Babyville (4 page)

Now they have their own friends, lead their own lives, but on occasions such as today the two will converge, and the truth is that Mark has always quite liked Adam and Lorna. In fact, with the exception of Sam and Chris, they are probably the people he likes most in Julia's circle. Adam and Lorna have been living in Brighton this last year, he has hardly seen them, but they are coming back to Blackheath, where Lorna was brought up, for the wedding.

Mark likes weddings, has always liked weddings, as indeed has Julia, so perhaps wishing that this will be a nice day is not so unrealistic after all, and to start off the nice day he will bring Julia breakfast in bed.

 “Mmmm.”
Julia slowly props herself up and stretches with a lazy smile as Mark places the tray carefully on the bed. She eyes the tea and toast, dipping a finger into the pot of honey and licking it off, for they have not shared breakfast in such a long time that Mark has forgotten which exactly is her favorite spread. He thinks it's honey, but he doesn't want to be wrong. To be on the safe side he has clustered Marmite, honey, peanut butter, and strawberry jam on one side of the tray. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“Nothing,” he says, smiling back, sitting next to her on the bed, and dropping the paper on the pillow. “I just wanted to surprise you. Plus we've got the wedding today and if I'd let you sleep we would have missed it.”

“The wedding,” Julia sighs. “I can't believe Adam and Lorna are actually getting married. God. I thought they'd just live together forever.” She sneaks a sideways peek at Mark. “Rather like us.”

“Are you saying you want to get married?” Mark is shocked. It's a subject they haven't brought up for months. Years. Not since the early days. Julia's thoughtful look dissolves into giggles.

“Scared you, didn't I?” she teases. Although Mark won't admit it, his mental sigh of relief is enormous. He hides it by picking up his coffee and taking a sip.

“Seriously, though, I never thought Lorna wanted to get married, but I suppose I never thought she'd last this long with Adam.”

“But Adam's a really nice guy.”

“Yeah, but let's face it, he's not exactly the most dynamic man in the world. He's practically had a charisma bypass . . .” and she tails off, knowing that she has, in her more vicious moments, said exactly the same thing about Mark. “But he is lovely,” she quickly continues, before Mark has a chance to notice, “and I'm sure they'll be very happy together.”

“Go on, then.”

“Go on what.”

“I know what you're thinking. What's your prediction?”

Julia hugs her knees to her chest as she grins at Mark, because at times like this she remembers why she is with him. Although she usually admits it grudgingly, he knows her better than anyone else, knows the way her mind works, knows how to get her attention and keep it.

“Five years.”

Mark raises an eyebrow. “That long?”

“Okay, okay. Four years and three months. You?”

“You know I don't indulge in these games.”

“I'm guessing you'd give it ten and a half years.”

“That sounds about right.” Mark laughs, and in that moment of intimacy he leans over and plants a kiss on the side of Julia's neck. She turns to kiss him in return, laying her toast slowly down on the tray.

“Wait,” he whispers, pushing her gently away as he lifts the tray from the bed and places it carefully on the floor. Julia inches down in the bed until she's lying down, and Mark lowers himself on top of her, kissing her, smelling her hair, her neck, feeling her skin.

He moves one hand down and unbuttons the top button of her pajamas. “Fuck, I hate these pajamas,” he whispers into her ear, and she giggles before moaning as his fingers stroke her nipples to a peak, all the while kissing her.

“Wait,” she whispers, pulling back until she can look at him. “It's not . . . you know.”

“Not what?” Mark speaks quietly because he knows what she is about to say, and can already feel the mood beginning to break.

“Not, you know . . .” She is embarrassed and she looks away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “. . . the right time.”

Mark doesn't say what he would normally say. He doesn't explode. He simply lowers his head to kiss her as his fingers move further down her body. “I know,” he whispers as his tongue follows the trail his fingers have left down her stomach, and then neither of them says anything for a very long time.

 “Well,
that was a lovely surprise,” Julia smiles and curls up in the crook of Mark's arm, lazily trailing a hand across his chest. The smile is genuine, she truly had forgotten how wonderful it had once been to make love with Mark. It had always been the glue that held them together, this extraordinary passion they had, right from the start.

The first time they went to bed together it stunned both of them. The electricity was so strong you could almost smell the sizzling in the air. They lay in bed, that first time, breathless, speechless, unable to believe their luck at finding one another, neither having ever experienced anything like that before.

