Page 76 of The Way We Are Now

‘Gemma, I know you better than you know yourself. I can tell when you’ve something on your mind. Here.’ I poured coffee, pushing the cup across the desk in her direction.

‘Well…’ She hesitated.

‘Aw, don’t tell me Callum’s got another job somewhere like the Outer Hebrides or… or something?’

‘Well, I am going to have to leave you.’

‘What?’ I felt my whole demeanour droop. ‘But why?’

‘Anna… I’m… I’m…’

‘Oh my God, you’re not…’

‘I am.’ Gemma’s face was pink with excitement. ‘After all these years of trying! You know, we’ve been married over four years and… nothing.’

‘Should you be drinking that strong coffee? Isn’t it bad for you?’

‘Hell, I don’t know.’ Gemma looked at her cup in horror. ‘Milk, I suppose, from now on.’

‘Well, massive congratulations.’ I stood, went round the desk and hugged her. Gemma was the sister I’d never had; the best friend who’d taken the vacant place in my heart after losing Fliss. Fliss. I still thought of her, still sometimes thought I’d seen a glimpse of her on the streets of London. But Fliss had been dead twenty years and Gemma, lovely Gemma with her sense of humour, her ability to make even the greyest day sunny, was seemingly leaving me now as well.

‘Look, you daft thing,’ Gemma said as she saw my face. ‘I’m not leaving you. I’m having a baby. I’ll obviously need maternity leave, and then I’ll be back. If you’ll have me.’

‘Aw, Gemma, you won’t want to come back. Choice of staying at home all day, bouncing a baby on your knee, or back here mopping up our clients before they come in to see me?’

‘Needs must,’ she retorted and I said nothing further on the subject of how to make ends meet in a city like London.

‘How did Callum react when you told him?’ I asked. Gemma’s husband, a master joiner and fellow Yorkshireman, was absolutely lovely. When he and Gemma had married, I’d not only been witness and maid of honour, I’d also, in the absence of any parents on Gemma’s side, given a speech to the small gathering of friends and relatives at the reception do in a restaurant on the King’s Road.

Gemma laughed. ‘Oh, you know, the usual. Had me sitting down, there and then; was I sure? Should we be moving house? And then he went off to phone his dad to ask whether his son would be able to play cricket for Yorkshire if he was born in London.’

‘If?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ Gemma hesitated, avoiding my eye, ‘you know how expensive it is down here and how Callum’s always wanted to go back north.’

I felt my heart drop. I loved Gemma and Callum. I’d love this new baby when it arrived. They were my London family. Apart from my big brother, David, who was now chief political correspondent at The Guardian and living with his partner of ten years, Christopher, in Wandsworth, I had no real family down here. Mum, Dad and Les and his wife and three kids were still two hundred miles up the motorway in Rothersley.

‘Well, if we do move – and honestly, Anna, nothing’s certain, is it? I mean I’ve waited until I’m twelve weeks to tell anyone… And you know, being almost forty, I’m classed as an elderly primo… primo… something…’

‘Primigravida,’ I said knowingly.

‘How do you know that?’

‘Oh, I just wanted to check how long I could leave it before I knew I was over the hill for having one myself.’

‘You?’ Gemma stared. ‘You’ve always said you’ve never wanted kids?’

‘Well, no,’ I said, slightly embarrassed at being put on the spot. ‘I don’t have the time. When would I fit in having a baby, for heaven’s sake? And I don’t think Michael wants them – he’s far too knackered after an all-night sitting, as well as standing in for the PM at Prime Minister’s Questions. To be honest, I’m not sure I want them with Michael. So, probably best just to avoid the whole question of sprogs until, in a few years’ time, I won’t be able to have them anyway. Job done. Decision made for me.’

‘Oh, Anna.’

‘Oh, Anna, nothing,’ I said, not wanting to rain on her new baby parade. ‘And,’ I went on, trying to change the subject off me, Michael and any offspring that might, or might not, be forthcoming, ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me as soon as you knew. You tell me everything. I can’t believe I didn’t cotton on… Oh, so I suppose you not drinking these past few times we’ve been out wasn’t because of cystitis you couldn’t get rid of?’ I air-quoted the words, peering over my glasses at Gemma who went slightly pink.

‘Sorry. But, to be honest, I have been having bouts of cystitis – it’s all that bloody sex I’ve made him have at the appropriate times to get where I am now.’

‘I’ll miss you when you’re not in the office,’ I wailed. ‘God knows who I’ll end up with. They won’t bring me Penguins like you do.’

‘I’ll buy a shedload and leave instructions on just how you like them served up.’