LITMIR.BIZ

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What’s wrong with women’s brains that we feel we’re not connected with the world unless we have a man to connect us with it? Men – who needs them?’

      Mary’s bedtime reading was currently of the women-who-love-bastards variety. She’d lent Daisy some of her books and Daisy had accepted them out of guilt, but they were still in the back of her car in their plastic bag, necessitating even more guilt. What if Mary saw them, patently unread, and realised that while she was unhappy, not everyone else was?

      ‘Come on, Mary,’ said Daisy now, feeling that some sort of cheering-up was in order. ‘You’re over Bart, you know you are.’

      ‘Am I?’ demanded Mary. ‘Because I’m not, you know. I’m sad and depressed and I don’t think I’ll ever feel right again. That’s what marriage does for you, Daisy, and don’t you forget it.’

      The lustre had gone out of dressing the wedding party for Daisy. She felt a bit headachey, so as soon as they had gone she nipped out for some painkillers and, on the spur of the moment, decided that a bottle of wine might cheer Mary up.

      

      They closed at six and Daisy cracked open the bottle.

      ‘Just one glass,’ Mary warned. ‘The kids have a friend over for dinner and I don’t want to get a reputation as the divorced lush. That would give them something to talk about at the school gates. Alone and alcoholic isn’t the sort of thing you want to advertise. Nearly as bad as lonely and desperate for sex.’

      ‘None for me,’ added Paula, holding up a hand in refusal. ‘If I look at a drink, the baby will emerge phoning the child protection agency and my mother will be scandalised. She’s never got over my sister-in-law having that glass of champagne at our wedding when she was pregnant. She still talks about the irresponsibility of it all.’

      Daisy did a quick bottle/person calculation. She never drank more than one glass when she drove.

      Mary edged off her shoes, put her feet up on the wicker bin behind the counter, and sighed. ‘Don’t know why I wear those blinking shoes,’ she said, wiggling her toes luxuriously. ‘They ruin my feet. I’ll have bunions soon.’

      ‘The girl today who was getting married was going to have the full works done in a beautician’s just before the day,’ Paula said. ‘Manicure, pedicure, you name it.’

      They all sighed at the thought.

      ‘I’ve never had a professional pedicure,’ Daisy said. ‘I feel embarrassed enough about having a manicure, my nails are always such a mess, but my feet…ugh. That would be worse. I think they’d need industrial sanding equipment to get the hard skin off my feet and then the beautician would look at me and think I was a right old hick. No, I can’t face it. I’d prefer to do it badly myself.’

      ‘Ah, they don’t care about the state of your feet,’ Mary said. ‘See enough feet and you can cope with anything. I’ve had everything done over the years. Feet, hands, that wrapped-up-like-a-mummy thing that makes you lose inches. Stinks, though; you feel smelly for the whole day with the mud. Can’t afford any of it now, of course, thanks to Bart. Plus I don’t have the time.’

      ‘That’s what we need,’ Daisy said dreamily. ‘A girls’ day out at a fabulous beauty parlour where we can relax and be made beautiful, and I could have a pedicure and you’d be with me so I wouldn’t feel inadequate because of my messy cuticles and hard heels!’

      ‘That spa they were working on near the old Delaney place is opening up next week,’ Paula said. ‘I don’t know who bought it but they’ve had builders working like madmen, according to my mother – she and her rambling club are there every week for their mountain walk. It’s going to be all holistic, with yoga rooms, hot stone therapy and aromatherapy.’

      ‘I wouldn’t mind some of that hot stone thingy,’ moaned Mary. ‘I wish I had time for it…’

      ‘Why not?’ asked Paula. ‘We could do it soon. If they’re new, they’ll have special offers, and they’re bound to have pregnancy stuff. Special massages and treatments.’

      ‘Right, I’ll check it out,’ said Daisy, fired up by this new idea.

      Today was a day for plans. She’d phoned several fertility clinics today and she had news for Alex. Exciting news. She’d made an appointment for them both with one of the clinics. The only problem was that the appointment wasn’t for several weeks. She’d go mad with anticipation until then. A spa day with the girls was just what she needed to look forward to in the meantime.

      

      Daisy arrived home at seven, swinging the plastic bag of Mary’s self-help books because she had to flick through them some time. The first thing she spotted was Alex’s briefcase sitting on the walnut floor in the hall. What caught her eye was the flash of turquoise peeping out of the black leather folds. A Tiffany gift bag. She considered a quick peek to see what Alex had bought her and then thought better of it.

      Imagine if he’d bought her a diamond as big as a marble for their engagement and she’d have to spend the rest of her life knowing that she’d looked before he’d produced it. How did you and Dad get engaged? the kids would ask, and she’d have either to lie or say, ‘I stuck my big nose into his briefcase and found the ring, so I knew then…’ Not the romantic story she’d like. Anyway, it couldn’t be an engagement ring. They’d discussed that – they didn’t need marriage to cement their relationship.

      She yelled a cheery hello and Alex rushed from the bathroom, looking a bit pale. ‘Dodgy stomach,’ he said by way of greeting, then planted a speedy kiss on her cheek.

      ‘Is that all the welcome I’m getting?’ Daisy joked, following him into the bedroom where he began rapidly undressing, throwing his jacket and tie onto the silken caramel throw on their king-size bed. ‘Oh-oh, this is the welcome…’

      Halfway through pulling off his shirt, Alex grimaced. ‘Honey, if you knew the weekend I’ve had…Those people wouldn’t spend Christmas. I am so shattered. And the hotel wasn’t as good as the last one.’

      ‘Poor love.’ She held out her arms to him, and for a minute he relaxed against her and laid his head on her shoulder.

      Then, he moved away and finished undressing, before putting on jeans and a sweatshirt.

      Daisy sat cross-legged on the end of the bed.

      ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she began. ‘It’s OK,’ she laughed, seeing his eyes widen, ‘I haven’t been fired and I haven’t crashed the car! It’s about the baby, our baby. Oh, Alex, we’ve waited so long – let’s do something about it.’ She smiled, having saved the best till last. ‘I did some research today and phoned a couple of fertility clinics. With most of them, you’ve got to wait about a month for an appointment but the Avalon – I read about it in the paper and it’s brilliant, although it’s one of the more expensive – had literally just had a cancellation. They can see us on Friday three weeks at twelve fifteen.’ Her eyes shone with excitement. ‘Isn’t that fantastic? Please say you can make it.’

      Alex, frozen with one black sock on and one off, stared at her.

      ‘We’ve been waiting for years, Alex. One before you got sick and two since.’

      He flinched. She knew he hated being reminded about his illness.

      ‘We’ve got to do something before I run out of time. I need to know why I’m not getting pregnant. I want a baby.’ Even saying it made her feel emotional. ‘And I know you do too. It’s what we’ve wanted for so long, and now it’s the right time.’

      She held out a hand to him and, his expression unreadable, he took it, sitting down on the bed beside her.

      ‘I don’t know what to say.’

      ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Daisy rushed in, terrified that he’d say that he didn’t want a baby that much after all. ‘Alex, I think

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