Julia thought it had disappeared. Mark thought maybe he had imagined it in the first place.

He remembers now.

Perhaps that is the problem, Mark thinks, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror and feeling good, really good, for the first time in months. We don't make love anymore. We make babies. And we're failing. We need to make love more, to reestablish the closeness, the warmth, the intimacy that is so lacking.

If we can do that, then maybe we'll be okay. Maybe everything will turn out fine.

4

“Who is that?”

Julia and Mark have been milling around outside the church, Julia finally making her way over to the smokers, a small band of women, as soignee as they come, apart from the fact that they are all puffing away furiously, determined to inhale enough nicotine to see them through the ceremony.

The cigarettes bond these women together, and they close in a tight huddle as they admire one another's outfits and pass the lone lighter around, as passers-by—so dowdy by comparison—smile at the crowd of wedding-goers, all wanting to share in a little bit of the hope, the possibility, and of course, the glamour. Because this wedding is nothing if not glamorous, each woman outdoing the last in hat size and high heels.

Julia drops her cigarette and rubs it out with the sole of her strappy Jimmy Choos.

“Great shoes,” says a tall red-headed woman standing with the smokers, the woman, in fact, in possession of the lone lighter (Mini-Bic, hot pink).

“Thanks,” Julia says, smiling, and offers up a compliment in return. “I love your hat.” A moment of awkwardness, and one of them is about to ask how the other knows Adam and Lorna, when Julia hears a shriek.

“Julia! Darling!” She turns round to find Lorna's mother bearing down on her. “You look wonderful!” Mrs. Young launches herself upon Julia, leaning forward attempting to air kiss, holding on to her vast hat. They both laugh as the brims of their hats clash.

“You look amazing.” It is what Julia is expected to say, and of course it is true, because despite Julia not keeping up to date with Lorna about her marriage plans, one look at Sandra Young is enough for her to know that this is not Lorna's wedding—it is her mother's.

“Really?” Sandra Young does her eightieth twirl of the day and cocks an eyebrow as Julia repeats it. It is apparent to all that she loves being the center of attention, that her outfit—low-cut, intricately beaded, screaming
designer
—was chosen, consciously or not, to upstage the bride.

Sandra Young twirls round again before spotting more new arrivals. “Uncle Jimmy!” she cries, waving above the crowd, tripping off to perform yet another twirl, as the woman with the hat grins at Julia. “Now that's not a case of the mother trying to upstage the bride,” she says.

“But you have to admit she does look fantastic.”

“She should do, the amount that dress cost.” She looks around to check no one's within earshot, then leans forward conspiratorially. “More than the wedding dress.”

“No!” Julia's shocked, because, knowing Lorna, the wedding dress is going to be one-off, designer, and a fortune.

The woman nods her head. “I'm Maeve,” she says, smiling. “You're Julia, aren't you?”

Julia nods. “How did you know?”

“I heard Mrs. Young, but I recognized you anyway from Lorna's old photographs.”

“How do you know Lorna?” The question was inevitable, and they both smile.

“I live next door to them in Brighton.”

“So does she drive you mad borrowing cups of sugar?”

“Borrowing bloody condoms, more like. She and Adam haven't got their contraception sorted out, and being the single woman on the street, I'm the one who's become their secret condom supplier.”

Julia laughs, completely unfazed by this woman's honesty. Julia has always had this ability, to make people feel comfortable around her, to make them feel, within minutes, that they have known her forever, and know her well enough to disclose intimate information without a second thought.

“You're single? That surprises me.”

“Why? Because someone like me ought to have a boyfriend? Because I'm attractive and successful so if I can't get a man I must be failing at something?” Her tone is trying to be light, but the words are not, and Julia apologizes.

“I just realized what I sounded like,” Julia says ruefully. “Like one of my elderly relatives. I used to go to family dos and they'd ask me if I had a boyfriend, and when I said No they'd pat my knee and say things like: Don't worry, you're still young. Or, Mr. Right is out there, you'll find him, you'll see. God, I can't believe I came across like that, I'm so sorry.”

“Don't worry about it. It sounds like we have the same family. And I'm sorry for jumping down your throat about it. It's just that I'm single through choice, but nobody seems able to accept that.”

“So would you be happy if you were to spend the rest of your life all alone?”

