Faking It, page 26
“And when you say everyone . . . ?”
“Oh my god, who don’t I mean? Her friends at work. Friends from school. Her parents. Her sister. Her brothers. Lena. Even Frankie Two heard about it and messaged her. Tally sent me the screenshots.”
“Are you still mad at her for thinking you were screwing Frankie One?”
“No! I—I mean, yes, a bit, but that’s not the point.”
“So the point is that we bet the boyfriend’s lot aren’t saying all this stuff to him? That they’re probably saying it’s a shame but, ah, well, best crack on with life? No ‘down with the patriarchy, off with these shackles society places on women with its expectations that we be settled down with kids and stuff by the time they’re thirty when we don’t do the same to men’?” Then he mutters, mostly to himself, “Oh yeah. I’d be totally qualified to write that article,” and jots a note to himself in his phone. I ignore him.
“Not even that! Although, yeah, now you mention it . . . ”
I’m so riled up, though, I have to file that one away to be angry about later. I adjust my hold on my mug so I can gesture at Duncan.
“The point,” I exclaim, “is that people are treating her like being single is the worst thing that could have happened to her now. Like this is some awful, tragic thing. And like, the end of her relationship might be, sure, but just not having a boyfriend anymore isn’t. They're acting like life is so bloody awful if you don’t have one!”
“Right.” Duncan smirks. “Because you’re such a ray of sunshine all the bloody time. Not always moping over a boy or mooning over one or dating one or talking to one, or . . . ”
I jerk back a little bit, staring at him as he trails off in a you get the picture, need I go on kind of way, grinning like he’s just made a brilliant joke, but the punch line feels like a very literal punch in the gut.
Am I always like that?
Is my life every bit as miserable as everyone’s making it out that Tally’s will be?
I probably would have said yes even just last weekend. It was exactly that miserable.
And the seemingly endless attempts at dating and finding a boyfriend or a guy to spend my life with are kind of miserable, especially when they keep not working out for whatever reason and the whole cycle has to start again, but—
The rest of my life isn’t that bad, is it?
I have a job. A job that I like, a job that I’m even quite good at most of the time. I rent my own flat, all by myself. I have . . . a semblance of a social life, even if it does mostly revolve around weddings and housewarmings and dates, and even if recently it does mainly consist of a guy I roped into being my fake boyfriend.
Is my life so worthless? I ask myself, and then realize that’s completely the wrong question.
What I should really be asking is, do I value those things so little, just because I don’t have someone to share it all with?
Duncan is staring at me like he can see the gears whirring and the spanner he just unwittingly threw into them. He frowns. “What did I say?”
“I’m not always like that, am I?”
“Not always, no!” he says, a little bit too quickly. “No! Just, you know. A normal amount.”
“Oh my god. I am, aren’t I?”
He looks at me steadily, then sighs and says, “Would you like me to be honest, or put a bit of a journalistic positive spin on it? I can do that, but you should know, I will be very biased as a fellow perpetual singleton.”
I can’t answer him, too shaken up by this horrific and mortifying realization. This feels infinitely more embarrassing than the Frankies’ housewarming, overhearing Frankie Two insinuating I was a slut out to steal her man, and definitely more embarrassing than eating dog-food cupcakes and then using liver-flavored toothpaste; it’s worse than going to the cinema on my own for my birthday after Tally canceled last-minute, and a rock bottom that makes finding a fake date for Jessica’s wedding look like a totally sane, reasonable, everyday thing to have done.
Duncan seems to notice I’ve gone practically catatonic and my rant about Tally’s breakup is over, because he claps his hand on my shoulder and says, “Look, Barker, really. Don’t get too caught up about it. I’d be the same if I had everyone telling me my body clock was running out. You think I don’t die a little inside every time a girl ghosts me or my gran gives me that big, disappointed sigh because I haven’t found somebody yet? Or the worst one—those girls who ask me what’s wrong with me, all jokey-like, because I’m thirty-eight and I’ve never been married and I don’t have kids, and they say it like they don’t mean it, but we both know they do. It gets all of us down. Actually, now, that’s a good spin for an article. Hey, if I pitch this to Andy, you all right if I come to you for some quotes from the female perspective? This kind of stuff always does great on the website.”
