35
High Tide
Polly snuck into the Honeypot Café, knowing that the waitresses would be too busy serving their Saturday lunchtime customers to wonder why Polly was using their restroom when she had a perfectly good one back at Cutie Pie.
Shutting the door of the Ladies behind her, she took a deep breath to try and steady her nerves. Here goes nothing .
*
She stared at the stick. No doubt about it. There was the second blue line. Pregnant. And this was the third stick she’d weed on. She stayed where she was – sitting on the loo seat – staring at the feckin’ stick, when – Beep Beep . It was a text from Mel.
Have you done it yet? What’s the result?
Honestly, there were times when Polly wondered if her friend had supernatural powers.
Opening the Compose Message box on her mobile (instead of the more sensible Reply one), Polly tapped out:
Just did test. Am pregnant! Up the duff!
She scrolled down her list of contacts to Mel’s name – located just below that of Max. Max , she thought. What shall I say to Max when I see him? He’s bound to be there at the screening later today? Without thinking, she clicked on Max instead of Mel, and pressed Send.
What? ‘Oh no!’ she cried out loud. Too late, as the message was already winging its way to the wrong target. ‘Oh fuckin’ no-o-o-o!’
But yep, she’d only gone and sent the message to Max instead of Mel.
A shy knock came on the door. ‘You all right in there?’ enquired a female voice.
She couldn’t face sending Max another text; she couldn’t face another angry call from him, either. She knew it was the coward’s way out, but she switched her mobile off. She was bound to see him at the screening, in any case, and by then she would have her friends around her for moral support. Flushing the toilet, she gave herself a feeble smile in the cloakroom mirror and mentally crossed her fingers.
After collecting Rowan from the childminder’s, Mel was waiting for her outside her door – suitably done up to the nines in a pair of black cigarette trousers, white top and tailored black jacket.
‘Well?’ she demanded, as Polly, carrying Rowan in her arms, walked up the path.
‘Let’s go inside first,’ said Polly.
Mel had her impatient face on but said no more as she followed Polly inside, where Rowan was safely settled in front of The Little Mermaid on the DVD player. Polly, returning to the kitchen, was met by Mel, who’d been pacing back and forth, ostensibly waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘Well?’
‘Well, if you’re making tea then none for me. Remember, it makes me sick when I’m…’ said Polly.
‘Oh God, so you are! Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Yes.’ Polly half turned her face away, still not sure if she was glad or not about her news.
‘You really are pregnant? You numpty!’ Mel wiped her forehead with her hand. ‘Sorry, but honestly you are a stupid mare, sometimes.’
‘That’s not the worst of it,’ said Polly. She told Mel about the text message she’d sent to Max.
Mel burst into laughter. ‘Ha ha ha. Oh dear, you don’t half get yourself into some scrapes! Ha ha ha ha.’
The doorbell went. ‘Dadd-eee!’ shouted Rowan, up on her feet and already in the hallway. Polly glanced at Mel. ‘Can you answer it, please?’ She grimaced at her. ‘Just in case it’s Max.’
Collecting Rowan into her arms, Polly watched from the kitchen doorway as Mel opened the door. Maybe it was Spike. But no, it was Tiggy, closely followed by Dolphin. Of course, they were babysitting!
‘You all right, Poll?’ said Tiggy, holding out her arms for Rowan. ‘Hey there, Ro Ro!’
‘I’d better go and get ready,’ Polly announced.
‘Yeah, you better had. And fasten your seat belts,’ said Mel, in best Bette Davis mode, ‘it’s gonna be a bumpy night.’
Just then, the doorbell rang again. ‘Anna and John, I expect.’ They were giving Mel and Polly a lift to the screening. ‘Can you let them in?’ Polly asked Mel.
‘What did your last slave die of? All right, all right.’
Polly grabbed her arm and whispered, ‘Not a word, yeah? About the pregnancy. I need to tell Spike first. Okay?’
‘Whatever you say, oh mistress.’
