The Yorkshire Pudding Club (18 page)

After her friends had gone, Elizabeth had a wash and re-applied her cried-off make-up because turning up like Alice Cooper was not the best face she wanted to present for what she had to do. Then she grabbed her handbag and car keys and drove off in the general direction of where John said his building site was, although Oxworth was not exactly a huge place and he would surely be easy enough to find.

Her task was more straightforward than anticipated, for when she got to the village boundary, there was a big sign directing would-be buyers to
Silkstone Properties
and a telephone number for enquiries. There was an even bigger sign at the actual site, which was on the far outskirts. Oxworth was semi-rural, pretending to be nothing other than what it was–a small quiet village at the side of a pretty stream six miles away from the town centre. It had a lovely Italian restaurant, a few shops, a kindergarten and an old-fashioned cinema that had about three seats and where the film stopped halfway through for an ice-cream break. Elizabeth had been there with John a few times in the past, when it was an unwritten rule
that whoever had the seat nearest the aisle went up for the tubs.

As she got out of the car, she saw John chatting to a twenty-something, slim woman at the bottom of the steps to a temporary pre-fab building. Despite the surrounding mud, she had clippety heels on and was doing all the flirty things like pushing her hair back, laughing at what he said, sticking her small Wonderbra-ed breasts out to indicate that she fancied him. Not that it was a surprise, for John Silkstone was a good-looking bloke, even in those big boots and that hefty jacket and with the dark waves of his hair just poking out from under his hard hat at the back.

His generous lips were curved into a smile for his eyelash-batting audience, who was caught in the soft gaze of his big toffee-coloured eyes. He had always been handsome, although his clothes sense had been slightly dyslexic in his Spaghetti Western phase. He could have had any woman he wanted, except he never seriously looked at anyone but her, the mad fool. Lisa must have wet her pants when his spotlight came round onto her, although she had just about set fire to herself to get him to notice her.

At the moment, John was listening to what Miss Frilly Drawers had to say and the crinkles at his eye corners made him appear more attractive than Elizabeth had ever seen him looking before, even when he was younger and line-free. Okay, she made the grudging admission to herself that she was jealous to see him talking to another woman and smiling at her like an enamoured pup. Especially a slim, pretty, blonde, young, responsive,
unpregnant woman. She started walking back to the car again, grumbling under her breath words to the effect of, ‘Oh, what’s the use?’ when she heard him call her name. When she turned he was coming over, clearing the distance between them in big, heavy-booted strides.

‘I presume you want me?’ he said, without smiling. ‘I suppose you’re here because you want me to come over and take that chair away. Don’t worry; I’ll pick it up when I’ve finished work. Right, I’ve said it for you and saved you the trouble. See you later.’ Then he started to go.

‘Er…no, wait,’ she said, and he stopped and turned back to her.

God, this was difficult.

‘I’d…er…like to keep it, if that’s okay with you?’

‘Oh, really?’ he said, folding his arms across his vast expanse of chest. ‘Well, there’s a turn-up. And…?’

‘And?’

‘Well, you could have rung me to tell me that!’

Elizabeth took a big, fortifying breath and said, ‘And…I’m sorry.’

‘For?’

‘For? Okay, for being ungrateful. Thank you, it’s lovely and so was all the other stuff.’

‘And?’

This was not just difficult, it was excruciating.

She huffed. ‘Not making this very easy for me, are you?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘and why should I? You hurt my feelings.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m s…sorry.’

‘Apology accepted. And…?’

Oh, flaming hell, I’m going to tell him to shove it in a minute.

‘Okay, I’ll answer for you, shall I?’ he said. ‘And…you’re going to cook me my tea tonight to make up for it.’

‘Am I, indeed?’

‘Yes, you are,
indeed
,’ he said, expecting her to argue. He could see her biting down on her lip, fighting the urge to tell him to go to hell and he chuckled inwardly, wondering how far he could push it.

‘All right then,’ she said, with a smile that nearly burned her lips off. ‘So what would you like to eat?’

‘My favourite.’ His eyes twinkled at her.

‘Okay,’ she said, managing to stuff the word with both humility and murderous intent.

She remembers, he thought, hanging onto his best poker face.

