Steffi
Woah.
That’s the word that almost escapes my mouth when Lauren turns around.
Wo and ah.
Also.
Fuck.
‘Wow! You look amazing!’ The lies pour from my mouth as I try to hand her the coffee before realising she has no spare hands. ‘Oh hi, Woody! Lauren he’s adorable!’
‘. You’re here. I didn’t know if you were on the train or not.’ Lauren jiggles her baby on one hip and reaches out awkwardly to take the coffee. Her voice is as strained as mine, and I know her well enough to know she’s pissed at me. I scan her face, Woody’s face, the fact she’s parked over two spaces, and curse myself.
‘I had to make a work call when I got off the platform because the coverage was so bad on the train,’ I explain. ‘Sorry,’ I say, with total sincerity.
She softens as my apology lands and smiles. ‘A work call? On a Saturday? How’s the agency going then? Is it . . .’
Woody lets out a screech and lurches in her arms, making a swing for the coffee, almost spilling it over her. ‘No Woody. Not for babies. No. That straw will stab you in the eye babe. Here! Look! It’s Aunty !’ She dangles him in front of me, like I’m a toy, and I put my coffee on the roof of her car and take him from her, feeling that anxiety that the baby will reject me and cry, and it’s embarrassing for all involved. But Woody accepts me, lunges for my necklace and puts one of the giant beads in his mouth. I wince but let my jewellery take the hit.
‘Sorry. We’ve had a bit of a journey,’ Lauren leans against the hot metal of her car and gratefully gulps the coffee like she used to throw back shots at Vodka Revs. ‘We’ve been doing this sleep training thing. He was supposed to go down in the car, but there was this man. He’s only had 40 minutes this morning which isn’t enough but . . .’ She stops, shakes her head. ‘Sorry. Boring fucking baby stuff, pouring out of my mouth the moment you arrive. When I promised myself I wouldn’t.’
I pat her arm, still adjusting to this strange, manic, Lauren. ‘Dude, it’s fine. I’m sorry he’s not sleeping. Nightmare. I don’t know how parents do it.’
She drains the coffee, swishes the straw around to dislodge the last dregs from the ice, and necks the last slurp. I watch her, taking her in, still acclimatising to this woman in front of me who appears to be my old friend Lauren. She’s almost unrecognisable. She’s wearing navy for one. A colour I thought she was actually allergic to. I don’t think I’ve seen her in any outfit that doesn’t involve at least one primary colour and one neon. Her face has some makeup on, but not the usual bold statement lip I’m so used to. And the makeup’s already flaking on dry patches around her nose, purple bruises showing through under her eyes, a wonky eyeliner. Her hair’s scraped up in one of those ‘ mum buns ’ – I’m guessing to stop Woody yanking it. He’s already tugging at mine as he coats every necklace bead in slurpy drool. And, I feel like a bitch for noticing it, but Lauren’s weight is hugely different. She’s always had that enviable hourglass thing going on – lovely boobs, tiny waist – though her sex appeal was always dented by her dressing like an exploded paintbox. Now, in her navy sack, there’s no ins or outs, just plumpness and sagging both at the same time, if that’s possible? I hate myself for thinking it, but I think it nonetheless.
Wow, she ’ s really not lost the baby weight.
Which shocks me as Woody is, what, almost a year old? And Lauren’s figure has always been so effortlessly amazing.
‘Shall we get in the car?’ she asks. ‘God knows how long it will take to get there. Google maps is just shoving a pin in the middle of a grey nothingness.’
‘Yes. Fab. Please tell me your car has air con.’
‘It does!’
‘Amazing. Oh, it’s so good to see you.’ I try and hug her again, but, as I lean over, Woody smells his mother and starts straining out for her crying. I can’t be sure, but there’s a roll of her eyes almost as she takes him.
‘Yeah, you too,’ she says, distracted. ‘Right, baby, are we going to be good in the car? Yes? No crying please in front of Aunty . It’s open,’ she calls over, and I hop in the front while she buckles Woody up, stifling a gasp at the state of the car. It’s filthy, with crumbs everywhere, toys covered with lint, empty biscuit packets and cans of coke rattling by the feet. I quietly put my jacket down on the seat before I clamber in, to protect my dress. Woody’s clipped in and assigned a toy in each hand which he flaps about in apparent good temper. Lauren ducks in, starts the engine, and chucks her phone over to me.
