What If?. Shari Low

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СКАЧАТЬ estate with a mum who worked three jobs to support her family, and who knows that she has a time limit to capitalise on her exquisite appearance. For all her stunning looks, rich boyfriends, flash cars and first-class flights, she’s just like the rest of us –flawed, complicated and still figuring life out. We decide that she should go. After all, how bad could it be? As long as she takes the latest Jilly Cooper, an empty suitcase for shopping trips and calls us on Clive’s phone bill if boredom sets in, she’ll be fine.

      We move on to Kate before Carol gets the brochures out and makes us all sick with jealousy.

      To my surprise, Kate looks flushed. This is the woman who copes with two kids, a full-time job, a house and husband and all without breaking into a sweat. A minor earthquake couldn’t break Kate’s stride, so if she’s perturbed in any way, then I’ve got a feeling that it’s something huge. I’m not wrong.

      ‘My cocktail doesn’t have any alcohol in it because I’m, er, well, might be pregnant again.’

      There is a stunned silence.

      I look to the heavens for inspiration on what to say. Instead, all I see are wooden beams with what looks like dry rot.

      I tentatively ask, ‘Is this good?’

      She bursts into tears.

      My God, Kate never cries. She’s the emotional equivalent of Gibraltar.

      ‘It’s just so unexpected,’ she blurts. ‘I thought my days of booties and nappy rash were over. But I am happy, honest. Just a bit shell-shocked. It’s really early, just a couple of weeks but my period hasn’t come and I recognise the signs. I’m hormonal. And emotional. One minute I’m over the moon and the next I want to punch everyone I meet. One of Hot N Spicy nearly got a roller brush surgically inserted today.’

      ‘What does Bruce think about it?’ Carol probes, Antigua now firmly shoved to the back of her mind.

      ‘Oh, you know Bruce, he’s delighted. He’s already designing an extension and a hydraulic cot. Poor bloody baby will spend half its life with motion sickness.’

      We all laugh, including Kate.

      She dries her eyes and raises her glass. ‘Here’s to maternity bras and piles.’

      We all join in the toast before descending on her with congratulatory cuddles and kisses, much to the bemusement of the surrounding diners.

      Our main courses arrive and everyone ignores them, too busy discussing names for the baby and the pros and cons of having another child.

      Cons: less money to go round, lack of sleep, more stretch marks and, statistically, more probability that one of the kids will end up with a criminal record (this is Jess’s little chestnut – she’s obviously been researching crime today).

      Pros: more presents at Christmas, someone else to visit you when you’re in a care home and, statistically, more probability that one of them will end up running the country (also Jess’s contribution).

      I catch Jess’s expression out of the corner of my eye. She’s doing that thing again where she looks happy on the outside, but her eyes tell me she’s miserable on the inside.

      ‘What’s up?’ I ask her gently. ‘You okay?’

      ‘Sure. I was just thinking that in my present situation, the chances of me having children are up there with winning the lottery and shagging Jeremy Paxman.’

      Jess is in that age-old crap situation which, considering she’s the smartest of us all, is quite difficult to fathom – the unhappily unmarried mistress. If Basil Asquith’s constituents only knew what he is thinking when he advocates corporal punishment (being attached to his antique king-size bed with handcuffs), they may take their vote elsewhere. But Jess is inexplicably attracted to him.

      Their affair started four years ago, when she took a post as his researcher, and has motored along, fuelled by endless promises to ‘re-evaluate his marital situation’. Meanwhile, Mrs Asquith poses quite happily with him at their country estate in endless editions of House and Garden. The irony is that Jess is gorgeous (she always reminds me of Julianne Moore), successful and fiercely intelligent. She’s also second only to Kate in being grounded and innately sensible. The whole Basil thing is obviously an episode of diminished responsibility from which she’ll recover at any time.

      She visibly shrugs off her melancholy and turns the over-table light so that it shines in my face. ‘Anyway, Cooper, it’s your turn. Spill the story.’

      I’d almost forgotten I had something to share.

      The others are staring at me in anticipation.

      I pause for effect, then reach into my bag and pull out two letters and my purse.

      ‘This,’ I say placing the first letter down on the table, ‘is my letter of resignation. Goodbye bog rolls.’

      I place down the next letter, amused at the three confused faces around the table.

      ‘And this is a note to my landlord, terminating the lease on my flat.’

      Confusion is now approaching astonishment.

      ‘I’ve decided that by the turn of the century, I’m going to have found the love of my life and the first place I’m going to look is in my past. So these…’ I hold up my credit cards, ‘… are going to take me around the world to find every poor bugger who has ever had the misfortune to have exchanged bodily fluids with me. Ladies, we have a mission. We’re going in and we’re taking no prisoners…’

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