Sam Binnie - The Baby Diaries

When Thom got home from the pub, I was still lying with my face half-pressed into the sofa, watching something dreadful on TV with my open eye.

Thom: Eve back on form?

Me: No! She was fine. It was nice to see her. She just didn’t really … care.

Thom: Wasn’t that what you wanted? Better that than her telling you how to name it and where we should live and what clever little vintage items it ought to wear, isn’t it?

Me: I suppose so.

Thom: Keeks, I know she’s been different these last few months, but a leopard can’t change its spots entirely. Just think about all the other people who do make you happy: Suse, Zoe, Alice – have you seen Greta recently?

Me: No! That will be nice! You’re right. It’s just habit with Eve. But you’re right.

TO DO:

Stop having high hopes for Eve

Start enjoying the rest of our friends while I can

Remember I’m not dying, just having a baby

An evening to try again with Jacki. She’d emailed me this time, asking if I wanted pre-Christmas cocktails at the Dorchester after work, even though we’ve only just seen one another. I knew I had to get there before her, to order my soft drinks again, so I left the office at 5; walking up Oxford Street towards Marble Arch, admiring the windows, but hurrying. I got there almost half an hour early, bursting into the bar in a sweat, and grateful that I’d have time to compose myself. But Jacki was already there.

Jacki: [waving] Woohoo!

Me: Jacki! Hello? Didn’t we say six?

Jacki: I thought so. Thirsty?

Me: I am , yeah.

Jacki: [gesturing to a barman] Here, it’s coming over now. [taking two drinks from the waiter]

Me: [smelling it] Oh … lovely. Thank you. What is it? [lifting it to my mouth]

Jacki: It’s called a Belladonna.

Me: [wetting my lips with it] Mmm, what’s in it?

Jacki: Gin and rum. And apricot liqueur.

Me: [still holding the glass to my lips] MmmMMMm.

Jacki: And a double whisky.

Me: [putting glass down] Alright, enough. [wiping mouth] Oh, that is good though. How long have you known?

Jacki: I had an email from Polka Dot telling me they were looking for my replacement editor and would let me know as soon as they could.

Me: What ?

Jacki: Which is exactly how I felt. Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Kiki?

Me: Well, partly because I only found out really recently –

Jacki: So you didn’t know last time I saw you?

Me: Um.

Jacki: Was this a pity silence? Was I so sad that you couldn’t even tell me you were pregnant?

Me: No, of course not!

Jacki: So what was it, then?

Me: It wasn’t pity, it was just tact. You were sad, because of course you would be, because your husband …

Jacki: He’s not my husband.

Me: I’m sorry, Jacks. You know what I mean. Of course you would be sad, and we were talking about that, and I didn’t think it was appropriate to say, ‘Hey, guess what! I’m having a baby!’

Jacki: [quiet] OK. Alright, Keeks. What a pair we are, hey?

So Jacki drank both the Belladonnas, and I drank some amazing ginger and apple things, and we stayed there for a while. I told her about the scan, and how my family and Polka Dot were taking it.

Me: Hey, Jacks, do you want to be godmother to this baby? Well, not god mother godmother. Non- godmother. What do you say?

Jacki: Did you just think of that?

Me: Nope.

Jacki: Kiki?

Me: Please? It’s all so medical I could do with a little laughter and colour in the mix. As long as the colour isn’t flesh pink or wound red.

Jacki: Oh, you do know how to sell it, Kiki. Can I think about it?

We kissed and said goodbye, and I headed home to collapse on the sofa and tell Thom the good news.

Thom: Jacki Jones Jacki?

Me: Yes.

Thom: As the baby’s godmother?

Me: Non-godmother. I’m not dunking my baby for anybody .

Thom: Jacki Jacki Jones?

Me: Yes, Thom.

Thom: [thinking] Sure, that sounds nice.

Thom woke me up this morning.

Thom: Uh, Kiki?

Me: Unnnnn. What ?

Thom: What was the last thing you got in the advent calendar?

Me: Nnnnidunno. Mm. Maybe … oh, a lip balm. Why? What did you get today?

Thom: Look.

I finally opened my eyes to see what it was. Thom was holding up a slightly chewed stumpy pencil, the kind of thing Dad always keeps behind his ear at college. I felt baffled, then I realised that Susie had finally excelled herself.

Me: Oh my God … it was Susie!

Thom: How do you work that out?

Me: When she was over the other night, she had me rooting around for ages, trying to find a top she’d lent me. That bloody crafty wolf.

I roared with laughter, and we agreed that Susie deserved to be congratulated on her effective sabotage. I also determined to swap one of her parcels for her own little surprise before she got our congratulations. I was pretty amazed neither of us had had this brainwave before, to be honest. But if she wants to play mean, we can play mean.

At work today, I asked Carol about the email Jacki had got.

Carol: Jesus. Well, I assume that means Tony is checking his emails. I only told him last week, but he’s clearly back to meddling, wherever he is. Was Jacki OK?

Me: Yes, thanks Carol, she was, but I think if she’d been slightly more nervous this could have tipped her over the edge. Why would he do that?

Carol: It’s a refrain I’ve been singing for the fifteen years I’ve been here, Kiki, and I’m no closer to finding a satisfactory answer. It was an ignorant, trouble-making thing to do and I’ve not got the slightest clue how he thought it could benefit anyone. But let me know if you get any hassle from your other authors.

Lovely Carol. How rotten to be second-in-command to someone with such a deadly combination of laziness and cluelessness. Tony can be relied upon to get involved in something just long enough to muck it up, then he’ll get bored and require someone else to do the actual work. Going on leave seems such a distant future event, like having the baby: something I know I’ll have to deal with eventually, but nothing I need to think about anytime soon. But this talk of cover has made me realise that within six months, the office won’t have me in it anymore, and I won’t be in meetings, and I won’t have books to work on, and someone else will be doing all of my jobs.

I feel incredibly strange about all of that.

The Christmas cards have started arriving in the office, from authors and agents. The very first one was from Clifton Black, Polka Dot’s military fiction specialist – and by specialist, I mean ‘someone who’s spent his career trying to convince us he has previously served in the army, while writing books like Bullets and Bravery and Serving Under Fire with an entirely straight face’ – who I may have accidentally sexted slightly before our wedding. It could happen to anyone . Since then, he doesn’t come into the office anymore, a fact which, if we’d known earlier, any one of us would have been willing to send all manner of inappropriate texts to him. But he sent a lovely card, albeit one which omitted my name entirely. God bless us, every one.

TO DO:

Come up with a few items to scatter into Susie’s calendar: a boiled egg? An empty M&Ms bag?

Find out if romantic text messages can scare off all the difficult authors

Make my peace with someone else doing my job for a little while

Polka Dot’s Christmas party tonight. I had such a nice time, but definitely felt some sadness at being stone-cold sober throughout. Having said that, it was completely hilarious to see Alice, Dan (my favourite of Polka Dot’s designers), Carol, Norman and the rest of the team drunk beyond all comprehension and actually be able to remember it for once.