From Here to Maternity (10 page)

‘Well, no, but you’re definitely heading that way,’ she said, grinning as she waved a finger at me. ‘And you promised you wouldn’t.’

‘What about me?’ demanded Jess.

‘No, you’re fine too. In fact, you’re normally really good because I only ever see you with Emma – who, until recently, wasn’t interested in talking about kids either. But now that you both have children, I’m seeing another side creep in. Look, it isn’t that I’m not interested, of course I am – your children are part of who you are – but after half an hour it gets kind of dull. At that stage I’d like to talk about other things. You’d feel the same if I talked at length about my job.’

‘OK, no more baby talk. What’ll we talk about instead?’ I asked, eager not to become a boring, one-dimensional mother.

We tried to think of a subject.

‘I went for my first scan the other day,’ I announced. ‘Oh, sorry, baby talk again,’ I said, realizing my faux-pas.

Lucy laughed. ‘It’s fine, I’m genuinely interested in hearing about that. How did it go?’

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded.

‘It was great. I was really nervous, actually. I’ve been so distracted with Yuri that I haven’t focused on my pregnancy, but when I was sitting in the obstetrician’s waiting room, I suddenly realized the enormity of it and got all emotional. By the time he did the scan I was a sobbing mess – even though all I could see was a fuzzy black blob. And then Dr Philips let us hear the heartbeat, and that was when it became real. Even James looked a bit choked up. I can’t really believe it’s happening. We’ve been so blessed this Christmas, it’s almost scary.’

‘Oh, God, don’t do that Irish-Catholic-guilt thing,’ said Lucy. ‘You deserve happiness. You went through hell to adopt Yuri and to get pregnant. Enjoy it. What is it about us that whenever things go really well we get the fear and decide that something horrendous is about to happen? We actually expect to get mown down by a passing car and spend the rest of our lives in a wheelchair, instead of enjoying the good things in a guilt-free oblivion.’

‘It’s the religion thing. You’re constantly hearing how the poor and downtrodden get to heaven first and the happy, contented lot will be at the back of the queue,’ said Jess.

‘Speaking of religion, was Jesus really shagging Mary Magdalene?’ I asked, having recently read an article about
The Da Vinci Code
that claimed they were up to all sorts.

‘Apparently so.’

‘The local hooker?’

‘Yep.’

‘His mother must have been devastated – and her with the virgin birth.’

‘I never really got that,’ said Jess. ‘I mean, Mary was married to Joseph, so how could she have been a virgin? Did the angel come down on their wedding night and say, “Hold that thought, Joseph, we need to borrow your wife’s womb for a few months. After that she’s all yours”?’

We giggled.

‘Do you think they had kids after Jesus?’ I asked.

‘I’d say it’s highly likely,’ said Lucy.

‘So there could be descendants of Jesus’s brothers and sisters running around.’

‘They’d have been half-brothers and -sisters because, as we know, Joseph wasn’t involved in creating Jesus,’ Lucy reminded me.

‘Good point. But what if Jesus and the bold Mary Magdalene had kids? They’d be direct descendants,’ I queried.

‘Imagine Jesus being your father,’ said Jess. ‘The pressure on you to be good would be unbearable. You could never misbehave.’

‘And your granddad would be able to see you wherever you were and whatever you were up to – because as we know…’ I paused.

‘God is everywhere!’ we chanted.

Chapter 11

Two weeks into Babs’s so-called job, and all she had done, apart from making copious cups of tea, was sell packets of ten 170-gram frozen steak burgers for £20.45, much to her embarrassment. She hadn’t had her nose done and moved to London for that crap. She was thinking of complaining to Billy when she arrived into the office to find it in disarray. Sophie, the top salesgirl, had broken her arm while promoting a new trampoline and was now on her way to hospital. Billy was in a flap because they were due to sell a new range of blow-up beds and the American company–Sweetie Dreams – had specifically asked for Sophie to partner their male model, Randy, to shift the merchandise. Babs saw an opening and dived in head first. ‘I’ll do it,’ she announced, as she was handing Billy a mug of tea. ‘I look a bit like Sophie and, as my dad always says, I could sell ice to the Eskimos.’

‘You’ve only been here a week and this is a scripted piece,’ said Billy.

‘Two weeks, actually, and how complicated can the lines be? I’m a college graduate, not some page-three bimbo.’

