We order in Chinese food for dinner, as Harriet has recently developed an insatiable craving for wontons with duck sauce and plain fried rice. We sit in their half-decorated dining room, eating out of the takeaway containers.
‘That Angela one was always a bit sketchy,’ she informs me. ‘Anyone who actually chooses to be onBig Brotherneeds their head seen to. I’ll never understand the need to be famous. I don’t even enjoy doing author interviews.’
‘I like how everyone waits until now to tell me they hated her,’ I reply, gnawing on a spare rib. ‘You’re supposed to have my back. This information would have been useful beforehand.’
‘We do have your back,’ Harriet replies. ‘But we’re not your mammy, we’re your friends. We respect your decision to date horrendous women but reserve the right to then make fun of you when it all goes tits up. It’ll be the same with Matt’s new girlfriend.’
‘’Scuse me but she’s not horrendous,’ Matt interjects. ‘She’s actually the nicest woman I’ve ever dated and therefore you cannot slag her off.’
‘I’m not sure whether that says more about you or her,’ Harriet replies, laughing. ‘But I look forward to meeting her.’
Damn. Harriet is even more blunt than usual tonight.
‘How’s the new job, Nick?’ Noel asks. ‘Nice to be back in the rat race?’
‘Exhausting, actually,’ I reply. ‘I’m putting in minimum fourteen-hour days at the moment. My boss is—’
‘Exhausting? Try moving to a new house and working and lugging around a bowling ball twenty-four seven,’ Harriet snaps. ‘And having to pee every thirty seconds when you’re trying to work. . . you bloody men don’t know you’re born.’
Noel almost chokes on his chow mein. ‘Harriet! There’s no need to—’
And now she’s crying. Big fat tears detonate from her eyes and make their way down her cheeks. ‘I’m s-s-sorry,’ she says, picking up a napkin. ‘I have no idea what’s fucking wrong with me. I’m vile! Fat and vile!’
Noel gets up and hugs his wife. ‘You’re not vile, sweetie. You’re pregnant. The hormones must be—’
‘What the fuck would you know about my hormones? How many times have you been pregnant? God, I could murder a glass of red!’
‘I. . . I. . . uh. . .’
‘Sweet Jesus, Harriet,’ Matt exclaims. ‘The rude just jumped right out of you, didn’t it? Do I need to call a priest? Nick, take away her cutlery before she fucking devours us all.’
Harriet’s crying morphs into a mixture of sobs intermingled with hearty laughing. She grabs Noel’s hand and kisses it. ‘Forgive me. I’m an arsehole. And I need to pee. I’ll be right back.’
We hear Harriet trudge upstairs to the bathroom.
‘Sorry, guys,’ Noel says sheepishly. ‘She’s been like this all week. I wanted to cancel this weekend, but she insisted.’
‘It’s fine,’ Matt insists. ‘She must be getting fed up by now. When is she due?’
‘Now, pretty much,’ he replies. ‘Well, next weekend, to be exact. But they say first babies are notoriously late.’
‘Are you excited?’ I ask him, getting back to my meal. ‘Must be weird, knowing that any day now you’re going to be a dad.’
‘It’s fucking terrifying,’ he confesses. ‘Not that I’d admit that to Harriet.’
‘Maybe not right now,’ I reply with a smirk. ‘But she’s obviously nervous too.’
‘Sarah told me that the baby stage is actually the easiest stage,’ Matt informs him. ‘When they start to walk and fall into furniture and stick their fingers in power sockets, that’s when the real work starts. She says the baby stage is just making sure you don’t drop them and surviving on three hours’ sleep.’
‘Sarah has a kid?’
Matt spins around in fright. ‘Fucking hell, Harriet, did you fly downstairs on your broomstick?’
She laughs and sits back down at the table. ‘The stairs don’t creak when you’ve just lost fifteen pounds’ worth of fluid. My question still stands though.’
‘Yes,’ Matt replies. ‘She has a four-year-old son, Alfie.’
‘Wow,’ she replies, returning to her wontons. ‘A single mum, eh? Never pictured you as the fatherly type.’