‘Do you mind Google mapping? I have no clue where we’re going, but I officially hate Nicki’s parents for moving somewhere so photogenic yet so fucking far away.’
I laugh and dutifully load up the route. ‘It’s quite an ask, isn’t it? Come to the official middle of nowhere. Bring a nappy tree for good measure.’
‘Did I even have a baby shower?’ Lauren asks, indicating out. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘We went to a spa, the four of us instead.’
‘Oh God, yes. Fucking Mummy-To-Be Pamper Day my arse. Pay 200 quid and you’re not allowed in the hot tub, or the steam or sauna. And I couldn’t even eat the afternoon tea cos I had gestational diabetes. No wonder I’ve wiped it.’
I hold my hands out in front of the blasting air con. ‘I, however, had a great time eating all your cakes and watching Charlotte spend the day picking up discarded towels and folding them.’
She laughs and I feel the tension between us drop its arms. We steer out of town, around some tricky roundabouts, Lauren concentrating too hard to talk much. Then her phone chants ‘ Follow this road for ten miles, ’ and I prop it up in an empty cup holder and turn to smile at Woody.
‘He’s so cute, Lauren.’
She smiles and lets go of the steering wheel to fluff her hair. ‘He is. Nine months is proper nappy-advert age. What you imagine a baby to look like, right? Rather than a deformed alien frog twitching on the floor uselessly.’
‘I can’t believe how big he’s gotten since I last saw him. I’ve missed you, Lauren, it’s been ages.’
She nods. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been a useless pathetic waste of a human since Woody was born.’
I wince at how she’s just described herself and reach over to pat her arm. ‘You’re a new parent, Lauren. Be kind to yourself.’
She lets out a bark of a laugh. ‘I think that’s an excuse for about six weeks max. One of the NCT lot has taken their baby on four long-haul holidays already.’
‘Well, it’s different for everyone.’
I’m not sure what else to say. I always feel like any advice I give my parent friends is unlikely to be listened to since I don’t have the experiential element to back it. I’ve seen enough of my friends go from happy to mess to know they’re not alone (and to remind myself being childfree is such a valid choice) but you can’t really say, ‘ if it helps any, everyone I know who’s had a baby seems to have ruined their lives? ’ That’s my judgement anyway. They always game face and tell me determinedly how ‘worth it’ it is.
This car journey’s quite the fall to earth after such a surreal morning. I can’t keep my hands still, they twirl like a combine harvester in my lap, and coffee wasn’t a good plan. I’m DYING to tell Lauren about what’s happening – especially as she works in publishing so gets what it all means. But I want her to bring it up in case I seem self-obsessed.
Theres a thunk behind us as Woody drops one toy down the gap. Another thunk as the other toy joins it. I twist around to see him beaming, like gravity is the best thing ever. And, when I turn back, Lauren’s face is more hers again. She glances over.
‘I’ve just realised, you’re submitting that book this week, aren’t you? To start your agency with. Oh my God, how’s it going? Sorry I’ve not asked sooner.’
‘Oh, no worries.’ My hands start pat-a-caking with joy as speaking it out loud makes it even more real. ‘It’s going really well actually. I had two offers come in from UK publishers overnight.’
Woody lets out a shriek, and I twist, unable to tell from his face if it’s a happy one or not.
‘Ignore him. Oh my God, . That’s brilliant. Offers on a Saturday! That’s huge. Wow. So, you’re thinking auction on Monday, right? Or do you think a pre-empt is going to come in. How do you . . .’ Woody starts bawling. Zero to 70. ‘Oh Woody, what’s wrong? What’s wrong baby? Have you lost your toy?’ He screams and starts banging the window, his whole face red. ‘, do you mind trying to get his toy? Can you reach?’
‘Err. Sure.’ I contort myself to try and grab a plastic giraffe ear I can see poking out from behind the seat but can’t reach it. Woody smacks my hands away as I try, screaming louder. ‘Hang on. I’ll unbuckle.’
‘So, you must be delighted?’ Lauren attempts, as I risk death by leaning through the middle partition. I sigh in relief as I clasp the giraffe, pass it to Woody, and expect some respite, but he just grabs it and throws it to one side, screaming louder at the audacity that I thought it would help. ‘Ohh.’
‘Ignore him, honestly. He’ll calm down in a sec.’
