THE HUSBAND HUNTERS (32 page)

‘In fact, the best place for them is the bin.’ I marched over and dumped them in the office bin. I was careful not to thrust them in too hard. If Nick left the office before me today, then I would sneak them out and take them home and he would think the cleaner had thrown them away. I was determined never to forgive him – not as long as I lived.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Once again I found myself knocking on Jane Watts’ front door. I wanted to see if she could tell me anything more about my future. She’d told me about the bees, and how we needed to make it up with Soph, but both of those events had now passed. My future stretched before me like a big, empty, black hole. She opened the door, this time dressed in a turquoise blue kaftan.

‘Come in dear,’ said Jane, ushering me into her front room again. ‘How have you been?’ she asked, pouring me a cup of tea from the huge, brown pot on the table. This time I gulped it down gratefully. Scarlett and I had shared a bottle of wine last night and my mouth had that awful, slightly furry feel to it.

I told Jane about the bees. ‘I was disappointed, as I thought it was going to lead somewhere after you’d seen it in my future,’ I said, reaching over for another spoonful of sugar. ‘I had such high hopes that I was going to end up with a fantastically successful, rich beekeeper and live happily ever after, but all that happened was that I got an eyeful of the photographer’s private parts, which I certainly didn’t want to see.’

Jane let out a snort of laughter – then she looked serious for a moment.

‘
Are you sure there is no chance of anything developing with this man?’ she said, ‘because those bees were a significant part of your future.’

Now it was me who started to laugh. ‘No, Nick is definitely not the man for me,’ I said. ‘I’m still not even speaking to him at the moment.’ I told Jane about the joke he had played on me about Jen.

‘I bet you were spitting mad,’ said Jane, pouring us both out another cup of tea.

‘I still am,’ I said. ‘I threw everything at him that I could lay my hands on and I haven’t spoken to him since.’ And I was extra mad at Nick as he had taken the roses out of the bin as he was heading out of the office that night.

‘Where are you going with those?’ I’d demanded.

‘Seeing as you don’t want them, I thought I’d take them home for Claire,’ he had told me jauntily. I was spitting mad, but I had to look nonchalant. All evening I kept grinding my teeth, thinking of Claire cooing over my lovely roses.

‘I’ve not had a man in my life now for months, yet all my friends seem to be getting somewhere,’ I said gloomily to Jane. ‘It’s only me who’s a completely lost cause.’ She laughed and took another swig of tea.

‘Bee, you’re not even thirty yet,’ she said. ‘You have got your whole life in front of you. I’m sixty, and I’m single. When you get to my age, now – that's a lost cause’

‘Did you never marry?’ I asked curiously. There was no wedding ring on Jane’s finger.

‘I did have a man once,’ said Jane, with a faraway look in her eyes. ‘We were going to be married and I thought he was the most dashingly handsome man, I’d ever seen. I met him on a peace rally march in London and within six months, he’d asked me to marry him. Our wedding was planned for three months later. I turned up at the local registry office in my best cream suit; I waited and waited, and he never turned up. I was devastated. I later found out he’d run off with a friend of mine and I never saw him again. He didn’t have the guts to break it off with me – instead he left me standing there on my wedding day.’

I stared at her aghast. Jane Watts was a real-life Miss Havisham – I sneaked a quick look around for cobwebs, but couldn’t see any.

‘That's terrible,’ I said. ‘How on earth did you get over that?’

‘I spent years hating him, wanting some sort of revenge. He’d completely taken my heart and smashed it into smithereens,’ said Jane, ‘but now I look back and think it was never meant to be – and I’m quite happy on my own with my two cats. I’m glad I haven’t got a man in my life. I can watch the Antiques Roadshow, without anyone grumbling that it’s boring, and if I want to have a bacon sandwich for my tea, I will do. It’s quite liberating actually. Anyway, that's enough about my life,’ she added briskly. ‘Let’s see what the future has in store for you.’

I laid my amber ring down on the table again, and I took off my hat too, and a pair of gloves that were in my pocket. All these went on the table – I wanted Jane to have lots of things of mine to give her some future vision.

