Hang on. Is that Tom?
Blimey. I barely recognize him. Mum’s right about the shaving: he doesn’t seem to have seen a razor for days.
“Dad needs help with one of his magic tricks,” he says abruptly to Janice. “The rabbit’s got stuck or something.”
“Oh dear!” says Janice, putting down her cup. “I’d better go. Tom, say hello nicely, love.”
“Hi, everyone.” Tom shoots a cursory glower round the room.
“You know Suze, Becky’s friend, don’t you?” twitters Janice. “And have you ever met Becky’s sister, Jess?”
“Hi, Tom!” says Suze cheerfully.
“Hi,” says Jess.
I glance nervously over at her, all ready for some lecture about how spending a thousand pounds on a crib is a mark of the evil, decadent times we live in. But to my surprise she’s not even looking at the catalog. She’s let it drop onto her lap and is gazing at Tom, transfixed.
And Tom is staring back at her.
Her eyes drop to the book he’s holding. “Is that The Consumer Society: Myths and Structures?”
“Yeah. Have you read it?”
“No, but I’ve read some of Baudrillard’s other work. The System of Objects.”
“I have it!” Tom takes a step toward her. “What did you think?”
Hang on a minute.
“His concept of simulacra and simulation is pretty interesting, I thought.”
Jess fiddles with the Tiffany bean I gave her. She never fiddles with that Tiffany bean. Oh my God. She fancies him!
“I’m trying to apply the collapsing of hyperrealities to my thesis of postmodern capitalistic entropy.” Tom nods intently.
This is fantastic! They’re good-looking and there’s chemistry and they’re talking English, only with weird in-words that no one else understands. It’s like an episode of The OC, right here in Mum’s living room!
I shoot a glance at Luke, who raises his eyebrows. Mum nudges Suze, who grins back. We’re all totally agog. As for Janice, she looks beside herself.
“Anyway.” Tom shrugs. “I should go….”
Like a whirlwind, Janice springs into action.
“Jess! Dear!” she exclaims, leaping up from the sofa. “We’ve never really got to know each other, have we? Why don’t you come back for tea, and you and Tom can carry on with your little talk?”
“Oh.” Jess looks taken aback. “Well…I’ve come to see everyone here….”
“You can see them later at the party!” Janice takes a firm grip on Jess’s tanned arm and starts chivvying her toward the door. “Jane, Graham, you don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all,” says Dad easily.
“Well, OK.” Jess glances at Tom and a faint rosy color appears on her cheeks. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye!” we all chorus.
The door closes behind them and we all look at each other in suppressed glee.
“Well!” says Mum, picking up the teapot. “Now, wouldn’t that be nice! We could take down the fence and have a marquee across both lawns!”
“Mum! Honestly!” I roll my eyes. That is just like her, getting ahead of herself and imagining all sorts of ridiculous—
Ooh. The baby could be the ring bearer!
While Jess is next door, Luke is reading the paper, and Tarquin is bathing the children, Suze and I take over my old bedroom. We turn on the radio loudly and run deep, sudsy baths, and take turns perching on the edge of the tub to chat, just like in the old days in Fulham. Then Suze sits on the bed, feeding the babies in turn while I paint my toenails.
“You won’t be able to do that for much longer,” says Suze, watching me.
“Why?” I look up in alarm. “Is it bad for the baby?”
“No, you dope!” She laughs. “You won’t be able to reach!”
That’s a weird thought. I can’t even imagine being that big. I run a hand over my tummy and the baby bounces back at me.
“Ooh!” I say. “It kicked really hard!”
“You wait till it starts poking knees out and stuff,” says Suze. “It’s so freaky, like having an alien inside you.”
You see, this is why you need a best friend when you’re pregnant. Not a single one of my baby books has said “It’s so freaky, like having an alien inside you.”
“Hi, darling.” Tarquin is at the door again. “Shall I put Wilfie down?”
“Yes, he’s finished.” Suze hands over the sleepy baby, who nestles into Tarquin’s shoulder as if he knows he belongs there.
“Do you like my nails, Tarkie?” I say, wriggling my toes at him. Tarquin is so sweet. When I first knew him he was totally weird and geeky and I couldn’t even hold a conversation with him — but somehow he’s got more and more normal as the years have gone by.
He looks blankly at my nails. “Marvelous. Come on, old chap.” He pats Wilfie gently on the back. “Up to Bedfordshire.”
“Tarkie’s such a good dad,” I say in admiration as he disappears out of the room.
“Oh, he’s great,” says Suze fondly as she starts feeding Clementine. “Except he keeps playing Wagner at them all the time. Ernie can sing Brunnehilde’s aria from start to finish in German, but he can’t speak much English.” Her brow crumples. “I’m getting a bit worried, actually.”
I take it back. Tarquin is still weird.
I get out my new mascara and start applying it to my lashes, watching Suze make funny faces at Clementine and kissing her fat little cheeks. She’s so lovely with her children.