‘Umm OK.’ I buckle up again, trying not to pull a face at how jarringly horrible the sound of his screaming is.
‘So, auction, yes?’ Lauren yells to be heard as we hurtle past rolling fields, sheep lying uncomfortably in their wool coats under the trees.
‘Yes, unless I get a seven-figure pre-empt. Which I might, because . . .’ I really wanted to share this news without my eardrums being violated but saying it out loud will still feel amazing. Just like ringing Rosa on the platform felt amazing. She dropped the phone and started crying and couldn’t get the words out to tell her housemate what was going on. It took a while to convince her that Blood Moon isn’t only getting published, it’s going to be a global phenomenon.
Those calls are the reason I do the job. When I feel like a Fairy Godmother. Everything I do is so I can make calls like that. People say publishing is a fixed game, and it ’ s not what you know but who you know , etc. And, to some degree that’s true. Everyone went to similar boarding schools before alighting the English Lit train at Oxbridge station. Loads of novels get published because they’re written by so and so ’ s granddaughter, or because they’ve got a podcast, or a certain number of Instagram followers. God knows I represent some of those authors myself, because I know where the bread is buttered, and it’s nepotism side up. But there are moments of true meritocracy. Where a regular civilian quietly writes an incredible, game-changing novel, not realising how good it is, or they are, and is only dreaming of maybe a tiny publishing deal, and the chance to have a launch party, and to see their book in the shop. Making that dream come true but multiplying it by a million and getting to be the one who tells them . . . Well you can’t beat that feeling. People think I’m unmaternal because I never want to have kids but if they knew how I feel about my clients. How they ’ re my children in that their joy is my joy, their hardships my hardships. I will do anything in my power to make life better and easier for them and want the world to know just how special they are . . . If people understood that maybe I’d be dumped less by men who think I’m uncaring . . . fucking Jeremy.
‘Seven figures?’ Lauren asks, though she’s distracted by the back mirror, watching Woody squirm about in his car seat. ‘Wow, that would set your agency up so well.’
‘I hope so. It would be such a relief.’
‘Oh, . If only your mum was here. She’d be so proud. I’m so proud.’
‘Stop it or I’ll cry.’ This was what I needed. Lauren getting it. Being able to tell her in person. I really have missed her.
‘So, what next? Have you . . . Woody? Woody! It’s OK. It’s just the car. It’s OK.’
Her baby throws his whole body back, face red.
I try and carry on as usual. ‘Yeah, well, you’ll never believe it, but Nina Baldwin herself literally just emailed this morning. She wants to option, with Nina playing the main part.’
‘Fuck!’
‘I know, I’m still in shock.’
‘Woody! What the hell is wrong now?’ She takes a hand off the steering wheel and wraps it around the back of the chair, clicking her fingers to get him to calm down. It doesn’t work. ‘Nina? Wow, . That’s . . . Sorry. I want to give this my proper attention but don’t know what’s got into Woody. Woody please. Stop crying. Go to sleep.’ She suddenly shouts out of nowhere, ‘You’re tired because you won’t ever go to fucking sleep. ’
I cover my mouth to catch my shock. Woody is stunned silent for a second, before erupting into more screams. She darts a horrified look at me.
‘Sorry . I just . . . He woke from his nap just before we picked you up. He’s knackered. I’m knackered. I . . . sorry. I . . . Oh Woody, baby, Mummy didn’t mean it. Hey, hey, it’s OK.’
He’s beyond inconsolable. Screaming so loud he’s probably opened a portal to another reality. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, unsure what else to add, ‘Umm, are you OK?’
She takes a deep breath and plasters on this weird face I’ve never seen before – vacant, gone. ‘Sorry . I’m going to have to pull over. Do you mind getting into the back with him?’
‘No, of course.’
‘Nowhere to pull over on these country roads, are there? Shh Woody. Shh. It’s alright. Hang on, this will do.’
She jerks the car into a turn off for a private farm and we all whiplash to a halt. ‘OK, get in the back. Thank you. Hang on, you’ll need this.’ She brings up her phone, opens YouTube and types in ‘baby sensory’ before hitting play and handing it over. I was expecting her to get out and comfort Woody herself but the blankness is still on her face. I scramble next to him and hold the screen up to his face.
‘OK, wow,’ I say, as the car pulls away again, and Woody literally breaks into a smile, tears suspended on his cheeks. He stares intently at the dancing strawberries on the phone.