*
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Polly said to Anna. ‘We could have walked, honest.’
‘What, in those shoes?’ said Mel, giving a pointed look at Polly’s new purchase from Irregular Choice.
Annabelle turned around in her seat as John started up the engine of their spanking brand new BMW and said, ‘No problem, girls. You have to arrive in style. You are the star, after all, Polly.’
Polly had dressed up for the occasion in one of her new Hawaiian print dresses – with very low cleavage – a Mexican bead necklace and her favourite navy Vivienne Westwood jacket purchased from eBay. It was true that the blue sandals on her feet decorated with ladybirds were ridiculously high, but they made her legs look fabulous, even if she said so herself.
‘Just where is this hut thingy?’ asked Mel.
‘You’ll love it,’ said John. ‘Very trendy.’
‘We went to one of those pop-up restaurants in there,’ said Anna. ‘It’s become terribly popular as a small discreet venue. Quite the perfect place for a small screening.’
‘How’s the musical coming along?’ Polly asked Anna.
‘It’s been cancelled,’ she said, not sounding particularly bothered.
‘That’s dreadful,’ said Polly.
‘It’s not so bad. I get to keep my fee. It happens all the time, you know. Especially as there are so many Mamma Mia -type musicals out there, and loads of celebs trying to get in on the act. It’s actually worked out quite well, as Handbag Films have optioned my script for Down the Locarno .’
‘That’s brilliant,’ said Mel.
‘Isn’t it just?’ Anna beamed with excitement, and John patted her affectionately on the knee. ‘I’m delighted actually. There’s even a rumour that Tom Hanks might come on board for the production. There’s a real feel for ’60s music right now. And they say my play is authentic. Yeah? Tamla, Stax, Ska, Bluebeat, Desmond Dekker – Oh, and Prince Buster. All dem rude boys, “Uptown Top Ranking”, innit. Set in St Pauls, with its Windrush West Indian population. Be great. The timing is right, and I’m ready to surf that zeitgeist,’ she said, doing a surfing motion with her hand and then turning back in her seat to face front. ‘Still, we’ll see. Things often get commissioned. Scripted. And then stall. But, if they do get Tom…’
‘Sounds fab,’ said Polly, wishing she could summon up more enthusiasm. She did think it a fantastic project. She’d defo go see the movie. But right now she had other things on her mind, like: would Spike be at the screening? Was Max going to blow his top? Would she come across as a right pillock in Vanessa’s film?
‘Hey,’ said Anna, sensing her friend’s unease. ‘Don’t worry about your little film. If Vanessa has messed it up then not many people will see it – not even if she posts it up on YouTube.’
(Famous last words as it turned out, because the film would go on to win awards all over Europe, and Polly become a bit of a minor celeb. But that was all to happen much, much later.)
As they drove their short drive to park near The Scout Hut, they passed people scurrying home to their families, and Polly’s head turned to watch two seagulls squabbling over a piece of burger bun. She wished she hadn’t stayed up so late watching Practical Magic on Film Four. As she stared out of the car window, her attention was drawn to a small pile of leaves being quickly picked up by a gust of wind which sent them spiralling into the air like a double helix, or some witchy portent.
Mel squeezed Polly’s hand. ‘Count to ten. Everything is going to be fine.’
‘Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you,’ said Anna. ‘I bumped into Spike yesterday when I was in Bath. He was coming out of Doolally’s café.’
‘Spike?’ said Mel. ‘I thought he was in…’
‘…Kettering,’ said Polly, her voice barely above a whisper, and her heart pounding away so loudly that she was sure people walking past the car must be able to hear it.
‘I asked him where Bam was, and he looked most shifty.’
‘Shh,’ Polly hissed at Mel, shaking her head in warning not to say anything.
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Spike and Bam were to get married. Would you?’ said Anna. ‘She’d be great with kids.’
