VICKY
So that's the karaoke machine here then, thank you very much Mr Delivery Man. I can’t wait to try it. Mum’s always said I should have been a singer. A pop career is too late for me now though, I guess. Although you never know, these days, with so many reality TV shows. Maybe I should give it some serious thought and apply to one or two next year. That would make those self important arseholes at work notice me, wouldn’t it?
Dan's got the drinks covered. He said he’s picking them up from the supermarket tonight, didn’t he? I hope he gets enough of everything. There’s nothing more embarrassing than someone asking for a drink you haven’t got. Maybe I’ll give him a quick call in a little while to check what he’s getting. I must remember to pop over to the pub to collect those extra glasses they said we could borrow.
That just leaves the house. After my superwoman whizz around with the vacuum cleaner, I think it looks tidy enough. Well, the bathroom's clean anyway. I wouldn't want anyone from the village seeing anything less than an immaculate toilet. I’m not so bothered what my old friends think - they’ve been to the house loads of times - but could you imagine the likes of Barbara and Frances swapping notes about my dirty loo seat in the playground on Monday morning! I’d be horrified.
I wonder who will actually come. Barbara and Frances seemed pretty keen at the meeting. Bet they never do anything exciting on a Friday night. Maggie said she's coming and if she forgets, I'll see her in the pub from our lounge window and give her a text or send Dan across for her. The gym girls are a definite. I think they've got a birthday surprise for me because they stopped talking really quickly when I came into the changing room yesterday. Less exciting, I’m sure I heard Dan say he’d felt obliged to invite his sister and her latest boyfriend, which will mean his parents will turn up too. I wish my Mum was near enough to come. Ah, well, at least Eliza will be here. If all else fails, and no-one’s talking to me, at least I can count on her.
The big decision is what to wear. I've got that black cat-suit from Christmas. I don't think anyone who's coming has seen me in that; I'm sure I only wore it for the Christmas Do. And the work lot are certainly not invited. Imagine the Freddock lot meeting them! They'd have absolutely nothing nice to say about me. Yes, the cat-suit it is. My boobs look fabulous in that and it goes with those silver heels I got last week. Hair up and red lippy, I think.
All that remains is to plan how I'm going to ask Dan. When I think about it, I get that dizzy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The one that rises up your digestive tract and means that your mouth won't speak without the words sounding wobbly. Maybe that's how they'll come out when I ask him: wobbly. No, they can't. That would sound awful. I must appear mega confident. How will I put it? Do girls ask in the same way as men?
Will you do me the great honour..?
No, that sounds stupid. It's not really me. None of this is really me, I suppose. But it's now or never. I mean, I know it's not the February 29th today but it is a leap year and it's also Valentine's Day and my birthday. So it doesn't get much more romantic than that. No-one will forget it that's for sure. And if I wait for Dan to do the deed, well, I'll be a very old lady. No, it has to be tonight, dizzy stomach or not. Come on Vicky. You can do it!
NELL
Happy Valentine's Day to me! I know it's just a load of commercial rubbish but I can't help feeling a bit deflated about it all. I think it's just because those mums at Toddler Group kept going on about all the romantic places their husbands were taking them tonight and the lovely gifts they'd been given this morning. Oh, well. It's not like Ric is going out and having fun; Valentines' is one of his busiest nights of the year, after all. And financially, we could definitely do with a few more busy nights. I should be used to it by now. It's no different to any other year. It must just be the hormones.
Having said that, the blood test yesterday said that my HCG levels are dropping to negligible now so I'll have to stop using that as an excuse soon. It doesn't stop it hurting though. I can't concentrate on anything; losing the baby is all I can think about. There's that half a second in the morning when I wake up and forget, or should I say don't remember. And then that's it. It's on my mind when I'm making breakfast, when I'm getting dressed, when I'm playing with Rosie. It's got to the point where my head aches.
I can't help wondering where it all went wrong. Was it that extra cup of coffee the day I was really tired? Or the brie ciabatta I ate before I knew I was pregnant? Or even the stress of having a husband who owns a restaurant in a time when people really can’t afford to eat out very often? I know they say that it was probably nothing I did but they would say that, wouldn't they? Otherwise why would medical science advise pregnant ladies to avoid certain things? There must be a reason they do that. If only I could put the clock back and do things differently, be more careful. At least then I wouldn’t have this awful guilty feeling gnawing away at me twenty-four hours a day.
