Ladies (and a Gentleman) in Waiting

SEPTEMBER

GILDA

I’ve resigned myself to being the Big Bad Wolf in this whole business (funny how so far as I know there’s no term for a female wolf apart from she-wolf).  Oh, I’ll keep my tongue in check and make at least some of the right noises, after all, Caro is one of my oldest friends. It’s quite comical when we or others say we knew each other since we were that high as when we did meet, at primary school, Caro was prematurely tall and I was short for my age. We must have made quite an odd couple on the playground! Within the next couple of years things had evened themselves out and we were more or less the same height.

     We’ve always had things not in common and that was fine. But it didn’t go far enough for folk to talk about attraction of opposites, unless they were really determined. One big difference, though, was that she married quite young and had four children in fairly rapid succession. I didn’t go in for that sort of thing, though I liked children well enough, and have always been fond of Caro’s step-children. She calls them that as a joke – she’s most definitely their mother and not their stepmother, but they do seem to come in neat steps – Matthew - Matt, as he’s always called, is 19 now, Alma is 17, Archie 15, and Suzanne 12. But she has a birthday soon, so she’ll catch up and keep it symmetrical. 

     I should have said they did come in neat steps. Because Caro has told me that she is pregnant. 12 weeks, her midwife says. There is something deeply troubling about using her name in combination with the word midwife again after all these years. She makes no secret about it being an accident. An “on the change” baby. But she gives every impression of being utterly delighted. And though Caro is very smart she never was much good at dissembling. 

     Now let me make this plain. I don’t have some kind of “on principle” issue with women having babies much later in life, especially if they’ve had years of IVF and finally their dreams have come true, though I can’t help reflecting that sometimes these babies do have what are euphemistically called “problems” later on, and that some women (and their partners, of course) waste money and time and heartache chasing a dream that doesn’t come true.

     Still, I can see where they’re coming from. But that isn’t the case with Caro. She has four lovely, healthy, intelligent children. To put it crassly (and I don’t necessarily like myself for this turn of phrase) she has no need whatsoever of another baby. And I know from Louise that being a late mother isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

     I’ll admit I’m struggling to think what she could have done. Though she doesn’t condemn others for having a termination, she always said she would never have one herself. If she were pragmatic and “making the most of a bad job” I could happily go along with that. But she’s not. She looks as if she’s on the kind of happy pill that the flower children would have sold their souls for. 

     Of course I must be careful not to refer to it as a “bad job”. I value our friendship and it goes without saying that I want everything to go well, but I can’t help what I feel. And I don’t have good vibes about this. 

OCTOBER

BABS

Caro Franks is one of the nicest women (and I don’t care what English teachers say about that word!) I’ve ever known and I couldn’t have a better neighbour. I was nervous when we moved house, I’ll admit. My views on the subject of neighbours were jaundiced by some bloody awful ones I’ve had. For a while I couldn’t hear the theme tune of that Australian soap without wanting to scream. But Caro and Danny were, I soon realised after initial wariness, absolute treasures. Nothing is too much trouble when it comes to helping out, but they’re not poking their noses in all the time, either. I’ll admit to being a little nervous when I found out they had four children – I’m an only child myself, and my five-year old, Toni, will probably be one too. But my worries were for nothing. Matt is away at university most of the time, but he’s a fine young man, Alma and Archie aren’t terrible teens at all, and Suzie is delighted that she soon will be a teen, but still has what my husband Bill calls a nice (that word again!) childishness about her. 

     I don’t want to use phrases like living the dream, but the Franks family seem to come as near to it as you can in this world. But there’s nothing smug about them. And now there’s another little one on the way! Caro said it was okay for me to tell Toni and she’s so impatient, saying it would be like having a big sister. I gently pointed out that the little boy or girl would already have a big sister of her own, but don’t think I need to worry. Alma is a dear girl, and would be more than happy to share. She treats Toni like her own little sister anyway. I almost feel as if we’re honorary members of the charmed circle. It’s as if we’ve walked into a world where families like those in storybooks really exist. Bill has teased me a bit about it, but he and Danny are as thick as thieves, and I suspect he feels much the same way. Caro has told me that she always “did” pregnancy with relative ease. She only had fairly low-key morning sickness, and her cravings were for things that were safe and tasty like blueberries or caramels. When I was carrying Toni I used to sniff washing powder, though so far as I can remember I never actually ate any. Anyway it seems to have had neither ill nor genetic effects as she never remembers to put her clothes in the laundry basket! 