‘Oh, oh,’ Anna continued, as she pointed out of the window. ‘Over there’ – indicating a parking space to John. ‘I invited Spike along to the screening tonight.’ She twisted round to smile at Polly. ‘Hope that’s okay with you, Polly. Maybe he’ll bring Bam along too.’
Oh goodee , Polly thought, miserably. Spike, Bam and their little bun in the oven. Won’t that be great!
*
From where they parked, it was a short walk across the cobbles to The Scout Hut, which stood on the edge of Redcliffe Wharf, directly opposite a converted boat-cum-bar-cum-club called The Thekla . Polly had spent many a carefree night boogieing away to a live band or DJ in there – before Rowan. It used to be one of her favourite haunts, but she’d not noticed the hut before. Approaching, she could see that The Scout Hut did what it said on the tin, being a large dark-stained wooden shed – much like a scout hut. It put her in mind of the place where she’d briefly had ballet lessons as a child.
Inside, the venue was full of people milling around, chatting, getting drinks, standing in groups, or finding their seats in the forty or so stackable chairs which had been arranged in rows to face the white film screen at one end. ‘I wasn’t expecting so many people,’ Polly whispered to Mel.
A trestle table served as a bar, where people happily queued for beers and wine. Maybe most of the audience are Vanessa’s friends , she thought, although she hadn’t spotted anyone that she knew – yet. (A few she did vaguely recognise…)
‘This is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into,’ Mel half whispered back, as she elbowed Polly and pointed to where Max was standing – up front, next to Vanessa, who wore a broad grin on her face and a voluminous red kaftan on her body.
Spotting them, Vanessa rushed to give Polly a kiss on each cheek. ‘Lovely, lovely,’ she said.
‘Sarah here, is she?’ said Polly, looking around her. She was determined to not let Sarah see that she was at all fazed by their embarrassing doorstep encounter.
‘Why would she be? Oh, you don’t know, do you? We decided to drop Sarah and edit the film so that it’s just you alone. Isn’t that fun?’
Polly gave Vanessa a lukewarm smile. She’d run out of conversation or any other type of smile herself.
‘I think you’ll like it,’ said Vanessa, giving Polly’s arm a squeeze as she dashed off to buttonhole somebody else.
Mel whispered in her ear, ‘Let’s find a seat,’ and guided Polly in Daisy’s direction, who was waving them over.
‘Did you hear that?’ Polly said to Mel. ‘About the film just featuring me?’
‘Yeah,’ Mel pulled an oh-dear face. ‘This promises to be interesting. Not.’
Polly shuffled along, past Daisy, to her seat. ‘Where’s Phil?’ she asked, shrugging out of her jacket and folding it neatly on her knees.
‘Babysitting Morwenna. He sends his love. Zak’s out at band rehearsal.’
Briefly, Polly scanned the room, searching for Spike. Because it wasn’t wholly beyond the realms of possibility that he might be there – and with Bam too. But she couldn’t see either of them. She avoided searching out Max, as his face had been like thunder last time she looked.
‘Did you see Max?’ whispered Mel in her ear. ‘Looked well pissed off.’
‘Oh God.’ Polly risked a glance over at him, then looked away sharpish. If looks could kill. ‘You won’t leave me alone with him, will you?’ she hissed to Mel.
‘Don’t worry, Batman. Robin’s got your back.’
Mel was actually grinning at her. She always liked a drama, did Mel.
‘Everything fine?’ asked Anna, who was sitting the other side of them.
‘Yes, just nervous,’ Polly said, although she was more nervous about her imminent showdown with Max than about the film.
Daisy gave her arm a little shake. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she said.
And Polly thought how much she loved her friends, and how glad she was to have them around her.
Vanessa was standing in front of the screen. She clapped her hands together for silence, and then after waiting for the buzz to quieten down, she announced, ‘Welcome to this little screening of my film Would Love to Meet . I hope you all enjoy it. It’s a kind of Amelie meets the modern single Bristolian girl about town.’ She paused for effect and then continued, ‘At the end of the film, if you’d like to collect a feedback form, then we’d love to hear what you think about our little movie.’ She lifted her arms expansively. ‘Enjoy.’ The lights went down and the film’s opening credits rolled as accordion music played on screen.
