Page 30 of So Thrilled For You

Nicki carefully unclamps Woody’s hand, who’s decided to yank out tufts of her hair. ‘My Dad thought it would beusefulto spend the day out on his new gravel bike,’ she sighs. ‘He left about 30 minutes ago, wearing such tight spandex I think there’s going to be several car crashes along the downs.’ She places Woody on the floor and rubs the part of her head he’d removed hair from. ‘And Mum panicked that we didn’t have a reed diffuser for the bathroom and thought this would ruin the day. She’s rushed into town to get one.’

‘I’m obsessed with your mum,’ I tell her.

‘Well, that’s good, because she’s obsessed with you.’

A part of me glows at that. I know I can be a lot sometimes and it feels wonderful when people not only get me, but appreciate me. I refuse to dial down my frequency for anyone, but my efficiency definitely triggers a lot of people, which istheirproblem, quite frankly.

‘Are they excited to be grandparents?’ I ask. ‘Do you think they’ll be helpful?’

Nicki contemplates this. ‘Dad? No way. Not until they’re old enough to cycle, anyway. We’re so lucky to be having babiesnow rather than when men were all useless, smoking cigars in the hospital waiting room, and giving the baby the occasional piggyback or whatever.’

Lauren waves her finger and gets down on her knees to stop Woody straying into the danger zone again. ‘Don’t be so sure about that. I’ve got horror stories from my NCT about their husbands. Absolute horrors.’

We all turn to her, keen for details. ‘Really?’

‘There’s one husband who hasn’t doneonenight wake, because he’s“not good on no sleep”and“needs to be well rested for work”.He literally works in an office, in IT. He just sits there and types. It’s not like he’s a brain surgeon or pilot. Woody no . . . not over there... See this squeaky toy?’ She picks up a ball that squawks like a chicken. ‘And another went to the World Cup for ten days, even though his baby was in hospital with bronchiolitis.’

Nicki pulls a disgusted face. ‘But Tristan’s good, right? He’s always been such a star.’

Lauren tilts her head, and, if I didn’t know her so well, I wouldn’t have noticed the change in her face. The way it falls slightly, like a scaffold has collapsed behind it. ‘Yeah, he’s better than most. But it’s mad how you do find yourself falling into these gendered roles, no matter how hard you try not to.’ She tickles Woody’s cheek and he giggles while Nicki looks so horrified that she almost bounces off her ball. ‘Sorry,’ Lauren says, sensing she’s panicked her. ‘I just wish I’d known how pointless it is to fight it. Nobody told me. And I’m very tired. As if you can’t tell by the state of me.’

We’re quiet for a second. It’s the first time Lauren’s addressed the jarring change in her appearance. I leapfrom my chair in my earnestness to reassure her we haven’t noticed. ‘You look gorgeous, hon. Being a mum really suits you.’

‘Yes, Lauren. You’re stunning,’ Nicki adds. ‘You always have been.’

Lauren ignores us and rummages in her nappy bag to find something to placate Woody, who has started trying to breastfeed through her dress.

‘Yeah, yeah. Anyway . . . plenty of motherhood talk to come today . . .’ Her eyes glance briefly in my direction, and I know she’s trying to direct Nicki to be careful around me. I want to shake my head and jump up and down – desperate to tell them. But today is Nicki’s day and I can’t snatch her thunder and risk the wrath of fate.

Steffi wafts back in, phone still in her hand, looking sleek and svelte as always. She pats my head before arranging herself back on the sofa. ‘Umm, Nicki?’ she asks. ‘Why is there a sign in your bathroom in all caps that says “NOBODY LIKES POO FINGERS”?’

‘What? There isn’t.’

I put my hand up. ‘Umm, that was me.’

‘What?’

The other two start cracking up. ‘You don’t want to get sick when you’re this pregnant,’ I protest, ‘and today is a super spreader event. I read this study about how to nudge people to be more hygienic. Apparently signs simply reminding them to wash their hands don’t work? You’ve got to shame people. They tested loads and apparently “Nobody likes poo fingers” was the most effective.’