‘Oh, and here is my favourite silver hair clip, too,’ I said, rummaging in my handbag.

Jane picked up my gloves, turning them over and over in her hand. She was silent for a few minutes, with her eyes closed. Then she picked up my silver hair clip too. Eventually she spoke.

‘I can see a monkey, or a chimp, somewhere in your future. That is significant,’ she said. Oh, great! I could cope with bees – they had a glimmer of glamour attached to them, but a monkey or a chimp – what was good about that? I didn’t need any more chimps in my life; I’d had enough of those in my past.

‘I can see that the fifth piece of your missing jigsaw is now back in place,’ went on Jane. ‘That’s good – it means you can all move forward.’ I wasn’t sure I wanted to move forward, if settling down with a chimp was all Jane could offer. A bacon sandwich and the Antiques Roadshow, seemed more appealing.

‘I do see happiness for you, Bee,’ she said, picking up my hat and rubbing that too. ‘Something that you never thought possible is going to happen to you.’

I’d come to Jane’s house hoping that she would see great things for me – but now it seemed like I was going to become a cave-like woman living in the wilderness,
with just a bunch of chimps for company.

‘You’ll go down as the famous ape-woman of Cheshire – and legends will be written around you,’ Tash sniggered, when I recounted the whole, sorry tale to her that evening. ‘With your dark wavy hair, I can just imagine you tanned and wearing a loincloth in the Cheshire hills somewhere.’

‘It’s not funny,’ I protested. ‘At least you are all getting somewhere. I’ve got no hope at all.’

‘Oh, stop being gloomy,’ said Tash, giving me a shake. ‘I’m sure you won’t end up living with a tribe of chimps. She probably means that you will meet a zoo keeper or something.’ I cheered up a bit. That would be marginally better.

***

Six weeks later
Rach invited me round to her new flat. She was eight and a half months pregnant now, and was the size of a house. I’d asked Tash to come too, and she said she’d drive round later.

Rach opened the door and she waddled back up the stairs in front of me. Apart from walking as though she had a bowling ball in between her legs, Rach hadn’t put any weight on, other than her baby bump. From the back, she didn’t even look pregnant.

She took me in to the spare room, which she had finished doing up as a nursery.

‘Rach, it’s gorgeous,’ I said in admiration. She’d painted it herself, in a neutral mix of creams and taupe. A white cot was erected at the side of the room, next to a beautiful antique rocking chair. Rach pulled open a drawer, and I peeked inside. There was a stack of cute little white vests and matching bootees.

‘I’ll be bored now for the next two weeks,’ she said, as we went into the kitchen to get a drink. ‘I’ve been nesting like mad over the last few weeks and I’ve done everything. Now I’m going to sit on my backside and get bigger and bigger.’

‘Owww,’ she said suddenly, clutching at her stomach.

‘What's the matter?’ I said, grabbing hold of her.

‘Bee, will you stop doing that,’ she said, laughing as she straightened up. ‘It’s nothing. I’ve been having indigestion recently and it’s been bad today.’

We went and sat in the lounge, but every few minutes, Rach kept shifting restlessly.

‘Are you sure you're all right?’ I asked her anxiously. I know I’d promised to be her birthing partner, but I could do without her going into labour tonight. Desperate Housewives was on the telly later, and I was knackered too, after a busy day at work.

‘I’m fine, just feeling a bit uncomfortable with all this weight,’ said Rach, trying to stretch out on the settee. The doorbell rang.

‘Tash said she was going to pop round, so it’ll be her,’ I said, getting up to let her in.

Tash came up the stairs. She had brought a bottle of Lucozade for Rach, as it was her favourite. Rach unscrewed the lid and took a great gulp.

‘Hopefully this might ease my indigestion,’ she grimaced. A few minutes, later she got up and shuffled to the bathroom.

‘The bridesmaids’ dresses arrived today,’ Tash told me, making herself comfortable on a massive bean bag. ‘Soph’s going to pick them up tomorrow. It’s so exciting. We’ll have to go round to her house tomorrow to try them on.’

