Page 89 of So Thrilled For You

So, my friends do think my life is less than theirs because I don’t want to have children. Theydothink I’m selfish and frivolous, and what was the last one, oh yeah,unsafeto look after them. I sniff again and go through my emails from today, re-reading all the amazing ones that have come in. I wouldn’t get sent emails like this if I had a baby. The idea women can have it all is bullshit, Mum had always been honest and clear about that with me. She loved me and wouldn’t change me for the world, but her life would be very different if she’d not had me. ‘And it’s not different in any better or worse way,’ she’d once told me, one boring day in hospital. She was listing all the things she’d never be able to do now she’d been given a six-month time limit. ‘Don’t believe that lie my darling. Having a child isn’t the better option that leads to the most happiness. In fact, it’s a very limiting option that closes off a lot of paths. Be sure that path is worth it, that the others won’t make you feel more whole.’

Look at Lauren. Look what she used to be like. Amazing career. Lovely husband. And now look at the actual state of her.The path does not seem worth it to me. I can see, now, why mothers judge me so harshly. Ithasto be worth it, in their heads, because their sacrifice has been so huge and it’s so never-ending. They’re jealous of my life and how they can’t have it anymore. And they know – underneath their own propaganda – that my life is as good as theirs without such unrelenting sacrifice. I have all the things they claim their babies bring them and yet I have more.

A message dings in from Rosa and I read it with a half smile.

Rosa:

I will never have the words to thank you. You’re my fairy godmother. You’ve changed my life, forever, in the best possible way. How can I ever make that up to you? I can’t. But I can only ever be thankful.

I’ve let this bloody baby shower overshadow too much of today. A life-defining day. There’s no party or presents for me, no punch or games or group activities. But today has been a magical achievement and I’m angry at myself for hiding from it all day. I start punching out emails, sending strategy voice notes to myself on my phone, I lose myself in the gorgeous warm bath of my career, the sanctuary of my inbox. I’m not sure what gets me to look up, but, after some minutes, I glance at the window and gasp.

The entire garden is on fire.

Charlotte

I bend over on the toilet, and I howl and howl and howl. Everything I’ve kept in all these years. The envy, oh God, the envy. The resentment at how easy it is for everyone else. The endless complaining about how hard it is to have something I so desperately want. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do moreI’m so happy for you, anddon’t worry about me my time will come.If I have to like another baby announcement online, clicking ‘like’ on a black-and-white scan, writing ‘congratulations’and lying when I say, ‘what amazing parents you’re going to be,’ I will implode. So many people I know will make terrible parents and get to become them anyway. I’m not going to lie, I have my doubts about Nicki. She’s always been quietly so selfish and used to getting her own way. There, I said it. You’ll probably be a shit mum, Nicki, and yet there you go, out a baby pops. And Lauren. I thought she’d be amazing. She’s so warm, and works with children’s books, and was always there, crouched next to whoever was drunk and crying at the bus stop on a night out. But she just left her baby screaming . . . why? If I ever get pregnant, I promise I’ll be the best mum. I promise I’ll never leave it to cry. I promise I’ll read every book, attend every class, be so responsive that I’m changing a nappy literally as the baby poos into it . . . please, God, I’ll do it, I promise, if I just . . .

. . . but this magical thinking gets me nowhere. I have to accept it’s the desperate nonsense of a pathetic woman who can’t face reality. I thought if I threw the perfect day today,I’d be rewarded, but there’s just cramps in my stomach, and a trip to hospital to be told what I already know. I bend over and let myself feel sad, feel rage, feel shame, feel desperately sorry for myself. I know I need to call Seth, but I can’t stand yet. I just can’t. My entire soul is exhausted. There are no energy frequencies to tune into.

Then I hear the scream.