Talk about embarrassing! Polly was so aggrieved about the film, and how – in her eyes – Vanessa had stitched her up, that she plain forgot all about Max. So shocked and mortified was she that she didn’t notice the door at the back softly open and close again soon after the start. She watched a good deal of the film through her fingers, in the same fashion she had with scary Doctor Who episodes when she was a kid!
She didn’t know which part was worse. So much to choose from. The bit with her surfing the net? With Vanessa as the unseen interviewer asking, ‘So, Polly, would you say that you’ve ever met The One?’
And Polly’s response: ‘I don’t know. But there was someone. [Camera zooming in for a close-up on her dreamy-looking face.] I often think of him more as The One That Got Away. [Camera staying in close up.] That’s the trouble with love, isn’t it?’ she was saying. [ God, you can practically see each and every one of my pores! ] ‘You can’t make love happen, can you? And sometimes – well, sometimes you don’t even know it’s there… until it’s gone.’
Cue music and then cutting to Vanessa in a voice-over saying, ‘Polly, in true modern woman style, sets about tracking love down.’ [ Who does she think she is? David Attenborough? ] Cue jokey white text across the screen: The Speed Dating Night . [ Oh, kill me now! ]
Scenes of Polly pulling faces to camera as various men take their turn at impressing her. Cut to Polly dancing with man in blazer, giving Vanessa ‘I’ll kill you’ looks. [Laughter from the audience.] Cut to Polly outside, one red wine too many, spouting her [deeply embarrassing – cringe] speech about being a Renaissance Woman – ‘I don’t need a man to make me complete!’ [Giggling from the audience.] Cue Polly toddling off on her tod into the night. Cue accordion-bloody-music again. More jokey text. [ I can’t bear to look .] Footage of Polly chasing Rowan across Brandon Hill while her own voice-over goes, ‘There aren’t many men who’d fancy a woman with a kid in tow.’ Then on to the open mic night. [More laughter from the audience when she recites her poem – small comfort… at least it got a laugh .]
But honestly, it was like a nightmare version of This is Your Life!
More filming of Polly at home – internet dating – sitting at her laptop on MatchMadeInHeaven.com. ‘Why not shop for men online?’ she was saying to camera. In a chirpy sort of way, even she had to admit. ‘After all, it’s the way I do most of my shopping.’ [More laughter from the audience.]
Finishing off with Polly sitting outside a café on Park Street. All alone, as the shot panned out and accordion-bloody-music started up again. The End.
The audience clapped, and the lights went up.
‘Oh God, is it over?’ Polly asked Mel.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
Vanessa walked up to the front and called out, ‘Stand up, please, Polly Park. The star of our film.’
Heads turned and strained as they tried to clock where Polly was. Reluctantly she rose to her feet, acknowledged the polite applause and sat down again.
‘Oh dear,’ said Anna. ‘That was a bit – weird.’
Daisy reached across to pat Polly’s hand. ‘I think you came across as very warm and sweet.’
‘More like some saddo,’ said Polly, who certainly didn’t want to chat to any of the punters. Too embarrassing. ‘I need to get out of here. Get some fresh air.’
Before Mel could say ‘Hang on,’ Polly was pushing her way through people starting to leave, collecting bags and coats, chatting… She particularly wanted to avoid Vanessa, who at any moment would be heading her way like a galleon at full sail. As Polly made her way towards the exit, she heard someone say, ‘Good piece,’ someone else ‘Most entertaining.’ Polly had gained the door and was stepping outside into the early- evening light before anyone could stop her.
Thank goodness she was out of there. She’d thought she was going to faint. Wandering over to the quayside, she stopped to watch, without wholly seeing, a ferry boat chug by.
She wasn’t all that surprised when she heard her name being called by Max (it had to happen).
‘Polly!’
