Underneath (12 page)

Monique looks at me from top to bottom for a few minutes. ‘Well, it could be worse under the circumstances,’ she drawls. ‘Let’s go.’

When we are on the train she fetches me a coffee and gets a water for herself. She passes me a Berocca. ‘The coffee ain’t decaf,’ she says.

At twelve she fetches me a bacon butty and I’m ready for it. I scoff it greedily. ‘You not having one?’

‘I ate a good breakfast.’

I sit back satisfied, and feeling a lot better, though if someone passed me a pillow right now, I’d marry them. Monique opens her shoulder bag and brings out a small carrier bag from Accessorize.

‘You owe me eleven pounds for the repair kit’. She takes out a comb and sidles in the seat alongside me. ‘Right, let’s sort that bloody mop out.’

She plaits my hair and twists it up onto the back of my head, fixing it in place with grips. She sprays it with an industrial strength mini hair spray and curls up a few tendrils around the front of my face.

I point to the carrier bag. ‘Is that a small carrier bag, or the Tardis?’

‘I just know how to shop, and you do realise I’ve carried a plastic bag for you? The sacrifices I make.’

‘It’s like that bag Hermione had in Harry Potter, where she could reach in it over and over and get out whatever they needed. What else you got in there?’

She pulls out some black beads and fastens them around my neck, then hands me a pair of black drop earrings. ‘Get them in.’

‘Yes, Boss.’

She looks over me appraisingly. I feel like I’m about to be introduced to my future husband as part of an arranged marriage. ‘Much better,’ she says, and heads back to her own seat.

I take out a copy of Good Housekeeping magazine from my Betty Barclay.

‘What the fuck is that?’ Monique grabs it and throws it down the train. It narrowly misses an elderly gentleman’s head and lands on an empty seat. She moves down to the luggage rack and opens the front compartment of her case, taking out issues of Grazia and Vogue.

She rolls her eyes at me. ‘Read one of those. At least you can appear to have some style.’

‘God, are you going to be like this for the entire journey?’ I snap. ‘I know I’m not looking my best but I’ve been sick and you’re being a right bitch about it. What’s got into you?’

‘A fucking baby, that’s what’s got into me,’ her nostrils flare. ‘And being sick’s not an excuse because I’ve been puking for the last three days now and I look divine.’

Chapter 10

‘Fuck.’

‘Yes, well that’s how it usually gets in there.’

‘You know what I mean.’

Monique sighs and fiddles with the bag the jewellery came out of. ‘This is why I wanted to come away, so you can help me decide whether I’m keeping it or not.’

My voice softens. ‘You think you might?’

She shrugs. ‘I’ve no idea what I’m going to do.’

I touch her hand. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

She withdraws her hand and crosses her arms. ‘Because I only confirmed it a week ago and to be quite honest with you, lately it’s been Bettina this, Niall that and Seb the other.’

I lower my gaze. ‘I’m sorry, I have been a bit me, me, me.’

‘Yeah, well it’s typical that the one time I needed you was the day you decided to cancel.’

I ignore the mean streak she’s displaying as she’s in shock and hormonal. She’s just hitting out and I’m the nearest target. I remember pregnancy mood swings well enough, even if it was over nine years ago.

‘What did Dr Love say?’

‘I’ve not told him yet, and I don’t know if I’m going to. If I do decide to keep it, I do not want a significant other interfering.’

‘You’ll need support, Mon.’

‘I’ve never needed anyone, and if I want some support I’ve got you.’

We don’t speak as the train pulls into St Pancras.
Chaos
, I think.

We get off the train, but I notice a few magazines left on seats and run back on to get them. I pick up my Good Housekeeping, which is now minus its cover, having been ripped off whilst flying over the seats. Monique just rolls her eyes at me again as I get off at the other end of the carriage armed with five magazines. ‘I’m recycling,’ I pout.