The Gender Reveal

Woody crawls from exciting distraction to exciting distraction while Mama lies down. This is incredible. What a treat. He finds a mountain of wrapping paper and his hands crunch into it. He lets out a shriek of delight and crunches it beneath his palm, in awe at the force of himself. His eye catches the paper plate with cream on it, left on a side table. He crawls over and heaves himself up, pulls the plate down, where it lands with a splat against his chest. He giggles, then sits down and pushes his fingertip into the plate, noticing the feel of the cream against his hand, and how it leaves a trail of where he’s touched it. A plastic cup draws him away. It must be held and sucked on. It’s quite far away, near the big glass expanse of sky, but the journey is worth it. He will not rest until he’s put the rim of that cup in his mouth. He crawls further away, lured by the cup, until he reaches it. The bliss of making it his. Of getting to crunch it as liquid dribbles through his vest. It tastes sweet like the milk. Mama doesn’t usually let him do the grabbing he wants. She’s always pulling him back and saying that‘no’sound and, irritatingly, has a knack for taking something from him just before the delicious moment it reaches his mouth. But, as he looks behind to check on her, he sees she’s still face down and making funny noises into the soft thing. Perfect.

This cup is just as amazing as he thought it would be. It feels great on his gums. A new sensation drifts against his skin, a warmth, coming from somewhere. The cup is dropped. This feeling must be investigated. He crawls towards the brightnesswhere a breeze drags in more hot air. Someone has left open the sliding doors onto the decking. Woody giggles again, crawling faster until the texture beneath his hands changes from laminate floor to rougher wood. There’s birdsong out here and gaps in between the planks to poke his fingers through. Something shines in his eyes and his gaze settles on a metal ring, poking out from a gap. He crawls over, checks once more on Mama, who, in the dark inside, is still here but not watching, and gets to the shiny hoop. It’s hot in his hand. He tries to lift it to his mouth but it’s stuck. This won’t do. He must put it in his mouth, that’s what needs to happen to everything. He tugs. It doesn’t move, but the tugging is fun. He wraps all his fingers into the hoop and tugs some more, sitting upright in the sun with perfect posture. Is there a loosening? He senses it. One more big tug . . . almost . . . almost . . .

Too many things happen at once.

He falls backwards as the ring comes with him and knocks the back of his head on the decking. He lets out a scream, just as there’s a clanking sound of metal landing on dry earth below, and pink smoke bellows out and up, rising up over the deck. Woody doesn’t know whether to cry because he’s knocked his head, or clap because this smoke is very pretty and exciting. He cries and claps at the same time. Then the smoke changes colour. It becomes grey and fuggy and it’s too hot, too hot. Another scream comes from behind him.

Nicki

I clutch my bump and waddle back towards the house, too stunned to consider how dangerous it is for our lungs. The smoke streams over the glass walls in cascades while I try to figure out what’s going on. Is there a barbecue in a neighbouring property? But they’re fields away, it would have to be a big barbecue . . . I push through the front door and start coughing. Smoke’s billowing into the house from the back garden through the open sliding doors, surrounding total chaos. Lauren’s collapsed on her knees in the middle of the sitting room, clutching Woody and screaming hysterically while Steffi frantically rocks her.

‘My baby, my baby, they’re going to take my baby,’ she’s screaming. ‘They’re going to take him . . .’

‘Lauren, we need to get out of here. Get up, get up, please.’

Charlotte’s got a stork napkin held to her mouth and she’s shouting down her mobile phone. ‘Yes, there’s a fire. It’s an emergency. Come now. There’s four of us here, and a baby.’ She coughs. ‘Quickly,’ she shouts down the line. ‘The whole garden has gone up already.’

‘What’s going on?’ I shout, lifting my elbow to my mouth. I’m still in some dumbfounded state, not quite able to take it in. My parent’s garden is on fire. My best friend’s screaming on the floor. I’m pregnant yet inhaling heavy smoke. The heat feels like it’s melting off my top layer of skin.

‘My fault, my fault,’ Lauren screams over the flicker of flames, rocking back and forth, pushing Steffi off her. Woody screams desperately in her arms.

Charlotte makes frantic arm motions to me. ‘Nicki! Get out of here. You’re pregnant. Go now. Drive.’

‘Matt’s taken the car.’

‘Go to the driveway. Get far away, it’s spreading quickly.’

There’s a gentle hush of breeze, but in the inferno outside, it’s like a dropped can of gasoline. We all scream as the fire seemingly jumps from the burning grass up onto the decking and sets that ablaze too.

‘My parent’s house . . .’ I’m finally starting to comprehend the sheer disaster of the situation. ‘It’s burning . . . I have to . . .’

What? Rescue what I can? Try and put it out?

‘We need to go,’ Steffi’s yelling, trying to pull Lauren up but she’s still lead on the floor. ‘Lauren? Please.’

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