Her best friend, Freya, who, despite always having been the wilder of the two of them, had somehow wound up being the one with a husband, three kids under the age of five—Maisie, Kit and baby Jed—and, by her own description, belly skin that resembled an elderly scrotum for her troubles.
Netta snapped a selfie, flashing the peace sign and poking out her tongue, the sun reflecting off her sunglasses, and sent it in answer.Walking the streets of suburbia, baby. Living large.
Lucky cowwas quickly followed by an image of Freya’s ransacked lounge room, complete with what appeared to be the contents of someone’s nappy smeared on the wall.I’m too scared to check what that is. Is it too early to start drinking? Not asking for a friend.
Netta chuckled, visualising Freya tearing the cork from a wine bottle with her teeth as her legion of kids climbed her legs.
Another message from Freya:Hey, I’m flying solo on Wednesday night, can you come and be my wing woman for bedtime? I’ll shout takeaway.
Affirmative. I’ve got a book I’ll bring over for Maisie. I’ll send you a photo of it—let me know if she already has it.
Freya responded with a thumbs-up emoji. And then:It’s not poo on the wall! Nutella!
Netta laughed and slid her phone back into her pocket. She envied Freya her rowdy family, but she knew how much her friend missed the freedom and uninterrupted sleep and clean walls she still took for granted. Freedom and sleep that Netta would give up in a heartbeat if she was ever lucky enough to get pregnant. Absentmindedly, she rested a hand on her belly and imagined the tiny egg in there, just hanging out, hoping to be the one to make it.
When she got home an hour later, the house felt more hospitable. She went straight to the spare room to take a photo of Maisie’s book and send it to Freya as promised. The little room at the back of the house would be the baby’s one day and Netta had big ideas for its transformation. She glanced around the future nursery, imagining the walls in a soft shade of eggshell, one of those beautiful oval-shaped cots under the window and an overpriced rocking chair in the corner. She and Pete had already pulled up the carpet to expose the floorboards underneath. They’d have them polished up and get one of those beautiful multicoloured pompom rugs for the centre of the room. It was going to be so beautiful.
She opened the closet door and stepped in, stretching to reach the picture book where it sat on the top shelf with the other bits and pieces she periodically picked up for Freya’s kids: clothes, toys and books waiting to be grown into. As she lowered back to her heels, the floor gave a little beneath her and she stumbled backwards. She knelt down to investigate, finding a small section of floorboard was loose when she pressed on it. Curious, she hooked her fingernails under the edge and found that the short piece lifted out completely. Between the joists was an old notebook balanced on a cobweb-covered supporting beam. Netta lifted it from its hiding place and blew a layer of dust from its cover just as Pete’s key turned in the front door.
‘We’re home,’ he called.
Before she could think twice, Netta instinctively dropped the notebook back into its hiding place and replaced the board, quietly closing the wardrobe door. Vowing to come back and investigate further as soon as she could, she went into the hallway to see Pete and the kids.
‘Hi, guys! How was lunch?’
***
Later that night, the kids were in bed and Netta and Pete were revisitingBreaking Bad, but neither of them was really watching. Pete had been glued to his phone for most of the time and Netta had been so distracted by thoughts of the mysterious notebook under the floor in the baby’s room that she’d barely registered the television. She hadn’t mentioned her discovery to Pete yet, and the guilt and thrill of having a secret sat side by side in her stomach.
Someone had just died a horrible death on the screen when Pete flipped his phone face down on the couch and turned to her, a slight flush in his cheeks. ‘That quickie still up for grabs?’
Netta perked up. ‘But the kids are here.’
‘Yeah but …’ He ran a knuckle gently down Netta’s cheek. ‘Maybe we could do it quietly.’
Netta raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘You saying you wanna try to make a baby with me, Pete Nicholls?’
Pete was already standing, unbuttoning the neck of his polo shirt. The ovulation test’s smiling face flashed through Netta’s mind and a rush of hope swept through her, pushing all thoughts of the diary away. This could be it. She took Pete’s hand, leading him to the bedroom.
‘We can’t do it in there,’ said Pete. ‘The kids are in the next room. They might hear.’
This was getting even better. Netta couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex anywhere other than their bed. ‘Ooh, hot,’ she said, turning to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. ‘We haven’t had couch sex in forever.’
Pete looked at her as though she’d lost her very last marble. ‘We can’t do it on the couch either! If the kids get up, they’ll catch us straight away!’
‘Where then?’
Pete considered this for a moment. ‘Powder room.’
‘The toilet?’ Netta couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘You want to have sex in the guest toilet?’
Pete shrugged. ‘It’s the only room in the house with a lock on the door.’
Netta paused, considering the proposition. She could have sex in a toilet. It’s not like it’d be the first time. They could pretend they were in a plane. Maybe it’d be sexy …
‘You’re on,’ she said, taking his hand again and placing it on her breast. He squeezed obligingly and warmth flooded Netta’s belly, landing between her legs at breakneck speed. She was never quicker to turn on than when she was ovulating.
The guest powder room was not what anyone would describe as spacious. Netta wedged herself between the wall and the toilet to give Pete room to squeeze in and close the door. He flicked the lock and turned the handle to check it was working, giving the door a vigorous rattle to test its strength.
