No-One Ever Has Sex on a Tuesday (3 page)

‘She can’t speak. She can’t choose. We get to choose, that’s the whole point. Besides which, I have Ben on my birth certificate. It could have been Benjamin. Can you imagine? Do I look like a Benjamin? I’d have disowned my parents if they’d landed me with a name like Benjamin.’

Katy glanced back at the registrar, who was pretending to write something.

‘I thought you were joking about the Freya Annie thing?’ she continued.

‘Why? It’s genius. You get to honour your gran without having to call her Fanny, and you wanted Freya as her middle name anyway. So all we’re doing is adding Annie, which was also on our list.’

Katy decided to try a slightly different tack.

‘She should really take your surname, not mine.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Of course. When we get married we all want the same surname, don’t we, so we might as well start her off with yours. I’m keeping my maiden name as my professional name, though.

Ben looked stunned for a moment. He took her hand and swallowed before he managed to get any words out.

‘I just thought . . . I don’t know . . . I just thought, because we’re not married yet, that she’d have your name.’

‘No. I want her to have your name.’

‘So you’ve come in here thinking we’re calling her Amelia Freya King and I think it’s Millie Freya Annie Chapman,’ he said.

Katy nodded.

‘What about Amelia Freya Annie King?’ he said.

Katy thought for a moment. Then nodded. She turned to the registrar. ‘Please can you write down Amelia Freya Annie King?’

‘Are you sure?’ the registrar asked.

‘Yes,’ they both replied.

‘Just write it down,’ urged Katy as she watched the pen hover painfully above the paper.

‘You can always go away and come back when you’ve had the chance to talk it through properly. This is a very big decision. I would hate that you might do something either of you might regret.’

‘Write, it, down,’ said Katy firmly. She was beginning to feel claustrophobic. The sooner they got out of there the better.

She watched, mesmerised, as the registrar wrote the name out slowly and carefully, checking for spelling as she went along.

‘So can you now give me the full name of the father?’ the woman asked, glancing up and directing her question at Ben. Ben hesitated and Katy felt as though time stood still. She nudged Ben, who looked over to her, panic
clouding his face. She couldn’t ask him what was wrong. She knew exactly what the problem was. They were about to make it official that Ben was Millie’s dad, and given everything that had happened during the lead-up to her arrival, that was a pretty big deal.

‘I’ve just realised something,’ Ben said to Katy.

‘What?’ she gasped. What could he possibly have only just realised at this very moment?

‘I’ve never told you my middle name before.’

‘Oh,’ she said, confused and relieved.

He turned back to the registrar, looking a little pale.

‘It’s Ben Barry King,’ he said quickly.

‘Can you repeat that?’ the registrar asked. ‘I’m sorry, I missed it.’

‘Ben Barry King,’ he said again, turning back to Katy, looking slightly flushed.

‘It’s okay,’ she shrugged. ‘So your mum and dad were big B.B. King fans. That’s pretty cool, actually.’

Ben shook his head. ‘Barry Manilow, I’m afraid. The B.B. King thing was an accident.’

Katy couldn’t help but start to laugh.

‘You’re named after Barry Manilow?’ she managed to splutter out.

‘Yes,’ he nodded, trying desperately to hold on to his mortified expression but eventually forced into joining in with Katy’s mirth. Soon they were both roaring with laughter, until tears were rolling down their faces.

The registrar gave them a few moments, then stepped in. ‘Shall we continue?’

‘Let’s,’ said Katy, taking a huge breath and looking away from Ben to stop herself laughing. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered as the woman gave her a stern look.

‘So could you tell me the father’s occupation next?’ the registrar asked.

Ben cleared his throat and forced a serious expression onto his face.

‘Singer at the Copacabana,’ he replied. Katy collapsed into giggles again. Ben fixed his serious eyes on the registrar, who was eventually forced to crack a smile. Katy leaned over and took Ben’s hand in hers. She should
have known that he would turn the whole potential nightmare of registering Millie’s parentage into a comedy showcase.

‘Why don’t we just book ourselves in?’ said Ben later as they passed through the reception for the second time. Fortunately, Charlene and Abby were nowhere to be seen.

‘What for?’ asked Katy.

‘To get married,’ he replied. ‘Let’s just see when they’ve got a slot free, shall we?’

It was all too much for Katy. Registering Millie had been more fun than she’d ever dreamed possible, but now she just wanted to get out.

