Gigi
‘I love her, Mum. She’s it.’ Oliver had swept into the flat and pulled her into a fierce hug. Gigi looked at her son and knew that it was true, then exhaled deeply.
Her voice broke. ‘I’m so glad. She loves you too, I presume?’
‘She does. She bloody does.’ His eyes were shining.
‘So, why didn’t she come with you?’
‘Because she wanted me to tell you on my own. She’s afraid you won’t be pleased.’
‘Why the hell not?’ Gigi frowned.
Oliver shrugged. ‘She thinks she comes with too much baggage.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She’s at her mum’s.’
‘Will you take me there?’
‘Now?’
‘Yes, please.’ She winked at him. ‘Now.’
Olly beamed at her and grabbed his car keys.
Tess answered the door, looking sleepy and dishevelled. It was a hot afternoon, and she’d pulled her hair into a high bun to cool her neck and borrowed one of Donna’s voluminous cotton kaftans. It was stretched across her bump.
‘Gigi!’
‘I’ve come to tell you, my darling, silly, lovely girl, that I could not be more delighted that you and my boy are together.’
‘Oh.’ Tess’s eyes filled with tears.
Tess laughed and cried at the same time. ‘I’m far from that.’
‘You’re perfect for him. It’s been obvious to me and to him for a while now … we just needed you to see it too.’
Tess looked past her to Oliver, and nodded. ‘I see it too.’
But it was Ava who gave the final, absolute seal of approval. Emily had invited Gigi, Tess and Megan to her house, exclaiming that she just really needed to meet the woman who had so bewitched her brother-in-law, and the four women were sat around a teak table in Emily and Chris’s back garden, drinking peach iced tea and chattering like old, easy friends. Each reflected in the pauses on how different this was from other similar situations: Sean’s competitive sisters-in-law; frosty Caitlin. Ava was in her mother’s lap when she suddenly lunged forward towards Tess, her pudgy little arms clinging to either side of Tess’s bump, and planted a long series of her wettest kisses on it.
Week 40. We’re here. At the end of this beginning. I’m ready. You’re a watermelon. I haven’t slept all night for months. I pee every six minutes. I have cankles – actual cankles. My ankle is as wide as my knee. This is not a good look on me. Not your fault, but still … enough already. Oliver says I’m ridiculous and beautiful. Clearly he’s insane. Wait until he sees how I’m supposed to look … That sounds vain. But I’m okay in the half-light when I’m not in this state. I await the return of my waist, and the view of my feet, with some anticipation. But, really, I just want to see you. I’m so excited I can’t stand it. Don’t be late. Please. I’ve never been great at delayed gratification and I’ve already waited longer for you than I’ve ever waited for anything in my life. Except my driving licence. But that was only because I couldn’t master the parallel park. My point is … don’t be late. I want to meet you. It’s like we’ve been conducting our relationship on the internet for nine months and now we’ve agreed to meet in person, although there’s no way you can catfish me. (Dulcie taught me that word: Dulcie is going to be the coolest pretend aunt in the world, by the way. Or btw, as Dulcie would say. She will be your go-to person when I say no, and you hate me. One day you’re going to hate me for something … Oh God. Catfish is pretending you’re something you’re not, btw. Who knew?) You’ve been grey blobs on a screen. Pictures in a book, and on my computer, and diagrams in my midwife’s room. You’ve been fruit, for goodness’ sake. You’ve run the gamut from pomegranate to cherry to satsuma and now you’re a watermelon. You’ve been my dreams and my wishes and my hopes. You’ve been pretty damn disruptive, truth be told, but my life has arranged itself around you now. I’m ready. And I want to see you, not just feel you, although you won’t know how special and amazing and spooky it has been to feel you until you have a baby of your own. Which I hope you will … It’s one of a million things I want for you, my little girl.
I so wanted Iris to meet you, baby mine. Even if she didn’t know you, I wanted to lay you in her arms, and I wanted to keep that image, of the two of you, four generations apart, in my mind forever. But it’s okay that it never happened. I have peace. It’s all unfolding like it was supposed to. God, I sound like a hippie. I’m more like Donna than I ever thought …
It boils down to this – Iris figured it out. I’m sure she tried to teach me.
May you know the trick of it better, or at least sooner, than I have done.