Billy wasn’t sure. Babs was a bit of a live wire. Mind you, she did look like Sophie and she had a good personality and, more importantly, this needed to be filmed now or he was up the Swanee. ‘OK, but don’t vary from the script. Keep it nice and enthusiastic without being over the top. Go to Wardrobe and put on some pyjamas. I need you ready in twenty minutes.’

Babs skipped down the corridor. In Buy For Less TV terms, this was a big job. If she made a good impression today Sophie’d be out of a job by the time her plaster cast was off.

Twenty minutes later, Babs and Randy were lying on a large inflatable bed. Randy was one of those over-muscled, vacant-looking Californians with a thick-set jaw, sunbed tan and bleached teeth. He wouldn’t have looked out of place on
Baywatch,
jogging alongside David Hasselhoff.

‘Do you know your lines?’ Billy asked Babs.

She nodded. She’d glanced at them while the wardrobe girl tried to decide between red, lilac or pink pyjamas. The script appeared to consist largely of oohs and aahs. No big deal.

‘Follow Randy. He’s an old pro,’ instructed Billy.

Babs looked at Randy, who almost took her eye out by smiling at her. The reflection from his teeth was offensive. He was wearing a very tight blue T-shirt and spray-on red shorts. Babs was in pink fluffy pyjamas with bunny rabbits on them. She felt ridiculous. She had tried to persuade Billy to allow her to wear a skimpy little black négligé.

‘Look, darling, I’ve told you before, our audience is largely made up of retired old fogeys or bored housewives. The oldies would be shocked by a display of so much young flesh and the housewives want to look at a safe, sweet girl-next-door, not some sexy vamp who’s going to make them feel guilty about the plate of chocolate digestives they’re about to scoff.’

‘Well, maybe I could bring in a whole new audience of male viewers,’ said Babs, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

‘You’re not that fit, love. Now, come on, on your back and don’t forget to mention the product name as often as you can,’ said Billy, grinning as she lay down on the bed.

‘OK, you’re on in ten, nine, eight, seven…’ shouted Billy.

‘Hi, everyone I’m Randy and this is Babs, and we’re lying on the awesome new Slumber-Puff from Sweetie Dreams. The incredible air-mattress from America’s top manufacturers. Isn’t it comfortable, Babs?’

‘Oh, it’s just fantastic, Randy, I could go to sleep right now,’ said Babs, hamming it up for the camera.

‘When you have relatives come to visit, are you going to make them sleep on an uncomfortable camping mattress?’ Randy asked Babs.

‘No, Randy, unless you really dislike them, that is,’ she said, as they both fake-laughed – although she wasn’t sure that Randy
was
faking it: he looked genuinely amused.

‘So, what
are
you going to do?’ he continued, staring into the camera and shrugging. ‘You don’t have a spare bed and your storage space is limited. It’s a serious problem.’

‘Yes, Randy, it is. After all, you want your visitors to be comfortable and, let’s face it, you can’t put your in-laws to sleep on the floor,’ said Babs, beaming into the camera.

‘No, you can not, and that’s where Slumber-Puff comes in. You simply inflate the mattress with this easy-to-use foot pump and the bed lifts you six inches
off the
floor.’

‘Six inches!’ said Babs, mouth open. ‘No way! But that’s impossible!’

‘Not with Slumber-Puff,’ said Randy, as he took out a measuring tape and showed the braindead folk at home that it really was six inches. Randy was as honest as the day was long.

‘Wow!’ exclaimed Babs, seizing the edge of the mattress. ‘It’s incredible! Slumber-Puff really does feel like a bed! You’re so high up. It’s not like sleeping on the floor at all.’

‘Correct,’ agreed Randy. ‘No dust, bugs or germs are going to get you up here. And the amazing part is that Slumber-Puff deflates into this compact piece of flat rubber,’ he said, holding up a deflated version of the wonder-mattress.

Babs shook her head. It was too much good news in one go. ‘It’s so neat and easy to store.’

‘No more cluttering up your closets with bulky foam mattresses or uncomfortable camping beds, Slumber-Puff deflates to an amazing thirty by thirty inches, so it’ll fit into a regular drawer!’

‘Far out!’ exclaimed Babs, in an over-the-top imitation of one of the kids from
Fame.
‘And I have to confess, Randy, I’m amazed at how comfortable the Slumber-Puff is. It feels so firm.’

‘It’s as firm as an ordinary mattress, and I’d like to demonstrate that now for our viewers. So, Babs, why don’t you lie down there and get some rest and I’ll put the Slumber-Puff to the test?’

Babs lay down on the incredibly uncomfortable bed and closed her eyes, with an expression of ecstasy – she was determined to impress.