“Sure,” I say, but I feel so zoned out I’m not even sure what I agree to. Duncan and I collect our now-lukewarm drinks and head back to our own desks. I open up the Word document with my column, all marked up with notes from the editorial team, but my eyes glaze over, and it all turns to fuzz on the screen.
My whole rant about Tally’s breakup threatening to take over my own life had turned into “being single isn’t that bad” without me even realizing that was the hill I was going to die on today. And boy, did I die on that hill. My chest feels tight all of a sudden; my palms are sweating and blood rushes in my ears.
I’m no better than all the people I’m complaining about, than Lena with her sudden obsession for wedding Pinterest boards or Tally for having total breakdowns over how to split up the Christmas decorations or if she’s still supposed to send Sam’s mum a birthday card next month.
I’ve made my whole life about someone else, too, and I don’t even have someone else in my life to share it all with.
Maybe they’re all right: being single is the real tragedy here after all.
November
Nadine Cox-Dawes
Hey, Soph, thanks for the lovely card and the elephant plushie—baby loves it! Sorry for being a bit MIA but Mum and Jess said they’ve been filling you in and sending pics and stuff. Just all been totally mad here! And I’m fucking knackered. Anyway, really looking forward to seeing you next weekend xx
Sent at 4:19 a.m.
Nadine Cox-Dawes
Also pls wear something you don’t mind getting sick on. Dad wore that Ralph Lauren shirt I got him last Xmas and within two minutes it had sick on it.
Sent at 4:19 a.m.
Nadine Cox-Dawes
One last one, can you please bring me some mince pies? David refusing to get anything Xmasy in before December and I’m dying for one but basically chained to the house and Mum’s FINALLY moving back home tomorrow. Can’t ask Jess to bring any because she’ll snitch to David. Ta xx
Sent at 4:22 a.m.
Thirty-two
Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m at your beck and call.
Views on establishing boundaries from our Dating & Relationships columnist
“You want to be thinking about having your own soon, love. You don’t want to end up being one of those geriatric mums—I know the doctors can work their magic these days, but I was reading in the Daily Mail the other week about it, and it can cause all sorts of problems for the baby as well as you.”
Oh fuck off, Laura.
I mean, really. The gall. I might be expected to put up with such a comment from my own grandma, but not from Auntie Janine’s mum. She doesn’t even like me very much.
But now—oh, now she’s interested, isn’t she? The same woman who called me Sophia for about a year after Auntie Dawn and Janine got serious enough to introduce their families to each other.
I ignore her in favor of looking at the texts pinging through on my phone, surprised when I find they’re from Nadine about visiting next weekend. She had the baby right at the start of the month—went into labor late on Halloween and gave birth somewhere in the wee hours of November 1—but I haven’t seen her yet. I FaceTimed to congratulate her, obviously, but since then she hasn’t really been answering my messages or anything.
At first I thought it was because she was pissed off that I wasn’t waiting around at the hospital or there to meet her and the baby when they got home, but Camilla told me it’s just that Nadine is exhausted. If anything, I’m doing her a favor by staying away. I got all the gory details I didn’t ask for about just how difficult the birth was, how many stitches Nadine needed, and all that stuff—apparently, she even told her best mate not to visit while she gets her bearings a bit, and while the parents-in-laws have visited, she made David’s siblings and their kids stay away.
“She just needs some peace and quiet to rest,” Camilla told me.
“But you’re staying with her.”
“Of course I am, love, I’m her mum.”
I’m surprised but pleased to see the few texts from her now.
