Coco Pinchard, the Consequences of Love and Sex: A Funny, Feel-Good, Romantic Comedy (34 page)

‘That’s why… Have the central heating checked. If there are any doubts, have it replaced. Ditto the loft insulation.’

‘I love a woman in control,’ said Chris looking at me with Judy Garland-esque love in his eyes.

‘I’m nesting,’ I said.
 

‘Extreme nesting,’ said Adam staring at the pad.

‘That sounds like an amazing idea for a reality show,’ said Chris, ‘Extreme nesting!’

‘You were a bit theatrical there,’ grinned Adam as he drove us back home along the M25. ‘It was for Chris’s benefit, yes?’

‘No. I was serious Adam. You had this idea to move and I’m now on board a hundred per-cent.’

‘You need to be realistic Coco. Everything you asked for, in less a month?’

‘I am realistic. I know what you can achieve. You need to make it happen.’

‘Have we got enough time?’ said Adam.

‘I don’t know. But if anyone can do it, you can,’ I said. Adam was quiet for the rest of the journey home.

Saturday 6th July

Our solicitor Mr Parkinson phoned this morning to say that contracts on the house will be exchanged in twenty-eight days. I was on the computer choosing new windows when Adam answered the phone.

‘That’s far too slow!’ I said. ‘Tell him there’s a baby on the way. Tell him I’m not crossing my legs and holding it in for anyone!’

‘I’m not saying that!’ hissed Adam with his hand over the receiver. I heaved myself up and grabbed it from him.

‘Hello Mr Parkinson, I’m very pregnant,’ I said.

‘Ah, hello… um,
Ms Pregnant
,
’ said the solicitor.

‘No, my name isn’t ‘very pregnant’, I’m Coco Pinchard, homeowner, and I am very pregnant. We need you to move a bit quicker please with this whole house selling thing.’

‘Mrs Pinchard I assure you, I’m moving as fast as I can, but you have to understand there is a process.’

‘Mr Parkinson, I’m going through my own process here,’ I said. ‘My boobs are already producing milk…’

There was a pause.

‘They are?’ he asked uncomfortably.

‘Yes, and at any moment my mucus plug could disintegrate, and my waters break… I’m only a sneeze or a spicy curry away from pushing this baby out.’

‘Coco, stop!’ hissed Adam trying to grab the phone from me. I batted him away.
 

 
‘And Mr Parkinson, do you know how difficult it’s going to be to get me to move out if this baby arrives? I’ll be nesting… Do you want to have to deal with a territorial nesting woman?’

 
Mr Parkinson cleared his throat awkwardly.

‘Well, um Mrs Pinchard, I’ll take this all on board and see what I can do.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Jeez Coco,’ said Adam when I came off the phone.

‘Jeez what? I’ve had to listen to doctors and midwives talking about me like a farm animal. I might as well use all this indignity to my advantage.’

  
Sunday 7th July

With terrifying efficiency I have chosen a kitchen and bathroom for the new house, hired a company to supply new windows and doors, and found a contractor who will do it all in the next three weeks.

Mr Parkinson rang and was relieved when Adam answered. He said he’s managed to work a miracle and all parties will be coming round tomorrow to exchange contracts.

 
Result.

Monday 8th July

I lay awake last night imagining what our new owners would be like. It would be wonderful if they were creative types. A Turner Prize-winning artist, or a prominent left-leaning journalist, an actor – or even a writer. Well maybe not a writer, or at least not one who is more successful than me. I still nurture the fantasy of having a blue plaque installed on the wall outside reading: COCO PINCHARD, WRITER, LIVED HERE 1967 - … actually, the blue plaque can wait. I have a lot more life I want to live. Still, it does make me realise just how bloody long this has been my house. It will be surreal to finally leave.

I was still tidying up old tights and Rocco’s squeaky toys when the doorbell rang. The new owners and their solicitor accompanied Mr Parkinson. The new owners weren’t remotely arty, a rather fat sweaty banker in his fifties and a mousey woman with a bowl cut. They introduced themselves as “the Warburtons”. As if they were a vaudeville act, not two individual people.
 

‘Good lord woman, I can see why the urgency to move!’ said Mr Warburton, taking in my huge bump. Mrs Warburton was terrified of dogs and screamed when Rocco padded up and stared at her.

‘He’s very loving,’ I said, but she began to hyperventilate so I let him out in the garden. Adam showed everyone into the kitchen and we all crowded round the breakfast bar and went through the paperwork. Then we all signed the contracts, and that was it. I thought it might have been more memorable.

