a hormone imbalance.
“And if you are turning into a woman,” Bel said, going over to put an arm around him, “I’ve got this slinky little black shift that would look just great on you. If we did your hair, got you some pearls and some long gloves, you could have a real Audrey Hepburn thing going on.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Amy! Quick! Get him off me. He’s giving me an Indian burn.”
Chapter 4
THE FOLLOWING DAY , Charlie’s school was closed. The local council was holding elections, and the building was being used as a polling station. Charlie had been due to spend the day at Ruby’s, but at half past seven she’d phoned to say she had woken up with a blinding migraine and the twins were going to her mother’s. “I’d ask Mum to have Charlie, too, but she’s getting on, and I’m not sure she’d cope with three of them tearing about her tiny flat.”
Amy completely understood and wouldn’t have dreamed of imposing on Ruby’s mum, but it did leave her in a bind. There was no point phoning Val or asking Charlie’s friends’ mums to see if one of them could have him because they all worked. There was only one viable plan B: Victoria. She had two children, Delilah, known as Lila, who was nine, and Arthur, who was seven. Lila would be at school, but Arthur was at home getting over a stomach bug. The boys got on well, although Arthur, who was a tall, hefty lad, was apt to throw his weight around, not that Victoria ever acknowledged it.
Victoria had spent years devoted to her career, declaring that she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body and that if she went through early menopause like her mother had, so be it. Then she met, fell in love with, and married Gorgeous Simon—he of the patrician jaw, Grecian curls, and megabucks salary courtesy of a top City law firm, where he was a partner. They hadn’t been back from their honeymoon (Bora Bora) for more than five minutes when, with much fanfare, they announced that they were pregnant.
Before that, there had been a glorious white wedding on the river at Henley, paid for by Simon’s parents, who were loaded. Victoria, who along with her brains possessed a hand-span waist, hazel eyes that were perfect almonds, and auburn tresses that looked like they belonged in a Herbal Essences commercial, wore an understated slinky satin gown trimmed at the shoulders with drop crystals. As they posed for photographs—Victoria with her hair and eyes, Gorgeous Simon dashing in his top hat and tails—grandmas and aunties oohed and aahed and said what a handsome couple they made.
Amy was matron of honor. She wore an off-the-shoulder peach crinoline confection chosen by Victoria. Her sister claimed to adore it and said how perfect it was for Amy’s figure. Amy believed her until the best man got up to deliver the traditional bridesmaid toast and assured her that one day she would rebuild Tara. Of course everybody hooted. Amy’s girlfriends told her not to get upset since everybody knew it was the bride’s prerogative to ensure that she wasn’t outshone by her bridesmaid even if the bridesmaid was her sister.
Victoria’s pregnancy at the age of thirty-one clearly indicated that she wasn’t heading toward the early menopause Val had experienced. Amy was encouraged by this, but she knew that she still could have inherited her mother’s predisposition. At the age of twenty-six she had every right to be fretting about her own fertility.
Nobody could believe the change that came over Victoria. Her pregnancy took over her life. She gave up work at once in order to “be there for my fetus.” She spent nine months reading child-care books, playing Beethoven to her unborn child, and going to birthing, breast-feeding, and child-rearing courses.
She embraced pregnancy—and subsequently motherhood—in much the same way she had embraced her studies at school and university. For her, coping with pregnancy and child care wasn’t about instinct, natural impulses, and
“And if you are turning into a woman,” Bel said, going over to put an arm around him, “I’ve got this slinky little black shift that would look just great on you. If we did your hair, got you some pearls and some long gloves, you could have a real Audrey Hepburn thing going on.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Amy! Quick! Get him off me. He’s giving me an Indian burn.”
Chapter 4
THE FOLLOWING DAY , Charlie’s school was closed. The local council was holding elections, and the building was being used as a polling station. Charlie had been due to spend the day at Ruby’s, but at half past seven she’d phoned to say she had woken up with a blinding migraine and the twins were going to her mother’s. “I’d ask Mum to have Charlie, too, but she’s getting on, and I’m not sure she’d cope with three of them tearing about her tiny flat.”
Amy completely understood and wouldn’t have dreamed of imposing on Ruby’s mum, but it did leave her in a bind. There was no point phoning Val or asking Charlie’s friends’ mums to see if one of them could have him because they all worked. There was only one viable plan B: Victoria. She had two children, Delilah, known as Lila, who was nine, and Arthur, who was seven. Lila would be at school, but Arthur was at home getting over a stomach bug. The boys got on well, although Arthur, who was a tall, hefty lad, was apt to throw his weight around, not that Victoria ever acknowledged it.
Victoria had spent years devoted to her career, declaring that she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body and that if she went through early menopause like her mother had, so be it. Then she met, fell in love with, and married Gorgeous Simon—he of the patrician jaw, Grecian curls, and megabucks salary courtesy of a top City law firm, where he was a partner. They hadn’t been back from their honeymoon (Bora Bora) for more than five minutes when, with much fanfare, they announced that they were pregnant.
Before that, there had been a glorious white wedding on the river at Henley, paid for by Simon’s parents, who were loaded. Victoria, who along with her brains possessed a hand-span waist, hazel eyes that were perfect almonds, and auburn tresses that looked like they belonged in a Herbal Essences commercial, wore an understated slinky satin gown trimmed at the shoulders with drop crystals. As they posed for photographs—Victoria with her hair and eyes, Gorgeous Simon dashing in his top hat and tails—grandmas and aunties oohed and aahed and said what a handsome couple they made.
Amy was matron of honor. She wore an off-the-shoulder peach crinoline confection chosen by Victoria. Her sister claimed to adore it and said how perfect it was for Amy’s figure. Amy believed her until the best man got up to deliver the traditional bridesmaid toast and assured her that one day she would rebuild Tara. Of course everybody hooted. Amy’s girlfriends told her not to get upset since everybody knew it was the bride’s prerogative to ensure that she wasn’t outshone by her bridesmaid even if the bridesmaid was her sister.
Victoria’s pregnancy at the age of thirty-one clearly indicated that she wasn’t heading toward the early menopause Val had experienced. Amy was encouraged by this, but she knew that she still could have inherited her mother’s predisposition. At the age of twenty-six she had every right to be fretting about her own fertility.
Nobody could believe the change that came over Victoria. Her pregnancy took over her life. She gave up work at once in order to “be there for my fetus.” She spent nine months reading child-care books, playing Beethoven to her unborn child, and going to birthing, breast-feeding, and child-rearing courses.
She embraced pregnancy—and subsequently motherhood—in much the same way she had embraced her studies at school and university. For her, coping with pregnancy and child care wasn’t about instinct, natural impulses, and
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