The first one feels oddly formal, but I try not to let it get to me. My relationship with Nadine has always been a bit like that. Slightly removed, even if it’s amiable enough. It’s just circumstance—nothing personal.
But then I get to the text begging me for mince pies and laugh out loud.
Yup, that’s my big stepsister all right.
“Ooh!” says Granny. “Is that your Harry?”
“It’s just Nadine, about seeing her and the baby next weekend,”
I explain.
Even though Laura’s geriatric mum spiel has petered out, she snaps to attention again at the mention of another baby. She narrows her eyes at me, lips pursing and emphasizing every wrinkle on her face. “You see? You want to be careful or you’ll be the only one left. Oh dear, you’re not one of those who doesn’t want children, are you?”
Wow.
Mum, overhearing, waves a hand quickly before going back to cuddling the baby. “Oh, Laura, honestly. Plenty of people don’t these days.”
“Plenty of people didn’t want them in the old days either—bet they used to wish it wasn’t such a taboo and a bit more like it is these days,” Granny supplies, with a dry laugh that just makes Laura purse her lips so much I think she might have an aneurism.
Auntie Janine shifts in her seat a little and I notice Auntie Dawn cut her a look, both of them aware that the mood has shifted, and an argument could be brewing. Auntie Dawn carries on pumping and doesn’t say anything, though, apparently too tired to intervene; Janine pulls a face and looks uncannily like her mum and stays quiet, too, although she remains bolt upright, watching us all carefully, ready to shut it down if she has to.
Laura doesn’t even seem to notice that I never answer, only nods in baby Poppy’s direction, face softening as her granddaughter burbles happily away, oblivious. “It would be so nice for Poppy to grow up with cousins. Janine’s father was an only child, of course, so she never had cousins on that side of the family, and I always thought it was a shame my brother never had children, but what can you do?”
Uh, I don’t know, maybe you could have given him the third degree like you’re doing to me right now? Maybe you would’ve done his head in, too, and he would’ve had them just to shut you up.
I make a mental note to mention this conversation to Duncan.
Maybe he can use it for his article about the differing societal pressures placed on people to settle down. (I still need to decide if I’m going to let him name me or if I want to be quoted simply as everyone’s favorite anonymous columnist.) I look around at everyone else in the room as I respond to Laura.
“Well, they wouldn’t be cousins, though, if I had kids anyway, would they? They’d be . . . what is that, second cousins? First cousin once removed? Twice removed?”
Granddad, who has been sitting quietly with the paper, ignoring it completely in favor of pulling silly faces at Poppy, pipes up with, “First cousin once removed, I’m sure. Yes—yes, it’s got to be.
I had thirteen cousins, you know. Bunch of tossers, most of them.
One of them’s been in jail for forty-odd years.”
“Was that the one with all the fraud, with the betting shop?”
Granny asks.
“Eh? Oh, no, no, that was Eddy. Great guy, Eddy. Brilliant cricketer, you know, Sophie. He could’ve played for England,” he adds as an aside. “No, he went off to Spain after all that, before they could come after him. It was, um, what was her name? It’ll come back to me.”
“Margaret,” I supply, having heard this story and variations on it about fifty times before. “And she looked like the queen’s sister, you always said.”
“Aye, that’s it! Yes, of course.”
Laura looks both stricken and bewildered by the sudden turn of conversation. I make the mistake of catching Mum’s eye; she’s noticed, too, and we both have to fight not to laugh. I don’t dare look at Granny, because I know she’ll be the exact same, and then we’ll all start laughing.
Granddad explains to Laura, “A real looker, she was. ’Course, all the blokes fancied her, and she had her pick of them—and did a damn sight more than pick their pockets. Stole money from a sheikh once, I think.”
“Is that why she’s in jail?”
“Oh, no.”
Laura just stares at him.
“Anyway, point is, Poppy could have a whole boatload of cousins and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference how she turns out.
Your Janine’s probably fared a damn sight better for having none than I did for having all of them lot.”