‘Right,’ said Mr Parkinson eyeing my bump as if it were about to explode. ‘All parties are going to work very hard to get this finalised in the next ten days? Yes?’

Everyone nodded.

‘Bloody good to hear,’ said Mr Warburton. ‘Poor old Celia is getting hotel fatigue.’

‘That soon?’ I said. ‘I’m not due till the eighth of August…’

Mr Parkinson looked exasperated. ‘Mrs Pinchard, we’ve all worked very hard to put this through at an extraordinary speed for your impending offspring.’

‘I’m not a farm animal!’ I said. ‘I will give birth when I give birth. Do you know how hard it is? People think it’s easy…’

‘Oh it’s not easy dear, both mine were breach, seventeen stitches,’ said Mrs Warburton.

‘Why do people have to say things like that?’ I shrilled. ‘It’s not helpful!’

There was an awkward pause.

‘Look, let’s let nature take its course,’ said Mr Warburton. ‘Celia, I’ll buy you that cruise on the QEII you keep harping on about.’
 

‘I want one of the big suites,’ she said warming to this. ‘And I want to sit at the Captain’s table.’

‘If you’re really good, I’ll pay him extra to bounce you on his knee with no knickers on!’ Mr Warburton said raising his eyebrows at Adam conspiratorially.

‘Fine,’ said Celia. ‘Nice to meet you all, I’ll be waiting in the car.’ She hitched her handbag over her arm and left.

‘So we’ll complete? When?’ snapped Mr Parkinson.

‘You will aim for Coco’s due date and if anything happens before, I’ll work out a solution,’ said Adam taking me in his arms. ‘Is that okay Cokes?’

I nodded and put my head against his chest.

‘Fine,’ said Mr Parkinson. As everyone left, they must have thought we were nuts. I feel we are a bit nuts too. The solicitors went off down the steps to the front gate as Mrs Cohen came out with a duster.
 

‘Hello,’ said Mr Warburton stopping to eye her up. ‘I’ll be your new neighbour.’

‘Hello, I’m Mrs Cohen,’ she said pocketing her duster and shaking his hand.

‘We’ll have to have you over, my wife Celia does a beautiful fondue pot.’

‘Oh. That would be lovely,’ giggled Mrs Cohen coquettishly.
 

Adam squeezed my hand and indicated we should go inside. We said goodbye, but Mr Warburton was blind to us and only had eyes for the bony Mrs Cohen.

Tuesday 9th July

We have dusted off my credit cards to tide us over until we receive the money for the house.

And Rosencrantz is coming out of rehab on Thursday…
 

  
Wednesday 10th July

I had my thirty-six-week appointment with midwife Justine today. It was very hot and all the windows were open at the surgery.
 

Things were a little awkward; the last time we’d met was at Rosencrantz’s intervention/baby shower.
 

‘Have you decided which hospital you want to give birth in?’ she asked as she tested my urine sample with a little stick and measured my blood pressure.

‘I can choose?’

‘Yes, the NHS has ‘choose and book’. You can look at hospital statistics, mortality rates, what the food is like, if there’s free parking… You can even write a review!’

‘Sounds just like Amazon.’

‘But obviously the hospital can’t guarantee same-day delivery,’ she joked. ‘Some women spend
days
in labour!’

‘I’m going to go for University College Hospital. Can I have a Caesarian through choose and book?’

‘I don’t recommend it, if the mother doesn’t need it. It might be nice and quick like opening a tent flap, but there’s weeks of recovery, and you’re moving to a farm.’

‘I won’t be shovelling manure for a while,’ I said. She then explained how during a vaginal birth the baby is coated with some ‘rather marvellous bacteria’ that are crucial for the baby’s immunity… she then asked if I’d like a laxative before the birth so I don’t ‘mess myself’ during labour… I long to get this baby out of me, if only to stop these deeply embarrassing conversations.

When I got home my Skype began to trill. It was Meryl. She was back in her living room! The geese were taking flight above her hair, and Tony was beside her, bouncing Wilfred on his knee.

‘Ooh, look at you Coco! About to pop!’ she said peering into the webcam.

‘Hi Meryl I’ve just had my thirty-six-week check-up,’ I said.

‘With the midwife whose father does tricks?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a pity he can’t magic your baby out,’ said Tony. ‘Meryl’s labour was epic! Hours and hours of pain…’

‘Yes, it was,’ said Meryl. ‘A hundred and twenty-six hours I was in labour, Coco! A hundred and twenty-six! I was only one hour off that film, ‘127 Hours. And I would rather have cut my own arm off, believe you me.’

