No-One Ever Has Sex on a Tuesday (12 page)

‘Back where?’

‘Playgroup.’

Braindead contemplated Ben for a moment.

‘You’re a grown man,’ he declared. ‘You shouldn’t be anywhere near a playgroup.’

‘I know,’ said Ben. ‘But Katy used to go, so I thought I should.’

‘Attracted by the thought of a room full of women, maybe?’ asked Braindead. ‘Hey, I should take Millie,’ he said, glancing over to the woman who’d smiled at him.

‘You wouldn’t last five minutes.’

‘Why not?’

‘Braindead, it’s like . . .’ Ben was lost for words. ‘It’s the single most boring thing you could ever do with your time. I mean, it’s literally mind-numbing. It’s like a form of torture. If they’d locked Saddam Hussein in a playgroup for an hour he’d have been squealing like a baby to get out.’

‘It can’t be that bad, surely?’

‘Oh, it is. You arrive, right? Bit nervous because you don’t know anyone, but you tell yourself it’s only a playgroup so nothing to be scared of.
So you go in, get Millie settled on a blanket, get told off for not putting a pound in the tin and then guess what happens?’

‘What?’

‘Absolutely nothing. Everyone ignores you. No-one comes over to say hello. It’s like you’re a leper. Now I don’t know if it’s because I’m a bloke, but seriously, I have never been so successfully ignored in my life. And then it gets worse.’

‘What? I’m on the edge of my seat, mate. This is the best story you’ve ever told.’

‘Then everyone disappears. They go off into this room, but you’ve no idea why and no-one has told you to go, so you don’t know if it’s a girl only thing, but anyway, I’m so bored I pick Millie up and wander in. They’re only all sitting down having coffee and biscuits. They all look at me but no one speaks, so I just sit down and grab myself a coffee. It’s the most disgusting coffee you have ever tasted – like the sort you used to get when coffee was just cheap stuff, like tea.’

‘Those were the days,’ replied Braindead, picking up his enormous cup of oversized, over-expensive coffee.

‘Anyway, I try not to spit it out, and then lo and behold, someone speaks to me. I’ve been there over an hour and someone finally says, ‘Would you like a digestive biscuit?’

‘Chocolate?’ asked Braindead.

‘No. Plain.’

‘Digestives aren’t a biscuit,’ cried Braindead. ‘They’re . . . they’re a commodity, an ingredient, only to be eaten supporting a mass of cheesecake. You can’t just eat a digestive as a biscuit. Hobnob, yes, Bourbon, yes, maybe even a party ring, but to offer a digestive . . . who are these people? Are they living in the Dark Ages?’

‘I know, but that wasn’t the worst of it,’ Ben continued. ‘Little did I realise that actually being ignored would be a far better situation than being part of the conversation. Once I’d been offered a biscuit it opened the floodgates. Everyone wanted to talk to me.’

‘Brilliant. That’s great. You fitted in. Well done.’

‘Oh no,’ said Ben, shaking his head again. ‘Believe me, you do not want to fit in with this conversation. It was horrific. I have never been so ashamed of myself in my entire life.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Braindead, we discussed baby poo, baby sick, nappy rash, diarrhoea, the direction babies piss in – you name it, we covered it, and Braindead, I couldn’t help it, I joined in. What is happening to me?’

‘It’s alright, lad.’ Braindead leaned forward to pat him on the shoulder. ‘There must be rehab available for this.’

‘It’s like I had nothing else to talk about. Like anything interesting I had to say had been zapped out of my head to be replaced with the bodily functions of babies. It’s like I’ve become some kind of baby zombie. What am I going to do?’

‘You must have talked about something else at some point, surely?’

‘Well, we did digress for a moment, but I had nothing to offer to the brief reality TV show discussion. I came away thinking I have no choice but to watch crap telly, because otherwise I’m stuck on baby poo for the next God knows how many months. And they were all very nice, intelligent women, but it’s like they’re possessed by some brain-altering movement and all they’ve got left is babies and reality TV. This is what I’m going to become, isn’t it? What am I going to do?’

‘You need a lads’ night out,’ declared Braindead. ‘Oestrogen is seeping into you at a shocking rate. Look at us. We’re in some poncey coffee shop! We wouldn’t have been seen dead in one of these before you gave up your job to look after Millie. I’ve got just the place. You and me down that new microbrewery. I’ll have you back up to speed with scintillating conversation in no time.’

‘Microbrewery,’ sighed Ben. ‘I suppose so.’