‘It’s like baby crack,’ Lauren shouts back. ‘Sorry for all the drama. I should’ve just put you in the back with him from the off. Serves me right for trying to be a grown-up.’
‘It’s fine. It’s just, funny.’ I wave my hand in front of Woody’s face, but he doesn’t even blink. He’s too ensconced by the kiwi fruit with giant eyeballs raining from the sky on top of the bouncing strawberries.
An awkward calm descends as we continue into the middle of nowhere. I can’t deny it’s gorgeous out here and is probably even lusher when we’re not mid-drought. There’s so much sky, and hedgerows and space, and London already feels like a squished-up polluted nightmare to return to later. Woody’s silent, his eyes drying out from not blinking. Lauren is navigating the twisting roads calmly and slowly, and you wouldn’t think she’d screamed her head off only a minute ago.
‘So,’ she calls back. ‘Nina Baldwin. Honestly, . You must be losing your mind!’
I smile. My dear friend has returned, if only temporarily. I can hear it in her voice. ‘I just rang the author now. She’s made up. I told her there’ll be other offers but she’s going to say yes to Nina, no matter what the other studios throw at her. I won’t tell them that, obviously, until I negotiate a sweet deal.’
‘I’m not surprised at all, . I always knew you’d soar like a firework the moment you went solo.’
‘Thank you. This is beyond my wildest dreams though.’
‘I’m so proud, babe.’ Lauren glances down at my phone, guiding her way. ‘Hang on, I think we’re almost there. It says it’s along here in a mile or two . . . Woody OK back there?’
Woody still hasn’t blinked. Some crazed pineapples are spinning upside down, while Woody’s little fingers twitch with joy.
‘He’s suitably comatose.’
‘Brilliant. Oh my God. Hang on. How the hell are you going to broker all these deals at Nicki’s baby shower?’
I laugh, loving Lauren even more for totally getting it. ‘It will involve diplomacy,’ I say.
‘Diplomacy? It will involve bare-faced lying! What are you going with? Stomach upset? Shall I help fluff Nicki for you? Say you looked green when I picked you up?’
The car slows as a calm voice tells us our destination should soon be on the left. I don’t understand how a house could be here. This isn’t a road, it’s a track. There are no streetlights, or pavement – only hedgerows and dried up fields.
‘That would be useful, thank you. You know I would never miss today but it’s not ideal timing. Oh, look, there it is. Wow.’
The house appears like a mirage, shimmering in the heat at the end of a dirt track Lauren just about turns onto on time. It’s basically a greenhouse on stilts. Modern, gleaming, expensive . . . Definitely designed by some architect who doesn’t mind if passersby can see you naked. A giant balloon archway looms over the front steps, removing any taste from our initial impression.
‘We are going to melt in that thing,’ Lauren says as we crunch along the gravel. ‘And how the hell is Woody supposed to sleep when the whole house is a giant window?’
Even Woody’s wowed enough to twist his little head away from the phone. He starts flapping his hands, cackling, sensing an upcoming change in environment. Lauren parks up and lets out a low whistle before twisting around with a grin.
‘, I am so, so excited for you. Truly. Well done. This is only the beginning.’
Right at that moment, my phone dings, and she passes it over, seeing the urgent bulge of my eyes. ‘Who is it? Is it another offer?’
I scan the email and squeal. ‘Oh my God. It’s Mountain Scape Studios! Another movie deal. What is actually going on?!’
‘! This is . . . oh my! I’m so thrilled for you! So thrilled! Do you want us to stay in the car a sec, so you can read the email and reply? Woody’s on his baby sensory crack so he’s fine.’
‘That would be amazing, do you mind?’ I’m already scanning the email. They’ve gone in big and sent through a figure. There are zeros. Lots of zeros. I’m going to have to take it to Rosa right away. This may be worth turning down Nina for. Wow. Yikes. Even I don’t know what to do! I’m supposed to know what to do. This is my business. I’m the expert. I’m in charge. Oh help. Help.
‘I don’t mind at all. I might just sit here and close my eyes if that’s not weird? Take a second to . . . Oh.’
We all jump as someone bangs on the car window. Charlotte’s giant pupils beam through the windscreen, her teeth glinting in the sun.
‘You’re here,’ she screams so shrilly, that Woody, predictably, I’ve learned, starts crying.