alright. We rarely lasted two seconds together (in the early days at least) before leaping upon each other in lust-fuelled zeal. But with Jim, it’s never been like that, it’s never been about lust or passion or animalistic desire. Even though I did once think it might be enough, he’s always been just lovely Jim to me, a feeling more than a need.
I look at him now, his back to me, in just his boxer shorts, putting on his shirt. He is certainly not Adonis, but there is something, I don’t know, generically pleasant about him.
He is nicely proportioned: long of leg, a regal neck, nicestrong back and lean arms. Across his shoulders he has a scattering of freckles. That’s the Scottish in him of course, from his dad’s side – thank God that’s all he inherited from him, that and the way he walks, arms folded, shoulders slightly hunched. I always think that’s a Scottish way of walking, as if he’s permanently cold.
Yes, Jim, the father of my baby, is a nice looking man. But still, my feelings for him come from my head and my heart, not from my loins like they should.
Jim is wearing the standard teacher outfit now: Gap trousers, blue shirt, and he’s putting on some hideous tie. It’s maroon and worryingly paisley.
‘What’s that tie you’re wearing?’ I say.
‘What tie?’
‘The one you’re wearing.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘What’s right with it?’
‘It’s a bog standard tie.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So, what’s it to you?’
‘Nothing, I’m just bringing your attention to it.’
‘Right,’ he says, flaring his nostrils.
‘Right,’ I say, stifling a giggle.
He walks to the door, opens it and stands there for a second.
‘What are you now, my girlfriend?’ he says eventually. I hear him chuckle to himself as he closes the door.
I’m on the bus, almost at work, when Vicky calls:
‘Hi’ she says.
‘Hi.’
‘It’s me.’
‘I know.’
She pauses. I know this is because she’s giving me a chanceto tell her something, she knows I’m being weird. You can’t hide anything from Vicky, she’ll sniff you out in seconds. I wish I could tell her. God, I’m dying to tell her, she’s my best friend! But I know Jim would never forgive me. Telling Gina was a huge mistake, I just had to tell someone and she happened to be there. The fact is that once Vicky – indeed anyone – knows, there will be months of nudging and winking and ‘so when are you getting married?’ and we certainly don’t need that to start right now.
‘Um, I’m just calling because it’s only eight days till my birthday – as you know – and I am trying to organize what theme to have.’
‘Right,’ I say.
Another pause.
‘Can I run through the options with you?’
‘Um yes, it’s just…’
‘Tess?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes I’m fine, I’m just on the bus that’s all. I can’t really talk.’
‘Oh right. You just sound weird that’s all.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yeah, like you’re not telling me something.’
I swallow hard.
‘No, it’s nothing. Honestly, nothing’s happened,’ I say, immediately regretting saying ‘nothing’s happened’ since she’ll now so know something has.
My flatmate’s just turned against me and I’m pregnant by my best friend, that’s all.
When I walk into reception, Jocelyn doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t even look at me. She just tears a Post-it note from the pad on her desk, her hair swinging, and hands it to me with a closed-off look of smug importance on her face.
It reads: Laurence rang. Can you meet him for lunch today? It would make his week if you could. Call him: 0771 6543 839.
And because I’m about to interview a woman who hijacked her lover’s honeymoon and not only that but got pregnant on it, I think what the hell, it’s just lunch with an ex. I get to my desk and I dial the number.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I was thirty-five weeks pregnant when Hamish tripped over a cricket bat on the stairs and broke
I look at him now, his back to me, in just his boxer shorts, putting on his shirt. He is certainly not Adonis, but there is something, I don’t know, generically pleasant about him.
He is nicely proportioned: long of leg, a regal neck, nicestrong back and lean arms. Across his shoulders he has a scattering of freckles. That’s the Scottish in him of course, from his dad’s side – thank God that’s all he inherited from him, that and the way he walks, arms folded, shoulders slightly hunched. I always think that’s a Scottish way of walking, as if he’s permanently cold.
Yes, Jim, the father of my baby, is a nice looking man. But still, my feelings for him come from my head and my heart, not from my loins like they should.
Jim is wearing the standard teacher outfit now: Gap trousers, blue shirt, and he’s putting on some hideous tie. It’s maroon and worryingly paisley.
‘What’s that tie you’re wearing?’ I say.
‘What tie?’
‘The one you’re wearing.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘What’s right with it?’
‘It’s a bog standard tie.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So, what’s it to you?’
‘Nothing, I’m just bringing your attention to it.’
‘Right,’ he says, flaring his nostrils.
‘Right,’ I say, stifling a giggle.
He walks to the door, opens it and stands there for a second.
‘What are you now, my girlfriend?’ he says eventually. I hear him chuckle to himself as he closes the door.
I’m on the bus, almost at work, when Vicky calls:
‘Hi’ she says.
‘Hi.’
‘It’s me.’
‘I know.’
She pauses. I know this is because she’s giving me a chanceto tell her something, she knows I’m being weird. You can’t hide anything from Vicky, she’ll sniff you out in seconds. I wish I could tell her. God, I’m dying to tell her, she’s my best friend! But I know Jim would never forgive me. Telling Gina was a huge mistake, I just had to tell someone and she happened to be there. The fact is that once Vicky – indeed anyone – knows, there will be months of nudging and winking and ‘so when are you getting married?’ and we certainly don’t need that to start right now.
‘Um, I’m just calling because it’s only eight days till my birthday – as you know – and I am trying to organize what theme to have.’
‘Right,’ I say.
Another pause.
‘Can I run through the options with you?’
‘Um yes, it’s just…’
‘Tess?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes I’m fine, I’m just on the bus that’s all. I can’t really talk.’
‘Oh right. You just sound weird that’s all.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yeah, like you’re not telling me something.’
I swallow hard.
‘No, it’s nothing. Honestly, nothing’s happened,’ I say, immediately regretting saying ‘nothing’s happened’ since she’ll now so know something has.
My flatmate’s just turned against me and I’m pregnant by my best friend, that’s all.
When I walk into reception, Jocelyn doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t even look at me. She just tears a Post-it note from the pad on her desk, her hair swinging, and hands it to me with a closed-off look of smug importance on her face.
It reads: Laurence rang. Can you meet him for lunch today? It would make his week if you could. Call him: 0771 6543 839.
And because I’m about to interview a woman who hijacked her lover’s honeymoon and not only that but got pregnant on it, I think what the hell, it’s just lunch with an ex. I get to my desk and I dial the number.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I was thirty-five weeks pregnant when Hamish tripped over a cricket bat on the stairs and broke
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