Are We Nearly There Yet Page 2

‘Alice . . . I’m pregnant.’

  I wait.

  Pregnant with what? Anticipation? Pregnant with the evening’s possibilities? Because of course she cannot mean she is pregnant with child. No sir, that is not an option.

  We stare at each other.

  She giggles. ‘Alice, I am pregnant. I’m pregnant.’

  Again, my brain searches for an alternative meaning. She can’t be pregnant. That is impossible. Ridiculous, silly. No no no. That’s not what the plan is. Not now. Not yet. Not with fucking Jeremy. We were going to wait until we were both forty and dicked-out, and then she was going to marry her old neighbour, Reuben, and I was going to marry Adam from Year Nine. We hadn’t even made a plan for the kids part. It seemed so far off and unlikely.

  Not Jeremy. Not now.

  I am lost for words. I don’t understand how this can be right, how this could have happened.

  Something in the pit of my stomach aches.

  The silence goes on a beat too long before I can muster a smile.

  ‘Wow, Eva!’ I try to say as genuinely as I can. ‘That’s so . . . exciting! Is it . . . um. You’re . . . keeping it?’

  She giggles. ‘Honestly Al, I don’t think your Uber rating could take another trip back from a Marie Stopes clinic.’

  I have not been able to get above a 3.5 since I escorted Eva home from that abortion, four years ago. The driver was deeply unimpressed with our backseat conversation, particularly the part where I said that our trip was ‘at least proof she’d been getting some’.

  ‘Wow!’ I say again, as enthusiastically as possible, adding quietly, ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ she says a little shakily. ‘It wasn’t planned, and I know we haven’t even been together that long, but I don’t know . . . It sounds weird, but I’m . . . I’m happy.’ I look at her properly and she does indeed look happy. She is bright and shiny in a way I haven’t seen before. She keeps going. ‘I know it’s out of the blue, but you know how I feel about Jeremy. I’m in shock, I am, but I swear, we’re both really happy.’ She pauses. ‘I know this wasn’t the plan, Al, but he’s The One, and he’s going to make the best daddy ever . . .’ The sentence chokes her up, and it chokes me too, as I remember the last time I heard Eva say ‘daddy’ – in reference to a hairy older man she wanted to get off with.

  We both swallow hard as she keeps going, ‘. . . And when we had the scan this morning Al, and I heard that tiny heartbeat, I can’t . . . I don’t even know how to describe the feeling . . .’

  I interrupt her. ‘Wait, what, the scan?’ I am puzzled. ‘Why would you have the scan so early?’

  ‘Oh,’ she smiles wide. ‘It wasn’t early. It was the three-month scan. That’s why we can finally tell people!’

  My head spins. Three months. Three months?! She’s kept this from me all this time? For months? She has kept this thing inside her, literally and emotionally, for weeks and weeks and weeks. Was she pretending to drink all those times we’ve been out? When she vomited on a grave, was that all a morning-sickness-related LIE? Every day we chatted and texted and FaceTimed, she didn’t say a word. Eva and I have never hidden anything from each other, ever. I know everything. Every single thing.

  But not any more, apparently. Not only has she gone off and taken a giant step without me, she’s done it behind my back. She and Jeremy are having a baby, and that means they have a private, secret life that I’m not allowed into. The stomach ache becomes a tight ball of pain.

  I can feel tears stinging my eyes, and she takes my emotional display to be a good sign, hugging me as Amelia approaches.

  ‘Eva!’ Amelia barks happily, as my best friend, who’s been keeping this secret for months, whispers in my ear, ‘Don’t say anything to anyone, I want to tell them!’

  She and Amelia bustle off conspiratorially, and I stand there for a few more seconds. I don’t know what to think, I can’t believe it. I mean, of course I’m happy for her. Of course I am! Aren’t I? I mean, if I wasn’t happy for her that would make me a Full Monster and I’m not Full Monster, am I?

  Yes, I’m happy for her! She’s happy, so I’m happy. Everyone around me is having babies and getting married and bringing their husbands whose names I don’t know to my birthday dinner and having lives and moving on and I am totally, absolutely, completely happy for everyone.