     “Of course it’s a surprise,” Caro said, “But it was meant to be, don’t you think?”

     And yes, I do!

NOVEMBER

JEFF

Caro’s bump is showing and it’s a very symmetrical, pleasing little bump. I already feel quite proprietorial about the bump! She doesn’t know if it’s a “he-bump” or a “she-bump” and she and Danny have told the sonographer that they prefer not to know and for it to be another surprise.

     But why should I feel proprietorial? Well, she’s only gone and told Theo and me that she wants us to be the godfathers. “Er – I don’t know much about such things, but if it’s a girl, don’t they generally only have one godfather?” I asked.

     “I don’t know either. Not for sure. But pish to that!” She has a habit of saying “pish to that” if something strikes her as too conventional or just tradition that has no good reason for continuing. I suspect it might be a euphemism! 

     There’s something contradictory about Caro. In some ways she couldn’t be more conventional – she was a stay-at-home Mum (though she has always done freelance writing and also an Open University degree!) and thinks it’s quite splendid to put on a frilly apron and bake cupcakes. But she is also one of those people (and though times are changing, thank Goodness, Theo and I know such things matter) who doesn’t make a show of tolerance and open-mindedness, but doesn’t have to, because they’re part of her nature and her very being. I ran into Gilda, who’s known Caro since they were at primary school together, in the library the other day. I’ve always liked Gilda very much, but she managed to get on my nerves today. Oh, she didn’t come out and say so but it was smacking me in the face that she didn’t approve. Well, pish to that!

DECEMBER

JULIA

Sometimes it grates on my nerves when people say that “Christmas is a time for children, isn’t it?” Still, I suppose in a way they’re right. And by next Christmas there will be another child in the world. Well, of course there will be millions, but this particular one is rather close to home. 

     Caro still comes to the writer’s group, and credit where it’s due, she gives her attention to the work at hand and remains a valued member of the group – tactful and kind, but realising that constructive criticism is better than unthinking flattery, and quite able to take criticism herself. 

     She and I were among the founder members. They come and go, of course, but she’s also a good recruiting sergeant. Normally it’s a delight having her friends here, but there’s some tension in the air and there’s no denying it. Babs is in a state of unbridled ecstasy about her friend and neighbour’s forthcoming (please God!) happy event. Theo and Jeff come over all protective about their future godchild. But Gilda is another matter. And the trouble is, I can see her point of view. I’m not entirely convinced I share Babs’ starry-eyed vision of the ideal family next door. At the very least I think that this could put a spanner, no matter how wanted a spanner, into the works of that apparent idyll. 

     True, it’s not as if I can say Caro doesn’t know what it’s like bearing and raising children. She knows all about it. But it’s a long time since Suzanne was born! Babs is even more convinced than Caro that Suzanne will be ecstatic. I’m not so sure. Gilda isn’t sure at all. We went for a coffee after the meeting last night, and I half-wished she hadn’t. “Be honest, Julia,” she said, “When you were Suzie’s age, would YOU have been delighted about the thought of a newborn baby in the house?” She knows that we both only have older siblings (with not much of an age gap) so she was safe presenting it as mere hypothesis. “I genuinely don’t know,” I admitted. 

     “Well I do, and I’d have loathed it. And as I see it, she’s exactly the wrong age! For all she can be a bit childish, though not in an annoying way, she’s too old to see it – and don’t tell me off for saying it, it’s only because we don’t know which it is and it saves space, so to speak! – as some kind of living doll, but not old enough to be able to – well, get away from it – and this time I mean the whole situation – that much.”

     “You are a prophet of doom,” I said, lightly, trying to keep too much reproof out of my voice (not least because I knew she had a point!)

     “If that means I don’t have the rose-coloured spectacles on, then I’m not ashamed of being one!”

     Piggy in the Middle, that’s me!

JANUARY

GILDA

Caro has started wearing T-shirts proclaiming Precious Cargo and in carefully chosen yellow, complete with sunbursts and daffodils to avoid any stereotyping about boys and girls. Not that she knows, anyway. I’d want to know. Not that I can imagine myself in that position anyway, but I’d want to know. I wonder if the Precious Cargo will have a stack of toys and clothes all of its very own, or if there’ll be some hand-me-downs. Does she still have hand-me-downs? After all these years.   I’m mildly curious, but not particularly inclined to ask as I just don’t want to have a conversation on the subject. I want to avoid it altogether in case I say something that could come over as mean and wreck our friendship. Is that consideration or moral cowardice? Probably both and neither. Perhaps I ought to make a New Year’s Resolution about trying to be more cheerful and supportive about this. After all, everyone breaks their New Year’s Resolutions!

