This is Not a Love Story

Chapter Twenty

The day of Anna’s twelve-week scan.

I am so irrationally freaked out by the prospect that I consider cancelling. I don’t want to see the bean-sized alien and be presented with proof that it exists, that my world is heading in the direction of babies and seriousness without my permission.

But Anna is my best friend; I need to be there for her. As I pull on jeans and a woolly jumper, I remind myself that I have six months until he or she arrives. I vow that I will use that time to get over my baby phobia. Maybe there’s a meditation track for it?

Walking back through to the living room, I notice the list on the coffee table. I almost forgot it. There are a few more things I can definitely cross off on here now. I strike the pen across the page and feel just a faint glimmer of satisfaction. I am a couple of steps closer to becoming Emma Penton. That’s what I wanted, isn’t it? I look at the rest.

1. Stop smoking.

2. Lose weight.

3. Exercise.

4. See family more.

5. Change your fucking job.

6. Start yoga.

7. Do tea detox.

8. Go vegan.

9. Meditate.

10. Start blog.

I still can’t let myself cross out numbers three, four and eight. Not until I’ve stuck at them a little longer.

A car horn sounds outside, and I peer out of the window to see Cecilia sitting next to Sophie in her bashed-up Fiat Punto. Shit, shit, shit. I give Veronica a quick pat for good luck — her leaves are plumping up again, with new sprouts coming up at the base. She’s not out of the woods yet, but she’s getting there.

‘Hey,’ I say, as I squeeze myself through the gap behind the passenger seat.

‘Hey!’ Cecilia chirps. ‘Are you excited?!’

‘No,’ I say sulkily.

‘Oh, come on, Mags. Aren’t you over this baby phobia yet?’ Sophie turns in her seat to grin at me.

‘Erm, nope,’ I sigh. ‘I’m terrified of harming it somehow.’

‘Well as long as you don’t start chain-smoking next to Anna or push her down a flight of stairs, you’d be pretty hard pressed to have an impact at this stage.’ She starts messing with the radio.

‘Yeah but after today it’s real, isn’t it?’

‘It’s been real for the past three months, love,’ Cecilia laughs.

‘Yeah, I know. Anyway, what’s new with you guys? Give me the goss.’

I settle back into my seat and wait for the outpouring of drama — David’s latest creations, Sophie’s work crises. Sure enough, Cecilia starts ranting about the life-drawing class David has started taking, but not before there’s a pause as they exchange a look they think I can’t see.

Am I being paranoid?

‘—and he keeps begging me to be his muse. Like I’m going to stand bollock-naked in a room full of dirty old men and sweaty art students with hairy armpits.’ She laughs, but it sounds forced.

I shake the feeling that they’re keeping something from me, telling myself I’m tired. I’ve been to the gym every day over the past week, and I’ve just pulled two long weekend shifts in a row at Frederick’s. I’m burning the candle at both ends and I’m not used to it.

We get to the radiology department a few minutes late, and Anna is nowhere to be seen. The frog-looking lady at reception huffs as she tells us she can’t promise we’ll be able to go in because the scan is probably already taking place. I silently pray we can go home now.

‘It’s fine, I’ll call her!’ Cecilia taps at her phone. ‘Anna? It’s me. We’re outside, can we come in? Yep. OK. Great. See you in a sec.’ She shoves her phone in her pocket. ‘She says it’s fine, she’s in room four?’

The receptionist glares at us for a second before jabbing her thumb down the corridor. We rush along, my stomach gurgling with anxiety the closer we get. This is everything I used to want, but after Martin I feel like it’s the last thing I can imagine for myself. It’s all too adult, too stale. I should be travelling Asia, necking strangers and drinking Pinot Grigio with my feet in the sea — why am I here? I try to remind myself that it’s not me that’s having the baby, it’s Anna, and I can still do all of the above. I probably won’t though — I’ll probably just keep sitting on the sofa watching Queer Eye until I’m fifty.

That makes me feel a bit depressed.

Sophie knocks gently on the door of number 4, and we hear Anna shout ‘come in’ from inside. The door opens to reveal a dimly lit room with a monitor in the corner and a trolley next to it, upon which is lying Anna.

With no pants on.

We all stop where we are, mouths hanging open. Anna is lying back calmly, beaming, her knees bent and legs spread.

‘Come in, guys! The radiographer will be here in a minute.’

We step into the room silently and close the door behind us.

‘Anna,’ I whisper. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

She frowns. ‘What do you mean? I’m having my twelve-week scan!’

‘Why don’t you have any pants on?’ Sophie is addressing the ceiling in an attempt not to see her best friend’s exposed genitalia.

‘I just said ,’ Anna rolls her eyes, ‘I’m having my scan. That’s why you’re here?’

‘Did the radiographer tell you to take your pants off?’ Cecilia’s voice is shaking now.