Meanwhile, in the corner, old Randy boy was limbering up, stretching and flexing his muscles. Babs was lulled into a false sense of security, thinking Randy was going to bounce gently on the bed while she ‘slept’ peacefully with her back to him. Randy, clearly a former interstate gymnast of some sort, came charging over from the side of the studio, threw himself into a cartwheel and landed feet first on Babs’s hair, almost ripping it out of her head. It took every inch of her self-control not to scream. Then he proceeded to backflip several times as the blow-up mattress bounced violently up and down, almost throwing Babs overboard as she clung to the side, pretending to be in a deep sleep. As Randy leaped, bounced and flipped about, determined to convince the viewers that this was a sturdy bed, he kept up a steady stream of breathless commentary.

‘You see, folks, the Slumber-Puff mattress is so solid and sturdy that I can be doing all this while my girlfriend sleeps soundly beside me.’

As Randy saw the countdown for the ad break, he decided to outdo himself with one final giant backflip and, just as they cut to ads, crashed onto Babs’s head. She shot up, grabbed him by the ankles and flung him on to the floor. As she stared at the clumps of her hair that lay in sorry piles in the middle of the mattress, she lost her cool.
‘You fucking moron!’
she screamed, at the winded Randy. ‘This isn’t the bloody circus. You nearly took my head off, not to mind all my bloody hair. I’m practically bald! On top of which you landed several times on my right hand, which I now think is broken,’ she said, peering down at it.

‘All right, Babs, calm down. No need for violence,’ said Billy, rushing over. ‘You’re doing really well. Just a bit more to go,’ he said, smoothing what remained of her hair down and gently guiding her back on to the bed. We’re back from the break, and ten, nine, eight…’

‘Wake up, honey,’ said Randy, shaking a still fuming Babs. ‘Did you feel any of that activity?’

‘No, it’s awesome. I actually fell asleep,’ said the future Oscar-winner, yawning as she smiled up at Randy, trying to ignore the throbbing in her head and hand. ‘Were you beside me the whole time?’

Randy grinned into the camera. ‘You see, folks? It’s really that effective. And to prove it to you again, I’m going to ask Babs to join me in some jumping.’

With that, Randy grabbed her hands and jumped up and down like an excited kid with Babs in tow. ‘Come on, Babs, higher,’ he said. ‘Isn’t this fun?’

‘Oh, Randy, I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. This Slumber-Puff mattress is the best,’ said Babs, trying not to wince as Randy’s full bodyweight thudded onto her feet.

‘Do you think our viewers are going to be impressed?’

‘I don’t see how they couldn’t,’ puffed Babs. ‘I’m going to order one now for myself, because I know these Slumber-Puff mattresses are going to fly out of the door, especially with the four easy payment options.’

‘Exactly!’ said the clumsiest acrobat in America. ‘This incredible mattress – code five four three nine five two – can be yours for the unbelievable price of three hundred and forty-three pounds eighty, or eighty-five ninety-five per month, payable in four monthly instalments. With limited stock available I wouldn’t wait around to order. Would you, Babs?’

‘No way!’ wheezed Babs, as her lungs threatened to explode. She hadn’t done so much exercise in years. ‘With our thirty-day money-back guarantee, it’s a no-risk purchase. Besides, who could resist this bargain? Order now by phone, or for our interactive viewers, just press the red button on your remote control now.’

‘Book now to avoid disappointment,’ said Randy, as Billy called it a wrap.

Babs collapsed in a heap onto the bed. Thank God it was over. This selling lark was a lot more difficult than it looked.

‘Well done, partner,’ said Randy, holding out his hand.

‘You big clumsy fool, you’ve crippled me for life,’ snapped Babs, and limped off the set to put ice on pretty much every part of her body.

Ten minutes later, Billy came in, grinning. ‘What’s so funny?’ asked Babs.

‘Those mattresses have been selling like hotcakes and we’ve had several calls to compliment our lovely new Irish presenter with the sweet smile and honest face. If only they knew what a little vixen you are.’

‘I told you I was good at selling,’ said Babs, cheering up. ‘Do I get commission?’

‘Don’t push your luck, love. And next time try to be nicer to our American colleagues. Randy can’t help being a bit thick. It’s all the steroids he’s been taking – they’ve fried his brain.’

‘What time do you want me in tomorrow?’

‘Come in for eleven. I’ve got some gardening products I need to shift. If you can persuade people to buy them, I’ll give you Sophie’s regular slot.’