Babyville Page 0,75

ago I had made up my mind. Two weeks ago I was going to have an abortion and carry on with my life as if this had never happened. And now I didn't know.

When did a doubt creep in? How could I possibly think that I have any alternative? Why had I not been able to reschedule an appointment at the abortion clinic?

What am I thinking?

Sunday is one of those fantastic cold, crisp days when the sun is shining brightly out of an ice-blue sky, and you look out your window and know that spring is very nearly here and you can't remember what was so depressing about winter after all.

Stella keeps asking me how I feel. Stella who has become frighteningly close in a frighteningly short space of time.

She was here yesterday afternoon. Just popping in on her way back from a shopping trip in the West End, just checking that I was okay. She brought with her half the contents of the M & S food department, and ended up staying most of the evening.

We dipped into dips and exchanged our stories. Shared our secrets. Laughed over linguine and bonded over banana-toffee pie.

“I miss this,” Stella said wistfully as we both scraped our fingers around our bowls, ensuring that not a scrap of banana or toffee would be left.

“What? Staying in on a Saturday night, eating like a pig, and feeling like a beached whale?”

“Well, yes, clearly I miss that too.” We both laughed. “But I'm talking about this kind of female friendship. I miss the ease of girlfriends. I miss the comfort of being able to come over to someone's house, like this, and not having to worry about what you look like or what you talk about. I'm not saying you're my best friend—”

“Careful,” I warned, but I was smiling, because I felt exactly the same way. “Stalker alert.”

“Now you're definitely not my best friend. Stalker indeed,” she huffed. “But I miss having a best friend. Do you know what I mean?”

“My best friend was always my mum.”

“God, you're joking. I hate my mum. We can hardly bear to stay in the same room together.”

“My mum's great. She really is my best friend. And I suppose my only real friend who's a woman. Close friend, that is, because I've got female friends,” I said quickly, knowing that it wasn't really true, “but I haven't got a confidante, not here in London, and I hadn't realized until tonight how much I'd missed it too.”

“It's good to be a woman,” Stella laughed, raising her glass. “To the Sisterhood.”

“To the Sisterhood. And to friendship.”

I went to bed with a smile on my face, enveloped in warmth and intimacy, feeling that being pregnant might not be the worst thing ever to have happened to me. Feeling that, in fact, my life really wasn't so bad after all.

And now today, the sun is shining and I'm feeling good, looking forward to doing something different, even if I'm not sure about spending the day with Mark. What if we have nothing in common? What if we have nothing to talk about?

So what! I admonish myself. I'm not checking him out to see if he is suitable partner material. I'm just trying to get to know him a little before he and I make the most important decision of my life.

That's all.

“Did you find it okay?” Mark opened the door and I started to laugh because he was wearing an apron—he was actually wearing an apron!—but he refused to take it off and I rather liked the fact that he wasn't embarrassed by such a ridiculous item of clothing, even if it was a masculine navy and black stripe.

“Your house is lovely,” I said, pretending not to have noticed that it's probably one of the biggest houses I'd ever been into. Pretending not to be impressed by the large square entrance hall and steps down into a bright, airy kitchen. Pretending that I, too, lived in a house much like this one. Only smaller. Much, much, much smaller.

“Drink?” he said, pouring what looked suspiciously like carrot juice into a glass.

“That looks disgusting. I think I'll pass.” I sniffed it gingerly.

“It's not disgusting. It's delicious. And it matches your hair. It's a homemade mango and banana smoothie. Delicious and nutritious. Try it.”

I tried it. It was delicious (and nutritious). “Mmm. Something smells completely amazing.” I eyed the various saucepans on the stove and noted that the smell was definitely coming from the oven. “Who'd