The Yorkshire Pudding Club (25 page)

The weather was boiling flower heads that penultimate day of July. It was far too hot even for people whose spines were supporting the equivalent of a hundredweight of spuds. Janey and Helen waddled towards the agreed rendezvous point in the park where Elizabeth was waiting for them with Cornettos.

‘I’ve only walked from the car and I’m totally knackered!’ said Janey, struggling to breathe.

Helen nodded in agreement, although she did not want to moan about anything because the pregnancy fairy was coming through for her at last and she was starting to notice a definite increase in the size of her chest. She had never had proper breasts before and it felt very nice to jut them out like loaded machine guns. To her abject shame, she had found herself sticking them out a bit further at work when Teddy Sanderson made an appearance. She really had no business aiming them in another man’s direction, considering she had only been estranged from her husband for less than a week, but her heart appeared to have closed the door after him, locked it, bolted it and then concreted over it. There had been one day of minor depression and
tears that came and went like a small, air-clearing shower, but she realized she had done most of her crying in the years past.

Of course, Simon had called to enquire how she was–and the baby, he added as an afterthought. In other words, he was asking if she had calmed down yet and come to her senses. She was not in the slightest bit fooled by his apparent concern and surely enough, seconds later, he tried to come to some sort of financial arrangement about the photos. When she refused, he told her that he wouldn’t play fair about any future settlement then.

‘In which case I won’t play fair about the photos,’ she had retorted, and put the phone down on him.

He rang back immediately in thinly covered panic to re-open negotiations, but Helen had no intention of complying with his wishes; she was calling the shots now and it felt marvellous. All she had to do was think of how he had betrayed their child and she stayed impervious to his mind-twists. For a control freak to be not in control was torture for Simon, and he was reduced to snarling and spitting like a vampire in a crucifix factory, but Helen would never relinquish any of her power to a man again. It fired up her energy levels no end to be in charge of decisions and her own life. Add to that a discernible bosom and she was indomitable.

She was seriously considering going back to university and completing her Law studies when the baby was older. Her mother had been incredibly supportive and had volunteered babysitting services whenever
she might need them. Penelope Luxmore was getting into ‘Nana mode’, much to her daughter’s surprise and delight, though she was more likely to shop in House of Fraser for bootees than get the knitting needles out–she was never going to be
that
sort of Nana.

‘Eeeh, that’s what I like to see…’ said an old bloke, walking a stiff dog along the path in front of them. He stopped and smiled at the three rotund women eating ice creams on the park bench.

‘…Three grand-looking lasses all in the Pudding Club.’

‘Aye, and we’re not just any old Pudding Club,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We’re the Yorkshire Pudding Club,’ which made them all laugh.

‘Well, I tell you, you’re bonny pieces looking like that,’ he said, beaming a three-toothed smile and raising his cap to them. ‘Good luck to you all,’ then off he, and the grey-faced dog, went on their way.

‘Aw bless,’ said Janey, suddenly cloudy-eyed. The old guy reminded her of her granddad. He would have loved to have seen her like this.

‘Think they’re smiling on us?’ said Helen, hijacking her thoughts.

‘Who?’ said Elizabeth.

‘Janey’s granddad, your Auntie Elsie and my dad,’ said Helen, cocking her Cornetto skyward.

‘I imagine so,’ said Janey, blowing a kiss up to heaven. ‘I tell you what, he’ll enjoy watching me have this ice cream. I could feel him shaking his head and tutting every time I so much as looked at a lettuce.’

‘Come on, girlies,’ said Helen, pulling her friends to their feet. Elizabeth was looking particularly resplendent in a big, cool orange kaftan top.

‘You know, you look like a space-hopper in that!’ said Janey, dodging the ensuing slap, and together they walked off in the direction of St Jude’s Church hall for their first Parentcraft class.

George met them at the door, tapping his watch. ‘It’s past six o’clock, we’ll be late! Where’ve you all been?’

‘Oh, shut up before you start,’ said Janey.

‘They’ll think I’ve a harem if I walk all three of you in,’ he said.

‘We’ll tell them you got all of us up the duff,’ said Elizabeth, sidling suggestively up to him.