Maeve shrugs and offers Julia another cigarette, which she takes, and there is silence for a while as both light up. “I try not to think too far ahead, to live my life in the present,” Maeve says finally, exhaling loudly, “but quite honestly, although I don't exactly relish the idea, it doesn't panic me either. I have a great life. A job that I love, my own home, and I'm not sure I'm prepared to compromise anymore.”

“I envy you.” The words are out before Julia has a chance to think about what she's saying. And as soon as they are, she stops in shock. She didn't mean to say it. Christ, she didn't even mean to think it, and she falters, not knowing what to say next.

“Nah.” Maeve shakes her head. “Different horses for different courses, and you know what? The grass is usually greener. I spent years thinking that maybe my life would be complete if I had a man, but when I did I wished I was single again. And you know, it can get lonely at times, but I think this just suits me better. Oh my God, is this Lorna? I thought they'd hired a white Daimler.”

A long black Mercedes limousine pulls up outside the church, and everyone around them starts hurriedly stamping out cigarettes and rushing inside to sit down before the gray-suited chauffeur opens the door.

Julia's about to follow Maeve into the church, but not before catching a glimpse of the dress, because even though she knows marriage probably isn't in the cards for a while, she still finds it difficult to resist the fairy tale.

The door opens, and the collective sigh of relief is audible. It's not the bride. It's a lone woman in a sharp pink suit with a mass of pink and black organza masquerading as a hat, sparkling pearl and gold earrings, and opaque black sunglasses that hide her face almost entirely, with just a slash of pinky-brown lipstick.

She steps out of the car and walks up the steps, and it is only as she passes her that Julia screams.

 “Oh
my God!”

The woman turns round, and lowers her sunglasses to see Julia properly, then grins as she opens her arms.

“Bella!” cries Julia, and flings her arms around her friend, so glamorous now, so New Yawk, that Julia would barely have recognized her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Surprising you?” Bella disengages herself and they hold each other at arm's length, examining one another in delight. “And don't you look gawgeous!” They both laugh.

“What the hell's with the car?”

Bella hoots with delight. “Jesus, can you believe it? I'm so used to ordering limos in New York, I didn't even think twice here, and I've spent the whole journey watching people stop in their tracks and try to guess which celeb's inside.”

Julia shakes her head but she's smiling. “Only you,” she laughs. “Only you.”

Bella looks around the crowd, now starting to filter back out of the church again. “So where the hell is Sam?”

“So pregnant she can hardly walk,” Julia laughs. “She RSVP'd yes, then decided that her bladder wouldn't be able to survive the ceremony, so I think she's just coming to the meal.”

“God, what a complete nightmare. Tell me I'm never going to have children.” And then, with a glance at Julia's face, she realizes what she's said.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You know how I feel about children. But not the children of my friends, so how's it going?”

Julia sighs. Of course she doesn't mind her asking, she'd probably be more offended if she hadn't asked, Bella being one of her familiars, but she wishes she hadn't told quite so many people when they first decided to try for a baby.

Mark kept warning her. Just in case it doesn't happen, he said. Don't tell anyone, he said, but of course she had to tell Sam. And Bella. And Lorna. And all the girls at work. Soon everyone knew, and every time she saw people they'd say: Any luck? With eyebrows raised and hopeful expressions. To be honest she was becoming really rather tired of shaking her head. She wished she'd listened to Mark because every time someone asked, it only served to drive the point home and she felt more of a failure than ever.

But this is Bella, and so she will talk, rather than just smile sadly and shake her head.

“It's a bugger,” Julia says. “It's just not happening. Every month I think this might be it, every month my period arrives like bloody clockwork.”

“Have you thought about seeing someone?”

“Well, interestingly, I was reading a magazine article last week about a woman who couldn't get pregnant until she went to see a healer. She had one session with this woman and bam. She fell pregnant immediately. I've saved this healer's number and I think I'm going to call her.”

“Actually I didn't mean that. I meant a doctor. Fertility expert. Someone who could actually tell you whether there's a problem.”

“No. Not yet. And anyway, I don't think Mark could handle it if he found out he was, well, you know . . .”

“Firing blanks?”

“Exactly. Imagine how horrific that must be for a man. God knows the last thing I need is for him to be completely emasculated. But more to the point it hasn't been that long. I don't think either of us is ready for that step yet.”

“So you think the problem lies with Mark, then?”