‘Right, I’ll see you later then, Elizabeth. Now, if you’ll excuse me…This isn’t the weekend for me, unlike some. I’ve still lots of work to do,’ and off he stomped, splashing through the mud, back to the half-finished buildings and burring machines and other men in big boots and lumberjack shirts. He did not look behind him but she was still very much on his mind.

Well, well, well. Miracles
do
happen in South Yorkshire then, thought John Silkstone, who grinned all the way to tea-time.

Elizabeth went home and took all the plastic off the chair and the stool, and then almost ceremoniously
she sat down in it, bolt upright, before she softened her spine against the cushion and tried her best to relax.

When Helen drove home from the supermarket that afternoon, she had to stop the car to vomit at the side of the road, unfortunately having to suffer the indignity of being seen by others driving past. When she first read the list of adverse symptoms one gets in pregnancy, she did not, for one moment, expect to get them all. Her gums were always bleeding, she sounded like she had a permanent cold and was totally debilitated by the relentless waves of nausea. It was a long journey home and all she wanted to do when she got there was snuggle into Simon and to draw some comfort from him.

She found him reading in the lounge and he kissed her on the head in greeting, then recoiled immediately, saying she smelled of sick and should go and brush her teeth. When she came back from the bathroom, he had disappeared into his office next door to the house. She would have taken him tea, just to see him, just to be with him, but she was not allowed in there–even though she had put down the 60 per cent cash deposit to purchase the house in the first place. The house, like his heart, had strong boundaries within it.

Teddy Sanderson had been so sweet when she was especially grey the previous morning. He said that his wife Mary had suffered likewise with Tim: dreadful sickness, hair like a grease factory and she had slept
more than their old cat, but it had all been worth it in the end. As soon as she had that little boy in her arms, all that misery and discomfort had instantly become a distant memory. He promised the same for Helen.

She tried to focus on the positive. When her daughter arrived into the world, everything would be good and normal again; her sickness, Simon’s indifference, her fears and insecurities would all fade to nothing. That is what would happen, because she did not think she could face it being otherwise.

When Janey and George were courting, they didn’t have a great deal of money, but invited Elizabeth around for tea one night–just a cheapie, they said, with eggs, chips and peas. Then Janey got a strange feeling that there was one type of pea that Elizabeth didn’t like so she bought in processed, garden, mange-tout and a tub of frozen mushy peas and some beans, just in case she hated all sorts of peas. Then whilst she was unpacking the shopping, she dropped the full box of twelve eggs on the floor, and there were no survivors. George had had to dash out and buy another dozen. It turned out to be one of the most expensive, cheap egg, chips and peas meals in history.

‘Why didn’t you just ask me? I’d have told you straight there and then that I didn’t like garden peas!’ Elizabeth had scolded Janey.

‘I felt bad enough about only inviting you for flaming egg and chips, without quibbling over the side order!’ Janey had retorted, and then they had both
laughed and feasted on an Alp of chips and fried eggs and tea and bread and butter and all manner of peas and beans.

Elizabeth had recounted the story to John a few days after. He listened patiently and at the end announced that it had to be the most boring story he had ever heard, which made her snort with laughter. However, he admitted that he was starting to slaver over the idea of egg and chips and beans, which he said had to be his favourite comfort meal of all time and the one he’d have as a last request, if he ever ended up on Death Row. He got Elizabeth lusting over them again as well, so they cooked them up in her little kitchen, drenched them in salt and vinegar, cut big slices from a new white loaf of bread and buttered them thickly, opened up a cheap bottle of plonk and sat on the sofa giggling at
Blazing Saddles.
It had been a good night.

John arrived at seven o’clock, washed and brushed up with a pair of jeans that showed off his very nice bottom and a Paul Smith pink shirt that made the best of his broad shoulders.

‘Is it ready?’ were his words of greeting.

‘No!’ said Elizabeth indignantly. ‘How the hell did I know what time you were coming?’