‘Give over,’ said George. ‘I haven’t got the strength to service more than her. You should see some of the things she’s had me doing!’

‘Get in, Casanova, before I make you do them all over again tonight. Twice. With the snorkel,’ said Janey, giving him a push through the door.

George only hoped she was joking.

The church hall was large and echoey, with a stage and a black upright piano at one end and lots of kids’ paintings of the Disciples in fishermen mode at the other. Strangely, one of them appeared to be holding the directional sign for the toilets, which felt a bit irreverent. There were twelve women assembled already and one other brother-in-arms who did a male bob-of-the-head thing over to George that signified both ‘hello’ and ‘help’; they were both slightly nervous to
see so many women resembling Peggy Mount in the same room.

Everyone took up their seats, which were set up in a central crescent around a whiteboard with a toy box underneath it; the latter was full of videos and books, a worrying part of a skeleton and a full-term baby-sized doll. The sessions were run every couple of months by one of the local midwives. Sue Chimes said they were very useful for all those little last-minute unanswered questions and socially it was quite fun too when there was a good bunch of women attending, so Elizabeth had stuck all their names down on the list and here they were.

Looking around, she was quite surprised to see that most of the ladies in the group were on the same side of thirty as she was, because she had been sure that she and her friends would be grossly outnumbered by gymslips in this day and age. The ‘teacher’ Mandy made her introductions, welcomed everyone, and gave them all a badge on which to write their names. Meanwhile she wrote
What To Buy
on the whiteboard, and then listed a few essential items of shopping for the early days.

Helen was okay on that front–the baby’s nursery in the bungalow was equipped like a Boots superstore, not that the room would ever be utilized now. Her mother had started to take things across to the Old Rectory and put them in Helen’s old nursery. Janey too had been buying bits in for a long time, but her parents and her in-laws were causing a world shortage in baby powder. It was starting to give her dreams
about the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Elizabeth hadn’t a clue if what she had been buying for the baby were the right things. She had bought powder and oil in and lotion and Vaseline and some vests and sleep suits, but she knew hardly anything about babies–she had never even changed a nappy in her life, and when did they start eating real food? She scribbled down notes almost desperately, reminders of things to get: cottonwool, baby shampoo (she hadn’t thought they would have enough hair to soap up), a baby bath…

One of the other girls, ‘Carol’ according to the name on her badge, was on her fifth baby and already at loggerheads with the midwife, who was extolling the saintly virtues of breastfeeding to the others when ‘Vanessa’ was asking about the various types of bottled milk.

‘Oh, you don’t want bottled milk when you’ve got two big boobs full of natural breastmilk! It’s convenient, easy—’

‘Can I just say that it isn’t as easy as Mandy is trying to make out sometimes, and I’d recommend getting some nipple-shields in,’ Carol interrupted. ‘It can be bloody agonizing for a while and, personally, I’ve no qualms about bottle-feeding this time, seeing as I’ll have to get back to work as soon as possible.’

‘It’s not always agony,’ said Mandy, afraid that she was losing her captive audience already. She was, after all, the appointed authority in this class, not this Supergob Carol.

‘Very true, but it doesn’t come that natural for a lot of women either, and if you’re going to feed, make
sure you ask them to stick the bairn on your boob as soon as they can. They didn’t do that with my first and I went through hell trying to get him to work at me once he’d had an easy feed from a bottle. I felt I was a right let-down to him and tortured myself that I was a total failure, even though he absolutely thrived on Farleys!’

‘But—’

‘With the second bairn I was determined to do it and I did manage it, but it was hard work. I couldn’t produce enough milk and it was agony, especially when I got mastitis…’

A terrified murmur started up.
‘What the hell is mastitis?’

‘Bloody painful, that’s what mastitis is. Don’t let anyone pressure you, girls, into believing that a bottle equals failure,’ said Carol, exchanging militant glances with Mandy, who had just been about to deliver the message that bottled milk was tantamount to Satan’s juice.

‘Scientific research has shown that breastfeeding a child significantly reduces the chance of breast cancer…’ began Mandy.

‘Yes, but scaring people like that isn’t going to help if they can’t feed their baby. I’m not saying mum’s milk isn’t good stuff,’ Carol went on, ‘but getting yourself all stressed and stressing out the babby because you can’t feed it doesn’t do either of you a right lot of good.’