‘We’re not getting married here,’ she announced, casting a disparaging glance around the shabby interior. ‘Somewhere more fitting, more official. More . . . more a sense of occasion.’

‘Oh. Right,’ said Ben, obviously confused. ‘I see.’

‘You want that too, don’t you?’

‘Well, yeah,’ he shrugged. ‘Kind of. If that’s what you want, then yeah, that’s what we’ll go for. Of course.’

He didn’t look convinced.

‘We don’t need to decide now, do we?’ she said, brushing past him to open the door, eager to get home. ‘Anyway, we need to save up first. We can’t afford to get married anywhere at the moment. Not whilst I’m on maternity leave.’

‘I know,’ said Ben. ‘I know.’

Chapter Three

‘I mean, really, Matthew, how insensitive can a man be?’

Alison was sitting on the sofa, a pillow wedged on each knee, nestling her twin babies as they efficiently tucked into their evening snack of breast milk.

‘He suggested the pill!’ she continued as Matthew took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a dining chair. ‘He clearly hadn’t consulted my notes properly. Why would you ever suggest a drug to prevent pregnancy to a woman who’s spent the last five years of her life taking every drug available to
encourage
pregnancy? Why, Matthew, why?’

‘I don’t know, Alison,’ he replied wearily.

‘I said to him,’ she continued, ‘I said, we have fertility problems – a major contraceptive in itself – and we have six-week-old twins. When exactly does he expect we’ll be having sex anyway?’ The kitchen timer, balanced on the sofa arm, suddenly sprung to life. Alison carefully lifted George and placed him on her shoulder to wind him as Rebecca continued to feed. Checking her watch, she reached over and with one hand reset the digital timer. ‘Another eight minutes should do it,’ she said, adjusting Rebecca slightly to make her more comfortable.

Matthew watched Alison in her calm, ruthless efficiency as advocated by the baby-rearing guru Gina Ford. Eight minutes would be fine, he thought to himself. Eight minutes would do. Five minutes, actually, would probably be more than enough.

‘Does Gina’s regime not timetable sex?’ he muttered. ‘Surely she’s thought of that in her grand plan.’

‘She covers that in a different book,’ Alison told him. ‘I’ve not ordered it yet.’

‘I’ll get it if you like,’ he offered. ‘Let you know what she says.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ she replied. ‘I’ll get round to it. Do you want to take George upstairs and start to run the bath? I’ll be up in a minute with Rebecca.’

Matthew took George from her, gently planting a kiss on top of his head, feeling the fine hair tickling his nostrils.

‘I’ll bath them and put them both down if you like,’ he offered. ‘Seeing as I’m off out later. You have a break.’

Alison looked up at him.

‘You won’t manage it on your own. Not with two of them.’

‘I’ll work it out.’

‘But . . . but what will you do with Rebecca whilst George is in the bath?’

‘I’ll work it out. She can lie on a towel or something.’

‘But you don’t know how to use the temperature gauge for the water.’

‘I’ll work it out, Alison.’

‘But what if you let it get too hot?’

‘I am not going to burn our children.’

Alison looked down at Rebecca and stroked her head.

‘There’s really no need,’ she said, looking back up at Matthew. ‘We can do it together. It’ll be quicker, then you won’t be late for meeting Ian at the pub.’

Matthew sighed. Only he could be married to a woman who could organise herself into not requiring any help from her husband with their twins.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind me going out?’ he asked, secretly hoping she might beg him to stay home. He missed the long evenings they used to spend together over her delightful home-cooked food and great wine, when they would talk about each other’s days and then plot and plan their future together. Alison was so preoccupied with the twins that her ability to focus on a conversation that didn’t involve nappies or sleep routines was non-existent. He dreamed of one evening having a conversation with his wife rather than just the mother of his children. He missed his wife terribly.

‘Of course I don’t mind you going out,’ she said.

‘I don’t have to, you know.’

‘Matthew, it’s the first time you’ve been out since the babies arrived. It’s fine, really. There’s nothing you can do here anyway. Everything is under control.’

‘So what do you reckon, then?’ asked Ian as they sat in the Green Man later that evening.

‘About what?’ asked Matthew, his chin resting on his hand as he stared at the bottom of his empty pint glass.

