The Cows

I didn’t know what to wear to meet Camilla. It’s not a date, of course, but it feels a bit like one. I’m properly nervous. I open my work wardrobe and grab my favourite silk navy jumpsuit, nude wedges and black leather jacket. It’s cool, relaxed but sexy. I don’t know why I want to feel sexy meeting Cam, but I want her to find me attractive in every way. I want to impress her, for her to admire me. If I wear a good outfit, it might help distract from how nervous I am. I put on some red lipstick. My curly brown hair was so distinctive in the video, so I scrape it back as hard as I can. I look good, I think. And it feels nice to have made a bit of effort.

My experience of Internet dating is that people can present a version of themselves online that doesn’t translate in person. I’ve seen Cam on TV once or twice, and I can’t lie, she isn’t great. She’s a little stiff and awkward, but it’s OK, she’s a writer, she doesn’t have to be a free-flowing, perfectly articulate TV presenter-type. But I hope she is more relaxed with me tonight, otherwise there might be an anxiety overload. She’s written a lot about her social issues. I’m expecting her to be lovely, of course, but harder to talk to than write to. I keep telling myself anything is better than Sophie, who was a hot mess of over-the-top, fake love. I’m quite up for the harder-to-get attitude; I think maybe I could trust it more.

My own anxiety is taking some controlling too. I have to remind myself before I walk into the bar that the world has more important things to think about than me, that not everyone will have seen the video, and that behind every door there are not hordes of people waving placards saying ‘WANK WOMAN IS IN THE HOUSE’.

When I walk in, I see her sitting in a booth. She is bigger than I imagined. Very skinny, but her shoulders are broad; she has a touch of the Amazonian about her. She sees me and stands up, then walks towards me quickly and puts her arms around me, squeezing me quite tight with her exceptionally long arms. I wasn’t expecting that.

‘I’m so happy to see you,’ she says, holding onto me firmly. It’s a really friendly gesture that feels completely impulsive, but the hesitation before she pulls away suggests she isn’t quite sure how to follow it up. I help her out.

‘I know,’ she says, letting go. ‘Sorry, that hug was a bit intense. I’m nervous, why is that?’

‘I think it’s because we really want to like each other. And also that we are both suffering with anxiety disorders. Is it just me or is everyone in here staring?’ I look around, there are about seven people in the place, none of them are looking at us, but that doesn’t calm me down.

‘No, they’re not. Come on, come to my booth, it’s safe over here.’ She takes me by the hand and leads me over. Her hands are big, cold and knobbly. Mine feel fat and hot in comparison. A waiter comes over to take our order.

‘I’ll get a ginger beer please,’ Cam says, ‘and what salty snacks have you got?’

‘Can I get a whisky and Coke please, thanks.’ The waiter walks away. ‘Ha, if it wasn’t you I’d think you were pregnant,’ I laugh. ‘I lived on ginger beer and salty snacks when I was up the duff.’

Cam opens her huge eyes wide and tilts her head. She looks at me persuasively. It’s quite clear what she means by it.

‘Awful. Disgusting, I hate it and can’t wait to get it out. I have an abortion booked for tomorrow and I just want it done.’

‘Phew. I don’t know what went through my head there but I think I would have felt really weird about you keeping it. Shit, sorry, that sounded terrible. Obviously if you wanted to keep it I’d have been all—’

‘No, it’s fine, it would have been really weird. I’m “The Face of Childless Women”, having a baby would have meant that I’d been talking shit, and that would not be cool.’

‘Yep, fuck. He wants kids; he doesn’t seem to care about the scenario under which he has them. I wasn’t expecting this reaction from him at all.’

‘Not exactly. I’ve been a total bitch since we found out and not spoken to him, it’s just the impression I get. He is calling every five minutes, all “Babe, we need to talk about this.” I just can’t take it. I can’t answer the phone.’

I think of Nick at his front door, his pregnant wife behind him, the look of terror on his face as I told him about his six-year-old child. I was right the first time. I wish Cam had asked me what to do. But every situation is different, this isn’t something you can give advice about, I suppose.

‘He’ll be OK. It will be like a breakup; he’ll feel all consumed by it then it will just suddenly stop bothering him. Especially as you’re not keeping the baby.’

‘Exactly. God, who knows what the right thing to do is. I think your way might be right; why does the guy have to know?’

‘I guess it’s more about the kid than him, maybe. I’ll have some big explaining to do one day. I think about that a lot. Also, people who want kids have blinkers on. Every embryo feels like their last chance; they worry that getting rid of it will mean they won’t get the opportunity again. It’s why I kept Annie. I think that thought terrifies people, makes them crazy.’

I nod, and our first awkward pause reminds us how bizarre this is. How we don’t know each other. How much we want to like each other.