Elizabeth felt sick; she had not even started thinking about the politics of breast or bottle, and judging from
Janey’s face, she hadn’t either. Carol, thankfully for the others, was not the type to be cowed by Mandy’s biases. Motherhood had been her main achievement in life and she knew what she was talking about.

‘Get a changing station if you can afford it,’ said Carol. ‘You’ve no idea how much pressure it’ll take off yer back.’

Pens started to scribble wildly.

‘…Sudocrem–top of the list, better than Vaseline in my opinion. And a papoose–it’s lovely to feel the baby all snuggled up next to you whilst they’re little.’

‘No! If you fall, you’ll fall on the baby!’ Mandy protested, not that it stopped any pens adding it to their shopping lists.

‘…And don’t let any of your relatives buy fancy suits for the bairn with no poppers on the crotch.’

Scribble scribble.

‘…Get one of those bouncy things in that hang from the door-frame; you’ll have a right laugh and babies love ’em…Oh, and beg, steal or borrow a rocking chair!’

Janey and Helen nudged Elizabeth and gave her a smug look, and she stuck her tongue out at them both.

‘Right–about nappies,’ began Mandy, wafting away a very red, angry flush from her neck.

‘If you think you’ve got time for terries, you’re fooling yourself!’ piped up Carol, who wished she’d had someone like herself in her first class all those years ago, after Miss Idealistic the Midwife had frightened
her to death and made her spend an ill-afforded fortune on so many wrong things.
Terries are better for baby and hardly any extra work, my arse!

‘In your overnight bag you need some nappies, cottonwool and baby lotion,’ began Mandy. ‘A few Babygros, some money for the hospital trolley, a dressing-gown and slippers, maternity sanitary towels…’

‘…And two of the biggest T-shirts you can find for nighties. Get disposable maternity knickers–they aren’t sexy, mind–baby wipes and nappy sacks, some juice, the cooler the better, a massive bar of fruit and nut, a Jackie Collins and your nipple-shields just in case,’ took over Carol.

At the end of the session, Mandy told the girls there was a big box of books and child birth videos available to borrow. She was exhausted from battling her wits against that walking brood mare and could not wait to get in the house, kick her shoes off, put
EastEnders
on and get a big gin down her neck. Thank God she had no bloody kids to go home to.

‘Don’t borrow ’em,’ Carol whispered to Helen, who had picked up a video. ‘You’ll shit yourself with fear.’

Helen did not like to think about that image. They had all watched a film of a birth at school in which a Frenchwoman had poohed whilst giving birth. It would be her worst nightmare if that happened.

Except for Carol, who bounced off down the road stuffed with springs like Tigger, they all came out of the meeting as meek as lambs.

‘I’ve hardly got any of the right stuff in,’ said Elizabeth, who looked especially dazed.

‘Well, look, at least it’s the weekend tomorrow–you can go get your stuff then, now you know what you’re missing,’ said Janey, feeling a bit sorry for Elizabeth. At least she could send George out if she was short on anything. He would be a fulltime househusband soon; she was going to draft his letter of resignation this weekend.

‘What if I’ve left it too late and give birth tonight?’ Elizabeth replied in a bit of a panic.

‘Do you think we’d not help?’ said George, giving her a big hug, and was surprised that she let him. She did not do her usual pulling-away thing that he always teased her about.

Elizabeth smiled gratefully, but knew she wasn’t ready for this by a long chalk. She wasn’t ready at all.

John was waiting in the car outside her house when she got home; he was in his builder’s gear so it looked like another flying visit.

‘You’re lucky,’ he said. ‘I was just waiting another five minutes then I was off. I thought I’d pop by to see how your class went.’

‘How did you know I was going to a class?’

‘I met George for a pint in the week.’

‘Oh.’

He followed her into the house. She was so stressed she didn’t even put the kettle on and sank on the sofa staring trance-like at the carpet.

‘Well, are you going to answer me or do I have to put it down to one of life’s mysteries, like the pyramids?’

‘It was frightening,’ she said. ‘I realized I haven’t got enough stuff in.’