Their laughter cranks up.

‘Remember when we sponsored Charlotte to not google anything for Lent?’ Steffi asks, wiping her eyes.

Nicki bounces on her ball, holding her stomach. ‘And then she tried to convince us that, searching for“are Pop-Tarts carcinogenic?”was needed for her Dickens essay? The essay we were all also writing?’

‘They ARE carcinogenic!’ I point out.

‘Better not eat them with poo fingers,’ Lauren butts in. ‘Otherwise you’d be dead within the year.’

I don’t mind that they’re all laughing at me. I’m just so pleased everyone’s getting along. I can visibly see the signs of effort on both Nicki and Steffi’s faces. We need each other. We’ve always needed each other. I’ll always treasure that seminar in the first week at Sheffield when we were put together. I’d been delirious with homesickness – missing Mum terribly, my whole family, and my bedroom that wasn’t directly next to a communal fire door that banged every two minutes. But, alongside that, there was this dawning horror that no-one on my corridor was going to be myfriend for lifewhen all the literature I’d read about the university experience said I’d meet my ‘Friends for Life’. Instead, I was on a floor with a bunch of girls really into Class A drugs, and music that only apparently makes sense when on them. They declared me A Martian for never having even tried a ‘spliff’, and pissed themselves laughing when I’d said ‘I don’t want to die’ after being offered ‘Molly’. In fact, they dragged in the lads from upstairs and made me repeat what I’d said to them about fearing a prison sentence, all laughing with gurning jaws.

‘More than a quarter of women in prison are in for drug-related crimes,’ I meekly chirped, while they all fell about like Iwas the new Michael McIntyre.(That was another thing they found hilarious, that I liked Michael McIntyre.) I spent my Freshers’ Week with clenched fists, at packed club nights I didn’t understand, too short to be able to see over the mass of sweaty, drugged-up bodies before getting a taxi home, alone, usually by midnight and crying down the phone to Mum.I was there to get a degree, she reminded me. And she’d rent me a nice flat if things really couldn’t improve. Anyway, it was all pretty terrible but I was glad for lectures to start so I could actuallyget my degree, which waswhy I was there, toexcel in my studies.Plus, I hadfriends for lifeback home, anyway, in Hampstead. I was just about coping, though I did spend a lot of time crying in my pyjamas. But, luckily, in my first seminar for my American Literature module, I got put in a group with Lauren, Steffi and Nicki, and even more fortunately, they also hated their allocatedfriends for life.Nicki suggested we get a drink together to toast the fact we’d all only flicked through one book on the summer reading list, and that wasLittle Women,and that was only because of the Winona Ryder movie. I was so excited these girls hadn’t yet used the words ‘doobie’, or ‘racking up’thatI concealed the fact I’d read the entire list over the summer – and put all my notes on each novel into colour-coordinated folders based on their historical context. My mum was still hoping I’d stopwasting my clear talentson becoming a primary school teacher. But that’s the one job I wanted to do because it works with a parenting schedule.

Anyway, we went to a nearby Vodka Rev, and Nicki ensured we all got righteously drunk on these powder pink cocktails, while we talked about our favourite episodes ofSex and The City.Finally, a conversation I understood and could enjoy!Finally, girls I liked. Werethesemy friends for life? After our fifth cocktail, as night drew in but conversation hadn’t once run dry, Nicki slammed her glass down and said, ‘God I wish you girls were on my corridor.’

‘You do?’ I asked, sipping my dusty pink martini with hopeful intrigue.

‘Hell yes. I came here through clearing. Long story short, I was meant to go to York with my boyfriend, but then I panicked about going to uni as a couple and how that would probably make me a social leper. So, I veered last minute and the only accommodation available was in the building for the overseas students. I’m now still a social leper because I don’t speak Chinese and they’ve all been here three weeks more than me to settle in to this country.’ Nicki finished her drink. ‘Please can we all hang out more?’

---