‘Her?’ replied Ian, nodding after Becki, who had just excused herself from the table to go to the bathroom. Matthew hadn’t expected that Ian would bring his latest girlfriend along on their first night out together in weeks. He’d actually been looking forward to man talk: sport, and possibly some work gossip, given that they both worked for the same financial advisory company. What he hadn’t expected was to be sharing his evening with Becki, a strapping twenty-five-year-old blonde call centre worker, who for some unbelievable reason thought that the sun shone out of Ian’s forty-two-year-old saggy, divorced backside.

‘She’s fucking unbelievable,’ said Ian. ‘I tell you, she cannot get enough of me. And I mean
enough
of me. I seriously think she might actually be trying to wear it out.’ He winked at Matthew. Ian’s abundance of sex with a twenty-five-year-old was certainly not what Matthew needed to hear right now. Ian leaned towards him and whispered in his ear. ‘She rang me at work yesterday. Told me what she was going to do to me that night. I couldn’t get up from my desk until I had stared at the HM Revenue and Customs self-assessment page for at least ten minutes.’

‘Where on earth did you find her?’ asked Matthew as he watched Becki shimmy her way back across the pub, barely staying in control of her towering spike heels.

‘Online, mate,’ Ian declared. ‘Finally the internet comes up with something truly useful. A way of disseminating signals from women before you even have to meet them. Saves so much time. And they have to put them in black and white, so it gets rid of all the guesswork. Becki’s profile clearly states that she prefers good-looking older men with life experience who can keep up with her energetic lifestyle. I think I fit that bill to a T, don’t you?’

‘What you sayin’?’ giggled Becki as she slid into her seat next to Ian.

‘I was just telling my good friend here that I knew instantly that we were going to be totally compatible . . . in every way.’ Ian raised his eyebrows at her.

To Becki’s credit, she blushed slightly. Ian put his arm around her and looked smugly over at Matthew.

‘I’ve bought a waterbed,’ he said, grinning proudly.

Matthew stared back.

‘Why?’ was all he could find to ask.

Becki’s eyes grew big and round.

‘Have you never done it on a waterbed?’ she exclaimed.

Ian and Becki’s eyes bored into him.

‘No,’ he replied.

‘Oh my God!’ cried Becki. ‘It is the best, seriously. We went away last weekend, didn’t we, Ian, just to Blackpool, and Ian booked a room with a waterbed.’

Ian was still grinning smugly.

‘It was amaaazing,’ continued Becki. ‘Honestly unbelievable. Anyway, Ian said we have to get one of these, and now he’s bought one. It’s coming next week. I’m so excited.’

Matthew nodded at Becki and Ian.

‘I’m very happy for both of you,’ he said sarcastically.

‘You can so borrow it, can’t he, Ian?’ cried Becki. ‘You have to try it, seriously.’

‘Alison would be well up for it, I reckon,’ Ian offered.

‘Alison has just given birth to twins. Having sex on a waterbed is not high up on her list of priorities at the moment, I can assure you.’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Ian. ‘Might be just the thing to get her back in the saddle again.’

‘Look,’ said Matthew, slamming his fist on the table and making Becki jump so violently that her breasts threatened to break out of her too-tight top. ‘Can we get off the sex talk, please?’

An elderly gentleman stared over from the next table and tutted.

‘Calm down, mate,’ said Ian. ‘Just because you’re going through a dry spell, there’s no need to get angry. I remember what it’s like when kids arrive; I’ve been through it, remember. My advice is to get back in the swing of it as soon as you can before one of you forgets how to do it.’

‘You have no idea what it’s like with the twins in the house,’ said Matthew. ‘It’s fine. I’ll wait until Alison’s ready.’

‘When was the last time, mate?’ asked Ian.

‘What?’

‘When was the last time?’

‘You can’t ask me that,’ said Matthew, looking nervously at Becki.

‘I just did.’

Matthew thought for a minute, though he didn’t really need to. He knew exactly when the last time he’d had sex was.

‘With Katy,’ he muttered. He picked up his pint glass and went for a swig until he realised it was empty.

‘You have got to be kidding me!’ exclaimed Ian, leaning back in his chair, his eyes wide in amazement.

‘Katy?’ said Becki. ‘I thought you said your wife’s name was Alison?’

‘It is,’ said Ian, raising his eyebrows at Becki.

‘So . . . er . . . who’s Katy?’ asked Becki, looking from Ian to Matthew. Matthew slumped back in his chair and debated whether to make a run for it.