‘She left me in here to get comfortable while she went to get something. Why? What’s going on?’ Anna looks panicked now, but has done nothing to cover her modesty. It’s still there, staring at me.

‘Babe, do you know what an ultrasound scan involves?’ Sophie fiddles with the paper towel dispenser on the wall.

‘ Yes. It’s like a smear test.’

I can bear this no longer and I let out a snort, which sends Cecilia and Sophie into fits. ‘Have you never watched any TV, any films?’ I choke.

‘You know I don’t like television!’ She wails.

All three of us are bent double now, screaming with laughter. Cecilia is hyperventilating. ‘Oh my god, oh my god...’

Suddenly the door opens and the radiographer steps in. ‘Are we all okay in here? All comfortable, Miss—’ She stops dead as she spots Anna and her nakedness.

We had managed to contain ourselves as she walked in the door, but the look on her face sets us off again. I’m howling.

‘Miss Watson, you can keep your clothes on for this. It’s just an ultrasound.’ The radiologist coughs and looks down at her clipboard.

Anna jumps off the bed. ‘Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry.’ She yanks her jeans on and sinks back on the bed. She runs her hand through her hair, her face crimson, before looking up and catching our eye. A small smile pulls at the sides of her mouth and her nose starts twitching. ‘What a dickhead.’ She bursts out laughing and sets us all off again, tears streaming down our faces. My stomach hurts.

‘OK, ladies, shall we get started?’ The radiographer has settled herself by her machine and is eyeing us with disapproval.

The door opens again and a bald, chubby, middle-aged man scoots in. ‘Sorry I’m late!’ He pants, sweat beading on his upper lip. ‘A homeless guy had a poo on the upper deck.’

‘It’s OK, Brian, come over here.’ Anna holds out her arm.

Cecilia, Anna and I exchange a glance. Bloody hell, so this is Brian. Horny bus driver and father of Anna’s child. Until just now, I was holding out hope that he was some kind of Sex-In-The-City’s-Big-Type god, all dark hair, brooding eyes and a deep, sultry voice. That hope has been squashed flat by Brian’s beer belly. Perhaps he and Anna can share maternity jeans.

OK, that was mean. I need to calm down, I can’t drown this out with judgemental thoughts.

The radiologist goes through some medical questions with Anna, and then announces that we are ready to start. Anna lifts her top, mercifully keeping her lower half buttoned up.

My stomach flips as the slimy gel is smeared over her exposed belly. Any minute now and the little bean will be on the big screen. I’m going to have to act excited — like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me — and not as though my entire world and social life is crumbling around me. Nana’s house and my friendship circle, ripped from my grasp in one miserable bastard of a week. I’d called Mum when I left the hospital and told her how much worse Nana was, how she’d told me she was scared to go home. Mum ended the call saying that she would research options, so the wheels are firmly in motion.

Deep breaths.

‘Okay . . .’ says the radiographer, ‘if you look here . . . you can see baby’s head.’

There is a gasp of ‘aww’ around the room, and a small choke from Brian, but I keep my eyes firmly planted on the floor. I can’t look.

‘And here are baby’s feet!’

More aww-ing, a few sobs, Anna’s voice whispering, ‘it’s got my dodgy toe.’ More staring at the linoleum for me.

‘Maggie,’ hisses Sophie, ‘just look, it’s beautiful.’

‘And if I move a little over here... there! There it is, there’s baby.’

I lift my eyes from the floor and force myself to look at the monitor. On the screen is a fuzzy, moving, black-and-white mass of shapes and shadows. Everyone is squeezing Anna, who is mesmerised by the screen. I force myself to look more carefully, and then I see it.

A tiny little baby.

Curled up in Anna’s tummy.

My eyes prick with tears. I feel a strange sensation wash over me and wait for the roar of unfairness and hopelessness, but it doesn’t come. Like a fog has lifted, I realise I’m not crying for myself. I’m not crying because Anna has what I want, or because her pregnancy is taking away everything I’ve got. I’m not crying because she is pushing me back into my old mindset of wanting a husband and a baby and stability. I’m not crying about any of that, because it doesn’t matter. I’m crying because of that tiny little bean-baby, because soon he or she is going to come into the big, scary world. That baby is going to pop out into a crazy, dysfunctional family dynamic, with the most mental godparents and a father who could be its grandfather and a mother who reads signs in tea leaves and believes in ‘connections’. That baby is going to be so fucking loved.

And I realise, suddenly, that I am neither jealous nor resentful. I am just happy. Happy for Anna, happy for Brian and happy for us.

‘How lucky are we?’ I find myself whispering.

‘What?’ Cecilia looks at me.

‘We’re so lucky. We’ve got a new little human joining our group.’ I walk over to Anna and squeeze her hard.

