hoot.”
Hilary and Charley finally got back together around Easter, and, as soon as they did, Les started dropping round after work again.
At first he’d have a beer, eat a takeaway and watch the news or the football before we got into a clinch, but after a while he didn’t even bother to eat.
He thought my breasts and my bum were fantastic. “Now that’s what I call a real handful,” he’d say admiringly.
It was almost surprising that he actually understood I was pregnant. For all he ever said about it, he might have thought I was just putting on weight. We never talked about me being pregnant except in connection to the size of some of my external parts. It was a wonder, as my nan would say. A real wonder. I looked at myself and started counting the months before I could get into real clothes again, but Les looked at me and saw a sex goddess. A sex goddess who couldn’t get knocked up.
“Natural birth control,” is how Les put it. “Sex without fear.” He grinned. “And without condoms.” Les didn’t like condoms, he said it wasn’t the same. He obviously didn’t know from personal experience, but that was what his friends told him.
I was happy to be his sex goddess. Even if most of the time I felt more like hell’s plaything, it was great for my ego. For someone who’d been a little slow in getting started, Les was making up for lost time. He was always hugging and stroking me, and he’d have to be really tired or pissed not to want what he called “a quick roll in the hay”.
That’s why I thought that when Les started talking about his summer holiday he meant we were going away together. To somewhere romantic with room service where we could make love for hours instead of minutes just in case the Spiggs came home unexpectedly.
We even looked through the brochures together: Greece, Italy, Cyprus, Spain… To be honest, they all looked pretty much the same – a blue blob of water, a blob of sand dotted with bodies, and a hotel – but I didn’t care where we went. I knew wherever we went, we’d find a private lagoon with a palm tree and water the same blue as my good maternity dress.
Then one night Les turned up with a bottle of fizzy wine.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked as he unscrewed the top.
“You won’t believe it, but I’ve been sort of promoted. They’re transferring me to Finsbury Park.” He puffed out his chest. “Manager.” He laughed. “That makes me the youngest manager in the company.”
I forced a happy smile on to my face. This was good news. Les was a manager at only twenty-one. He’d be a director or something by thirty. We’d live in the suburbs and I’d have a four-wheel drive with tinted windows and lots of kids and dogs in the back. But I couldn’t be that happy about it now. It meant I could never just drop by the shop any more. It meant he had further to come.
“But that’s not all.” Les grinned. “They finally agreed my holiday time. I booked my package this morning.”
I didn’t hear “my”. I heard “our”.
“Really?” I couldn’t exactly bounce with excitement (not without knocking something over), but there was excitement in my voice. “Where are we going? When?”
Les stopped pouring.
“ We ?”
“I’m going with you, aren’t I?” I thought he was joking. “Remember we looked at the brochures?”
He thought I was joking.
He laughed. “Get real, Lana. I can’t take you to Greece. You know that.”
Did I?
“Do I?”
He rolled his eyes the way Charley does when Hilary can’t find her keys and has to take everything out of her handbag again .
“Of course you do. I’ve only got two weeks, you know.” His eyes moved from my face to my tummy, looming in the space between us like a giant balloon. “You can’t fly with a bun in the oven. Not when you’re as far gone as you are. Everybody knows that.” He laughed again. “And there’s no way I’m taking a bus to Greece.”
I laughed along, as though I
Hilary and Charley finally got back together around Easter, and, as soon as they did, Les started dropping round after work again.
At first he’d have a beer, eat a takeaway and watch the news or the football before we got into a clinch, but after a while he didn’t even bother to eat.
He thought my breasts and my bum were fantastic. “Now that’s what I call a real handful,” he’d say admiringly.
It was almost surprising that he actually understood I was pregnant. For all he ever said about it, he might have thought I was just putting on weight. We never talked about me being pregnant except in connection to the size of some of my external parts. It was a wonder, as my nan would say. A real wonder. I looked at myself and started counting the months before I could get into real clothes again, but Les looked at me and saw a sex goddess. A sex goddess who couldn’t get knocked up.
“Natural birth control,” is how Les put it. “Sex without fear.” He grinned. “And without condoms.” Les didn’t like condoms, he said it wasn’t the same. He obviously didn’t know from personal experience, but that was what his friends told him.
I was happy to be his sex goddess. Even if most of the time I felt more like hell’s plaything, it was great for my ego. For someone who’d been a little slow in getting started, Les was making up for lost time. He was always hugging and stroking me, and he’d have to be really tired or pissed not to want what he called “a quick roll in the hay”.
That’s why I thought that when Les started talking about his summer holiday he meant we were going away together. To somewhere romantic with room service where we could make love for hours instead of minutes just in case the Spiggs came home unexpectedly.
We even looked through the brochures together: Greece, Italy, Cyprus, Spain… To be honest, they all looked pretty much the same – a blue blob of water, a blob of sand dotted with bodies, and a hotel – but I didn’t care where we went. I knew wherever we went, we’d find a private lagoon with a palm tree and water the same blue as my good maternity dress.
Then one night Les turned up with a bottle of fizzy wine.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked as he unscrewed the top.
“You won’t believe it, but I’ve been sort of promoted. They’re transferring me to Finsbury Park.” He puffed out his chest. “Manager.” He laughed. “That makes me the youngest manager in the company.”
I forced a happy smile on to my face. This was good news. Les was a manager at only twenty-one. He’d be a director or something by thirty. We’d live in the suburbs and I’d have a four-wheel drive with tinted windows and lots of kids and dogs in the back. But I couldn’t be that happy about it now. It meant I could never just drop by the shop any more. It meant he had further to come.
“But that’s not all.” Les grinned. “They finally agreed my holiday time. I booked my package this morning.”
I didn’t hear “my”. I heard “our”.
“Really?” I couldn’t exactly bounce with excitement (not without knocking something over), but there was excitement in my voice. “Where are we going? When?”
Les stopped pouring.
“ We ?”
“I’m going with you, aren’t I?” I thought he was joking. “Remember we looked at the brochures?”
He thought I was joking.
He laughed. “Get real, Lana. I can’t take you to Greece. You know that.”
Did I?
“Do I?”
He rolled his eyes the way Charley does when Hilary can’t find her keys and has to take everything out of her handbag again .
“Of course you do. I’ve only got two weeks, you know.” His eyes moved from my face to my tummy, looming in the space between us like a giant balloon. “You can’t fly with a bun in the oven. Not when you’re as far gone as you are. Everybody knows that.” He laughed again. “And there’s no way I’m taking a bus to Greece.”
I laughed along, as though I
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