‘Hey, speaking of crazy,’ Cam says, changing the subject. ‘This girl has been emailing me the weirdest stuff. She’s so horrible, like really aggressive, mean stuff. But then she also confides in me, it’s really bizarre. I’ll have to forward it to you, it’s fascinating reading. She’s got this plan to seduce her boss so she gets pregnant, but she’s not going to tell him. She’ll just quit her job and he’ll be none the wiser. I thought that sounded really cruel until I saw Mark’s reaction and now I think, is she crazy? Or is she actually really together?’

‘I don’t know, that all sounds a bit calculated and psychopathic to me. I think getting pregnant accidentally is one thing, but actually going out to deliberately get pregnant by your boss? That’s fucked up.’

‘Yeah, I suppose it is. Jesus, I think my crazydar is wonky. I’ve been on the fence about it. Anyway. How are you?’ Cam asks as the waiter brings over our drinks. She sucks the entire glass of ginger beer up through a straw and orders another one. ‘I could puke on demand,’ she adds, burping into her hand. ‘And I literally can’t stop thinking about doughnuts. Like, I could break into a Krispy Kreme shop and wipe the whole place out. But I won’t, I will not give in. Anyway, sorry. How are you coping with everything?’

‘I’m OK. Kind of. Not really. The interview was a disaster. It’s so annoying because I actually dealt with it really well. I didn’t apologise, I stood my ground, but they edited me to look like a total fruit loop. I wish I’d never done it.’

‘Yeah, it’s going to go one of two ways doing TV. You don’t have any control; they can do what they want.’

‘I should have known better. That’s my world and I feel like I walked straight into a wasps’ nest.’

Cam looks at her hands for a second, obviously thinking about what she’s going to say next. Her nervousness pokes through sometimes; it’s less obvious than I thought it would be but it’s there, for sure. Online, she has such honesty and openness, it allows her to say abrasive things without coming across as too spiky. In real life, she’s harder. Still kind, still gentle, but the edges are more defined. I get the impression that she has to think about what she says more than she has to think about what she writes.

‘I think we can turn this around. I have an idea,’ she begins hesitantly, obviously not wanting to presume I’ll jump at whatever it is she is about to suggest.

‘My sponsors want me to have some guest bloggers. Mums, specifically. They are worried my desire not to have kids will push away the readers that do. They suggested the kinds of mummy bloggers and Vloggers that give me nightmares, so I wondered if maybe you wanted to do it?’

‘Yes you can, of course you can. All writing is getting down what’s in your head. You’ve been through a lot, and as a mum, I think my readers would respond really well to it.’

‘It depends how you look at it. www.HowItIs.com has always been about the alternative. My readers want to break free from the shackles of society and do their own thing. My job is to encourage them to do that. You might be controversial to some, but to others, you’ll be an inspiration. Raising a kid alone because it’s what you wanted? I love that story. God, being a woman can make you feel like you’re in a meat factory sometimes. We’re supposed to fall in love, get married, have kids. But more and more women aren’t doing it that way. They are choosing not to have babies, or finding a way to do it on their own. And I think it’s important to promote those alternatives positively. Women can do, and be, whoever they want, and women like you and me can help them do it. Don’t follow the herd, you know? Live your life your way.’

I smile at her. That speech sounded just like the voice I hear when I read her work. That was the Cam I’ve been following all these years.

‘I suppose I could give it a go. You could maybe edit it a bit for me, make sure I haven’t said anything stupid, or spelt my own name wrong or anything?’

‘Great! Don’t follow the herd,’ Cam says, holding her half full glass up to meet mine.

‘Will you be OK tomorrow? Do you have someone to pick you up, I could if not?’ I ask, knowing the abortion is what she wants, but hoping she has someone to take care of her.

‘Yeah, my mum and dad are going to take me. Which is lovely of them but also so weird. Thanks though.’ She finishes off a plate of nachos by scooping way too much cheese and guacamole onto one chip. ‘You could come over the following night though, if you like? We could discuss your piece, have pizza. I dunno, just hang out?’

‘I’d love that. Sure!’ I say, slipping on my leather jacket, and wishing away the next two days so I can see my friend again.

As we wait for our taxis, we swap numbers and she texts me her address. We hug as we say goodbye, this time it’s much more relaxed. As my car drives away, I feel the huge gap in my life begin to fill up.

Cam

In the cab on the way home, Cam hangs her head out of the back window to stop feeling sick. When she’s sure she’s OK, she winds the window up a bit and gets her phone out of her bag. Scrolling through her emails, she finds the latest from Stella, the one outlining her plan to get pregnant by her boss, and forwards it to Tara with a note.

