6
“Oh God, I think I might seriously love him.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Bella's looking at Sam aghast, mostly because Sam looks incredible. Yes, she's six months pregnant. Yes, she's the size of a small whale. But she looks stunning. Sam is—usually—the laziest of all of them when it comes to superficial appearance. The most makeup she'll wear is tinted moisturizer, mascara, and pale-pink lipgloss.
But today Sam wears nearly as much makeup as Bella. Her skin is smooth and slightly tanned, her lips a full glossy pout, and her hair has been blow-dried straight so it bounces gently as she moves. Gone are the dungarees and smock-type dresses she has favored since the beginning of the pregnancy (“I know they're revolting, but they're just so bloody comfortable. You're only allowed to intervene when you find me glancing lovingly at Birkenstocks”). Sam is wearing black bootleg trousers, high-heeled black boots, and a tight orange sweater. She looks amazing.
“You look amazing.” Julia's mouth is open.
Sam maneuvers herself into the chair and places a hand over her heart. “I'm serious, girls. I think I'm in love with Mr. Brennan.”
“The diabetes bloke?” The midwife had been concerned about the amount of weight Sam had put on, and one of the causes, she explained, could have been gestational diabetes. Sam had now done the glucose tolerance test, and she's fine, but just to be on the safe side she is now seeing the consultant at her checkups. Mr. Brennan.
Mr. Brennan, according to Sam, is not her usual type. He's not very tall, he doesn't have very much hair (“But at least,” she justified, “he doesn't plaster it over his scalp''), he is what Sam has described as “definitely cuddly,” and has a bedside manner that could charm your socks off.
Sam has taken to waxing her legs and wearing good underwear before every checkup. Evidently that is no longer enough.
“I seriously, seriously have a huge crush on him,” she confides, before blushing like a schoolgirl.
“Darling, that's natural,” Bella says breezily, beckoning over a waiter for another bottle of sparkling water and a large glass of milk for Sam. “All my friends in New York have huge crushes on their OB/GYNs. Don't worry, you'll get over it.”
Sam sits forward urgently. “I think this might be different.”
Julia laughs. “Are you trying to say that Chris was a terrible mistake and Mr. Brennan could be The One?”
Sam looks uncomfortable.
“Oh please!” Julia starts to laugh. “You're not seriously trying to say that, are you?”
Sam squirms, then grudgingly admits that last night, the night before her appointment this morning, she had an erotic dream starring Mr. Brennan; that her crush is now major league and she could barely look him in the eye when she turned up there today.
“Details, details.” Bella is transfixed. “What kind of erotic dream? What happened?”
“I don't remember how I got there, but I was abroad and I think I started off with Chris and we were in bed together, and suddenly Chris turned into Mr. Brennan and it wasn't so much the sex, but he was so tender and he kept cuddling me and . . . well. That's it, really.”
“That's it?” Bella's disappointed.
“No sex?” Julia chimes in, although frankly she too would be more inclined to go for the tenderness at this precise moment in time.
“It was sexual, intimate, without there actually being proper sex, okay? But when I walked into the room today it all came flooding back and I could barely look at him.”
“Did he notice?”
“I don't think so.”
“And did you have to get your knickers off, then?”
“Bella!” Sam shouts.
“Bella!” shouts Julia.
“Well, did you?”
Sam sits back, fanning an imaginary flush. “Thank God not today. I swear, that really would have been embarrassing. Having an orgasm during a routine internal examination with your gynecologist. Jesus Christ. Can you imagine?” They all laugh and then Sam's face turns serious. “And the other thing is he told me I looked really nice.”
“No!” Julia's turn to be mock-shocked. “Was he flirting with you?”
“No. Definitely not. I wish.” She shakes her head, then pauses as she stops to think. “Actually”—she starts to smile, twirling a lock of her hair girlishly as her gaze fixes on to the middle distance—“maybe. Do you think? Could he have been? Oh Christ. I feel like such a teenager. He said that I'd done something different and I just kind of stammered that I'd had my hair done for a party the day before and that really the party hadn't been worth it anyway, which of course was way too much information, but I couldn't stop babbling and I'm sure he knew, and he said it looked nice and now I've spent the last hour analyzing his tone of voice and how he said it and how he looked at me, and whether it means I'm special.”
“You're off your trolley,” Bella says, not unkindly.
“I know, I know,” Sam sighs. “Let's change the subject. But can I just ask one more thing?” She looks both of them in the eye. “Seriously. Do you think he fancies me?”
When Bella was living in London the three of them would regularly meet up for suppers at one another's houses, usually Julia's, as her kitchen was always the most conducive to a girls' night in, plus Julia was the only one who could actually cook at that time, Sam having not yet discovered her culinary skills, and Bella eating primarily in expensive restaurants.
