Chapter 80 Margot
Chapter 80
Margot
I reread the message to check the time we’re expected.
Okay girls, it’s been aaaages since I last saw you , Liv’s text begins. I hate it when people elongate words. I have the house to myself on Sunday morning. Who’s free for brunch? I won’t take no for an answer ... see you at eleven!
Anna was the first to respond, me a little later. Liv was right, though. As I slip my coat on, I reckon it must be almost two months since we’ve all been in the same room. Liv has stopped by the house to see how I’m doing, but the kids or Nicu have always been around, so it’s never just me and her. But I remember thinking that when I told her I was pregnant, she didn’t give the reaction I’d expected. In fact, for a moment, her face became so hard it could have cut granite. She recovered quickly and redressed it with a smile. But I know what I saw. Perhaps I’ll find out today what’s troubling her.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Anna lately, which, depending on your perspective, is either remarkable or plain fucking crazy. There are no hard and fast rules on how to proceed after discovering your sociopathic lover’s psychopathic serial-killing sister was responsible for destroying years of your life. But if it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead. At least Nicu wouldn’t have needed to pay for a cremation. He could have brushed my ashes off the playing fields and straight into an urn.
And while she promises me Drew won’t be troubling me again, I feel safer knowing she’s around if he decides to return. I don’t only have my safety to think about now, but the baby’s too. I remain cautious of her, though, I’d be stupid not to. A shark is never going to tell you when it’s hungry. It’s one of the reasons I’ve asked her to be the baby’s godmother. If she wants to protect her niece or nephew, she is going to have to look out for me too.
Anna was the first person outside the family I told about my pregnancy. And once she overcame her initial surprise, her enthusiasm felt genuine. Although she’s fooled me before, so I’m always on the lookout for signs of deceit. She was definitely more animated than I was when I learned I was knocked up at forty-one. It’s the understatement of the year to say I was shocked: horrified, if I’m being completely honest. The baby had made its presence known following routine blood tests during my post-bonfire hospital recovery. IUDs are supposed to be ninety-nine per cent effective but I was in the one per cent club. The doctor, assuming Nicu was the father, broke the news to us together. We’d immediately known that unless I’d sleep-fucked him, it wasn’t his baby.
I’ve been pregnant twice before, both of which were swiftly terminated. The first in my early twenties, just as the band was taking off, and the other the same day we learned we had our first number one single. I haven’t regretted either for a moment. I’d have made a terrible, selfish mother. But this time is different and I can’t explain why. I still have very little faith in my mothering potential, but I know I want this baby. I want to protect it. If it can survive almost being burned alive in utero, maybe it can survive having me as a parent.
But I was convinced it’d be the breaking point for me and Nicu. I admitted to him the man I had an affair with was Drew, that Anna had forgiven me, and that he’d since vanished and was unlikely to return. I didn’t mention he and Anna were actually brother and sister, or that he tried to roast me alive. I also told Nicu it was the biggest mistake of my life – which is saying something, considering the back catalogue of fuck-ups to choose from – and that I didn’t expect him to understand or forgive me. You can only push a person so far before they up and walk away. He took a few days to process before we discussed it again.
‘You helped to raise my kids, now it’s my turn to do the same with yours,’ he said.
‘But I haven’t raised your kids,’ I protested, as if trying to argue myself out of having him feeling contractually obliged to return a favour. ‘They’ve raised themselves. I’ve coexisted with them.’
‘You could’ve been better, but I don’t think you’re aware of the positives you’ve had on them. They’re self-sufficient because of you. They’re opinionated because of you. They are headstrong and know their own minds because of you. They are determined because of you.’
‘No, they’re all of those things in spite of me,’ I corrected.
‘Since the fire, you’ve been more of a mum to them than you realise. You’re already closer than you’ve ever been. Frankie is thirteen, and it won’t be long until Tommy is a teenager too. They’ll need you more than they ever have before. Let your family in. If not for our sake, then for the baby’s.’
I blame fluctuating hormones for the banshee-like sobs that followed, along with my refusal to be the first to let go when he hugged me.
Almost as unexpected as my pregnancy has been the renewed interest in me from television producers. When Help! I’m In The House From Hell! finally aired, it became a ratings hit. The day before Christmas Eve, I signed a contract with a TV production company to start filming a ten-part fly-on-the-wall documentary series. I’ve been filming three to four times a week since January and the cameras will follow our family for the first few weeks after the baby’s arrival. Frankie jokes we’re the bargain-basement Kardashians.
I’ve also been making a two-part documentary for ITV about stalkers. The world still believes it was the person who sent me hate mail that tried to murder me. And I’ve been helping Frankie film her own documentary for BBC Three about living as a non-binary teen. My manager has also heard rumblings that Strictly producers are considering making Nicu and me an offer to return to the show, dancing as a couple. If I’d known all it would take to make me popular again was to hog-roast me, I’d have stuffed an apple in my mouth and jumped on the rotisserie grill years ago.
Anna’s been a fusspot, worried about my high blood pressure and urging me to slow things down. But she doesn’t understand how fame works. That I need to capitalise on these opportunities while they’re being thrown at me. Because I know they can be taken away just as quickly.
All of this work and family time means I haven’t had much time for Liv.
I reach the end of my driveway when Anna approaches me.
‘Look at you,’ she says, eyes fixed on my expanding waistline. ‘You’re blooming.’
‘I’m a blooming water buffalo,’ I respond. ‘I should be grazing on the Serengeti. I’ve spent the last twenty-five years fighting to stay a size six to eight, and now if I want to squeeze into a twelve, I need to fast for a week.’ I pat the bump as a smile creeps across my face. ‘So you’d better be worth it, kid.’
The more time I’ve spent with Anna, this warts-and-all version, the more I’m learning how to read her. I sense something’s on her mind.
‘Everything alright?’ I ask.
‘Yes, fine,’ she says.
I’m unconvinced. ‘Anna,’ I say slowly. ‘What are you not telling me?’
‘Nothing,’ she says and looks towards Liv’s door, as if it opening will unleash a new strain of Covid.
‘I thought we were going to be honest with each other.’
She deliberates for a moment before speaking. ‘There’s something I should have told you before ...’
But Liv’s door opens before she can finish.