It just spins round and round in my head. The middle-of-the-night moments are the worst, when I try to imagine what the baby would have looked like. It would have had Rosie and Ric's warm brown skin, I know that. But would it have had their curls or my straight hair? I think I might have had a little boy this time. Maybe I can't carry boys; I know some people are only successful with certain genders.
I must try to think about other things or I'm going to go mad. After all, I am lucky to have Rosie. She makes me smile each day and brings so much sunshine into our lives. At least I know it's possible for me to have a baby. But in many ways, that makes it all the harder; I know what it is to love a child, to give birth to a being that I love more than living itself.
I'm lucky to have Ric too. Although at the minute it feels like he's a stranger. I know he's distracted by the restaurant and money, or lack of it. But surely this is more important than anything else. We've not even really talked about my miscarriage. And when I try he just says all the wrong things. He just goes on about trying again, like buying another lottery ticket when you've not won. But how will another baby ever replace the one we've lost? I actually don't think I could go through all of this again and if there's any chance it could happen a second time, well, maybe we just count our blessings and be content with one, beautiful daughter.
Is that the time? We must get going. I said we'd meet Rachel in the park to feed the ducks at ten thirty. Somehow, it's not as bad seeing Rachel with her baby; I'm happy for her, really I am. I just struggle when Laura's there with her bump, all glowing and expectant. She's at her mum's house today so it will be much easier.
SHANNON
Could this week get any sicker? First, Howden puts me in Isolation for three days for swearin’ again. Trust Lucy Fartford - or what ever she’s called - to be nickin’ one o’ me crisps at breaktime just as Pervy Peckham walks past. I mean I like Lucy; we’ve been ’avin’ a good crack in English ’cos we’re the only girls but you’ve gotta say somethin’ when someone nicks a crisp ‘
’aven’ you? An’
she
knew I was only jokin’ when I shouted “Fuck off you silly tart!”. But
not
Pervy Peckham, no,
he
marches me straight to Howden sayin’ I’ve been abusive to other students. Then Howden thinks ’e’s gotta do somethin’ serious about it ’cos it was Pervy Peckham who told ’im. I’m sure those two are bummin’ each other or somethin’.
But actually, what they don’t know is that I’m dead pleased I’m in Isolation; it’s well safe. No-one bothers me to do work or anythin’. I mean, the teachers are meant to send stuff for us to do but they can never be bothered. So I can just sit there an’ ’ave a think, sort stuff out, y’know. I went on the computer yesterday but you’re not allowed internet access or messagin’, just school games so there’s no point in that.
An’ there’s this well tidy Year Ten lad, who looks much older than a Year Ten, called Evan Jones, who had a fight with a boy in Year Nine, so he’s in there too. I've caught ’im starin’ at me loads. But I shouldn't be lookin’ back an’ I defo won’t today ’cause me an’ Rhys are up to our three month anniversary. I can’t believe it’s been a whole three months since he asked Sian to ask me out when we was all getting wrecked at the park. I remember I wasn’t sure at first ’cause I’d always thought ’e was a bit quiet and with ’im ’avin’ left school and everythin’, I didn’t think he’d be interested in a Year Eleven. But when ’e came over and chatted to me and I got off with ’im, ’e was dead sweet and walked me ’ome and made sure I had some chewin’ gum so I didn’t smell of cider when I got in. Not that they’d’ve given a shit but I thought it was kind anyway.
And now, red roses on Valentines’ Day! I feel proper grown up. When I opened the door and the delivery lady was standin’ there, I thought she’d got the wrong ’ouse. No-one’s ever got flowers ’ere before. Rob would never send mum flowers ’cause he says they’re a ‘bloody waste of money’. But she checked the address and sure enough, she’d got the right one. I was gobsmacked! I still am! They’re amazin’; they must’ve cost a fortune, especially on Valentines’ Day. This seals it. Rhys is definitely ‘the One’, sending me flowers an’ everythin’. Oh, they've got a proper gift card on them. Let’s ’ave a look and see what he’s put, "To R from S x". The daft bastard’s only gone an’ got our initials the wrong way round! Never mind, it’s the thought that counts. I'll go text ’im now an’ tell ’im I got them.
