How To Lose Weight And Alienate People. Ollie Quain
to consider the gift of life as a present option but vouchers for Space NK are fine … then I can get some decent eye cream. Adele doesn’t keep hers in the bathroom any more – so selfish, how am I meant to stand defiant in the war against puffiness and dark circles on my rubbish wages?’ I force a laugh, but Luke’s face remains crumpled. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry … again. Go on, explain. I’m listening.’
He sits down on the sofa and sighs. ‘I suppose I’ve been thinking about you turning thirty-five.’ He shrugs. ‘If you wanted to have kids, then I figured now would be the time you would be starting to examine what’s involved. Clearly, you have a very thorough understanding of the initial phase …’ He manages a small smile. ‘But the rest of it can be more complicated, especially as you get older.’
‘Older?’ The word judders through me. ‘Cheers, Luke. That’s the second time today someone has brought up my advancing years. Roger was going on at me earlier for not having a pension plan. I had no idea that come Saturday I am an official shambles if I haven’t got the blue print for the rest of my time on earth signed off.’
‘I’m not saying that at all,’ he replies plainly. ‘I was thinking realistically. The fact is it does get more difficult and dangerous to have babies after thirty-five. It’s basic biology.’
‘That’s bollocks. Jennifer Lopez didn’t have hers until she was thirty-nine. Twins.’
‘They were probably IVF.’
‘Actually, they weren’t. Going down the in vitro route would have been entirely against J Lo’s strict beliefs. She’s publicly said as much. Fortunately for her, though, she didn’t have any ethical guidelines in place about accepting a whopping six-figure fee for supplying pictures of the tots to People magazine … ha!’
But this information does not throw Luke off track. He simply picks up where he left off.
‘Actually, irrespective of your current age, I sort of assumed you might have already thought about the whole parenting thing. Without getting too deep, it’s a pretty common thing for people who have difficult relationships with their own parents to want to create a more secure unit themselves.’ He pauses. ‘What with you not having that much contact with your mum, obv—’
‘I do have contact with her.’
‘I know, but not that much.’
‘She’s busy with the church and her catalogues and … stuff,’ I retort. ‘It doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about me or vice versa.’
‘Vivian, I make sure I see mine three or four times a week and she lives in another continent.’
‘That’s different, you Skype her. I’m not going to go to all the hassle of utilising visual communication technology to contact my mother when she lives the other side of Milton Keynes.’
‘And you never see your brother or sister.’
‘Because we don’t get on. Oh, and believe you me, if you’d seen any of my sister’s children when they were babies, you wouldn’t want to risk me having one. I’ve seen more attractive beasts carved into the stone of French cathedrals. I might carry the same genes.’
Luke laughs and I think he is about to drop the subject. But he doesn’t.
‘Okay, but there’s the issue of your father.’
‘What issue? There is no issue. I’ve told you he’s not around.’
‘And that’s where the discussion always ends. Why?’
I hold my hand up. My face feels hot and my neck is itching. ‘Right, the cod psychology stops here, Luke. We don’t need to talk about family stuff. It’s boring … and pointless.’
‘Not when they are the people who have shaped you.’
‘I shaped me!’ I snap. It’s definitely time to re-route this conversation. I flop down onto the sofa, put my head on Luke’s shoulder and change tack. ‘Look, I know I’m handling this chat quite badly, but you have to admit it was a bit of a curveball. Let’s face it, we’re hardly in a practical position to think about a, er …’
‘Baby,’ he says, putting his arm around me. ‘A baby. You won’t get pregnant by saying it.’
I smile, equally pleased he has been drawn away from the subject of my family and is loosening up. ‘Whatever you want to call it. How could we consider having one of those when we’ve only been seeing each other a year?’
‘I agree,’ he says simply. ‘It would be ridiculous, which was why I was only approaching the issue. It was you who went off on a tangent. Kids would obviously be some way down the road …’ Not if I’m driving! ‘… after we’ve lived together for a while.’
I feel uncomfortable again; as if I’m lying on the island unit, my joints pressed into the marble. ‘Where would we do that?’
‘Why not here?’
I burst out laughing. ‘Luke, hell would have to freeze over before Adele let you do that. In fact, hell would have to freeze over and then maybe a few years later sometime after an entire winter theme park with snowboarding facilities and an ice hotel had been built on top then maybe she would consider a trial period … as long as you didn’t bring your records, music equipment or cables.’
He tilts my head up towards him. ‘We could always get our own place – just you and me. It wouldn’t be as big as this place but—’
‘Monday would find downsizing hard,’ I interject quickly. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on Warren, either.’
‘Since when have you cared about Wozza? You called him “tragic” last week.’
‘He is. But he’s a tragedy who has done you a lot of favours recently. If you moved out he’d really struggle to fill your room. I doubt he’d get too many responses from an advert on Gumtree: AVAILABLE! Tomb-like space in dark basement flat on very rough road in Shepherds Bush (usually cordoned off by police) – must be okay with dark Berlin techno and basic communication with other tenant. General knowledge of hydroponics and GCSE chemistry Grade C or above a plus …’ I lean up and kiss Luke’s cheek. ‘You can laugh now. Go on, I know you want to.’
He doesn’t. Which makes me feel odd, because that’s why I thought both of us were here – to have a laugh – and now Luke isn’t laughing. But what is even odder is that I’m sorry that I am the reason he’s not. I genuinely am. More than I thought I would be.
A full English breakfast is not something I would ever choose to make. There are too many individual components. Personally, I think that three is a more than sufficient number of items for any dish. But the following morning, I feel I ought to get up at the same ridiculous time Luke always has to (on week days) and do something he would consider a nice gesture. So I pop a Nurofen and cook.
Things appear to be fine between us. We potter about the kitchen bantering with each other as normal. He in his favourite T-shirt, the one with a picture of a large cartoon fish wearing a pair of headphones underneath the words, Cod is a DJ. Me wearing his boxer shorts and sweatshirt. As he grabs his car keys from the fishbowl, I attempt to pull him back in the flat by his rucksack.
‘Stay for a bit longer,’ I tell him. ‘Just for a few minutes … I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘Really? How would you go about doing that?’ He turns round and prises my fingers from his bag. ‘Actually, don’t answer that. I’ve got to pick up Kevvo en route and I’d prefer to do that without a hard-on. I mean, he is a fellow Aussie and, admittedly, we have got