FEBRUARY

BABS

Danny has sent Caro the sweetest Valentine’s Day card imaginable! It’s full of little cupids and roses intertwined and he has signed it “From the Bump and Me with all the love imaginable in the world, ever.” And he has given her a beautiful scarf, all green and gold and shimmery, and a scarf is the kind of thing you can wear with or without a bump. I suspect that Bill’s card with a winsome puppy dog and bunch of flowers were last minute at a garage, but still, at least he remembered. I’ve got used to “at least”. He’s a good sort. And comparisons aren’t fair. 

     Caro is blooming. It’s a fallacy that pregnancy makes women more beautiful, it certainly didn’t me, but she has such a clear skin and bright eyes, and lustrous hair.

     “You make her sound like something out of a dog food commercial,” Bill said, in that way he sometimes has that isn’t exactly sarcastic and isn’t exactly long-suffering but still makes me wish he’d adopt a different tone of voice. I could have said, well you’re evidently the expert on dogs, given your last minute Valentine’s Card, but I didn’t. If she’d been in the same position (which she wouldn’t have been!) Caro wouldn’t say anything like that. 

MARCH

JEFF

I went shopping today and bought the most enormous and appealing toy rabbit for our future godchild. Theo pointed out that it would be bigger than the baby and might frighten her or him (maybe he has a point – I remember being a bit traumatised by an oversized Mickey Mouse at Disneyworld on holiday when I was a kind!) and that it will be after Easter when they’re born. “A bunny is for life, not just for Easter,” I pointed out. I think I might go back tomorrow and get that mobile as well. I said so to Theo and he said, “Bit young for a phone!” I was about to observe that OF COURSE I didn’t mean a phone, but one of those things you put across a cradle or a pram and realised he was only teasing. He’s just as excited about this whole business as I am, and he can’t deny it. We’re getting so impatient now!

APRIL

JULIA

Oh, dear God, what a day! I’m still trying to get my head round it. Caro wasn’t at the last meeting of the Writer’s Group and I was surprised to see her today, in a way, though she said that she might very well not be at the next one, and Babs smiled (I wonder if Gilda would say she simpered!) and said that in the circumstances we could most definitely forgive her though we expected to be presented with the new arrival. I saw Gilda trying to hard to resist rolling her eyes that it was more obvious than if she’d rolled them, and hurriedly started off a discussion on how best to evoke all the senses in your writing. 

     I hadn’t had any kind of premonition, but as soon as I heard Caro give a low moan I knew exactly what was going on – we all did! We hurried to assure her it would be fine, forgot about evoking the senses, and called an ambulance. “And Danny,” Caro gasped, “We must contact Danny!”

     “I’ll see to that,” Babs said. She was, if anything, even more agitated than Caro, but was managing – just – to keep a grip on herself.” 

     I’m supposed to be the first aider, but realised that those little courses don’t always prepare you for things, to put it mildly. And that ruddy ambulance was taking its time! I suddenly remembered that there were roadworks, and that people had warned that the consequences could be dire if the emergency services were held up. 

     “Gilda!” Caro muttered.

     Gilda knelt down beside her and took her hand. But that wasn’t all she did – and Caro had known it wouldn’t be all she’d do. We had realised by now that things were moving quite horrifyingly quickly, and that though none of us were openly panicking, there was a definite miasma of panic in that room. But not Gilda. Gilda knew what she was doing! Gilda gave the orders and we obeyed them with an alacrity that made the Charge of the Light Brigade seem like an exercise in mutinous prevarication. 

     When the ambulance finally did turn up, Caro had, already, in the meeting room at the library, given birth to a small, but apparently healthy little scrunch-faced, strong-lunged little boy whose expression already seemed to say, “What the heck are you all staring at?”

     They were taken to hospital, of course, and with him being premature, he will be kept in a few days, but everything seems to be absolutely fine. Gilda went with her in the ambulance, and it’s no exaggeration to say we are all in awe of her.

     She’s now told us that though she’s worked in publishing for ten years or more, she used to be a nurse. Not a midwife, but still far more capable of dealing with it than the vast majority of people. When she phoned, she was typically brusque and dismissive when I said she was a real heroine. “You’d have coped,” she said. “Anyway, the main thing is, everything will be fine.” 

     And I knew that she meant it, and it went beyond the next couple of days. Oh, not perfect, not idyllic, but fine. When Gilda says that, you pay heed!