‘Christ, Maggie, are you hormonal or what?’ Anna laughs.

The radiologist tuts at Anna’s language. ‘Shall we take a picture of baby for you to take home? Would Mum and Dad like one each?’ She’s diplomatic. She senses that the photo of this little foetus won’t be going on the fridge in Anna and Brian’s lovingly shared home.

‘Yes, please. A picture of Nugget for both of us.’ She smiles wistfully.

‘Can we have a photo of Nugget, too?’ I say, adopting the new nickname for the baby.

‘It’s a maximum of two per scan, I’m afraid. You can get copies made at camera shops.’ The radiologist sets about rotating the scanner, trying to find the money-shot of Nugget.

‘Pout, queen, work iiiiit,’ Sophie drawls.

We walk out, Anna and Brian cooing over their freshly printed photos. I ask if she can make me a copy and Anna puts her arm round me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. ‘Of course I can.’

‘I see we have a woman transformed,’ laughs Sophie. ‘I didn’t expect that reaction from you, Mags.’

‘Neither did I. It’s just so... lovely, isn’t it?’ I’m welling up again.

Cecilia pats me on the arm. ‘Come on then, home time.’

We bundle back into the car after saying goodbye to Brian and Anna, and twenty minutes later we’re pulling up outside my block.

‘Thanks for the lift, C.’ I undo my seatbelt. ‘What are you two up to for the rest of the day?’

There’s an awkward pause again, unmistakeably this time, and they look at each other quickly. ‘Oh, I’m going back to work,’ Sophie says hurriedly.

‘Yeah, I’ve got stuff to do at home.’ Cecilia shoots me a quick smile.

‘Okay... well, I’ll see you soon?’ I jump out of the car and wave them off, trying to keep the happy baby bubble intact in my stomach.

But I can’t deny it anymore.

Something is up.

* * *

It’s one week after Anna’s scan and I’m stacking the shelves of our new ‘Foreign Romance’ section at the end of my shift, wondering whether Nana could live at Mum and Dad’s indefinitely, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. We’re not really supposed to have phones on the shop floor, but as long as Darren (or a snitchy customer) doesn’t see then it’s basically fine.

I pull it out and see a WhatsApp from Kelsey.

Staff night out next Friday. Going to Common Bar in Northern Quarter. Would be great to have you there? ?

I feel a little stab of irritation. This is the first time Kelsey has contacted me since I left. We were never best friends, but she was the closest thing I had to support in that place. I assumed since I’d ruined my own reputation she was keeping a wide berth, not wanting to be tarnished with my filthy brush. There’s a part of me that wouldn’t blame her for that, although that doesn’t mean it stings any less. But maybe I was wrong? Maybe she did want to see me, but hadn’t known what to say. And now she’s reaching out; offering a way back in. I can’t say I’d ever want to be bosom buddies with her, but it does feel nice that I haven’t been forgotten.

I shove my phone back in my pocket, and feel hot breath on the back of my neck.

‘Maggie.’

I spin around to find Darren smiling at me.

‘You know our phone policy.’

‘Oh god, sorry, Darren. My granddad is really ill so I thought I’d better keep it on me in case of emergencies. I’m really sorry, it won’t happen again.’ I purposefully don’t use Nana as an excuse in case I jinx her. Gramps can’t die twice, can he?

‘Well of course, that’s absolutely fine. Just let me know next time, please? No problem at all though, you’re new and these things happen!’ He pats me on the shoulder. ‘I hope he’s better soon.’

He wanders off across the shop, straightening books as he goes.

Beric sidles over to me. ‘Are you okay?’ He murmurs.

‘Yeah, thanks Beric. Darren’s so understanding. I can’t tell you what a breath of fresh air it is after my old place.’

Beric flinches, his eyes wide. ‘Yeah.’

‘Honestly, my ex-boss was so dysfunctional. Well-intentioned, I think, but nuts. You’re living the dream over here.’ I laugh.

‘Mmm.’ He helps me stack the last few books.

‘You finished now?’ I ask.

‘Yeah.’

‘Shall we go and get a drink?’ I try. I’m so desperate to know what’s going on with him. He seems like he could do with a friend, too, and I could use a pint.

He hesitates for a second. ‘Sure.’

We head out onto Deansgate and into the Coach Inn, AKA the biggest dive pub the world has ever seen. It’s a multi-tiered monstrosity with swirly carpets, dark brown sticky tables and upholstered seat pads. It’s also a Wetherspoons, though, which means everything’s relatively cheap. We settle into a corner with our drinks and Beric visibly relaxes, his body slumped.

‘So,’ I say, cutting straight to the chase, ‘is everything OK?’

Beric smiles and makes eye contact for the first time since I met him. ‘Sure, how’re things with you?’