‘What!’ gasped Braindead. ‘What is wrong with you? Normally you’d jump through flaming hoops to get to a microbrewery. Are you ill or something?’

‘No, yes, I don’t know,’ said Ben. ‘I have never felt so tired in my entire life. I ache all over – what’s that all about? I run around like a headless chicken every day and I’m stressed, Braindead. Stressed, me? I never get
stressed, but the effort of trying not to screw this up is doing my head in. I think I am actually going mad, seriously.’

‘This is serious shit, man,’ said Braindead, looking worried for the first time. ‘You really need to talk to Katy if it’s making you feel like this.’

‘I know,’ replied Ben. ‘But I so wanted to make this work, you know. Make her proud of me. I can’t bear the thought of telling her I can’t cope.’

Braindead leaned forward to grab Ben’s arm. ‘I’m here for you, mate.’

‘Thanks, Braindead. What do you think I should do?’

‘Fuck knows,’ Braindead shrugged. ‘But one thing I do know is that you’re not going to find the answer in here. The answer will most definitely be found in a microbrewery. Friday?’

‘Beeeeeeen,’ came a high-pitched wail just as Ben and Braindead were packing up baby paraphernalia to leave the coffee shop.

Ben turned to see Charlene and Abby fast approaching. He swivelled back to Braindead to urge him to prepare for a swift exit, but his friend’s eyes were already out on stalks at the sight of Abby’s generous assets making their way towards them.

‘Hi, Charlene,’ said Ben. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

‘We come here every Wednesday afternoon for a treat as I have Rocco on my own all day on a Wednesday.’

‘And I don’t go to college on a Wednesday,’ added Abby.

‘Not on a Wednesday either, Abby?’ Ben queried. ‘What are you studying, exactly?’

‘Media Studies,’ she replied.

‘Makes sense now,’ said Ben. ‘Look, you can have our table, we’re just leaving.’ He heard a cough behind him. ‘Oh, sorry. This is Braindead. Braindead, this is Charlene and Abby. Charlene’s baby is the same age as Millie.’

‘The name’s actually Bryan,’ announced Braindead. ‘But, you know, Braindead is a better name than Bryan.’

Charlene and Abby barely acknowledged Braindead. Charlene was distracted by her phone whilst Abby was nudging her.

‘You going to show him?’ she said, nodding at Ben.

‘Show me what?’ asked Ben.

‘You are the next big thing, Ben. Just give me one second,’ said Charlene, still deeply absorbed in her phone. ‘There. Got it. Take a look at this.’ She turned to show Ben the screen. To his surprise, his face filled it. He was looking upset with something but it wasn’t clear what until the picture panned out and he could see he was watching a recording of him at that damned music class. His heart sank. Why was Charlene showing him this? A painful reminder of yet another horrendous encounter as a stay-at-home dad.

‘Why is this on your phone?’ he demanded.

‘Remember I was filming Charlene and Rocco for Charlene’s Facebook page? Well, you were much more interesting,’ said Abby coyly.

‘I can’t believe that was the week that Abby came along to film,’ cried Charlene in excitement. ‘To think if she hadn’t have been there you would never have got famous on the internet!’

‘What!’ exclaimed Ben, nearly dropping Millie’s car seat.

‘I’m going home to listen to the Arctic Monkeys very loud!’
boomed out of the speakers on the phone.

‘Get you,’ said Braindead, slapping Ben on the back. ‘You totally socked it to that psycho music bitch.’

‘You did!’ said Charlene, looking really pleased with herself. ‘And lots of other people think so too. I put it up on my Teenage Mums Facebook group page, and so far you have over four hundred shares. And look at some of these comments.’ She grabbed the phone out of his hand.

‘
My hero
,’ she read aloud. ‘
Wish I’d have said that weeks ago in the music group I go to. I’m never ever going again
. And listen to this one.
I’ll have whatever he’s having. He is sooooo right
. And what about this one?
I want him to run a music class. Music, Mummy & the Arctic Monkeys. Finally a baby class worth going to
. Ben, you should totally start your own music class. It would be so brilliant. We’d help, wouldn’t we, Abby? We could sit around and play brilliant music like the Arctic Monkeys and the Kaiser Chiefs and One Direction and have plastic tambourines and maracas for the kids and serve cocktails and stuff like that. Do it, Ben, please, go on! Say you’ll do Music, Mummy and the Arctic Monkeys?’

‘Hang on a minute,’ cried Ben. ‘Just slow down, will you? I think I need to start by asking what on earth possessed you to put me on your Facebook page without asking?’