Sam would ring up from her mobile en route, asking, “Anything you need?” and would invariably have to make a stop at Sainsbury's for a packet of pita bread, a tub of H?agen-Dazs, and a couple of packs of Marlboro Lights.
The obligatory bottles of wine would be cooling off in Julia's fridge, and the three of them would chatter nineteen to the dozen as they chopped salads, mixed marinades, poured dips and crisps into bowls.
Food would be eaten around the kitchen table, and depending on their mood they would either sit there into the small hours, talking about their lives, their pasts, their men, their hopes, or gravitate into the living room, sometimes to watch television, sometimes to read the magazines Julia kept in a pile next to the fireplace. Such was the nature of their friendship: easy, natural. As close as family but without the politics.
Now that their lives have moved on, perhaps the one to miss those days most is Julia. Sam is blissfully happy with Chris, and expecting her first child.
Bella has entered another world in New York. She has a new circle of girlfriends who don't go to one another's houses, as they all live in apartments the size of shoeboxes. None of them has seen their kitchen in over a year, they meet up at restaurants and bars, and sit and chew the (metaphorical) fat over Cobb Salads with no cheese, no dressing, and toasted bagels, no butter. Oh, and a serving of cream cheese on the side. Nonfat. Just a schmear. Thanks.
But Julia? Julia tried to blend her life with Mark's, and when it didn't work she let go of her life. Her old life. The friends he hadn't approved of she barely saw anymore, and she hadn't made new ones as—she told herself—she was too busy with him, even though she hardly went out these days.
She told herself she was ready for commitment. For Mark. And a baby. For nine months all her energies had gone into that, and it's only now that the three girls are together again, albeit in a restaurant, that Julia realizes how much she's missed this. Her gang. Her sisters. Her soulmates.
I miss being single. The words enter her consciousness, making her jump with shock. She tries to wash them away with a sip of water, then relaxes slightly. They are only words after all, they don't mean anything. They certainly don't mean she has to make any major life changes.
But it is definitely something to think about, how easily those words slipped into her head, how real they feel, and she knows in an instant it is not the men she misses, or the adventures and excitement of being single, but the freedom.
Trapped, she suddenly realizes. I am trapped in a relationship with a man I like very much, but I would rather be on my own.
Oh God. Did she really just think that?
She shakes her head to dislodge the thought, replacing it instantly with a picture of a cooing, fat little baby. That's better, she tells herself, her pulse still racing from the shock of admitting something she knows deep down to be true, but still won't consciously admit.
Her heart starts to slow down as she brings this picture into focus. A fat little baby lying on a sheepskin rug, gurgling with delight as she holds her toes and smiles up at Julia. I want a baby, she tells herself, adding hurriedly, and Mark. And a family. I will banish all stray thoughts of being single. This is what I'm going to concentrate on from now on.
“Earth to Julia, Earth to Julia. Come in, Julia.”
Julia shakes her head. “God, I'm so sorry, I was just thinking about the good old days and about how much I miss this.”
“Miss what?” Sam is affronted. She and Julia, after all, do still get together, still go out for the occasional lunch if Sam has a meeting near Julia's office and Julia's not snowed under with work.
“The three of us. Together. This is just so nice. It makes me feel . . .”
“What?” Sam prompts gently as Julia shrugs.
“You'll think I'm mad”—she looks at each of them in turn—“but it makes me feel whole.”
“You mean you don't feel whole the rest of the time?” Bella glances at Sam as they exchange a brief look of alarm, but Julia doesn't see and Bella is doing a good job of acting nonchalant.
Julia shrugs.
“Do you think,” Sam says carefully, “that maybe you're trying for a baby because that might make you feel whole? That maybe you're never going to find it outside of yourself?”
“What do you mean?”
Sam sits back in her chair, for she remembers the Julia of old. She remembers the vibrant Julia, but she also remembers the quieter moments. She remembers the times when Julia phoned her up crying with loneliness, when Julia would disappear for days at a time, isolating at home as she dwelt in self-pity and sadness.
Not many people saw this side of Julia. As tough and uncompromising as she could be at work, she was vulnerable and soft in equal measure. And Sam remembers, quite clearly, Julia saying then that she wanted to find her other half.
Sam always said that she believed each of us could be happy with any number of people, but Julia always disagreed. Julia felt that somewhere out there was the man who would make her whole, and even then Sam wanted to tell her she was wrong, she would only ever be disappointed if she led her life waiting for that, but there was never an occasion that warranted it.
“Remember how you used to say you wanted to find your other half?”
Julia nods.
“And remember how I never believed in it? Well, it's just that as long as you're looking to other people to make you complete, you're never going to find happiness.”
“But I've been happy,” Julia protests. “I was happy with Mark. I am happy with Mark.”