“Well, Eddy did give us a loan for the house, don’t forget,”
Granny reminds him.
“Oh aye.” Granddad looks at me, all mock serious, pulling a funny face. “She’s right, then, Sophie. You best get cracking and tie down that Harry of yours. If it’s not Poppy, someone better carry on the family tradition, eh?”
“You really should!” Laura cries. “He’s quite a bit older, isn’t he?
He must be thinking about starting a family, and—”
“Actually,” I interrupt, “Harry doesn’t want kids.”
Which is a barefaced lie; he’s said a few times about how much he’d love to be a dad, how it was part of the reason he went through with the wedding even when his relationship wasn’t at its best. But it’s so worth it for the shocked look on Laura’s face, and it takes all my willpower not to laugh.
“Well,” says Granny, smiling at me, “at least he’s not a con artist.”
I smile back, relaxing now—and feeling oddly triumphant.
I sort of expected my family to be on Laura’s side there. They’re always asking if I’ve found a boyfriend yet, how it’s going with whichever guy I said I was seeing. I saw how happy and excited they all were when Dawn told us she was pregnant, and I knew they wondered when it would be my turn. They’ve said, to my face, that it’ll be me next. It’s a constant but familiar pressure by now, and I don’t even think they realize they’re doing it most of the time.
And maybe it’s just that Laura can be a bit of an uppity bitch sometimes, or maybe it’s just that they really aren’t putting pressure on me and genuinely don’t mean to when they do, but it’s nice to feel like my family really are on my side, for once.
Then Granddad tosses the newspaper aside and gets up to go and make some more coffee, offering the rest of us a hot drink while he’s up and in the kitchen. Mum hands me the baby and goes to help him. They’re barely down the end of the hallway before I hear them laughing and shushing each other.
And, holy shit, there is a baby in my lap.
I’ve met the baby a couple of times now. It’s been okay.
She’s really cute. I know you’re meant to say that about babies, but Poppy really is. She’s got these round, rosy cheeks and tufts of soft yellow hair, and chubby, soft limbs, and big bright-green eyes and this great big beautiful gummy smile. She’s adorable and precious, and I love her so much.
I am also completely fucking terrified of her because she’s a baby, and I do not know what I’m supposed to do.
The first couple of times I’d been to visit, Poppy was mostly asleep, and mostly still. She was all bundled up in blankets so all I had to do was sit on the sofa while Auntie Janine carried this swaddled thing over and put it in my arms, and then someone else took her off me after a while. It wasn’t much different the second time I came to visit, but then I could mostly stand over her cot and coo down at her as she played with a mobile.
Now she’s wriggling around, her arms and legs free, in a soft moss-green outfit with a teddy bear printed on the top, and she is not still or sleeping or swaddled.
I put a hand around the back of her head because I know that’s what you’re supposed to do, but sheer terror sets in, and I lose all track of whatever conversation the others are having now. There is only me and this baby, and I mean it in the worst way possible.
I wonder if this happens to everyone—if my friends experience this too. I wonder if Jessica felt like this when she held Nadine’s baby. Do they get all glossy-eyed and dream of the children they will have one day, and feel overcome with love?
I can’t be the only person overcome with panic. I can’t.
It’s not like I’m holding Poppy and I’m actively repulsed or anything. And it’s not like I look at her cute little face and cuddle her close and feel nothing or think about how I actually really don’t want this for myself one day.
It’s mostly just: But what do I do with it?
Am I supposed to know? Was I supposed to go on a course or read a book, like soon-to-be parents do, so I could understand? Did I miss something somewhere along the way that tells you how to deal with a baby for the first time when it’s not even yours?
I feel like I did that time I agreed to dog-sit for someone at work, and in spite of the two-page list of instructions they left me with for the weekend, suddenly it was just me and this miniature schnauzer, both helpless and confused, just praying we made it through the weekend in one piece.
