Gucci Gucci Coo (17 page)

Chapter 11

“Omigod, you must have been mortified,” Fi said, clamping the breast-pump funnel to her left nipple. “What on earth did Sam say when he heard the message?”

“Nothing. He didn’t get a chance. He had to rush off.” Ruby described how just as her mother’s call ended, St. Luke’s rang Sam to say there was an emergency and he was needed. Apparently the same patient who had been giving cause for concern when they were in Brighton had taken a turn for the worse.

“Emergency, my aunt Fanny,” Fi snorted. “Probably just some celeb throwing a diva fit and threatening to sue because she’d found a postpartum hemorrhoid.”

“No, I think it was pretty real,” Ruby said. She explained that Sam had sounded pretty uptight while he was on the phone to the hospital and that he’d seemed particularly concerned for the nurse who’d phoned. “I could actually hear her crying on the end of the line and he was telling her to keep calm and not to worry. God only knows what must have been going on for a nurse to lose her cool.”

“You’d cry, too, if you had to cope with these spoiled, self-centered women who can’t cope with the tiniest thing going wrong in their lives. I’d hate to be in Sam’s shoes. He must live in constant fear of a malpractice suit landing on his desk.”

Ruby nodded. That probably explained Sam’s initial anxiety after he got the phone call on the beach.

Fi lowered her head and watched milk squirt from her breast and into the baby’s bottle. “I dunno why I don’t just put a bell round my neck, change my name to Daisy and have done with it.” She explained that Saul had offered to take over the night feeds for a while so that she could get some sleep. Since she was adamant that Connor should only have breast milk, she was forced to express it into a bottle.

Ruby offered her an affectionate smile and placed a hand on her shoulder. “C’mon, it won’t be forever.”

“I know. Look, don’t mind me, I’m still fretting about how all these stars manage to stay so slim when they’re pregnant.” Two or three magazines were lying in a pile on the table. She picked up the top one. “Have you seen this?” She was holding this month’s
For Her
. “There’s an interview with Claudia Planchette. It’s so bloody galling.” She slid the magazine toward Ruby. “Look at the picture of her. Apart from her bump she’s still as skinny as anything. And she has the nerve to say it’s all down to genes. Yeah, right. She’s clearly starving herself and her baby…. On the other hand, there’s no denying the results.”

“Fi, just listen to yourself. Are you saying that a bit of you wishes you had starved yourself when you were pregnant with Connor?”

“No, of course not,” Fi shot back. “Claudia Planchette’s obviously obsessed, but like they were saying on that TV show yesterday, the situation really is getting out of hand and stars like Planchette are to blame. I’ve got pregnant friends who are sane, grounded, professional women and even they are restricting their diets. Have you any idea where this could lead? I’m telling you, Rubes, if this situation gets any worse, we are going to start seeing educated, middle-class women giving birth to full-term babies who are severely underweight and malnourished. Why isn’t somebody doing something?” Fi was so angry and exasperated that her face had become quite pink.

“You’re right,” Ruby said. “But what do you do? Women have to wake up and start seeing this madness for what it is. Until that happens nothing will change.…C’mon, cheer up. Why don’t I pour us a glass of wine?”

Fi said she’d better not because the alcohol would get into her milk and make Connor tipsy. “On the other hand a drop of vino might make him sleep better.” She said there was an open bottle of Chardy in the fridge. “I’m sorry I keep getting on my soapbox about this dieting thing, but it’s really got to me.”

“Don’t apologize. If I’d just had a baby and put on a few pounds, it would get to me, too.” Ruby opened the fridge door and took out the bottle of Chardonnay. Then she turned to Fi. “I assume you’ll be wanting a bucket of freshly mown grass with your wine?” she giggled.

“Ha, blinkin’ ha.”

Ruby only poured herself half a glass. She wasn’t planning to stay long. She was on her way to her parents’ for dinner—Aunty Sylvia was bringing her new chap. She’d stopped off at Fi’s to give her the new Les Sprogs catalogue. Fi was looking for a child’s bed for Ben, which Saul’s parents had offered to pay for.

“So, are you seeing Sam again?” Fi asked.

Ruby said she was. She explained that he’d phoned first thing to apologize for having to rush off and to ask if she was free on Friday. He’d also managed to ease her embarrassment over the CD fiasco by telling her how Irene had spent years placing lonely-hearts ads on his behalf in Jewish newspapers. Apparently, each time an ad appeared he would receive dozens of e-mails from ultra-Orthodox parents desperate to marry off their daughters to a nice Jewish doctor.

