Page 111 of (Not) The One
‘You’re not stupid. I know because your mother had you tested.’ Her gaze narrows, but she knows I’m only playing even if, as a child, she was tested for all kinds of things. But maybe she doesn’t realise I’m kidding as her mouth forms an unhappy moue.
‘I have ADHD. I’m not stupid.’
‘Heth, of course you’re not stupid! If it’s any consolation, I totally am at the minute. And I seem to have borrowed theattention deficitbit from you. I can barely concentrate.’
‘No, it doesn’t help actually.’ Her response appears to be the beginning of a snit.
‘Oh, come on. Please don’t get grumpy. You know you’re a proper smarty-pants, so you don’t need me to tell you. But clever or not, you’re wrong about... about what you’re talking about. There’s no romance between him and me. Also, never refer to him as myloveragain. This isn’t a soft porn film.’
He’s not my lover, even if the sex is great. There’s no love between us, even if he keeps saying he wants to look after me.Because he’s a good human who wants the best for his child.But back to my original point, I’d be mad—I’d be the stupid one, the crazy one—to read too much into this.
Because we’re unsuited on so many levels.
‘Is he Voldemort now? He who shall not be named?’ she utters in a deep tone. When I open my mouth to answer, she just talks over me. ‘So, according to you, he sends you multiple daily dick pics and not sappy love notes?’
‘What?’ My gaze darts to the kitchen to where Jorge is probably stuffing his face with chocolate biscuits.It’s not even eleven o’clock, and that’s his third trip.‘Don’t be ridiculous. And keep your voice down.’
‘Why? Give it a couple of months and people will know a certain someone hasn’t just been sending you cock shots, but that he’s also been giving you shots from his cock.’ She takes the opportunity of an empty office to mime some kind of unpleasant groin explosion.
‘Just stop.’ The note of pleading in my tone earns me a frown. ‘I just. I just don’t want people judging me, all right?’
‘That sounds suspiciously like you’re not planning on telling anyone, which is ridiculous because you’re going to look pregnant soon, on account of the fact that youarepregnant. And then a few months later, you’re going to have a baby. Andthatyou won’t be able to explain away. Babies aren’t a cool accessory you pick up in a sale.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ I sort of hiss. ‘I’m the one whose insides become their outsides twice a day because of the parasitic little thing.’
Heather’s face falls, and I immediately feel guilty—for her and for the candy-sized baby I’m carrying. I resist the urge to cover my flat stomach with my hand as though to ease my harsh words.
‘Sorry.’ I’m not sure if my apology was for Heather or for baby Haribo. Not that it matters as neither party acknowledges it. ‘Stop looking at me like that. It’s not like it can hear.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because it’s too early. It doesn’t have limbs yet, let alone ears.’ It’s been a while since I sat in a biology class, but I seem to remember that’s probably the case.Probably.I really need to borrow those books.‘I know I probably sound like a bitch, but I don’t mean to. But right now, I just feel like I’m a bloody host. I vomit on demand, smells are starting to make me feel ill, and just this morning, when I woke up, I was desperate to eat baked beans for breakfast.’
‘But you hate baked beans.’
‘I know!’ I cry, throwing my hands up in the air. ‘They’re illuminous orange and disgusting, yet I ate them cold. Out of a can. With a slice of white bread slathered in butter. And I hated every mouthful I chewed, yet every mouthful seemed to settle something inside me.’
‘Can I have your Michael Kors skirt?’
‘What?’
‘Clearly, it’s going to be out of fashion before you fit back into it. Butter, white bread, pregnancy.’
‘If you’re trying to make me cry, you’re too late. I already did that when I made a floor cloth of it after I caught it in the hinge of a dog door.’
‘The night of conception.’ She waggles her eyebrows like a cartoon villain. ‘You’ll have to call it Michael, or Michela, in honour.’
‘We’re not talking about this. And I am going to tell people.’ I reach out and begin to straighten the pens and pencils in myFor Fox Sakesmug. ‘I told Mum already.’
‘What?’
‘I assumed you already knew.’ I thought Aunt Lou would be the first person she’d called.
‘So now I officially know, right? When Mum corners me sometime later today, or whenever, I don’t have to plead ignorance.’
‘Fine. But the barest of details. I didn’t tell Mum James is loaded.’ Or older. Or that I’m trying very hard not to fall for him.
‘Did you tell her he’s drop-dead gorgeous?’