“Put it like this,” Julia says. “I've been pregnant, remember?”

“But that was years ago. God, anything could have happened since then. And let's face it, the well-woman clinic isn't exactly a place you visit regularly. When was your last smear, anyway?”

“Don't want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay, sorry. But I know you, and you really should go more often. Plus, if you really think that, that's terrible. You're obviously blaming Mark and you don't have any reason to.”

Julia can feel the tears fighting their way up to the corners of her eyes, but she will not cry here. She refuses to cry here. “Bella, we're at a wedding. I haven't seen you for months and I just can't get into this right now, it's not the time or the place. Tell me about you.” She forces a smile and squeezes Bella's hand. “How did you manage to keep this secret and how in the hell do you manage to look so damn gorgeous?”

Lorna
always said that she'd be walking down the aisle wearing a grin the size of Brighton Pier, but in the event she looks fantastically demure and truly more beautiful than she has ever appeared in her life.

She tries to stare straight ahead, but she can't quite manage it, and her eyes open wide with delight when she spies Julia and Bella, oohing and aahing at the end of the pew now that they can see her properly.

“Christ.” Bella dabs the corners of her eyes. “If I wasn't me, I'd be desperate to get married just to look like that.”

“You could always buy a dress just for the hell of it. Save it for a rainy day. And what do you mean, if you weren't you, you'd be desperate? Don't tell me you're antimarriage now as well.”

“No, but the married man's been lurking again. Phone calls. Flowers.”

“Bella, don't!” Said firmly, and in slightly too loud a whisper. Julia smooths her hair behind her ears and gives an apologetic smile to the middle-aged woman in front who turns round to glare at her menacingly. “Later,” she mouths to Bella, and they all shuffle up to sing “Jerusalem.”

“What about you?” Bella whispers when the hymn is finished, ignoring the half-turned head of the woman in front. “Any closer to marriage with the delectable Mark, or is that a no-go area too?”

“Happy as we are.” Julia leans in so that Mark, on her other side, doesn't hear. “You know us. Happy as we are.”

Mark
is slowly starting to relax, copious amounts of wine helping considerably, added to the fact that he is sitting next to Bella, whom he has always found rather scary, but rather attractive at the same time.

Bella is not stupid. She can see that Julia and Mark are not happy, and, although her allegiances are undoubtedly with Julia, will always be with Julia, she sees no reason why Mark shouldn't have some attention paid to him as well.

She has quizzed him about work, showing genuine interest and asking clever, pointed questions, and she has amused him with some anecdotes about the navigation of office politics in America, all the while ensuring his glass is topped up.

Julia is delighted that someone other than she is watching out for Mark, making sure he is okay, and more delighted to be sitting next to Jason, an extremely attractive friend of Adam's who split up with his most recent girlfriend six months ago, is playing the field, and is still under the mistaken impression that weddings are a good hunting ground (these people are in their thirties and really ought to know better).

“I'm Jason,” he says, shaking her hand as he sits down next to her. “And I'm on my own today so I'm afraid you might have to look after me.”

“I'm Julia.” Her eyes light up. For a second she considers introducing Mark, but he's deeply engrossed in conversation with Bella, and anyway, why should she have to explain Mark? They'd never been a MarkandJulia type of couple anyway. “I'm an old friend of Lorna,” she continues, angling her body slightly so it faces Jason, and is away from Mark. “What about you? How do you know them?”

They sit and talk for a while, the usual small talk, and Julia can't help but notice that every time he shifts in his seat, be it to place a hand on the table, or uncross his arms, or cross his legs, she echoes it. She must have done it for a while unconsciously, but when Jason rests his chin in his hand, with a start Julia realizes she has just done the same thing. She quickly removes her chin from her hand, and makes a conscious note not to keep copying him. She has read
The Naked Ape,
she knows what echoing body language means.

Suddenly Jason stops, in the middle of an anecdote. “Oh, long and boring story,” he says, “and I can't possibly start off making small talk with you, you're far too attractive.” Julia feels a blush rise, a thrill that she hasn't felt for years. “Tell me instead . . .” He leans forward conspiratorially, and Julia can't help it, her body moves forward too, until his face is merely inches from hers. He speaks intensely. Carefully. Looks deep into her eyes. “Do you . . .”—he pauses—“or do you not”—pauses again—“think the Clangers should be brought back?”