  Happy happy happy.

  I look down at my hands and they’re shaking a bit. All the information jumbles around my brain like a washing machine.

  Eva and Jeremy are having a baby. Eva didn’t tell me. Jeremy will now be around forever. Even if they break up – which obviously they will at some point because they’re so wrong for each other – he is going to be in our lives for good. He’s going to be the dad to Eva’s child. Eva’s going to have a child.

  Then the rest of it hits me: Shit, I’m going to have to move out. It’s Eva’s flat – her parents own it – and she’ll want it for her, Jeremy and the baby. After eight years of living together, Eva will throw me out, to make room for her new family. Her new gang, which I’m not a part of.

  Fucking hell.

  I knew everything was going to change when I turned thirty, but I thought it would be more along the lines of hand wrinkles and body confidence. Instead, I’ve lost my best friend and my home all in the space of a few minutes.

  I feel so lost, standing there at the edge of my own birthday party, and a sudden intense longing for my bed overwhelms me. I wish I was there right now. I wish I was under my duvet armed with a five-pack of Creme Eggs.

  The thought makes a single tear dramatically roll down my face. It’s my birthday and it’s such a small want, but I can’t even have that.

  Fuck this, I’m texting TD.

  Dan Heam – also known as Twat Dan or TD – and I have been on/off for the last four years. I say on/off, but he ‘doesn’t really like labels’ so we were never really officially ‘on’ or properly together. Even though of course we were! We were mad about each other at one point. I know he loved me and I know I was his girlfriend. Nobody else really understood our relationship, but I did, and he did. We got it. It was us against the world. And there were times it was so good. So good. And also bad. But that’s any relationship, isn’t it?

  Either way, we are definitely off right now. Except I keep sleeping with him because I’m an idiot and I hate myself. There’s no point trying to fight it though. I am who I am. And that person is an idiot with no self-control or willpower.

  ‘You awgknf?’ I type. Shit, I’m a bit blurry with the emotion, and also probably all the shots.

  I try again: ‘You around?’

  His reply is instant: ‘Yep cum over.’

  Not even a question, just a command. Twelve characters of non-affection. He didn’t even invest the effort it takes to write ‘come’ properly. Because obviously an ‘o’ and an ‘e’ require so much more time and care. Maybe if he’d added a comma after ‘Yep’, maybe I could’ve seen some kind of yearning in that, some kind of sign of love. Commas are on the other keyboard, so that would’ve signalled intention and interest.

  But no. I cannot find any evidence of actual effort.

  God, I hate him and his presumption – as if I am powerless to his demands! As if I will obviously do what he says, without question!

  And, OK, fine, yes I will come/cum over. But not yet because I have some dignity! And also, I need to eat dinner, which is just coming around now.

  An hour and a half later and I am sitting under the table. I can hear Slutty Sarah stage-whispering about ‘attention-seeking’ but she can bloody talk. Who even uses the word slut any more? No one, that’s who. It’s an awful nickname but she insists we keep using it. We’ve tried casually calling her just ‘Sarah’ – we’ve even tried to explain how sexist the word ‘slutty’ is – but she is adamant. She made a speech about empowerment and reclaiming
words but everyone knows that is all patriarchy double-agent bullshit, she’s doing it for the shock value and because she thinks it’s funny when she introduces herself to new people and in-laws.

  Anyway, I don’t care if everyone – even Slutty Sarah with her nipple-ring party trick – is judging me. I’m drunk, it’s my birthday, I’ve lost my best friend and I have nowhere to live. I have a right to throw a tantrum and hide under a table.

  Obviously I would hide in the loo, but then people might not notice I’m throwing a tantrum?

  The legs wobble around me as Mark lifts the table cloth and climbs under to join me.

  ‘Feeling a bit sorry for yourself, are you?’ he says nicely, as he plops himself down. ‘What is it?’ he says patiently.

  I sigh. ‘Everything is changing around me, Mark. Why is everyone else doing stuff with their lives? What’s wrong with keeping everything the same? What’s wrong with staying put for ever?’