‘Good, yeah, settling in.’ I stop myself going into detail about how much I’m enjoying the job. He’s so visibly relaxed, it strikes me that his behaviour at work isn’t his personality. It’s a reaction to something. Maybe he’s one of those people who can’t handle hierarchical environments? ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’re different when you’re not in work.’

‘What do you mean? We’ve been here two seconds.’

‘No, I know. Sorry, I don’t want to be presumptuous. I just wondered if maybe you wanted to talk about it. You seem really anxious at work, especially when Darren’s around.’

At the mention of Darren’s name, Beric’s eyes flit around the room and a bead of sweat appears on his forehead.

‘It’s fine. It’s nothing,’ he says.

‘If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. But you don’t seem to speak to many other people at work. I thought if there was something going on I might be able to help, you know. A shoulder or whatever.’ I don’t know what I’m offering, really. Nosiness and empathy are my driving forces right now.

Beric pinches the skin on his hand over and over again. Eventually he stops and looks at me defiantly. ‘Darren’s a dick.’

‘Oh.’

I must look shocked because Beric starts trembling again. ‘Don’t tell him, please. Oh god, please, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Beric, it’s fine. I’m not going to say anything, I promise. I just haven’t seen that, so I’m trying to figure out what you mean. Maybe you can tell me? If you want to.’

He picks up his drink and it sloshes over the side of the glass.

‘Like I said, you don’t have to talk about it—’

‘All right.’

I wait, watching him fight with himself. He looks at the table, blinking rapidly, before taking a deep breath and sitting up straight.

‘I started here about a year ago. I was at a dead end, pretty much. Let go by my old job, rent to pay, my girlfriend was pretty high-maintenance so I needed a steady income. I got the job and I was so happy, honestly. I couldn’t wait. Darren was amazing at first, so supportive. Even when I made mistakes he’d say, these things happen . I thought I’d struck gold. But then everything changed. I’d been there about three months, I think, when it started.’ His eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve never told anyone this before.’

‘It’s OK. Take your time.’

‘At first it was just little whispers here and there; we’d be at the till on our own and he’d say something nasty under his breath. I thought I’d misheard. Then there were notes. Little things in my locker. Threats, you know? Then he turned everyone else against me, nobody spoke to me anymore. He told them things about me, things that weren’t even true, that he wouldn’t know anyway. And now, if I mess up, he makes me do stock check with him at night and he trips me up, mixes books I’ve already organised, hides stuff so I have to look for it. I tried telling Anita but she said I was mad, told me to see someone.’

Beric shakes his head and gazes into his drink. He’s not shaking anymore.

I can’t speak for a second. I’m trying to reconcile that version of Darren with the one I know; the charmer and understander. I’m also trying to imagine how that must feel — to be so subtly and systematically undermined and broken down, until you’re living in terror every day, a shell of yourself.

‘Beric,’ I say, eventually. ‘I am so, so sorry that you’ve gone through this. I know you don’t really know me, but I want you to know you can trust me. I promise you can trust me. Do you believe me?’

He looks at me for a second. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I believe you.’

‘Good,’ I say, shifting in my seat. ‘Now, we need to do something about him. I’m going over there right now.’

‘No!’ Beric is alarmed. ‘No, don’t. We can’t be impulsive about this.’

Impulsive. There’s that word again. It’s been following me around for weeks. And here is yet more proof that I don’t know any other way to resolve a situation than acting on my immediate feelings and blowing up. I guess it’s time to test myself.

‘Okay, you’re right. Let’s be calculating. What do you suggest?’

‘I don’t know.’ Beric stares gloomily at the table. ‘I can’t lose my job.’

‘What would happen if you lost your job?’

He looks at me as if I’m stupid. ‘Well, I wouldn’t have any money, would I? I need to pay my rent.’

I get it. It’s terrifying having the burden of rent resting squarely on your shoulders, especially when you have nobody else chipping in. I’m lucky enough to have Mum and Dad able to give me fifty quid here and there; I don’t know what Beric’s situation is at all. I’m almost glad Martin never contributed — losing my job and boyfriend in the same week would have been so much harder if I wasn’t already used to paying for everything myself.

‘And a high-maintenance girlfriend?’ I smile, trying to soften things a little.

‘She’s long gone.’

‘Then what’s the issue? We can’t be so terrified of losing our jobs that we never stand up for ourselves, Beric. There are a million jobs in this city, we’ll find another one. Do you have any savings?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then fuck it!’ I grab his hand. ‘It’s worth the risk, isn’t it? And take it from me, if this goes tits up, you will find your feet again.’

Beric blinks. ‘Okay. Okay, let’s do something.’

I grin, an idea forming. ‘I say we collect evidence, report him to HR, and fuck him. And we have a bit of fun while we’re doing it.’

‘How do we collect evidence?’ He looks overwhelmed.

I wink. ‘I’m glad you asked . . .’