Lauren
I can’t cope with how they’re looking at me. My friends. My supposed best friends – who’ve had my back since I was nineteen, are now staring at me like I’ve openly smacked Woody around the face, rather than left him in his cot for a moment.
‘What the hell is going on?’
Nicki appears at the top of the stairs – her puffy face tear-stained and red – and Charlotte explains like I’m not even here.
‘Steffi picked up Woody after left him to cry.’
‘I didn’t leave him to cry!’
I rock him and bounce my baby like he’s a newborn, but he won’t stop crying. He’s still, clearly, traumatised by what I’ve done to him and I feel so guilty I want to bite off my own tongue to punish myself.
‘!’ Nicki says. Her judgement is immediate and searing as she takes in Woody’s distress.
I twist to her, pregnant and clueless. ‘Oh, fuck off. You have no idea what it’s like. You will soon though, then I’ll just love to see what you do.’
‘What? You can’t tell me to fuck off.’
‘I just did.’
I bounce Woody harder, his roars short-circuiting my brain, feeling my grip let go, finger by finger. Why won’t he stop crying? Why is h e always crying? I have given him literally everything and he still always cries. He’s taken my body, my identity, my free time, my sleep, my sanity, my marriage, my sex life, my independence, my savings, my friendships . . . everything that’s good about my life, I’ve pulped it to blood on the altar of motherhood, and yet he still always cries. It’s still never enough. Every day, I realise, it won’t be enough. I’ll forever fail him and let him down and fuck him up and hate myself for it, and he’ll hate and resent me for not doing a better job. And now my friends think I’m doing a terrible job, when I literally couldn’t try any harder than I’m trying . . . I have nothing left to give this and yet they’re staring at me in utter disgust.
Steffi steps in between us. ‘Hey, come on. This is all going a bit mad.’
‘Oh you can fuck off too,’ I say. ‘You started this.’
‘I started this? By trying to help you?’
‘You’re judging me,’ I scream. ‘And not just about Woody crying. You’re judging how fat I am, and how boring I now am and how shit my clothes are. I saw your face in the car park when I picked you up . . . thanks for keeping me waiting for so long my fucking baby woke up.’
I can almost see Steffi’s skin prickle. She takes a step forwards, ‘Oh and you’re not judging me? I heard you and Nicki earlier, outside on the decking. Saying I was, what? Selfish? You’re allowed to openly judge me and bitch about me and I’m not allowed to, too?’
She heard us? There’s a faint pang of guilt but very little room for it when I realise she does think I’m fat and frumpy and a shit, boring mother. I knew it. Why does everyone lie to my face? I’ve had a child, not become one.
Nicki steps forward. ‘Steffi, I really don’t think you’re in a place to judge mothers. I’m just saying . . .’
Steffi turns on her, practically growling. ‘Oh, what a surprise! Sweet, wonderful Nicki is jumping on any opportunity to shove a knife in my back. You’re so boring.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘I’m sorry Nicki, you know. I’m sorry I shagged your husband before you met him. I did it deliberately actually. You see, I’m psychic, and I knew he was your future husband and I deliberately did it to spite you. You ’ re the victim. Congratulations! Not me. Not the one who happily stood aside.’
‘Stood aside?’ Nicki laughs. ‘Matt wasn’t interested in you.’
‘Oh thank you for pointing that out again. You’ve been so nice throughout this whole thing. You do realise I did nothing wrong? And you’ve been nothing but hateful to me since you got engaged. I’ve taken it and taken it and I’m even here. At your fucking baby shower, with a present, and you still bitch about me . . . But, yeah, you ’ re the victim.’ Steffi starts clapping. ‘Poor, poor Nicki. Well done.’