. It was as if he was saying, ‘I've been waiting for you.' And in my head I answered, ‘Well, I'm here now.'

He walked towards me and slipped on the grass. I caught his arm, just before he took a tumble, and he said, ‘I don't know your name,' as though he should.

Polly answered, ‘She's Jessica and I'm her smarter friend, Polly.'

‘Dance with me, Joanna!' he said as he grabbed my hand and I smiled. It didn't matter that he'd got my name wrong, or that no one else was dancing. He beamed at me and I knew I loved him, just like that. I was wearing a red-and-white-striped halter-neck top and he called me a golden girl. Like I said, back then I really did have it all.

Jessica rushed into the room and smiled at her man, folded into a rather small plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room. He was thumbing through an old edition of
Woman's Weekly
and looked very obviously relieved to see her.

‘You're cutting it fine.' He tossed the magazine onto the pile and wiped his hands on his thighs as he looked at the large clock on the wall. It was five to three.

‘Sorry. I fell asleep! And then I couldn't park. I really wanted to be here nice and early.'

‘You're here now.' He smiled. ‘I was trying to work out how I could stall things if you were late. I was struggling for ideas. I'm glad you're here with the star of the show.' He nodded at her tum.

‘The star of the show is making me want to pee. It said on my little leaflet that you get a better result if you have a full bladder, so I've downed a couple of pints of water and now I'm desperate!' She crossed her legs.

‘Don't worry, not too much longer and as soon as we are done you can wee until your heart's content.' He kissed her nose.

‘Bliss.'

The square room was a little cramped and stuffy. Pregnant women of various shapes and sizes sat along the walls and each had brought along at least one companion. Toddlers and other children were corralled in the middle of the room, crammed into the inadequate play area, competing over the wooden table-puzzle, the Lego scattered across the floor like corn feed and the various grubby, dog-eared books. A couple of little boys were squabbling over a plastic fire engine. Their respective mothers nodded at each other across the chaos, both declining to get involved. A little girl whined loudly when another accidentally trod on her finger.