Page 65 of So Thrilled For You

A burned extendable ‘selfie stick’, likely used to take the group photo of the main suspects.

Nicki

I’m officially overwhelmed. Way beyond whelmed. There is so much whelm in me and I am so over it. All this stuff, all this endless stuff. The pile of presents won’t go down. It’s like the magic bowl of porridge, except it’s spewing out endless babygrows and muslins and wipes, and everything in the world with either a duck or an elephant on it. My baby is going to beinthese things,usingthese things. The baby in my belly that’s going to come out, and be real, and I’m going to have to look after it forever, in its fucking elephant everything, and not kill it, and I’m going to die in childbirth anyway, and it’s too much. It’s too much, and too hot, and I’m too pregnant, and I just want everyone to leave, and to get into a cold bath and sob and cry because I’ve given up so much for this baby. I’ve given up Phoebe for this baby. And now I’m scared and I don’t want it anymore.

I just wasn’t expecting Phoebe to be here. She’s a living, breathing, stunning, magnetic, heart-beating person who I loved, and who I’ll never know in the ways I want to because of the baby in my stomach. She’s a life I could’ve led. It was easier when Phoebe was a memory. An idea to mourn. I forgot how my eyes can’t leave hers. I forgot how she makes me laugh. I forgot how, just by her being in a room, shadow parts of me unlock – fun parts, untraditional parts. I’m not just Nicki, the girl who looks like she was incubated next door, who only has sensible boyfriends, and works sensible jobs, and hasn’t ever tried a 69, or even watched porn, and doesn’t like drinking because thehangover isn’t worth it the next day. With Phoebe, I’m someone subversive . . . flirty . . . unpredictable . . . fun . . .

. . . Until I threw it all away to do the most predictable thing ever.

‘Oh, wow, thank you. What is it?’ I ask, holding up what can only be described as a ‘thingy’. In my hands, they somehow multiply. They are now two thingies. Two little silverly thingies. They sort of look like metal rolled condoms.

‘They’re silver nipple shields,’ Jenny from work explains, laughing at my obliviousness. ‘They’re amazing apparently. All the mumfluencers are using them. You pop them in your bra between feeds and the silver apparently releases microbes that stop you developing mastitis.’

‘Oh . . . huh.’ I slip one onto my tender breast in my maternity bra. They make me look like I have robot nipples. ‘I never knew.’

Charlotte is about to combust next to me. ‘What a good present,’ she practically shouts. ‘I’ve read about them. Amazing. Well done.’

She’s dutifully writing down everything I’ve received, and by who, which is lovely, but also somewhat ruining the mood as she’s also getting them to write down their address for her and the whole thing is feeling like homework. I slip the other nipple shield in, horrified to realise they only just fit over them. I knew my breasts would get bigger and saggier in pregnancy, but nobody tells you your nipples engorge and turn into giant thumbs sticking out of burgers. Just as I do, Phoebe wafts in from the kitchen with Lauren, holding a large glass of punch. She eyes my giant nipples sticking through my top and winks while making a clicky sound. I blush and rip them out again,asking, ‘OK, what next?’ Trying to stay here, in this sweltering box rather than tumbling down another rabbit hole of unhelpful memory.

Matt was surprisingly furious when I’d told him about Phoebe. I’d made us mugs of tea and explained what happened and why our marriage was over. Things had been so lacklustre for so long I assumed he’d be relieved but, instead, he was an unpinned grenade.

‘You kissed her? You’ve cheated on me? All these nights at hers? You were getting with her?’ He paced up and down our living room, palms pressed against his face, shaking the walls of our new-build flat.

‘I didn’t realise you’d be so upset,’ I got out, through sheets of tears. The second I’d told him, I’d started to cry at this unexpected end to our marriage. It was over between us. It had to be. The feelings I had for Phoebe, there’s no way I could have them if things were right between us. That’s what she’d told me. Sending me message after message, explaining it all, helping it make sense. ‘The light can only get through the cracks,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t feel guilty, Nicki. You wouldn’t be feeling like this if you guys were meant to be together.’

‘Why the hell wouldn’t I be upset? My wife has been cheating on me and is now a lesbian. I’d say that’s quite upsetting. Oh, am I supposed to fucking congratulate you for coming out or something?’ He bowed down with a flourish. ‘Well done on your personal growth, Nicki. So brave.’

‘You’re being a dick.’

‘You’ve cheated on me and I’m the one being a dick?’

‘It was only a kiss.’

‘You told me you’re in love with her!’

‘Yeah, but I’m talking to you about it before I do anything.’

‘Wow. Lucky me. So grateful.’ Matt turned and paced again, the walls wobbling around us, his face blooming red with rage. I’d never seen him so animated, so full of fire. It turned me on a bit. In fact, it was the first time I’d fancied him in years. Now I was losing him, all his features were as alluring as they’d been initially. That incredible jaw, the moles decorating the left side of his face like a trail to follow, the crack of skin threading between one of his eyebrows, the deep stark green of his eyes against his dark lashes. I started crying harder, which I knew was unfair on him. I just couldn’t believe I was blowing our lives up. Matt and I didn’t know how to be adults without each other. Our lives had been so gorgeously entwined for so long. Our parents had even been on holiday together. This separation was going to be such an atrocious, humiliating, confusing mess, and suddenly I really wanted to have sex with my husband. Though, with such anger thrumming through him, I was too scared to go near him.

‘I still can’t believe this,’ he said, almost verging on spitting. ‘After all the shit you’ve put me through over the years about sleeping with fucking Steffi . . . when I didn’t even know you existed! And, all these months, you’ve been cheating on me . . .’

‘Those are hardly the same things.’

Why was I defending myself? Why was he bringing Steffi up now? Why was he thinking about Steffi right now? What the hell did she have to do with anything? One of my biggest fears was that Matt would’ve ended up with Steffi if he hadn’t met me. I worried there was something more between them . . . lingering . . . every time they saw one another. I hated that she alsoknew the noises he made when he came. I hated that she knew what a good kisser he was. How big his dick was(surprisingly so, actually, considering he’s so scrawny). I hated that, technically, from an HPV point of view, I’d now slept with everyone Steffi had slept with, which, let’s face it, is a lot more than most.

‘Of course they’re not the same things,’ he said. ‘I did nothing wrong when I slept with Steffi. Whereas what you’ve done is pure adultery.’

‘I didn’t realise it was.’ I cried harder, hugging a sofa cushion to stop myself trying to hug him.

‘Oh, yes, I forgot. Your lesbian seductress.’

‘Don’t speak that way about her.’

‘You do realise how unfair this is? If I’d cheated . . . if I met some girl from work and stayed all these nights in her fucking bed, and then kissed her, and told you I was in love with her . . .

it would be so black and white.I’m the arsehole. She’s a bitch.But no . . . not with this. Somehow perfect fucking Nicki stays the perfect one . . . fuck this. Fuck you, Nicki. Honestly. Fuck you.’ I flinched. It was the first time he’d ever sworn at me, and it left a bullet hole.

Then he’d left. He left before I could even tell him the whole story which would help him understand. Which would help him know that I wasn’t to blame. This wasn’t my fault. I still wanted him to like me, to love me. To listen to me. To hear me out. To comfort me. Like he’d comforted me and protected us all these years. Even, yes, when I made unreasonable demands, like him not being allowed to talk to Steffi at social occasions . . .

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