Reluctantly she turned to face him as he stood a few feet away from her. She wished now that she’d waited for Mel.
‘So what the hell are you playing at?’ he said, and as she tried to duck past him, he grabbed her wrist.
‘Not so fast!’ he said, and she nearly laughed – it was such a corny dastardly type of line. ‘You’re going nowhere until you tell me just what’s going on,’ he said, as she tried to twist her arm away from him. ‘I’ve been trying and trying to call you,’ he blustered. ‘And what? Now you’re saying you’re pregnant? What is this? Some sort of cheap trick? I’m not going to fall for that again. Not after Claire. You women are all the bloody same.’
Polly stood her ground, thinking how he was a stranger to her. Once he’d set her heart all pitter-patter; once she’d thought him handsome, that he might even have been someone to take a risk with. Now he reminded her of Phil Mitchell with a touch of Les Dennis thrown in – what with his red face, receding hairline (which she’d not noticed before) and red spots by the side of his nose. He still had hold of her wrist and was twisting it in a most painful way.
‘Don’t be an idiot, Max. Let me go. You’re hurting me.’
He released his grip, and she tried to sidestep him. But he blocked her way.
‘Look,’ she tried again. ‘I’m sorry. Okay? That text I sent was for Mel – not you! Your contact details just happen to be right next to Mel’s. It was a silly mistake.’ It sounded lame even to her. ‘That text was not meant for you. End of. No big deal.’
But instead of him smiling and going – ‘Oh, I see. That was silly, was it?’ – or words to that effect (yeah, she knew it was a long shot), he got even redder in the face, and for a moment Polly thought he might be having a heart attack or a stroke, and was trying to remember what the drill was if one or other were to happen? CPR or mouth-to-mouth? She hoped it was CPR, as that would give her an excuse to give him a good thumping.
‘No big deal?’ His voice increasing in volume. ‘What? You are pregnant with my child and you say it’s no big deal? What sort of woman are you?’ His stare was full of contempt, and Polly – to her shame – could feel a titter if not a full-blown giggle coming on. (She was nervous, all right?)
‘Unless,’ he continued, in high dudgeon. ( Funny word, “dudgeon”, isn’t it? she thought. Sounds like dungeon… ) ‘Yes, of course, that’s it.’ Max was still ranting on. ‘It’s somebody else’s brat, isn’t it? You’ve been sleeping with someone else. I might have known. You’re nothing but a whore!’
It really was no good; Polly was going to burst out laughing because she had this awful tendency at times of high drama to want to break into gales of merriment. She tried to concentrate on keeping a serious face, biting her lip in the process but, really, it was like she was starring in her own B movie.
‘You fucked somebody else, didn’t you?’
(Polly had her hand over her mouth now, shoulders beginning to shake – yes, she knew it wasn’t funny…)
‘And now you are trying to pass whoever’s kid off as mine!’
It was no good. She let out a guffaw.
Max, incensed, took a step towards her, with his hand raised. This stunned Polly into silence.
‘That’s enough!’ came a voice behind Polly. ‘Leave her alone.’ Spike. It was Spike’s. She’d recognise his voice anywhere – whether from the top of a cliff or across the oceans… For Chrissake, pull yourself together, Polly. You’re not out of hot water yet.
Max squared up to Spike, who had stepped in between him and Polly. She caught her breath, thinking how Spike had never looked more gorgeous. Standing there, in his skinny jeans and blue checked shirt, like a model from Urban Outfitters. Where was Mel when she needed her?
‘I might’ve guessed,’ Max was saying. ‘Polly’s expecting your baby, I suppose!’
Spike turned briefly to Polly with a “What baby?” look.
‘You wanna watch it, mate,’ Max sneered. ‘She’s been trying to pass your kid off as mine. Hoping I’ll cough up for the price of an abortion.’
‘I haven’t… I wouldn’t…’ she began. But Spike tucked her safely behind him and, without any preamble, punched Max in the face. He went down hard on his bottom, just as Mel and the others arrived.
