Page 57 of The Three of Us
‘At least you’ve got a partner,’ Miranda moans. ‘I’m having to manage these two terrors on my own.’ Her boys are just at the starting to walk stage now, and are tumbling about on the grass, giggling over a ball.
‘Your choice, sweetie. What did you expect when you did your thing with the turkey baster? Kitchen utensils aren’t known for their parenting skills, are they?’
‘It was not a turkey baster,’ Miranda replies, indignantly. ‘I went to a proper clinic, Jo, as you well know. Donors are checked and regulated and everything. I just hadn’t expected to end up with the two for the price of one deal.’
‘You and me both! Who’d have twins by choice, eh? Still, count yourself lucky it wasn’t three.’ Jo looks across at Berni, the only TTC member with triplets, and sighs with relief. ‘That woman’s a bloody marvel. I mean, we were born with two boobs for a reason, weren’t we? Where the hell are you meant to put baby number three? Must be a continual queueing system. One off, one on, one waiting in the wings. Like juggling three bean bags with only two hands.’
Molly leans back in a folding garden chair and closes her eyes for a moment, her hand across her tummy. One baby is just fine. Quite enough. She has no idea how any of these women cope with more.
‘Hey, Molly. Wakey-wakey!’ Rosie is at her side now, with a couple of newcomers in tow.
‘I wasn’t asleep!’
‘Of course not. Just resting your eyes, I know. My Syd says that all the time. Anyway, I’ve brought some friends over to meet you all.’ Molly looks up at the rather round red-faced woman with big frizzy red hair who is standing beside Rosie, blocking out what there is of the sun. ‘This is Fran, a possible future client for you, Molly, as she’s a great lover of cake!’
‘Cheek!’ Fran nudges her, but seems to take it in good part.
‘And this is Carly, best friend of many years standing. Carly and Fran share a flat. The other member of the gang is Fran’s big sister, Suze.’ She snorts. ‘Well, not bigger than our Frannie in the size sense, obviously, just age-wise. I have no idea where she’s just disappeared to. I seem to have lost her on the way through, but I’m sure she’ll catch us up later. She’s just got engaged so she’s probably dragged the poor bloke into the understairs cupboard or something! Now, girls, meet Molly, who made the cakes for me. And these are some of the mums I’ve met at the twins club. Or should I say other gluttons for punishment!’ Everybody laughs, although Fran is not looking quite so happy now. One dig too many about her weight maybe?
‘Excuse me a minute, all of you. Feel free to introduce yourselves,’ Rosie says, seemingly unaware of any discomfort coming from Fran’s direction. ‘That sounds like the doorbell again. More guests. I don’t know where I’m going to put them all. At least the clocks haven’t gone back yet or it would be getting dark before we know it. And we’d better hope it doesn’t rain, cos it’ll be a hell of a squeeze if everyone ends up indoors!’
The two newcomers pull up chairs and settle down beside Molly, each already carrying a glass of wine. The smaller one, Carly, puts her hands around her drink protectively as Toby hurtles past again, clutching a mangled sausage roll, and almost knocks it out of her grasp. ‘Kids, eh? Who’d have them?’ she huffs, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Molly is actually having one, but Molly doesn’t put her straight.
‘So, you made those fab-looking cakes in there?’ Fran says, positively drooling at the very thought.
‘I did, yeah.’
‘A great idea, the two halves being so different. Something for everyone, and not your traditional christening cake either. Our Rosie’s never been the religious type. I just wish they’d hurry up and cut the damn things, so we can all have a piece. It’s bloody torture, all this look-but-don’t-touch stuff!’
Molly laughs. ‘I hope they live up to expectations.’
‘I find cake usually does, even if men may not.’ Jo has wedged a squirming Toby between her knees now and is bribing him to sit still with yet more food, most of it sugar-coated, piled high on a paper plate. ‘Excuse my cynicism, but they’re only really good for one thing, aren’t they? Men, I mean.’
‘What? Putting up shelves?’ Miranda has finally settled her two in a sleepy heap on a blanket, and collapses on the grass beside the others. She pulls what looks like a hand-knitted cardigan together at the front and starts doing up the buttons. ‘I’d just as soon have a go myself.’
