Page 84 of So Thrilled For You

‘Fine, I’m going. If I stay here for one more second, I’ll probably turn straight anyway.’ She nods her head to the party inside. ‘Enjoy your obvious life choices. Post the pictures online to convince yourself you’re happy with them.’

Matt comes and stands by my side. ‘She is happy with them. Now, if you excuse me, I need to talk to my wife, and I can’t do that with all these people inside, playing pin the sperm on the egg.’

He clasps my shoulder as he passes me, heading inside, and I hear him tell everyone the party’s over. That I’m too hot and need a rest. There are shocked murmurings, the collective sound of dozens of women packing up their stuff in a gossipy hurry. My mind hums while it struggles to metabolise everything that’s just happened. I’ve upset Charlotte. I’ve upset Phoebe. I’ve upset my husband. I’ve just ruined my own baby shower. I can hear Matt reiterate that they all need to leave immediately. I get thishuge urge to nap, but Phoebe still hasn’t left. She’s staring at me, jaw set, the sun behind her, lighting her silhouette with gold.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, feeling tears itch my eyes. ‘I . . . I . . . I don’t know what’s happened today.’

‘I shouldn’t have come.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘You shouldn’t.’

‘You won’t hear from me again.’

It’s a childish move. One designed to break my heart, to give me a terrible choice. Incinerate my life, right now, sweating on this porch, or never see someone I love again. It’s a mistake on her part as it shuts my heart and makes the following easier. I can’t be around people who behave like children just as I’m about to have one.

‘OK then. I guess I won’t hear from you.’

She blinks away her own tears. ‘Fine. Your funeral.’ She turns away and shoots me a look I can’t quite read. Is it hate? It looks terribly close to that.

I open my mouth to say one last thing. I’m not sure what, but something profound and caring, something suitable to give this an ending – whatever it is. She senses it, waits for it, and I’m about to talk, but the front door swings open again and a stream of guests pour out, clutching goody bags and rushing to hug me goodbye.

‘Nicki, darling. Thank you so much, I’ve had the best time.’

‘Nicki, I hope everything’s OK. Are you sure you’re alright? Thanks so much. Let me know when baby comes, yeah?’

‘You’re going to be such a good mother.’

‘Go put your feet up and have a nap, mama. You got this.’

‘Sorry it had to end early, but I’ve had the best time. Now go have a cold bath.’

I’m lost in an ocean of hugs, air kisses and people clutching my bump. I say thank you, thank you, act the part, trying to distract from the inevitable curiosity of this party’s abrupt ending. The stream of people keeps on running as the glass house empties, and I’m told what a good mother I’ll make, and what a lucky baby this is, and how exciting, and I bet I can’t wait to meet them, and oh, if I get a moment, can I ask Charlotte to send over all the pictures she took. By the time the stream runs dry, I scan the driveway for Phoebe, wanting so much to have one last moment – one that does us justice – but she’s gone. There’s no time to mourn this, to mourn her, and us. I want to cry but I can’t go into that house to sort things with Matt if I’m visibly upset that she’s left. I can’tbelievehe’s forgiven meagain. The forgiveness is a balm that I apply over the pain. I’ve made the right choice with Matt. He’s an amazing man. He defended me. He’s supported me. It’s all going to be alright. I push inside, sighing in the lush blast of air conditioning, and find Matt leant against the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of the non-alcoholic punch. It’s neon pink and filled with edible glitter that catches the light as he tips it down his throat. I point to it, smiling. ‘Careful, that stuff is called emasculation potion. If you finish the glass, your penis shrivels up.’

I wait for a laugh to break the tension, but he gulps it to the bottom, and when he’s done, the look he gives me over his stork cup makes my blood stop.

‘I can’t believe you, Nicki,’ he says. ‘What the actual hell is wrong with you?’

‘I can explain. I thought . . .’ He holds up his hand to stop me.

‘Are you the most selfish person alive? Seriously? Who the hell have I married? Who the hell am I having a baby with?’

I realise then the show of solidarity outside was a façade. An exercise in saving face. I’m not forgiven. ‘Matt!’

Mum rushes into the room with a pile full of empty cups in her arms. ‘Nicki? Darling? Is everything OK? Are you too hot? Should I call 111, just in case? You look OK, but still . . .’

We stand, suspended, in our fight, both of us adjusting our posture like we’re teenagers trying to hide we’re drunk. ‘Thanks Jane,’ Matt says. ‘But Nicki is fine. I’ll look after her. We actually need to discuss something very important and private that’s just come up. I know it’s your house, but do you mind giving us some space?’

Her eyes go straight to me, wanting to protect her baby. ‘Is everything alright Nicki?’

‘We’re fine,’ I lie. ‘But, Matt’s right. We need to talk. Can you give us an hour?’

There’s one good thing I can say about my mother and that is she’s always been able to cartwheel with the punches. ‘Of course,’ she says, like it’s a totally usual request to be evicted from your own home. ‘I need a breather after all that. I’ll go treat myself to an iced coffee before addressing the clean-up. Charlotte promised she’d do it, but she’s gone all funny. I think.’

We’re interrupted by shouting upstairs. ‘You know what? I’m just going to head off. Leave the kids to it.’

She grabs her handbag and is out within seconds, checking in with her eyes one last time. There’s more shouting upstairs.What the hell is going on? Why does the world keep ending? Why has everything gone berserk?

‘What’s that?’ I ask, pointing upwards where the shouts are getting increasingly shrill.

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