‘You’re not bothered, are you?’ said Charlene. ‘It’s just Facebook,’ she shrugged.

‘It’s not just Facebook,’ said Ben. ‘It’s the worldwide web, and I’m out there now and you never even asked me?

‘But,’ replied Charlene with a look of utter confusion on her face. ‘You’re famous.’

‘Not really, am I, Charlene? And I don’t want to be famous anyway.’

‘What?’ But why not?’

‘Because I don’t. Especially not for having some poxy video on Facebook. I don’t deserve to be famous for that.’

‘But you have deserved it,’ said Charlene, still looking confused.

‘Who says?’

‘All these people.’ She stabbed at her phone. ‘They’re freaking over the moon to have someone dare say that baby music classes are pants and you shouldn’t go if you’re not enjoying them.’

‘You shouldn’t have done it without asking,’ Ben huffed.

‘Okay,’ said Abby, stepping in. ‘You’re right. We should have asked, but you really should read the comments. They all think you’re amazing. Seriously.’

Ben stared at Abby like she had just landed from the moon.

‘They have no idea what they’re talking about,’ he said. ‘I’m not amazing at all. I can’t even hack it in a poxy music class.’

‘You are amazing,’ declared Charlene. ‘You are like the best stay-at-home dad ever.’

‘No, I’m not,’ said Ben, shaking his head. ‘I’m rubbish at it. In fact I’m starting to think dads were just not meant to be mums. I’m going to have to tell Katy she was right after all. Swapping was a stupid idea, because I didn’t have a clue how hard it was to look after a baby. I am a failure.’

‘Hey, fella,’ said Braindead, putting a hand on his shoulder. ‘There is no shame in being a failure.’

‘You are not a failure,’ said Charlene firmly.

‘Most definitely not,’ added Abby.

‘But I don’t know what I’m doing,’ Ben cried. ‘I’m not doing it properly and no-one can tell me what I should be doing. Everyone is telling me different things. None of it makes any sense.’

‘Listen to me,’ said Charlene, grabbing his shoulders to make him look at her. You can do this and I know exactly the person who can help you.’

‘Do you?’ asked Ben, wide-eyed at Charlene’s commanding tone.

‘Are you at home tomorrow?’

‘Of course. Where else would I be?’

‘Right,’ said Charlene. ‘I’ll bring her round. She is seriously brilliant at babies. She knows absolutely everything.’

‘Who is she?’ asked Ben.

‘You’ll see. You won’t regret it, I promise. She’ll make you into dad of the year in no time.’

‘Okay,’ Ben sighed. ‘I suppose it’s worth a try.’

‘Cool,’ said Charlene, clapping her hands in excitement. ‘Tomorrow at yours it is then.’

‘Can I come?’ added Abby.

Chapter Thirteen

‘OMG,’ gasped Charlene the following morning when Ben opened the door to her. ‘I have been waiting all my life to have a look inside one of these riverside flats, seriously! No wonder you let Katy go back to work if her job gets you all this!’

She pushed past him down the hallway, and he became aware of a commotion in her wake.

‘Look, if you let me park the double buggy here then there will be more than enough room for the other pushchair. Trust me, I can fit this pushchair into the most awkward corners. It comes with the job.’

Ben could not believe his ears or eyes. He’d been waiting with nervous anticipation for Charlene’s arrival, even though he suspected it was unlikely that she was actually going to provide the answer to his parenting problems. He’d made a special effort for Charlene’s baby guru, whoever she was, and dressed Millie in the dreaded pink as well as actually tidied up a bit. It was all very well for him to live in a pig-sty all day but he really didn’t think visitors should be subjected to his poor domestic habits. However, when he peered around the door and could see what was coming, he wished he’d made no effort whatsoever; in fact, he wished he’d fled the country.

‘Hello,’ said Abby, her cleavage arriving before her head. ‘Hope you don’t mind me coming along for the ride.’

‘Er, yeah,’ said Ben, looking petrified. He started to cough as Abby leaned into his personal space, nearly knocking him out with the reek of celebrity perfume.

‘Can you get a move on?’ said the woman standing behind her in the hall. ‘I am carrying twins, you know.’ Abby stroked Ben’s arm as she slowly pushed past him, following Charlene into the lounge.

‘Alison?’ said Ben when there was no longer the barrier of another person between them. ‘Is that you?’ He barely recognised her. She was much slimmer, of course, since the last time he’d seen her, at Charlene’s wedding. Alison had been enormous then, as she was on the verge of giving birth to twins, and beside herself with anger at Ben for punching Matthew. He’d never wanted or expected to see her again.