‘Best get on with it then, hadn’t you? This is my treat and, I tell you, I’m going to savour every flaming minute of it,’ and with that he sat in the new cover-free rocking chair with his feet up, read the newspaper and flicked through the television stations on
the remote whilst she disappeared into the kitchen to cook. When it was ready, she served him with a tray with a sarcastic plastic flower in an eggcup and then got her own and sat on the sofa with it. Every so often, he would look up at her whilst chewing and winking, and she endured him silently, smoke blowing out of her ears.

When he had finished, she took the tray from him, only to drop it with a cry as she bent over double. He jumped up and pushed her gently down onto his vacant seat in the rocking chair. She was rigid, leaning forward like a seated statue in an awkward pose.

‘What’s up? You all right? Elizabeth, what’s the matter?’ he said, kneeling at the side of her.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, rubbing her stomach. ‘I think I felt him move.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘No, it was just the shock of it.’

It was a weird feeling, like a load of bubbles going off inside her, like an inside-out burp. John cleared up the dropped plates and poured her some more of her fruity tea, whilst she sat stiff-limbed in the chair waiting for the next sensation.

‘You okay?’ he said.

‘I think so,’ she said. Something inside her rippled. ‘Oh my, oh my, there it goes again!’

She froze and let it happen to her. It was a gentle but odd, scary sensation and would be until she got a handle on the fact that what she was feeling was actually another human being move around inside her. Naively, she hadn’t even considered it would.

‘Can I have a go?’ he said, only to immediately withdraw that and apologize, but Elizabeth tentatively took his hand and placed it on her very rounding stomach because she so much wanted to share this moment with someone and halve the fear. His hand lay lightly on her stomach, hers on top of it, guiding it and he said he felt the slightest shift inside her. She didn’t know if he did but he said it at the same time that she felt it for herself, so it was possible.

‘Feeling better now?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I think that’s what it is–it must be the baby starting to move.’

They looked up at each other, smiling. It was the perfect moment for him to lean over and kiss her if he was ever going to, but he took his hand away and sat down on the sofa and handed her the mug of tea, telling her to take it easy for a bit.

He thanked her for the meal when he left and she let him kiss her softly on the cheek. It was a small sweet kiss from a big sweet bloke, and she knew that if she were normal, she would never have let him go home.

There was a hideously early phone call on Monday morning, which set Elizabeth’s heart boom-booming a little. No one phoned at this hour unless it was serious.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ said Janey, sounding out of breath, which made Elizabeth’s senses all switch to alert.

‘You all right? God, Janey, what’s up?’

‘No, I’m not,’ said Janey in some distress. ‘Look, I
know you’re off to work but have you got one of those Just the Job paint charts handy that you gave us?’

‘Crikey, I thought you’d got your blood test back or something serious!’ said Elizabeth, annoyed with relief.

‘It
is
serious!’ said Janey. ‘Go and get it.’

‘I’m getting it,’ said Elizabeth, hunting in the odds and sods drawer. ‘Right, I’m back with you, and now what do I do with it?’

‘Bottom left, Brazilian Wonder.’

‘Got it. What about it?’

‘That’s what colour my nipples are.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Janey, I haven’t had my breakfast yet!’ said Elizabeth in despair.

‘I’m not joking, they used to be pink! I’ve just noticed them in the mirror. What colour are yours?’

‘Pink.’

‘What shade?’

‘Janey, I’m not comparing them to a paint chart! Oh flaming hell, hang on then.’ Elizabeth indulged her friend. ‘They haven’t got all that much darker…Cameo Rose.’

‘Where’s tha…Hang on–Cameo Rose–that’s still pink! I’m Brazilian Wonder and you’re Cameo Rose!’

‘I think they’re supposed to turn a bit browner, Janey.’

‘A bit! Will they go back to normal?’

‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Elizabeth, who hadn’t.

‘They look like holes through my bra! I don’t want dark brown nipples!’

‘Oh go to work, you sad mental bag! I’ll see you later,’ said Elizabeth and put the phone down. She’d tell Janey about the baby moving later, when she was
compos mentis
.

Janey was genuinely upset; she really did not want nipples that colour. She ripped off her bra and showed them to George, but he just went googly-eyed and it was obvious he didn’t care if they were Brazilian Wonder or sky-blue pink with yellow dots on. They looked fine to him and they felt even better. Janey was late for work, but lied and blamed the traffic.