“So, you two must really be hitting it off.”

Ruby became thoughtful. “Well, we don’t stop talking. He makes me laugh. And I feel completely relaxed with him. It’s like I’ve known him forever…”

“And he is incredibly sexy.”

“There is that.” Ruby smiled. She described how she’d barely slept last night because she kept rerunning the tape of their first kiss. “It was so sublime, it actually took my breath away. It never felt like that when I kissed Matt—not even at the beginning.”

“That’s because Matt wasn’t a gynecologist. I’m telling you, gynecologists are great lovers. You wait. When you finally get to do the deed, it is going to be fabulous. You are so lucky.”

Just then a little voice called out from upstairs. It was Ben. “Mummee, my done a ukky pooh in va twoilet! Come and wipe my bottom!”

“Gawd, I thought he was asleep,” Fi said. She called out a “well done, poppet” to Ben and told him she would be up in a tick. “Hallelujah. First turd he’s deposited in the loo for weeks.” She pulled the plastic cone off her breast and examined the contents of the baby bottle. “If I add that to the lot I expressed earlier,” she said, buttoning up her shirt, “there might just be enough for one feed.” She took the bottle over to the fridge and poured the contents into a jug. “I think I’ve got some nuts somewhere,” she said to Ruby, “if you fancy something to go with the wine.” Then she disappeared upstairs to see to Ben.

Ruby had to admit she was feeling a bit hungry and began opening cupboards looking for the nuts. Courtesy of Bridget, the kitchen was still immaculate. Instead of a dozen coffee-stained mugs piled up on the draining board, there were now two perfectly straight rows of shiny, freshly bleached mugs in the crockery cupboard, handles all facing the same direction. Eventually she found a bag of peanuts stowed in a large clean Tupperware container alongside several packets of Monster Munch.

“Great, you’ve found them,” Fi said, coming back into the kitchen, having put Ben back to bed. “I haven’t been able to find anything since my mother started cleaning and reorganizing the kitchen. I wouldn’t mind—in fact I’m really grateful—but she does it with such bad grace and makes me feel so inadequate.”

Ruby offered her the open bag of nuts. Fi took a handful and sat down. “You know,” Ruby said, “exasperating as it is, maybe you should try to let Bridget’s comments wash over you. Just make use of her while she’s around.”

“I should,” Fi said, noisily munching nuts. “And I do try, but with my mother it’s easier said than done.” She drained her glass and allowed Ruby to refill it.

“God, just think,” Fi said. “If you married Sam, we’d be related.”

Ruby burst out laughing. “We hardly know each other and you’ve already got us married off. You know, you are rapidly turning into a Jewish mother.”

Just then, Saul appeared. “Saul,” Fi said, “what relation would I be to Ruby if she married your cousin Sam?”

“Hang on,” Saul said, frowning. “Have I missed something?”

“Your wife’s getting a bit ahead of herself,” Ruby replied. “Sam and I have been on one date, that’s all.”

“He seems like a really nice bloke,” Saul said. “I hadn’t met him until the circumcision. Turns out he’s really into soccer.” He turned to Fi. “Spurs are at home to Man U on Saturday. Thought I might see if he wanted to come.”

“Great. Anything to keep you and my mother apart.”

“By the way, where is she? Popped out to put gas in her broomstick?”

Fi shushed him, but she couldn’t help laughing. “She’s taken Connor for a walk. He’s been crochety all day and she thought the fresh air might help him drop off.”

“Let’s hope so,” Saul said, “but whatever happens I’m doing the feeds tonight. You have to get some rest.” He took a swig of Fi’s wine and a handful of nuts from the bag. “Right, I’m off to see Tony the Fascist. He’s going to fit the car with a new exhaust. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.” Tony the Fascist was Fi and Saul’s car mechanic. He had political views that were Neanderthal to say the least, but he worked from home and was cheap as chips.

Just then Bridget came bustling in. She was holding Connor in her arms. “Sure now, Fiona, will you look at him? Sleeping like a lamb. I swear you don’t give him enough fresh air. That’s why he doesn’t sleep through the night.” She noticed the bottle of Chardonnay. “You’re drinking wine.”