I went to the kitchen to make Tash a cup of tea. When I brought it back Tash had switched the TV on – but there was still no sign of Rach.

I knocked on the bathroom door. Rach opened it, and her eyes looked wide and frightened. She was bent double, clutching the door frame.

‘Bee, I think I’m in labour. Call an ambulance quick.’

Oh, my God! It was my worst nightmare. Rach was giving birth right here in her flat. I helped her into the lounge, and back on to the settee. ‘Call 999,’ I shouted to Tash. ‘She’s in labour.’

‘Oh, my God, she can’t be,’ said Tash, running to pick up the phone. ‘She’s not in hospital. What are we going to do?’ Rach was groaning now.

‘Are you sure it’s not indigestion?’ I said, wiping her hair back from her face.

‘I thought I’d wet myself this morning,’ gasped Rach, ‘but it must have been my waters breaking. This indigestion pain I’ve been having on and off all day, must have been the start of labour. Arrghhh,’ she gritted her teeth with the pain, and I could see her knuckles – white, gripping the arm of the sofa. Tash was dialling 999 and speaking into the phone.

‘Can you get an ambulance here quickly, my friend is having a baby and she needs to get to hospital fast,’ she said. I was amazed at how calm Tash sounded. My legs felt like jelly and I couldn’t think straight. Tash, who was still on the phone to the operator, marched over to Rach. She pulled down her tracksuit bottoms and let out a gasp. In a daze I listened helplessly to the conversation.

Tash (to the operator): ‘You’ll have to help – she wants to push and I can see the top of the baby’s head.’

Operator: ‘How many minutes apart are the contractions?’

Tash looked at her watch. Rach let out a groan, and then quickly let out another one.

Tash: ‘About 30 seconds apart – and there’s a lot of bleeding already. Bee go and get some towels from the bathroom,’ she shouted at me.

Operator: ‘Can you definitely see something between her legs. Does it look like the top of the head?

Tash: ‘Yes, it does. I don’t want to be delivering this baby – I’ve only ever held a plastic doll, once. Can you get an ambulance here now, please?’

Rach: (gasping, grabbing the receiver from her) ‘Get it here quickly whatever you do. I don’t want her delivering my baby either. Arrgghh.’

Tash snatched the phone back from her.

Operator: ‘The ambulance is on its way to you. Just do as I say and your friend will be fine.’

Tash: (suddenly shrieking) ‘Oh, shit! The head’s out – I can see the head.’

Rach: (shouting to me) ‘She’s only watched one bloody episode of Casualty. I can’t believe this is happening. How could you let this happen to me, Bee?’

Operator: ‘Keep calm. Is the baby crying or breathing?”

Tash: (gulping hysterically) ‘I can’t tell.’

Operator: ‘Okay, calm down. Place the palm of your hand on top of the baby’s head and apply firm but gentle pressure to keep the baby from delivering too fast and tearing her.’

I had to clutch the door frame at this point. I thought I was going to be sick.

Tash: ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m doing it right. Rach – keep still for God’s sake – I can’t see what I’m doing. You’re in the bloody way. Oh! God Almighty! I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

Rach: (through shrieks of pain) ‘Neither can I. You couldn’t even hold that bloody doll. Bee! Do something for Christ’s sake!’

I ran round to Rach’s head, and squeezed her hand. I could see this slippery bloody mass in between her legs, and Tash frantically holding on to the head.

Tash: ‘Oh, God! It’s coming out. I think the whole thing’s here.’

Operator: ‘You’re doing really well. Is the baby completely out now?’

Tash: (starting to sob hysterically) ‘Yes.’

Rach: (crying) ‘Oh my God! Is it all over? Has she got the baby? Is it okay?’

Operator: ‘Is the baby crying and breathing?’

Tash: It’s crying and coughing a bit. Should I bash it on the back?’

Operator: ‘No. No. Have you got anything that you can gently wipe the baby’s mouth and nose with?’

Tash grabbed at a towel that was lying on the floor and wiped its face.

Operator: ‘Now gently wrap the baby in a dry towel, but don’t cover its face, and don’t pull the cord tight. Everything will be all right.’