He’s pushing an old-fashioned coach pram in an uninspiring shade of gray, with a pink lacy pillow and quilt. Suze stares at it, aghast.
“Bex, you can’t put the baby in that!”
“It’s not for the baby,” I say. “It’s for my shopping!” I plonk all my carrier bags inside and grasp the handles. “That’s better!”
I pay for it, and prize Suze away from the hi-tech buggy, and we head off to the Refreshment Zone, passing lots of stalls on the way. I buy a paddling pool, and a box of building blocks and a huge teddy and just sling them all on top of the pram. And there’s still room for loads more! Honestly, I should have bought a pram years ago.
“I’ll get the coffees,” says Suze as we near the café area.
“I’ll be there in a sec,” I say absently. I’ve spotted a stand with vintage-style hobbyhorses, which are absolutely gorgeous. I’ll buy one for the baby and one each for Suze’s children.
The only trouble is, there’s a massive queue. I maneuver the pram into line as best I can and lean on the handles with a sigh. I’m quite tired actually, after all this walking. In front of me is an old woman in a dark red raincoat. She turns, then pulls an expression of horror as she sees me leaning on the pram.
“Let this young lady through!” she exclaims, tapping the woman in front of her. “She has a baby and she’s expecting! The poor thing’s exhausted — look at her!”
“Oh!” I say, taken aback. Everyone is moving aside like I’m royalty, and the raincoat woman is urging me to push the pram forward. “Um…I don’t actually have a…”
“Come through, come through! How old’s your wee one?” The old woman peers into the pram. “I can’t see the poor little thing for all your gubbins!”
“Er…well…”
The stand owner is beckoning me forward encouragingly. Everyone’s waiting for me to go first.
OK. I know I should be honest. I do know that.
But the queue’s gigantic, and Suze is waiting…and what does it really matter if there’s a baby in here or not?
“Is it a boy or a girl?” the old woman persists.
“It’s…a girl!” I hear myself saying. “She’s asleep,” I add hurriedly. “I’d like four hobbyhorses, please.”
“Ah, the dear little thing,” says the old woman fondly. “And her name?”
Ooh! Names!
“Tallulah,” I say impulsively. “I mean…Phoebe. Tallulah-Phoebe.” I hand the stall owner the money, take the hobbyhorses, and somehow balance them on the pram. “Thanks very much!”
“You be a good girl, Tallulah-Phoebe,” the old woman is clucking into the pram. “You be good for your mum and the new arrival.”
“Oh, she will!” I say brightly. “Nice to meet you! Thanks very much!” And I hastily wheel the pram away, feeling a giggle rise inside. I turn the corner and immediately spot Suze at the coffee counter, chatting to a girl with highlights and an off-road pushchair and three children in matching stripy tops tied to it with reins.
“Hi, Bex!” she calls. “What do you want?”
“Can I have a decaf cappuccino and a choc chip muffin?” I call back. “And I have to tell you what just happened—” I break off as the girl with highlights turns.
I don’t believe it.
It’s Lulu.
Lulu, Suze’s horrible friend from the country. My heart sinks like a stone as I wave cheerfully. What’s she doing here? Just as we were having such a good time.
They’re coming over toward me now, all the toddlers trailing in their wake like kites being dragged along a beach. Lulu is looking as sensible-mummy as ever, in her pink cords and white shirt and pearl earrings, which probably all came out of the same sensible-mummy catalog.
Oh God, I know that’s really bitchy. But I can’t help it. Lulu has rubbed me the wrong way ever since the first time we met and she totally looked down on me because I didn’t have any kids.(And also maybe because I took my bra off in front of all the children to entertain them. But I was really desperate, OK? And it’s not like they saw anything.)
“Lulu!” I force a smile. “How are you? I didn’t know you were coming today!”
“I didn’t know myself!” Lulu’s voice is so sharp and posh, it makes me wince. “I was offered a sudden promotion opportunity. For my new children’s cookbook.”
“Yes, Suze told me about that. Congratulations!”
“And congratulations to you!” Lulu eyes my bump. “We’ll have to get together sometime! Talk baby things!”
