“It isn’t four,” says Suze quickly. “I reckon it’s two. She came to scope things out. See the home territory.”
“So…what do I do?”
“You let her know you’re onto her.” Suze raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “Woman-to-woman.”
Woman-to-woman? Since when did Suze get so worldly-wise and cynical? She sounds like she should be wearing a pencil skirt and blowing cigarette smoke in some film noir.
“When are you seeing her again?” she asks.
“Next Friday. We’ve got a checkup appointment.”
“OK.” Suze sounds firm. “Go in there, Bex, and stake your claim.”
“Stake my claim?” I say uncertainly. “How do I do that?” I’m not sure I’ve staked my claim on anything before. Except maybe a pair of boots in a Barneys sale.
“Give off discreet little signals,” Suze says in knowledgeable tones. “Show her Luke belongs to you. Put your arm round him…talk about your great life together…. Just nip any little ideas she might have in the bud. And make sure you look fabulous. But not like you’ve made any effort.”
Discreet little signals. Our great life together. Look fabulous. I can do that.
“How’s Luke about the baby, by the way?” Suze asks casually. “Is he excited?”
“Yes, I think so. Why?”
“Oh, nothing.” She shrugs. “I just read this piece in a magazine the other day about men who can’t cope with the idea of becoming a father. Apparently they often have affairs to compensate.”
“Often?” I echo in dismay. “How often?”
“Er…about half the time?”
“Half?”
“I mean…a tenth,” Suze amends hastily. “I can’t remember what it said, actually. And I’m sure that’s not Luke. But still, it might be worth talking to him about fatherhood. The article said some men can only see the pressures and stresses of having a child, and you have to paint a positive picture.”
“Right.” I nod, trying to take all this information in. “OK. I’ll do that. And Suze…” I pause awkwardly. “Thanks for not saying ‘I told you so.’ You told me to steer clear of Venetia Carter and…maybe you were right.”
“I would never say ‘I told you so’!” exclaims Suze in horror.
“I know you wouldn’t. But loads of people would.”
“Well, they shouldn’t! And anyway, maybe you were right, Bex. Maybe Venetia’s not interested in Luke and it’s all totally innocent.” She puts the woolly sheep down and pats it on the head. “But I’d stake your claim anyway. Just to be sure.”
“Oh, don’t worry.” I give a determined nod. “I will.”
Suze is so right. I need to give Venetia the message: Keep your hands off my husband. In a subtle way, of course.
As we arrive at the birth center on Friday I’m dressed in my best “looking fabulous with no effort” outfit of Seven maternity jeans (frayed), a sexy red stretchy top, and my new Moschino killer heels. Which are a bit dressy maybe, but the frayed jeans compensate. When we arrive, the waiting room is pretty empty, with not a celebrity in sight, but I’m so psyched up I don’t mind.
“Becky?” Luke looks down at my hand, gripping his. “Are you all right? You seem tense.”
“Oh…you know,” I say. “I’ve just got a few concerns.”
“I’m sure you have.” He gives an understanding nod. “Why not share them with Venetia?”
Yu-huh. That was the general plan.
We sit down on the plushy chairs, and I pick up a magazine, and Luke opens the FT with a rustle. I’m about to turn to “Your Baby’s Horoscope” when I remember Suze’s words yesterday. I should talk to Luke about fatherhood. This is the perfect time.
“So…it’s exciting, isn’t it?” I say, putting my magazine down. “Becoming parents.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Luke nods and turns a page.
He doesn’t sound that excited. Oh God, what if he’s secretly daunted by a life of diapers and is seeking refuge in another woman’s arms? I have to paint a positive picture of parenthood, like Suze said. Something really good…something exciting to look forward to…
“Hey, Luke,” I say, suddenly inspired. “Imagine if the baby wins a gold medal at the Olympic Games.”
“Sorry?” He raises his head from the FT.
“The Olympics! Imagine if the baby wins a gold medal at something. And we’ll be its parents!” I look at him for a reaction. “Won’t it be great? We’ll be so proud!”
My mind is totally seized by this idea. I can totally see myself at the stadium in 2030 or whenever, being interviewed by Sue Barker, telling her how I knew my child was destined for greatness, even from the womb.
Luke appears a bit bemused.
“Becky…have I missed something? What makes you think our child will win an Olympic gold?”
“It might! Why shouldn’t it? You have to believe in your children, Luke.”
“Ah. Fair enough.” Luke nods and puts his paper down. “So, which sport did you have in mind?”
“The long jump,” I say after some thought. “Or maybe the triple jump, because it’s less popular. It’ll be easier to win a gold.”
“Or wrestling,” suggests Luke.
“Wrestling?” I look at him indignantly. “Our child’s not doing wrestling! It might hurt itself!”