‘Oh my God, it’s a fight,’ said Mel, doing a cartoon-like screech to a halt. She watched, slack-jawed, as Max gave Spike a baleful glare and clambered to his feet, by which time John had pulled Polly away, passing her to Mel, who had a tight hold of her.
‘John, do something,’ called Anna.
‘Don’t you worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure this doesn’t get out of hand.’ He stood on the side, keeping a careful eye on things as Spike held out a hand to Max, but Max batted it away. Spike made to move towards Polly, when all of a sudden Max rushed at him, bellowing like a bull.
Whoomph! There proceeded some shoving and poorly aimed kicks, with John trying to keep them apart. Polly was about to make some comment to Mel when she saw what no one else had yet fully comprehended. That the two men – with their scratching, biting, twisting, fighting – were getting closer and closer to the edge of the quayside. In fact, she suspected that Max, who had a good ten pounds – and the rest – on Spike, and who used to play rugby for his uni, was heaving Spike towards the edge on purpose, much like pushing a scrum. The rest she saw as if in slow motion. Spike trying to get a purchase on Max. A man walking hand in hand with his girlfriend, dropping her hand as he too realised what was about to happen. Polly could only have looked away for a nanosecond, as when she looked back, there was Spike teetering on the edge, holding onto the lapel of Max’s leather jacket while – too late – John made a run towards them. Spike’s eyes locked onto Polly’s as she heard his ‘Whoaaa!’ – and he fell backwards into the water, taking Max with him.
Next, Polly was at the water’s side, and someone was screaming and screaming so loudly that she had to put her hands over her ears. As she called out ‘Spike!’ she realised that the screamer was herself!
Oh God, oh God, where was he? He couldn’t swim! Should she jump in? What about the baby? But John had already dived in. Polly fell to her knees, not caring if she ended up with great big holes in her new stockings, as she frantically scanned the river’s surface. And then Mel was there, holding onto her shoulders as she pointed and said, ‘Look. It’s all right,’ as first Spike bobbed up, spluttering water, followed by John, who had hold of a dazed-looking Max. John struck out for the side, swimming on his back, as he pulled Max along by the chin in good old-fashioned life-saving style.
A man who’d been rummaging around on his houseboat ran over to Polly and handed her a blanket. ‘I don’t need…’ she began.
‘No,’ he pointed to Spike, who was hauling himself out of the river, ‘it’s for him, love.’
‘Yes, of course, thanks.’ She took it from him and ran to Spike.
‘Brrrr. I’m bloody cold,’ said Spike, his teeth chattering as she placed the blanket over his shoulders. People with blankets appeared and were tending to the other men.
‘You terrified me,’ she said. ‘I thought you were on your way down to Davy Jones’s locker.’
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Now what would I be doing going in the closet of one of those there Monkees?’
‘Shut up!’ she said, as he gave her a broad grin.
‘Is Max okay?’ he asked, and glancing over his shoulder, he could see that Max was indeed fine. Both him and John sitting on the dockside while Anna fussed about and someone plied them with brandy.
She gave Spike a little push. ‘I was scared, Spike! You said you couldn’t swim!’
‘Just what did you think I was doing on all those surfer beaches, Poll? Surfing, that’s what! Of course I can swim – I didn’t used to like it. The most important thing is, I didn’t drown.’
‘So,’ said Polly, as she looked hesitantly about her, ‘where’s Bam? Is she here with you?’
‘No, Polly. She’s not here. We’ve called it a day. That’s what I came to tell you.’
He stood before her, dripping wet in spite of the blanket, and shivering.
‘But what about the baby?’ she said. ‘I mean Bam’s baby, not…’ She looked shame-faced, as he gave her a quizzical look.
‘There is no baby.’
‘What?’
He held his hand out to her. She didn’t need asking twice. Or care about getting wet. Once she was in his arms, he said, ‘I’ll tell you about it later. Wait ’til I get you home. You can explain then whether or not you are pregnant yourself.’