We arrive at the hotel to see if we can check in early, bearing in mind its only fifty minutes off the check in time. The hotel is a converted house in Bayswater. It looks nice from the outside. Several storeys high, it’s a white painted building with a wrought iron railed basement. We walk inside. The reception area is light and airy, although I notice the couch for visitors has a large rip across its red leather.

‘Your room is available now, Madam,’ says the Receptionist, a young blonde lad, who gains an icy look from Monique who believes she should be addressed as Miss. He hands Monique a room key and points. ‘If you follow the corridor to the first turning on your left and then take the stairs down.’ We do as instructed and walk towards the basement.

We enter the room. It smells of damp.

‘What the fuck is this?’ Says Monique.

I just gasp. I swear to God that I have never seen anything like it in my life. It’s a small room, containing a double bed with plain white sheets and an itchy looking beige blanket folded across the bottom. I pick up the blanket. It’s covered in hair.

‘Aaarrrrgh’. I drop it as if it’s scalding hot and wipe my hand down my leg.

The window is made of etched obscure glass that resembles the squared graph paper we had at school for drawing angles, but there is no mistaking what’s behind it as we recognise the whirr of a generator. We look at each other.

‘Monique, open the bathroom door.’

She approaches it as if we are hiding from terrorists. She carefully opens the bathroom door and I see a green bathroom suite. She checks out the loo and nearly barfs. A look of complete fury crosses her face and she storms out of the room, swiping a box off the side table on her way out. I follow her back to the reception.

‘That room is completely unacceptable,’ she screeches at the receptionist. He takes a step backwards. ‘I am pregnant, and I do not wish to share my bed with umpteen other people’s pubic hairs, and as for this ...’ She slams down the cardboard box and the tea and coffee sachets fly across the counter. ‘I am fully into the concept of re..cy..cling.’ I see her spittle hit the guys shoulder as she enunciates every word. ‘However, I think for the purpose of holding my tea, coffee and sugar sachets, you could at least have the decency to
find a plate or a bowl,
and not make it out of a piece of cardboard that won’t even hold together.’ She waltzes off and sits on the couch, avoiding the huge rip. ‘We shall wait here,’ she announces, ‘until you find us another room.’

The receptionist goes rushing into the back room, his chin trembling. A few minutes later he comes out with another key. ‘This is our best room,’ he states, pointing at the opposite corner of the reception room. ‘Please, enjoy.’

The new room is quite spacious and has two single beds, no hairy blankets in sight and a huge window overlooking a park that looks green and serene. It appears really nice. We are unpacking about fifteen minutes later when I suddenly realise there’s a small problem. ‘Mon?’

‘Mmmm, hmmmm?’

‘Where’s the bathroom?’

We look around the room; bed, dressing table, window, wardrobe, no bathroom. ‘We must have to share the one along the corridor,’ I state, heading for the door at the same time Monique opens the right sided wardrobe door to hang up some clothes.

‘The bathroom’s here, behind the wardrobe door.’

It’s true. One side of the wardrobe is exactly that. The other side covers a small recess which houses a tiny sink and a shower. To say it’s small, it is actually quite clean.

I begin to giggle. ‘I’m not moving again.’ I walk around to the desk and pick up a bowl containing the tea and coffee. ‘Look,’ I state. ‘It’s otherwise perfect.’

She narrows her eyes at me. “All I could think about was that bloody cardboard holder.’

‘Our room is
not
acceptable. We do
not
have a bone china tea holder.’ I guffaw as I collapse on one of the single beds. ‘I’m done in. I’m having a kip.’

‘Yes, me too,’ Monique abandons packing and flings herself on the other bed. By half past three we’re both fast asleep.

‘Lauren. Come on, it’s gone seven. We’re not sleeping in any longer.’

‘Nnoooo, go away,’ I put the covers back over my head. The next minute they are entirely on the floor.

‘Up.’

‘God, were you an Army major in a past life?’

‘I’m starving,’ she says. ‘I need to eat something so I can throw up later.’

