Page 26 of So Thrilled For You

He starts to calm, and then, like the click of someone’s fingers, he’s fine. He gurgles. Smiles. Reaches out and grabs a piece of my hair in total delight. I stand down from the ledge. I blink backthe tears. I cope. Sort of. Then I jump as someone taps me on the shoulder.

I whip around and there’s Steffi. Tanned and toned, slinky and perfect – the late fucking bitch who has ruined my life. She grins. Takes in Woody and squeals. Then she holds up two bits of giant plastic, and smiles, incredibly proud of herself.

‘I got us iced coffees! Whoop! What a treat!’

Steffi

Woah.

That’s the word that almost escapes my mouth when Lauren turns around.

Wo and ah.

Also.

Fuck.

‘Wow! You look amazing!’ The lies pour from my mouth as I try to hand her the coffee before realising she has no spare hands. ‘Oh hi, Woody! Lauren he’s adorable!’

‘Steffi. You’re here. I didn’t know if you were on the train or not.’ Lauren jiggles her baby on one hip and reaches out awkwardly to take the coffee. Her voice is as strained as mine, and I know her well enough to know she’s pissed at me. I scan her face, Woody’s face, the fact she’s parked over two spaces, and curse myself.

‘I had to make a work call when I got off the platform because the coverage was so bad on the train,’ I explain. ‘Sorry,’ I say, with total sincerity.

She softens as my apology lands and smiles. ‘A work call? On a Saturday? How’s the agency going then? Is it . . .’

Woody lets out a screech and lurches in her arms, making a swing for the coffee, almost spilling it over her. ‘No Woody. Not for babies. No. That straw will stab you in the eye babe. Here! Look! It’s Aunty Steffi!’ She dangles him in front of me, like I’m a toy, and I put my coffee on the roof of her car and take him from her, feeling that anxiety that the baby will rejectme and cry, and it’s embarrassing for all involved. But Woody accepts me, lunges for my necklace and puts one of the giant beads in his mouth. I wince but let my jewellery take the hit.

‘Sorry. We’ve had a bit of a journey,’ Lauren leans against the hot metal of her car and gratefully gulps the coffee like she used to throw back shots at Vodka Revs. ‘We’ve been doing this sleep training thing. He was supposed to go down in the car, but there was this man. He’s only had 40 minutes this morning which isn’t enough but . . .’ She stops, shakes her head. ‘Sorry. Boring fucking baby stuff, pouring out of my mouth the moment you arrive. When I promised myself I wouldn’t.’

I pat her arm, still adjusting to this strange, manic, Lauren. ‘Dude, it’s fine. I’m sorry he’s not sleeping. Nightmare. I don’t know how parents do it.’

She drains the coffee, swishes the straw around to dislodge the last dregs from the ice, and necks the last slurp. I watch her, taking her in, still acclimatising to this woman in front of me who appears to be my old friend Lauren. She’s almost unrecognisable. She’s wearingnavyfor one. A colour I thought she was actually allergic to. I don’t think I’ve seen her in any outfit that doesn’t involve at least one primary colour and one neon. Her face has some makeup on, but not the usual bold statement lip I’m so used to. And the makeup’s already flaking on dry patches around her nose, purple bruises showing through under her eyes, a wonky eyeliner. Her hair’s scraped up in one of those ‘mum buns’–I’m guessing to stop Woody yanking it. He’s already tugging at mine as he coats every necklace bead in slurpy drool. And, I feel like a bitch for noticing it, but Lauren’s weight is hugely different. She’s always had that enviable hourglass thing going on – lovely boobs, tiny waist – though her sex appeal wasalways dented by her dressing like an exploded paintbox. Now, in her navy sack, there’s no ins or outs, just plumpness and sagging both at the same time, if that’s possible? I hate myself for thinking it, but I think it nonetheless.

Wow, she’s really not lost the baby weight.

Which shocks me as Woody is, what, almost a year old? And Lauren’s figure has always been so effortlessly amazing.

‘Shall we get in the car?’ she asks. ‘God knows how long it will take to get there. Google maps is just shoving a pin in the middle of a grey nothingness.’

‘Yes. Fab. Please tell me your car has air con.’

‘It does!’

‘Amazing. Oh, it’s so good to see you.’ I try and hug her again, but, as I lean over, Woody smells his mother and starts straining out for her crying. I can’t be sure, but there’s a roll of her eyes almost as she takes him.

‘Yeah, you too,’ she says, distracted. ‘Right, baby, are we going to be good in the car? Yes? No crying please in front of Aunty Steffi. It’s open,’ she calls over, and I hop in the front while she buckles Woody up, stifling a gasp at the state of the car. It’sfilthy,with crumbs everywhere, toys covered with lint, empty biscuit packets and cans of coke rattling by the feet. I quietly put my jacket down on the seat before I clamber in, to protect my dress. Woody’s clipped in and assigned a toy in each hand which he flaps about in apparent good temper. Lauren ducks in, starts the engine, and chucks her phone over to me.

‘Do you mind Google mapping? I have no clue where we’re going, but I officially hate Nicki’s parents for moving somewhere so photogenic yet so fucking far away.’

I laugh and dutifully load up the route. ‘It’s quite an ask, isn’t it? Come to the official middle of nowhere. Bring a nappy tree for good measure.’

‘Did I even have a baby shower?’ Lauren asks, indicating out. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘We went to a spa, the four of us instead.’

‘Oh God, yes. FuckingMummy-To-Be Pamper Daymy arse. Pay 200 quid and you’re not allowed in the hot tub, or the steam or sauna. And I couldn’t even eat the afternoon tea cos I had gestational diabetes. No wonder I’ve wiped it.’

I hold my hands out in front of the blasting air con. ‘I, however, had a great time eating all your cakes and watching Charlotte spend the day picking up discarded towels and folding them.’

---