Читать книгу The Baby Diaries - Sam Binnie - Страница 15

Drinks with Eve tonight, my oldest, most difficult, but potentially-most-reformed friend (since meeting wonderful baker Mike, she’s developed a taste for not being a terrible human). Or rather, it was supposed to be drinks, but I changed it to a trip to the Wellcome Collection as I couldn’t face Eve giving me suspicious side-eyes when I wasn’t drinking. So we met outside, hugged, and headed in.

Me: [narrowing eyes at her, suspicious] You look very well.

Eve: [narrowing eyes too] So do you.

Me: My goodness, is Mike still making you incredibly happy? Goodness. He is, isn’t he? You love him.

Eve: I might. Do you know what it is, though? I just don’t see good-looking men anymore.

Me: Maybe it’s because you’re so in love.

Eve: [mock-concerned] No, I think my eyesight’s getting worse. I really need to see a doctor.

Me: Optician. And I don’t imagine they’ll be able to help with what you’ve got.

Eve: Syphilis?

Me: Wow. You old romantic.

Eve: But speaking of which …

She was right. We were right in front of a huge display of sexually transmitted diseases, complete with moving structures to illustrate the ravages of each one.

Eve: You sure know how to show a girl a good time.

Me: You just wait. There’s a mummified woman upstairs.

Eve: Woop!

As always, we linked arms and strolled around; Eve telling me about Mike and her work (particularly her terrible new boss, Joyce: ‘She couldn’t manage a ball downhill’) and me mostly listening, asking questions, and telling her a little bit about my family. Family. The whole time we were talking, I was just thinking, ‘Don’t mention you’re pregnant, don’t mention you’re pregnant,’ to the point where I was amazed she couldn’t read it behind my eyes whenever she looked at me. I even forced myself to loiter by the cabinet upstairs filled with tiny ceramic models of pregnant women with detachable stomachs, revealing miniature ceramic babies inside, just so Eve wouldn’t suspect anything in my avoidance of it. ‘That’ll be you, soon,’ Eve whispered in my ear, coming up behind me. I laughed manically, trying to turn it into a fake laugh, but only succeeding in sounding even more suspicious.

Eve: Are you pregnant?

Me: Are you pregnant?

Eve: No.

Me: [apologetically] Oh, I am. [taking the hand of a suit of armour] Don’t tell my husband, but this suit of armour loves me in a way Thom will never understand. I’m due to give birth to a beautiful toaster any day now.

Eve: Alright, alright. Tell me how Thom’s enjoying the teaching life.

So I think I managed to shake Eve off the trail. But why would she ask that?