Authors: Joanna Bolouri

The List (39 page)

BOOK: The List

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Finally I wandered off to crash in Lucy's spare room, the very room I conceived in, in fact, and dropped off to sleep, thinking about Oliver and wondering if he was thinking about me.

Thursday December 29th

I attempted to call Oliver at his office today, with the notion that I'd just tell him about the pregnancy and get it over with.

An American girl answered his phone: âI'm sorry, Oliver's not here. Who's calling?'

âIt's Phoebe. When will he be back?'

âOh, I'm not sure; I think he's staying with friends over the holidays.'

âCan you tell him I called?'

âSure will, Fifi. Bye.'

Fifi? Oh genius. Just brilliant.

Friday December 30th

So this horrendous year is almost at an end but I still have the New Year party to look forward to. Being pregnant has actually taken all the social pressure off going out: I have no sex drive or inclination to pull, and the lack of booze in my diet has ruled out the possibility of any drunken mistakes. I can just arrive, eat, dance, then go to bed early like a bore and no one will talk about me for being a big drip.

Saturday December 31st

4 p.m
. Arrived at the hotel and made it to the room just in time to throw up all over the lovely clean toilet, which I then had to clean up and it made me sick again. Lucy promptly left the room, swearing she'd sleep in the lobby if they couldn't find her somewhere else to stay. I sat on the bed and ate crackers I'd brought in my suitcase, cursing every penis I've ever encountered and swearing I'd never go near one again except for castration purposes. I also swore at Oliver for not being here to support me, even though I haven't actually told him yet.

5 p.m
. Nap time before the pointless dinner I've already paid for. I'm considering not going as the thought of food
is almost too much to bear. I don't want dinner. I want crackers. And ice cream. Oh, and pickled onions.

5.30 p.m
. I woke myself up by rolling over on my sore boobs. I was so hungry I ate some shortbread before running the shower to get ready. Then I stood under the shower for twenty minutes, singing Bruce Springsteen songs and rubbing my belly, wondering who's in there.

6.30 p.m
. I got dressed for dinner and became bewitched by my growing chest, which looks great in my new black dress. I ate another biscuit on way downstairs to meet everyone.

âHow are you feeling, love?' asked Hazel, pretending to act concerned, but secretly pleased at my condition.

7 p.m
. The main hall looked beautiful. New Year balloons sat patiently in a big net on the ceiling, waiting to bounce off everyone and reminding me that I'll soon resemble one. We all sat down to eat â I managed to make it through the meal perfectly fine, until dessert, when the texture of my perfectly lovely chocolate mousse made me gag, and I had to run to the bathroom, leaving my friends to explain to onlookers that I'm pregnant and they should carry on and enjoy their meal. I returned in time to devour Kevin's oatcakes and sip a glass of red wine while the lady at the next table looked at me disapprovingly through tiny glasses. So I then had a puff on my fake cig (she got up and left).

9 p.m
. The ceilidh began. Usually my favourite part, but
this year I sat and watched, almost pissing my pants when an overenthusiastic twirl from Kevin revealed he wasn't wearing anything under his kilt. I did try a few of the slower, less whirly dances, but my feet began to hurt so I went up to my room to change my shoes and lay on the bed like a big sweaty lump.

11 p.m
. On the way back down I noticed a tall, kilted man with brilliant legs at reception. It made me miss sex for a moment, and as I walked past the man with his sexual legs said, âPhoebe?'

I knew that voice. That Irish voice. I turned around, and standing there on those very legs was Oliver, looking so handsome I could have just leapt on him from across the room. âOliver! How â¦ What â¦ what are you doing here?' I stammered.

âWait for me inside. I'm just going to dump my case. You look deadly, by the way.'

I rushed through to the hall, thankful that I'd changed my shoes, and grabbed Lucy, who was doing shots with Kevin.

âHe's here! Oliver is here!' I blurted out.

âI know.' Lucy smiled. âI invited him. I was worried he wouldn't make it.'

âWhat? Did you tell him? Oh, Lucy, please tell me you didn't tell him.'

âOf course not. That's your job. I just made him realize that he should be here for New Year, with the people that love him. Like you.'

And with that Lucy was dragged off to dance by some
old fella in a grey suit and I sat down at the table. God, I was nervous.

Oliver came in five minutes later and sat down beside me.

âSo, how are you?' he asked. I could tell he didn't have a clue what to say to me and noticed that his gaze had moved from my face and was now transfixed on my boobs.

âWhy are you back, Oliver? All those emails and texts I sent and you never replied. To any of them. I felt so stupid.'

âI'm so sorry,' he said, looking down at the table. âI behaved so badly â I just didn't know what to say to you. I'm a cunt, I know.'

I took a sip of my orange juice and tried to figure out what to say next. âOrange juice?' remarked Oliver, like he'd just watched me drink bleach. âYou're not pacing yourself, are you?'

