Page 56 of The Three of Us
I stay for the afternoon, watching some TV and reading Emma for what must be at least the fourth or fifth time, while Mum potters about with a duster and plumps cushions that absolutely don’t need to be plumped. I guess she’s just keeping busy, finding things to do to keep her mind off whatever’s going on at the hospital. We realise neither of us has eaten since breakfast and make up a quick late lunch, just sandwiches and a piece of cake, and I finally persuade her to sit down and watch a film with me until Sam comes back. I don’t like the idea of leaving her on her own and, to be honest, I don’t have anywhere else to be.
‘What shall we plump for?’ she says, rummaging through her shelf of old charity shop DVDs, and I laugh to myself at her use of the ‘plump’ word as visions of her perfectly placed chubby cushions jump into my head. ‘Pretty Woman?’
It’s the film she always picks, mainly because she has a not-so-secret crush on Richard Gere. And I’m a sucker for a romance, especially an unconventional one. Obviously.
‘Good choice. Got any popcorn?’
‘Not the sort of snack I tend to have stashed away in the cupboard, but I can probably run to a cheapo supermarket choc ice in the interval.’
We laugh, and the spectre of a dying Pauline temporarily leaves the room.
Chapter 32
Molly
Molly hasn’t been to a party for ages. She takes the time to do her hair nicely, pulling it up and back and securing it in place with a glittery clip shaped like a butterfly, chooses earrings that are not too big and flashy but still catch the light as she moves. It’s October and sunshine is far from guaranteed so she settles on a warm longer-length dress with a daisy pattern that she can still – just – get into without having to resort to buying something new from the maternity range. It’s an afternoon party, and there will be a lot of kids there, so there doesn’t seem a need to go for high heels or tons of make-up. She slips on some flat shoes and a cardigan and bundles the bare necessities into a huge shoulder bag, along with the chrome cake stand which only just fits if she pushes it in sideways, then carefully picks up the cake boxes.
‘Sure you don’t fancy coming with me? To meet a few new people? Carry me home if I get legless?’ She laughs as he shakes his head. ‘See you later then. Be good!’
‘Always,’ he says, opening the door, taking the boxes from her hands and carrying them down to the taxi for her. She watches him from the car window, waving her off from the pavement, as the taxi takes her around the corner and she can no longer see him. It would have been nice to go together but she can understand why he’s reluctant. Her new-found independence and her expanding circle of friends are liberating, and it’s exciting to see her business start to grow, but pregnancy is making her feel tired and inexplicably weepy lately, and she looks forward to getting back home. There’s nothing quite like the comfort of familiar arms to fall back into before bed.
Rosie’s house is small, but warm and welcoming. She has hung streamers and balloons around the living room, and the table, covered in a crisp white cloth, is already laden with plates of food. The smells of warm sausage rolls and something cheesy mingle and fill the air.
‘I’ve left space for you,’ Rosie says, pointing to an area in the centre of the spread. ‘For the pièce de résistance!’ She is lifting the lid from the first box and peering in, anxious to get a glimpse of the cakes. ‘Ooh, this is great,’ she says, her voice as excited as a child’s. ‘Come on, let’s get it all out and set up before anyone else gets here. And before those little horrors of mine wake up and start yelling for milk. I dare not get changed until they’ve had their feed or I’ll be greeting the guests with stains all down my front!’
‘When are people due to arrive?’
‘Well, my husband’s just gone to pick up his parents and his brother from their hotel. It’s only right they get here first, as guests of honour. Everybody else… well, anytime from three o’clock. I don’t expect anyone to stay particularly late. It’ll be getting dark by six, and having a small house means open doors and an overspill into the garden, so it will be getting chilly too. And I want it to be a party for the babies, not some boozy late-night knees-up! Although there will be wine, of course. And beer. Go on, have a seat and I’ll make you a coffee or something. I’m assuming you’re not into wine at the moment?’
‘Better not.’ Molly touches her tummy. ‘Tempting though it is!’
‘Won’t be long until you can have a sneaky glass again. I’m breastfeeding but the odd one doesn’t seem to hurt.’ She raises her voice as she disappears out of the door. ‘And I need it sometimes, believe me!’
Molly sits back on a squashy sofa and slips her shoes off. Her feet and ankles are feeling a bit swollen and she’s pretty sure Rosie isn’t going to mind. That’s the beauty of other mums. They understand.
She can hear the kettle starting to boil in the kitchen just as one of the twins wakes up and starts grizzling upstairs, the sound amplified through the baby monitor beside her.
‘Can I help?’ she says, padding barefoot to the doorway and finding Rosie in the small kitchen, spooning coffee grains into cups. ‘I could make the coffee, or get the baby for you.’
‘Thanks, Molly. Instant okay for you?’
Molly nods. ‘Of course.’
‘It’s not easy, this trying to be in two places at once lark! That’s Jamie you can hear, and Becca won’t be far behind. Honestly, I need the arms of an octopus sometimes. Be grateful you’re only expecting one. But the coffee’s done now, so if you don’t mind taking them through, I’ll pop up for his lordship.’
Like a well-oiled machine, Rosie soon has both babies fed, changed and ready to party, and leaves them lying quietly in their baskets while she goes up to get herself ready.
The front door opens and Molly hears voices in the hall. The family are here already, and she feels a sudden nervousness as they pile into the room, carrying wrapped gifts and champagne and an enormous bouquet of flowers.
‘Ah, hello. You must be our cake lady. Rosie said you’d be here early. I’m Syd, the other half!’
‘Molly.’
There follows a round of introductions and handshakes and a lot of cooing over the cakes, in pride of place on the table. Syd’s mother makes a beeline for the babies, hovering for a moment as she tries to decide which one to pick up and cuddle first. His dad flops into an armchair, the flowers resting on his belly while he waits for Rosie to appear so he can hand them over, and the brother, whose name Molly has already temporarily forgotten, follows Syd to the kitchen in search of a beer.
Molly is glad when Rosie comes running down the stairs, wearing a lovely blue-and-silver top and a pair of loose trousers, with not a hint of a milk stain in sight. ‘Ah, Molly, you’ve met everyone. That’s good.’ She looks at her watch. ‘We’ll be deluged soon, just you see. A houseful, and a garden full too, probably, but at least the weather’s good. I bet the girls from the group get here first. Eager for a bit of grown-up company and some free food!’ She kisses her parents-in-law, takes the bouquet to the kitchen to find a vase and comes back with Syd and his brother in tow, cans of beer in their hands. ‘Music please, Sydney,’ she says, grabbing her husband by his free hand and twirling herself around. ‘Nothing too loud or wall-shaking though. The last thing I need today is crying babies.’
All the girls from the twins and triplets club have come, along with their hordes of lookalike children, but not a single partner. ‘Oh, my Dave would hate it,’ Jo says, rocking her twin girls in their double buggy as her five-year-old son, Toby, runs around the garden chasing bubbles. ‘This is his chance to get a couple of hours’ peace, or a snooze in front of the telly with a beer in his hand. Believe me, where there are this many kids all together in one place, you won’t find many dads hanging about. Not willingly anyway.’ She laughs and takes a long swig from her can of alcohol-free lager. ‘Mmm, if I close my eyes, I can almost convince myself this is the real thing!’ she says, grabbing Toby just as he is about to whizz past and straight into someone carrying a tray of glasses.