“But it's not true happiness,” Bella interjects. “I have to agree with Sam. Mark, as lovely as he is, hasn't made you feel complete, and I don't think a baby will either.” She carries on, ignoring the pain in Julia's eyes, and covers Julia's hand with her own. “We love you, Julia, but God knows, if there is any possibility that this baby will be a terrible mistake, you just can't go through with it.”
There's a long silence and eventually Julia starts to laugh. “What bloody baby?” she says. “At this moment in time I don't think this is something I'm ever going to have to worry about.”
Sam is first to leave. As vivacious as she has been, she has got into the habit of mid-afternoon naps, and the other two endured fifteen minutes of her yawning before telling her she had to go.
Julia and Bella stay on. Bella is on holiday, and Julia may as well be. She misses being busy, being needed, but hasn't even thought about the office. Not really.
Johnny calls her from time to time to feed her office gossip, which, although nice, she could take or leave. Maeve is apparently proving to be a popular choice, and the word on the street is that Mike Jones is after her, although she is not an easy catch by all accounts.
The waiter brings yet more cappuccinos, and Bella reaches into her bag. “Listen,” she says, drawing out a piece of white paper, “I can't believe that I, of all people, am going to give you this, but what the hell. I know this girl in Manhattan who was trying to get pregnant for about a year and nothing happened. Eventually, she got on the internet to find out about fertility stuff, and found this fertility ritual on some pagan site. . . .”
Julia's heart races as she whispers in amazement and with a touch of fear, “A fertility spell?”
“Kind of. I suppose. But I think you're meant to call it a ritual. The point is, she got pregnant the month after doing it, so I asked her if she could give me the spell, I mean, ritual, and I brought it with me and I wasn't sure whether to give it to you or, hell, whether it's even going to work because as far as I'm concerned it might just as well have been a lucky coincidence. . . .”
“Bella, I love you!” Julia shrieks, grabbing the piece of paper and flinging her arms around her friend. “I think you may have just changed my life.”
They read the ritual together. All the “ingredients” seem accessible. Julia, naturally, wants to do it immediately. Bella had planned on a spot of shopping in the West End, but she too is curious to see this in action, so agrees to be there for moral support.
“You're sure it won't stop the spell, though? I mean, ritual? Me being there?”
“Not if your intentions are the same as mine,” says Julia, a huge smile stretching from ear to ear, possibly the first genuine smile to have been seen on her face in months.
“I can do without a baby, thank you very much,” Bella says in horror as Julia laughs.
“Silly. As long as you visualize me with a baby and take it seriously, then we'll be fine. Do you think it will still work even though it's not a full moon?”
“Why does it have to be a full moon?”
“Look, it says here ‘This ritual is preferably done on a full moon.'?”
“If I said no, would you wait until the next full moon?”
“No.”
“Well, then. Why did you bother to ask?” And she nudges Julia, who raises her eyebrows but still can't wipe the smile off her face.
They travel home via Covent Garden. Not the most direct route, admittedly, but it is the only place they can think of to obtain all the ingredients. They find exactly what they're looking for. It's the first time Julia thanks God for all the New Age shops that she has always deemed so useless. They are not, it has to be said, usually her style, these sorts of places, and the smell of incense makes her feel sick, but she is clutching her shopping list tightly in her hand, and she's unlikely to find any of the ingredients at Sainsbury's.
Supplies:
Two white candles (one for God, one for Goddess. Or, candles to fit whatever divine forces suit you best)
One purple candle (for meditation)
One green candle (for fertility)
One small drawstring pouch (homemade or store-bought)
Herbs (poppy, sage, and echinacea root for spell strengthening, but use anything associated with fertility)
Pestle and mortar
One rose quartz crystal
One malachite crystal
This ritual is preferably done on a full moon.
“Begin by setting up ritual space with candles, herbs, pestle and mortar, and other supplies listed above, then cast the circle.” Julia looks at Bella, both of them now back home, perching on the sofas in Julia's living room. “What do you think that means, ‘casting the circle'?”
“Probably just place all the candles and herbs and stuff in a circle.”
“Maybe. Or do you think it means stand in the middle of the room and draw an imaginary circle around yourself?”
“Dunno. But you could always do both just to be on the safe side.”
Both women pick up the coffee table and move it to one side, then solemnly place all the ingredients in a circle in the middle of the living room. They stand back to back in the circle, having changed into white clothes as Julia deemed it a symbol of purity and therefore more likely to get them in the mood, and, who knows, even have a positive influence on the spell. Sorry, ritual.
Except that Julia only has one pair of white trousers, so Bella is standing there in a white sheet draped toga-style across one shoulder.
“Shit.” Julia steps out of the circle. “I have to wear a sheet too.”
“What?”
“You just look more authentic and you're not even the one this spell is for. Wait here. I'm going to change.” She runs upstairs and reappears in an identical sheet a few moments later.