“Yes. Fancy a glass?” Fi said.

Bridget ignored the invitation. Instead she gave a loud, disapproving sniff. “But it’ll get into your milk and give Connor the runs,” she said. “Poor little mite. Hasn’t he been through enough?” She handed Connor to Fi and began unbuttoning her coat. “I’ll take him upstairs in a minute and check on his wound.” This last comment was directed specifically at Saul. Ruby and Fi saw the pulse going on the side of his head. “Let it go, just let it go,” Fi whispered to him. Saul shoved more nuts into his mouth.

“And will you look at that husband of yours,” Bridget went on. “With all that long hair.”

“Mum, he’s in
Hamlet
. He has to have long hair.”

“But he looks like a woman,” she said.

“Only when I stand beside you,” Saul muttered so that only Fi and Ruby could hear. Fi’s foot made violent contact with Saul’s shin.

He winced, offered a general “see ya” and left, grabbing another handful of nuts on his way.

Ruby asked Bridget if she would prefer a cup of tea or coffee.

“Coffee would be grand.” She asked Ruby how she was feeling.

“Oh, much better. Although in the end I decided not to drive home. Sam had to—”

“Lovely, dear. Lovely. Now then, what do you think of the way I’ve cleaned this kitchen? You can see your face in those taps. Encrusted with lime scale, they were. All they needed was a bit of elbow grease.” She looked pointedly at Fi. For the next five minutes she delivered a lecture on how the education system was failing girls by not teaching them domestic science. Fi responded by knocking back a third glass of wine.

“Well, I have to say,” Ruby said, placing a mug of coffee in front of Bridget, “that it all looks lovely.”

Fi shot her a look as if to say “traitor.” Ruby raised her look with a “what do you expect me to say” shrug.

“Of course the floor was particularly bad,” Bridget went on. “I don’t know the last time that saw a mop and soap. Four goes it took me to get it looking like this. Mind you, it wasn’t as bad as the stove. I used a whole bottle of scouring cream on it. You know, Fiona, you need to get organized. You could get all your chores done if you got that baby into a routine. Do you think I picked you up every time you cried? Take it from me, young as he is, he’s got you wrapped around his little finger.”

She finished stirring sugar into her coffee and picked up the milk carton. “Empty,” she snorted. Her world-weary expression suggested that this was just another in the long line of domestic failures she had come to expect from her daughter.

Ruby offered to get some more milk from the fridge, but Bridget was already on her feet. For some reason Ruby found herself watching as Bridget opened the fridge door and reached inside. When she brought out the milk jug, Ruby patted Fi’s arm and jerked her head in Bridget’s direction. “Omigod,” Fi whispered, bringing her hand to her mouth. “She’s got my—”

“I know. Shouldn’t we stop her?” Ruby said.

“Stop her and I will never ever speak to you again. OK?”

“OK.”

Squirming in an attempt to suppress their hysterical laughter, they watched Bridget pour the milk into her mug.

She came back to her seat and took a mouthful of her coffee. This was followed in quick succession by another and then another.

“How’s the coffee, Mum?” Fi said.

“Actually, it’s not at all bad. And the milk’s not too creamy. Even semiskimmed is too creamy for me. I have a very sensitive palette, you know. What kind is it?”

“Oh, it’s a new organic one,” Fi said innocently. “It’s, erm…it’s imported from France.”

“Really? Whereabouts in France?”

“Brest, I think.” Fi had her hand clamped to her mouth in an effort to hold in her laughter. “They fly it over. That’s why it’s called Brest Express.”

“Right. When I get home I’ll be sure to ask for Brest Express milk.”

R
UBY ARRIVED AT
her parents’ just before eight. Ronnie was wearing a baggy sweatshirt with “Does My Bump Look Big in This?” written across it. She had an oven glove slung over her shoulder. Ruby admired the sweatshirt. “Great, isn’t it? Your Aunty Sylvia bought it for me.” She led Ruby into the kitchen. A half-roasted leg of lamb in its tin was sitting on the counter. “I’ll be with you in a minute. I just need to finish basting the roast. Your dad’s listening to music. He probably didn’t hear you come in.” Ronnie picked up a large basting spoon and began pouring meat juices over the lamb. “Help yourself to wine.” As Ruby poured Merlot into a glass, she breathed in the delectable aroma of roasting meat, rosemary and garlic.