  He looks at me hard. ‘You haven’t texted TD have you, Al?’

  ‘No,’ I lie, hating how well my big brother knows me.

  ‘Give me your phone, Al, I’m not letting you do it,’ he says, hand out.

  ‘You are not the boss of me,’ I shout-slur. ‘I can texcht TD if I wanch. You dunt tell me what to do. I’ll text him whenever I want, I’ll do it right now.’

  I pointedly pull out my phone and squint at it.

  ‘Don’t, Alice,’ Mark says, a warning in his voice

  I exaggeratedly pull up a new message, and begin typing elaborately.

  ‘You . . . are a dickhead . . .’ I write, reading it out loud as I tap. ‘I’ve wasted all my best years on you. But I still want to hump your stupid brains out just to prove a point to my dumb brother. Even though your penis has a weird bend in it that like hurts my kidneys.’

  Mark sighs loudly. ‘Fine, great message, send it.’

  He is calling my bluff, which he shouldn’t do when I’m this drunk.

  ‘I will send it,’ I say, waiting for him to take my phone.

  He doesn’t.

  ‘FINE,’ I say louder and scroll through my contacts for TD’s name.

  ‘SEND,’ I shout, fake pressing it, but – in my blurry state – actually sending it.

  Shit.

  Oh well. I’ve sent worse to TD. I’ll still probably go back to his in few minutes. If I can just stand up.

  Mark only examines his cuticles in response. ‘Are you done fake texting morons?’ he says.

  ‘No, I actually sent it. Look,’ I say shoving my phone at his face, proudly. He rolls his eyes again but nonetheless examines the message. Then looks again.

  ‘Who is Tony Danes?’ he asks, confused.

  ‘What?’ I say, puzzled.

  I take the phone back. No, no, no. I can’t have. NO NO NO. I haven’t? I can’t have? How have I . . .? Oh God oh God OH GOD NO.

  ‘Who is Tony?’ Mark asks again, louder, clocking the horror on my face.

  ‘My boss,’ I say in a tiny voice.

  He snorts, and then looks awkward. ‘Oh, Alice.’

  I reach for the tablecloth. I need to get out from under this table and fix this. I can fix this, can’t I?

  I quickly try to stand but in my panic I misjudge the distance and fall backwards.

  The noise is loud and unfamiliar. It takes me a hazy second to realise I have pulled the cloth off and am lying tangled in a sea of white table, surrounded by broken glass and plates, bits of leftover birthday food in my lap. Mark is standing above me looking mortified.

  The silence in the room is deafening and I remain seated in the centre of it, still and numb. All these plus ones I don’t know stare down at me pityingly. Look at the drunk thirty-year-old making a fool of herself, yet again.

  Single. Alone. Pathetic. Birthday cake on her foot.

  Eva’s lovely worried face fills my vision, and horror fills me as she takes my hand and I slowly stagger to my feet.

  ‘Are you all right, Alice? Are you bleeding?’ she asks me kindly. Too kindly. The humiliation burns as I try to laugh, shaking my head, and trying not to burst into tears.

  ‘Shall we go to the loo and get you cleaned up?’ Eva says in a low voice, holding my hand as the waiter arrives through the door. He stops short, appalled at the mess in the middle of the room.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper in his direction, the crushing weight of shame burrowing deep into me. I can feel everyone’s eyes still on me.

  Behind Eva’s shoulder, Mark is staring at his phone, his face lit up by a message he’s reading. He doesn’t look embarrassed any more, he looks frightened. This isn’t about my night turning into a nightmare, this is something else. His grip is white, his knuckles almost yellow, as he makes eye contact with me. The mess around me and the alcohol and the burning humiliation is suddenly a long way away.

  ‘Alice.’ Mark is pale and sweaty as he reaches for me. ‘It’s Mum – she says Steven’s in hospital. It’s really bad.’

  Los Angeles

  2

  AWOL.COM/Alice Edwards’ Travel Blog: Living My Dream and Feeling Very #Blessed

  20 April – 6.43 p.m.

  Welcome to my new travel blog, dream chasers,

  Apologies for my blog post earlier today. It was prematurely published because of a fault in the system and not because I pressed publish without thinking. And I do not totally understand how this website works, so I don’t know how to take it down. While I work this out, please may I ask you not to read that one and please do read this one instead. Ignore what was said about toast crumbs in butter, that was stupid.