‘Yeah, we all know you don’t need a man. For anything!’ Jo makes a rude gesture that even Miranda can’t help but laugh at. ‘Sisters are doing it for themselves! With a bit of help from the turkey baster.’
‘All right, Jo. Joke over now, okay? Anyone would think you were on the booze. Oh, look.’ Miranda takes the can from Jo’s hand. ‘This one’s the real thing. A strong one too. Not an alco-free at all. You’ve mixed the lagers up. Accidentally on purpose, I wouldn’t be surprised. And we all know, the more you drink, the looser your lips get.’
Jo bursts out laughing. ‘I reckon we’ve all got pretty loose lips after giving birth to this lot!’ She waves her arms around to indicate the gaggle of assorted children surrounding them. ‘No wonder Rosie’s put us down here at the bottom of the garden, away from all the normal well-behaved people. Like we’re a different species. Still, you’ll be next to join us, Molly. Believe me, your life, and your nether regions, will never be the same again. Better start those tightening exercises now, before it’s too late!’
Some of the other mums laugh, but Miranda has been quiet ever since the quip about doing it for herself. They all know Jo wasn’t talking about shelves. Molly wonders if Jo has gone too far, discussing what must be a pretty private thing for Miranda with anyone who’ll listen. She can’t imagine what would lead a woman to go to those lengths. Having babies without a partner. Using donor sperm. It’s not as if Miranda is that old, grabbing at a last chance before her fertility levels plummet. But it’s none of her business. Or theirs. Somebody really needs to change the subject.
She turns towards the women sitting beside her. Time to start a new conversation. ‘So…’ she begins, intending to ask them about their jobs or their shoes or anything unrelated to baby-making, but Carly is staring at her in a very strange way, as if she’s suddenly seen a ghost or something, and Fran is staring at Miranda, as if… well, as if she fancies the pants off her. And it looks pretty much like the attraction could be mutual. Ah, maybe that explains the lack of a partner in Miranda’s life. A male one, anyway…
‘Oh no, Toby!’ Jo’s strident voice rings out as her son suddenly slumps forward, lets out a strangled gulp and, without anywhere near enough warning, is promptly sick all over her lap. There is a frantic scrabble among all the mums as they delve into changing bags looking for cloths and wipes.
As Molly turns her head away, the sweet sickly smell making her stomach churn in sympathy, Carly stands up, abruptly, making her chair totter. ‘Are you okay?’ Fran says, her gaze pulled abruptly away from Miranda. She reaches out a hand, but Carly shakes her off and walks back into the house, without saying a word, her face as white as a sheet.
‘Sorry,’ Fran says. ‘Not sure what that was about. She’s usually the life and soul of the party. And a bit of vomit’s never bothered her before. Probably needs the loo, or starting a period or something. Now, when are they going to let us at those wonderful cakes? Tell me, Molly, are they fruit or sponge?’
Chapter 33
Carly
Ican’t believe it. It’s her. It has to be. A Molly who makes cakes. I didn’t put two and two together at first. Well, why would I? She’s the last person I expected to find lolling in my best friend’s garden. But as soon as someone said she was pregnant, it all fell into place. There just can’t be that many cake-making Mollys who also happen to be pregnant, can there? That would be taking coincidence a step too far. But why her? And why here? I had no idea that she and Rosie had ever met.
I do the only thing I can do right now, and that’s escape. If I stay there looking at her any longer, young Toby might not be the only one being sick on the grass. I rush back into the house, hurtle up the stairs and into the bathroom, shoving the door shut and slipping the bolt across. Thank God nobody else was in need of a pee or I’d have been left hanging about on the landing, scared stiff that someone I know might see me and I’d have to make up some sort of explanation. Because I know I must look like shit. I certainly feel it. Blame it on a dodgy sausage roll? Not very kind to the chef, who happens to be Rosie and is right now downstairs totally unaware of having brought the viper into the nest. That’s not very fair either, actually. I could just as well cast myself as the viper. She is Jack’s wife, after all, while I’m just… well, what exactly am I? I take a deep breath and try to stay calm. I’m sure Molly is a very nice girl. It’s just that she’s the last person I ever wanted to meet face to face.