“‘Optional: Carve tunes for fertility on to green candle now,'” Bella reads, squinting slightly as the piece of paper is outside the circle and she has to lean quite far to see it and Julia has decided that the entire room must be lit only by candlelight, so it's really not that easy to see. “What the hell is a tune for fertility?” Bella squints again. “Sorry. Rune.”
“Oh,” Julia laughs. “Go on, then. You do it.”
“What?” Bella's face falls. “What makes you think I know what a rune for fertility is?”
Julia groans. “Can you call your friend and ask her?”
“I haven't got her number here. Look, don't worry, it says it's optional, so presumably it will work without.”
Julia's not convinced. Suddenly her eyes light up. “I know, how about carving an erect penis on the candle?”
Bella starts laughing until she realizes that Julia's not joking.
“I'm serious,” insists Julia. “You know that huge chalk giant with the massive hard-on?”
Bella looks at her intently. “What. Are. You. Talking. About.”
“You do know. The Cerne Abbas Giant. In Dorset. It's that huge outline of a man that is supposed to be a fertility symbol. What could be more fertile than an erect penis?”
“Sperm?” Bella offers, eyebrow raised.
“Bella, given my artistic skills, if I carved sperm into this green candle the higher power would think I was drawing tadpoles and I would end up with a garden full of frogs.”
“So what makes you think you'll do better drawing an erect penis?”
“Because I was fifteen once and I still remember how to do it.”
The penis is carved, the candle is back in its place, and both women are once again standing back to back in the middle of the circle.
“I can't do this.” Bella leaps out and crosses her arms. “I don't want to get pregnant and what if this thing works? Why don't I stay outside the circle and tell you what to do?”
Julia concedes this point, because really, who knows what will happen, and Bella jumps out to begin the ritual.
“Light the God candle. Say ‘I call to the God, Lord, Father, Giver of Life. I ask you to guard this circle and I who are within it and protect me from harm.' ''
“Don't you mean ‘am'?” whispers Julia.
“What?”
“Don't you mean, ‘I who am . . .'? Or is it ‘I who is . . .'?”
“That's what it says here. None of them sound right to me. Ssssh. Just do it.
“Now light the Goddess candle. Say, ‘I call to the Goddess, Lady, Mother, Giver of Life. I ask you to guard this circle and I who are within it and protect me from harm.' ''
Julia recites the words as instructed.
“Now say, ‘I call to the forces of nature, Life itself. I ask you to guard this circle and I who are within it and protect me from harm.'
“Light the purple candle,” Bella intones solemnly, then quickly shouts, “No! Not the green one. The purple one.”
“Bugger,” Julia says, almost under her breath. “I can hardly see anything. Can you light some more candles outside the circle?”
“No. Stay in the mood. Sit on the floor now and begin to meditate while saying, ‘Cleanse my body, cleanse my spirit, cleanse my mind' for about ten minutes.”
Twenty minutes later Julia hisses at Bella, who is now feeling thoroughly relaxed and thinking that Transcendental Meditation probably isn't such a bad idea after all.
“Sorry. Light the green candle. Place the drawstring pouch and crystals in front of the green candle. Take some of one of the herbs, grind it with the pestle and mortar while thinking fertile thoughts.”
“What kind of fertile thoughts?” Julia says in a panic.
“I'm coming to that. Visualize being pregnant and holding your new child. When you're done with each herb, place it into the pouch, saying, ‘A child will grow inside of me as the God did inside of the Goddess.'?”
Julia is now solemn, concentrating on the grinding of marble as she crushes the herbs, thoughts of her baby, her expanding stomach, a tiny gurgling bundle of love filling her mind.
“When all the herbs are in the bag,” Bella intones when she sees Julia is ready, “take the two crystals, place them in front of you and imagine a beautiful green light flowing into them, making them glow. When you feel you've done this enough, place them into the bag, again saying, ‘A child will grow inside of me as the God did inside of the Goddess.'
“And finally tie the bag tightly and carry it with you at all times, and when ‘baby-dancing' place it over your tummy.”
Julia stops and looks at Bella in alarm. “Baby-dancing? What on earth is baby-dancing?”
“Probably sensuous dancing with your stomach sticking out. Like this.” Bella adopts the most serene expression she can, and belly-dances her way round the circle, holding the sheet carefully so it neither falls down nor trips her up. “Haven't you got any music?”
Minutes later Julia is back inside the circle, losing herself to the rhythms of the Air CD that they both deemed the only vaguely spiritual one in her collection. Her head is thrown back, eyes closed, she is swaying seductively, loving this feeling of freedom, of abandonment, as Bella slinks around the outside of the circle, rotating her arms and hips.
“Ahem.” Marks clears his throat and puts his briefcase down just inside the doorway. “I hope you don't mind me asking, but what the f*ck is going on here?”