What to put? "ta 4 roses will giv u ur prez ltr ;)". There. Send. Oops. I ’aven’t got ’im a present. An’ that does sound a bit funny when I look at it now. Maybe he’ll think I mean we’ll
do it
later. Maybe we’ll ’ave to
do it
’cos I can’t get into town to buy ’im anythin’ before I meet ’im when ’e finishes at the garage at five.
These’ll need some water, I suppose. I'm sure Mum’s got a vase round ’ere somewhere but I can’t find it. That pint glass’ll ’ave to do. If I just chop the bottom off the roses and make the stalks a bit smaller, they’ll not fall out. They’re really tough though. And sharp. Ouch! Got a bloody cut on my finger now. "Mum! I need a plaster!"
SARAH
What a busy night that was! If I hear another screaming baby or another moaning mother ..! Who am I trying to kid? I’d give my right arm ten times over to be that mother moaning about her screaming baby. Every time I hear them complaining that they’re exhausted after being in labour for two days, or that they’ve had no sleep during their child’s first night on Earth, I want to tell them to count their blessings and simply enjoy that special time because not everyone is that lucky. But they wouldn’t understand and I don’t expect them to. It wouldn’t be very professional either so I just smile and make sure that they, and their babies, are okay.
I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s just not meant to be, that my procreational days are over. I guess that God put some of us on the earth to be mothers and some of us to help others be mothers. And I’m definitely in the latter category. I mean, who would be telling a labouring woman which position will make her more comfortable, or teaching a new mum the best position for her baby to latch on, if it wasn’t for us lot? At least I get to spend time with babies and to feel part of that wonderful experience. If I had my own kids, I’d be constantly juggling my family life with work and probably doing a bad job of both, if some of my friends are anything to go by. That’s if I made it back to work at all. I’m good at what I do and I feel needed; this is my place in the world.
Indeed, the time has come to focus on me and Tim. I know I’ve been snappy with him the last week or two; I can hear how unreasonable I sound when I speak to him and I sense him biting his tongue for fear of upsetting me more. But I’ve just felt under so much pressure to be pregnant. When we got married, it just seemed like the next step, to start trying for a family of our own. Gradually, all of our friends who got married around the same time have announced their new arrivals and Tim’s parents have made very unsubtle hints about ‘the pitter patter of tiny feet’. And it truly has been what we have wanted too. To make a new life with the person you love and watch it grow and fill your home with laughter and play would be literally quite awesome. But maybe there is more to life. We got married to be together, and love one another, so to ruin that all by obsessing about a third person, seems crazy.
We should put all of this heartache behind us and start a new chapter. I mean, we can start spending some of that “Baby Pot” he’s been saving from his bonuses. Exotic holidays could become a new hobby of ours! Just because all of our friends are having families doesn’t mean that we have to follow suit. We can be happy without children.
Even thinking these thoughts feels like I have eased my burden a little, lightened the load. I’m going to speak to Tim about how I feel and I’m certain that eventually he’ll see that I’m right. We’ll chat over lunch before his flight. It’s not like Tim to be so romantic as to take me to posh restaurants for lunch but I think he feels bad about leaving me on my own on Valentines’ night. I don’t mind at all really. He’s been looking forward to Gaz’s Stag Do for ages and the time away will be good for both of us.
I’m planning a warm bath, a good book and a glass or two of red tonight. See, I couldn’t do that if I’d been pregnant. Indeed, today is the start of the new me!
ME
My strange experience has left me feeling dreadful. I am disorientated, I lack any clarity of thought and worst of all, I am still uncertain of my future. For such a long time, I watched these women and now I have briefly
been
these women but which one is right for me? I do not know. From what I have seen, I cannot imagine belonging to any of them. How on Earth can I possibly be born to a feral teenager who thrives on the attention gained by flouting authority? And the others, although more mature in their years, are little better. One is so externally referenced and influenced by what others think that she could never prioritise the needs of a child before her own. Another is stricken with grief for a lost soul and as a result, is submerged in a world which is not fit for my entrance. The last has so little will power or control that she has given up all hope of becoming a mother. There is simply no harmony in any of these lives and certainly no attraction for this sorry soul. If this is my lot, I need to go back, to delve further into their worlds and to learn more. I must continue to go from one to another and look through their eyes until I know them like I knew my former selves. Only then will I know where this journey ends and which mother will bring me into her sphere.