After splashing my face with cold water and reapplying some lipstick, I put on my black Monsoon mini-dress and get ready to hit London. Bayswater is a lovely area, brimming with little cafes and restaurants. We pick a chain we know well and head there for some pasta. We both eat like it’s the Last Supper. The sleep and food reinvigorate us and we head for a small shopping complex where I buy a pair of black silky pyjamas with a matching dressing gown, it’s sexy, but doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard; some new pants, a few pieces of jewellery, and a lovely ornate headband.

Monique eyes my stash. ‘Good gracious, we’ve only been out ten minutes.’

‘I was born to shop,’ I reply. I smile; I’m starting to enjoy myself.

‘Who are the new pants for?’ Monique asks and winks.

‘All of this is for me
personally.
I figure if I start feeling better about myself, I’ll stop trying to lean on other people. Like you for instance.’ I throw my arms around her and give her a hug. ‘I still feel bad for not being there when you needed me, but I’m here now. Tomorrow we’ll have a good chat and a think. Tonight should be about fun, so how about we go back and watch Big Brother?’

‘Sounds like a plan, and don’t laugh, but I’m really sleepy again.’

The next morning we head down to breakfast where I’m informed by Monique that due to the hotel’s religious beliefs there will be no bacon, but an alternative made of turkey. I walk downstairs to be served a green coloured egg yolk, some unidentifiable turkey/bacon substitute and an equally green looking Monique. ‘Let’s eat out,’ I state.

We return to the shopping mall, to the diner we’d spied yesterday that served breakfast. I peruse the menu and ask the guy behind the counter for two decaf coffees and two croissants.

‘Just toast,’ he says.

I peruse the menu again which details approximately fourteen different breakfast options you can have. ‘Toast?’

‘Toast.’ He repeats.

I point to the picture. ‘Not a croissant?’

‘Toast.’

I look at Monique. She shrugs. I turn back to the man.

‘Okay, toast.’

‘You sit. I go there.’ He points outside. ‘Fifteen minutes, yes? I get croissant.’ He gestures to the central seating area and walks off.

‘I spied a Patisserie Valerie on the way past,’ I whisper to Monique. We give the guy time to leave and then escape.

We are ensconced in one of my favourite cafe’s, and all Monique keeps repeating is toast and chuckling.

‘Oh God, I just thought, we could have gone with the alternative of … bread,’ I say. We cackle together causing the other breakfasting patrons to look at us, some frowning, some with eyebrows raised and half smiles on their faces.

‘Enjoy your breakfast,’ says the waitress as she puts down two huge mugs of coffee, a cake stand containing a dozen mini fruit scones, little pots of jam and two small pots of cream.’

‘Still think I’d have preferred toast,’ I say and we laugh.

After breakfast I take Monique to Harrods toy department and let her walk around whilst dozens of overexcited children run amok around her feet. She looks scared to death. ‘If you can survive this toy store hell, you can survive your own baby,’ I state. ‘The mothers here don’t know what to do when the nannies and au pairs aren’t around, so they bring them here and fling money at them in the vain hope they’ll behave.’

‘Can we go to the pet department?’

‘Yep, can I just look at these Barbies first?’

After Harrods I take her to the National History Museum. We wander around all the stuffed animals and end up at the giant dinosaur skeleton. ‘Look at all this history that you can pass onto another person,’ I say.

‘Google can do that. I don’t need to.’

‘I give up. Let’s get lunch.’

‘We hole up in Costa for one of their delicious toasties. I have a glass of fresh orange juice whilst Mon orders milk. ‘Heartburn’.

‘Okay,’ I say when we’re settled. ‘Time for baby chat. Why, when you were with Toby, did you adamantly not want a kid?’

She fidgets with her glass. ‘I just never did. I still don’t think I do now. I love being by myself.’ She pauses, rubbing condensation from the glass. ‘Toby knew to give me my distance, we led quite independent lives. He had lots of sporty friends and I did my yoga. I had lots of quiet time to myself. He started wanting more, I couldn’t provide it so he moved on.’