‘Meryl…’ I said.

‘Apparently Coco, I had a very stubborn cervix. It
refused
to dilate. I went through six midwives; they all gave me a membrane sweep. Even the one with the false stick-on nails, after which, if I hadn’t been in terrible agony, I’d have asked to speak to her superior.’

‘Meryl please…’ I said.

‘You know what did it in the end? Tony offered to do a membrane sweep himself. He popped his fingers in and within ten minutes I was fully dilated… I think it’s because of all the woodwork he does, planing the coffins. His hands are much rougher which really helped disperse the cells in my vag…’

‘Meryl I don’t want to know!’ I said. She looked a bit hurt. Why do people think I want to hear this? It’s fine to talk about it when it’s not happening to you. But this is real and happening to me now, and I’m scared.

‘Yes. Point taken. I’m sorry dear,’ said Meryl. ‘Do you notice something?’ she added excitedly.

‘Yes… Of course, you and Tony are back together,’ I said.

‘What? Oh yes we are, no I wasn’t talking about that. Look, we’ve got new curtains!’

Meryl angled the webcam round and proudly showed the new purple curtains she’d made with matching tie backs, and a ruched pelmet.

‘They’re very nice,’ I said. ‘But when did you two reconcile?’

‘Throwback Thursday!’ grinned Tony bearing down on the webcam with a red face. ‘I won her back with the Throwback Thursday picture of us in ‘A Clockwork Orange’!’

‘He didn’t know anything about Throwback Thursday,’ said Meryl. ‘He just happened to post it on a Thursday…’

‘Yes! I didn’t know about it I just happened to post it on a Thursday!’ he repeated. ‘We’ve decided to call it quits.’

‘Yes, that Mai Ling wasn’t all that she cracked up to be. Chinese people can be very cruel,’ said Meryl. ‘She kicked the next door neighbour’s cat!’
 

‘And besides, if we split the proceeds of this house we’d have to downsize drastically,’ said Tony.

‘Which neither of us wants to do,’ added Meryl patting his knee.

‘Well, congratulations,’ I said. ‘Look I’ve got to go. I’ve got lots to do and Rosencrantz is coming home tomorrow.’
 

‘That’s why I called,’ said Meryl. ‘Do you want us there? I can whip up a flan and we can come down in the hearse, no problem…’

‘No, I think we’re just going to keep things low-key.’

‘Okay dear. Do keep in touch about the birth! And Tony is here if you need him!’

Tony wiggled his fingers and raised his eyebrows. I quickly hung up, feeling nauseous.

Thursday 11th July

I had a phone call last night to say Rosencrantz would be leaving Pathways at seven in the morning. I got up very early and scoured the house for painkillers, and anything containing alcohol, including mouthwash and anti-bacterial hand gel.
 

‘I really don’t think Rosencrantz is going to drink anti-bacterial hand gel,’ said Adam as I bustled about with a bin-liner.

‘But you’re not an alcoholic, it might be quite nice with a mixer… Maybe I should sling out the mixers too,’ I said dragging the bin liner into the kitchen.

When the house was clear, we drove over to West London. The clinic sat on a non-descript street of terraced houses. Shortly after six, Rosencrantz emerged wearing the same clothes he’d had on when he went in. His black eye had healed, his hair was longer and he had lost that thin haunted look. He bowled into me and we had a long hug.
 

‘I’m so sorry Adam,’ said Rosencrantz bursting into tears. Adam looked at him for a second and gave him a big hug too.
 

‘It’s all right mate,’ he said, his own voice choking up. We stood there a moment on the quiet street. The sun was up but it was still deliciously cool.

‘Did they give you a leaflet love? What to do next?’ I asked.

‘No leaflet, but basically I can never drink or do drugs again…’ We let this sink in for a moment.

‘You know what I do fancy that’s not been banned?’ he said.

‘What?’ I asked, nervously.

‘A Mc Donald’s breakfast.’

‘I think we can arrange that,’ said Adam. We drove around and found a little Mc Donald’s on Earl’s Court Road. We ordered three breakfasts, each with a towering latte.

‘Oh my God this is good,’ said Rosencrantz digging in. ‘The food in rehab was horrible.’

‘Thank you for your letter, love,’ I said. He grinned. He looked tired and worried, but his eyes had lost that haunted look.

We told him all about selling the house, and moving, and the work going on at Strangeways Farm.