"It's all right, it's all right. What did she say"'
"She said, 'We don't want twins and we don't want anything under five foot. We're coming here to enjoy ourselves.'"
Christ alive.
"I mean," - poor Dad, he was practically sobbing - "am I actually to stand by and allow my own wife to hire herself a gigolo on arrival?"
For a moment was at a loss. Advising one's
own father on the suspected gigolo-hiring habits of one's own mother is not a subject had ever seen covered in any of my books.
In the end I plumped for trying to help Dad boost his own self-esteem, whilst suggesting a period of calm distance before discussing things with Mum in the morning: advice I realized I would be completely incapable of following myself.
By this time I was beyond late. Explained to Dad that Jude was having a bit of a crisis.
"Off you go, off you go. When you've got time. Not to worry!" he said overcheerily. "Better get out in the garden while the rain's holding off." His voice sounded odd and thick.
"Dad," I said, "it's 9 o'clock at night. It's midwinter."
"Ah, right..." he said. "Jolly good. Better have a whisky, then."
Hope he is going to be OK.
Wednesday 29 January
9st 5 (gaah! But possibly due to wine-bag inside self), cigarettes 1 (v.g.), jobs 1, flats 1, boyfriends 1 (continuing good work).
5 a.m. Am never, never going to drink again as long as live.
5.15 a.m. Evening keeps coming back to me disturbingly in lumps.
After panting rush through rain, arrived at 192 to find Magda not arrived yet, thank God, and Jude already in a state allowing her thinking to get into a Snowball Effect, extrapolating huge dooms from small incidents as specifically warned against in 'Don't Sweat the Small Stuff'.
"I'm never going to have any children," she was monotoning, staring straight ahead. "I'm a re-tread. That guy said women over thirty are just walking pulsating ovaries."
"Oh for God's sake!" snorted Shaz, reaching for the Chardonnay. "Haven't you read Backlash? He's just a moral-free hack, recycling woman-bashing, Middle-England propaganda to keep women down like slaves. I hope he goes prematurely bald."
"But how likely is it I am going to meet someone new, now, and have time to form a relationship and persuade them they want to have children" Because they never do before they get them."
Wish Jude would not talk about biological clock in public. Obviously one worries about such things in private and tries to pretend whole undignified situation isn't happening. Bringing it up in 192 merely makes one panic and feel like a walking cliche.
Happily, Shazzer was off on a rant. Tar too many women are wasting their young lives having children in their twenties, thirties and early forties when they should be concentrating on their careers," she growled. "Look at that woman in Brazil who had one at sixty."
"Hurrah!" I said. "Nobody wants never to have any children but it's the sort of thing you always want to do in two or three years' time!"
"Fat chance," said Jude darkly. "Magda said even after she and Jeremy were married, whenever she mentioned children he went all funny and said she was getting too serious."
"What, even after they were married?" said Shaz.
"Yes," said Jude, picked up her handbag and went off to the loo in a huff.
"I've had a great idea for Jude's birthday," said Shaz. "Why don't we get her one of her eggs frozen?"
"Shhh." I giggled. "Wouldn't it be a bit difficult to do as a surprise?"
Just then, Magda walked in, which was all very unfortunate as (a) had still not got round to warning the girls and (b) got shock of life as had only seen Magda once since the birth of her third baby and her stomach had not gone down yet. She was sporting a gold shirt and velvet headband, in unignorable contrast to everyone else's urban combat/sportswear outfits.
Was just pouring Magda a glass of Chardonnay when Jude reappeared, looked from Magda's stomach to me, and gave me a filthy look. "Hi, Magda," she said gruffly. "When's it due?"