âNo. Well, yes â¦ long night ahead, you know.'

We sat in an awkward silence for a moment as the ceilidh ended and the band began. âWant to dance?' asked Oliver, taking my hand.

âSure,' I said, not really wanting to but we made our way to the dance floor anyway, Oliver waving at people as we walked past. We both danced stupidly to the band's terrible rendition of âBillie Jean', but I wasn't having fun. At all. Half of me wanted to grab him and kiss him and pretend like none of this was happening and the other half wanted to sit him down and ruin his life.

âOliver!' I shouted over the music. âWe need to talk.'

âWhat?' he said, straining to hear me. âWhat did you say?'

The music dimmed and: âLadies and Gentlemen, one
minute to go, please have your glasses ready!' the band leader announced.

Lucy ran over with lemonade and orange juice for me and a glass of champagne for Oliver and I saw everybody make their way over to join us. Both Hazel and Lucy glanced in my direction as if to ask, âHave you told him?' but I shook my head and took another sip of my drink.

As I watched my friends count down to the New Year, I suddenly felt horribly alone. They had no idea what lay in store for them, but I knew exactly what was ahead for me. The only thing I didn't know was if Oliver would be part of it.

âHAPPY NEW YEAR!' So we all kissed and hugged and sang that traditional bloody song and then danced to the band like maniacs. Half an hour later I decided it was time.

I took Oliver by the hand and led him up to his room. I'm sure the poor guy must have thought I was taking him there for make-up sex, but he was in for a shock. He went to kiss me and I kissed him back for a second, remembering how much I missed his kiss and his touch and hisâ¦ âWait,' I said, pulling away, âI need to talk to you. It's important and might rule out any future kissing.'

âOh fuck, you're not seeing someone, are you? Lucy didn't mention anyone and I thoughtâ'

âNo, I'm not seeing anyone, Oliver, it's justâ'

âYou're not still doing those challenges, are you? I mean it's fine if you are, but don't involve anyone else. Please. I don't want you to be with anyone else. Can you do that? For me?'

âWell, I do have one more challenge,' I said. âAn unplanned one, shall we say â¦ and it will involve another personâ'

âA girl?' he asked, suddenly becoming interested.

âOr a boy,' I replied. âI don't know yet.'

âI don't understand, Phoebe.'

âOh Christ, I'm not explaining this very well. Just sit down, Oliver.' He sat on the edge of the bed looking totally confused.

âOliver, I'm pregnant. That night at Halloween â¦ my antibiotics fucked up my pill and I'm pregnant. Yes, it's yours, and, yes, I'm keeping it. So there will be a new challenge. Fuck, this will be my biggest challenge yet. And I'd love for you to kiss me and be excited and want to be involved, but I'll also understand if you don't. There's no pressure from me at all.'

He just stared at me. I could see his mind working overtime.

âSo what I'm going to do is this: I'm going back to my room because I'm exhausted. If you come to my room later â room 202 â come only if you want this too. You have to be sure. But if you don't come, I'll know the answer and I'll see you at breakfast and we can talk about what's going to happen when you go back to Chicago. Deal?'

Sounds which resembled âFuck' and âOK' were made, so I turned around and made my way back to my room. Which is where I am now. In bed and waiting. It's been two hours.

I know it's a lot to take in; perhaps a few hours isn't enough time for anyone to make this kind of decision. If he doesn't come, I'll manage somehow, but I'm hoping he loves me enough to show up â¦

Sunday January 1st

I was woken by the sound of Lucy and Hazel knocking at the door at around four in the morning.

âPHOEBEEEEE. WAKE UP!'

âGo away,' I grunted, annoyed it wasn't Oliver.

âPhoebe. Play with us. Come and play with us â¦ forever â¦ and ever â¦'

âI'm sleeping, you bastards. I'll see you tomorrow.'

âFINE!' shouted Hazel. âBut we brought you back something from the bar. If I leave it out here someone will steal it.'

I got up and dragged myself to the door, and when I opened it, there was Oliver, looking completely dishevelled and tipsy, with Lucy and Hazel on either side, smiling like lunatics. He stepped forward and placed his hand on my stomach.

He grinned. âLet's fucking do this.'

Acknowledgements

I'd like to say a massive thank you to the following people:

My spectacular agent Kerry Glencorse at Susanna Lea Associates and my fabulous editor Kathryn Taussig at Quercus, who believed in my novel from the beginning and who have guided and supported me throughout. Also, to everyone who read my novel at various stages and gave me invaluable feedback.

My wonderful parents Yvonne and Hassan and my sister Claudia for their love, understanding and support and who never once doubted that I'd get there in the end, even when I did. Also to my friends who have encouraged and supported me regardless â I'm very grateful to you all.

Finally to my precious, beautiful daughter Olivia who makes every single day just that little bit brighter and who is never, ever allowed to read this book.

www.quercusbooks.co.uk