  So, assuming you are doing what I have asked, let me now introduce myself to you. My name is Alice Edwards and I have quit my very important job and my really fulfilling life back in the UK to spend the next three months travelling the world. I shall be going to many original places like LA and Thailand and many other brilliant places that I haven’t decided on yet because I am an incredibly spontaneous person. I will be out here all on my own, as I feel that is important for my spiritual journey, which some have called brave, but is simply what I must do. I have just landed in Los Angeles, known as the Sunshine State, and it is really, really nice. The sea outside the plane window is blue like a gleaming sapphire and the sand is pure white and soft like an expensive M&S pillow.

  So far, my new friends, I have only been here in this sunshine state for a few minutes, but I can already feel the bohemian, relaxed vibe changing my very soul. I will be staying briefly with my actor friend Isabelle and then on to other adventurous adventures.

  Goodbye for now, my new friends. I have many more roads to travel, many beaten paths to get off, and I will share it all with you, if you will join me here. I shall end my very first blog post (apart from the other one, which again, please don’t read), with a famous quote that I feel is very apt here:

  ‘A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.’ Sir Charles Dickens.

  PS. If I get murdered, please don’t let the Mirror use any Facebook photos pre-2012.

  #PleaseDon’tReadTheOtherBlog #TravelBlogger #Travels #Travelling #Wanderer #GoneAWOL #AliceEdwardsBlog #OffTheBeatenTrack #BloggerLife #Blessed #Brave #DreamChaser #ComingBackWithATan #ConstanceBeaumontWannabe

  5 Comments · 3 AWOLs · 2 Super Likes

  COMMENTS

  Karen Gill

  | You’ll be grand, but mammy says she’s got dibs on the Irish Sun if you do get kidnapped or wot not.

  Eva Slate

  | I’m counting down the daze until you return. Feeling v v dazed already honestly :(

  Danny Boy UrMum

  | UR FAT AND NO 1 CARES

  AWOL MODERATOR

  Replying to Danny Boy UrMum

  | We know it’s just bantz, but please be respectful to our users :) I’m here if you fancy chatting more or want to
chill. Luke

  Danny Boy UrMum

  Replying to AWOL MODERATOR

  | fuck off luke

  I step off the plane looking like absolute horse manure. I’m starting my LA adventure feeling like I’ve been kicked for half a day – because I literally have. After more than eleven hours in the air, we then sat on the tarmac for another hour, waiting to be allowed off the sweatbox tin plane. I’ve had no sleep and the guy sitting behind me spent the whole journey kicking the back of my seat.

  I say guy, but I actually do mean tiny, tiny child – which I found out around hour seven, when I finally lost my mind and started swearing in every direction and shrieking that I would aim my vomit across the whole row behind me if they didn’t ‘fucking chill’. It was only when I made eye contact with the crying three-year-old responsible for my discomfort that I calmed down.

  Those last five hours went really slowly, I can tell you.

  Either way, I’m finally here, and the buzz of the airport and the early evening heat on my face is slowly starting to invigorate me.

  I can’t believe I’m actually in California.

  Honestly, it’s been a weird few weeks. After that night – my thirtieth – I woke up with the worst hangover I’d ever had, and a terrible case of the paranoias.

  Except, it’s not paranoia if you really have ruined everything, is it? Everything about the night before was hazy but I knew a lot of bad shit had gone down. It took me a full hour to even look at my phone, knowing the awfulness that would be waiting for me.

  There were, predictably, a string of WhatsApps from Eva asking if I was OK and to come into her room when I was awake. There was also a 3 a.m. message from Slutty Sarah asking where I was. Another one was from Amelia asking why I kept barking like a dog at her. There were also a few missed calls and voicemails from Mark and my sister Hannah. And – most horrifyingly – an awkward couple of emails from my boss, Tony.

  Ex-boss, I should say.