Loved tonight. It’s made me realise how much I need someone like you in my life. I think maybe I am a bit lonely, although I’d never say that out loud. Sorry if that’s cheesy, but it’s true. Sleep well, write something for me tomorrow and let’s just make this happen. Don’t follow the herd … I love it!

Cam x

P.S see below, have forwarded email from that girl that’s trolling me. I think you’re right, she is just crazy!

When the cab pulls up, she rushes to the front door. She can’t wait to get into bed. One more sleep until this is over.

As she puts her key in the lock, she hears the footsteps of someone running up behind her. Before she can open the door, he is so close she can hear his breath.

‘GET AWAY FROM ME!’ she screams, spinning around and using her key to stab him in the face, a trick her dad taught her that she never thought she’d use. The man bends down, pressing his hand into his cheek.

‘Fucking hell. Fuck. Why did you do that?’ he says, and Cam realises it’s Mark.

‘Jesus, Mark. It’s you. Why did you sneak up on me like that?’ she says, going to help him, but he pushes her hand away.

‘Because you have been ignoring me for days. You won’t answer the door, you won’t answer my texts. I just want to talk to you, OK?’ He wiggles his jaw from side to side and presses his hand against his cheek. He’s clearly in agony. ‘I’ve been waiting here for ages, where have you even been, you never go out?’

‘Yes, a friend,’ she says stroppily, then checking herself. She brushes over his jealousy. She’s really hurt him. ‘I’m sorry, I thought I was being mugged or something.’

Mark checks his hand for blood, there is a little bit but nothing too awful. It could have been a lot worse. They both relax a little physically.

‘Oh yeah? Which bit are you sorry about, breaking my heart or breaking my face?’

‘I didn’t break your heart. Be fair,’ Cam says defensively. ‘I know you want kids but there is no need to make this more dramatic than it is.’

‘“More dramatic”? What did you think this was, Cam?’ he asks, like a proper grown-up and not the kid she’s always treated him as. ‘What do you think happens when two people have a relationship like this, where do you think it goes?’

‘I don’t know where it goes, it’s not about a future is it? It’s about two people, getting what they need out of each other.’ She realises that sounds harsh. ‘In a nice way, obviously.’

‘God, you can be so cold. If you don’t want the baby, that’s your choice, I won’t make you keep it. What kind of guy do you think I am?’

‘Wow, I suppose I just … hadn’t thought this was about us, I just thought it was about the baby,’ she says, guilt stabbing harder than any attacker on her doorstep could have managed. He isn’t going to try to make her keep the baby?

‘Of course it’s about us. Why do you think I’ve been here at the drop of a hat every time you’ve asked me to be? You’ve never come into my life, or even really asked about it, but I dealt with that because I see who you are. I see that you need your space, your own life, and I respect that. But then you get pregnant and you don’t ask me anything, you just tell me what you want, what is right for you, and you don’t even give me the chance to tell you that I’d do whatever makes you happy. Keep it, or not keep it. Because I love you.’

‘Mark, you don’t love me. Stop it. We can talk about stuff without being silly.’

‘No, I do. I love you. I’ve never met anyone like you. You live the life you want to live and even though I want to be in it more, I think that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t want you to change, or be anything you’re not. I just want you to be mine, whatever that means for the baby. I just want you to be mine.’

Cam feels winded, guilty, and quite uncomfortable. These high-octane emotional outbursts are not how she works. She doesn’t cope well with people putting her on the spot like this; she needs time to think about responses to statements like that. He loves her? Where did that even come from?

Rather than give herself a minute to think, she says the things she is preprogrammed to say.

‘Mark, look, I’m sorry but that’s not how I feel. I didn’t realise you felt that way and if I had, maybe I’d have been more sensitive towards it. But I’m not, I don’t … I’m not looking for a relationship out of this. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m going to go upstairs now, because I am tired and I have a procedure tomorrow that I am nervous about. Go home, Mark. Get some sleep. I’ll let you know how tomorrow goes.’

She turns slowly away from him. He doesn’t move. Cam puts her key in the lock, opens the door and goes inside. She stands at the bottom of the stairs, as still as she can for around thirty seconds, until she hears his footsteps disappear down the path.

He loves me? she says to herself, walking slowly up the stairs. He just called her cold, but a warm glow is burning deep inside her. What is it?

As she climbs up the steps to the door of her flat, that glow turns into a heat she can’t ignore.

‘Wait, Mark,’ she shouts, a change of heart spinning her round too quickly for the narrow stairs. She loses her balance and reaches for the bannister but her grip doesn’t hold. Paralysed by the shock of knowing she will fall, her body smashes onto every step. Her neck snaps as she lands heavily in a heap, squashed hard against the front door.

14

Tara

Cam