Page 53 of The Bordeaux Book Club
Monica laughed, the kind of laugh that was almost a cry. ‘True,’ she said. ‘Well, sort of.’ Her voice broke slightly and Grace gave her another look.
‘Here,’ she said, picking up a tea towel. ‘How about I wash and you dry?’
Monica caught the towel as Grace gently threw it to her, then went to stand at Grace’s side, lifting a glass from the drying rack and beginning to wipe the water and remaining suds away.
‘So how is it going?’ Grace asked softly, her eyes still fixed on the sink of suds, sponge soaping away a red wine stain.
‘Yeah, fine,’ Monica said.
Grace turned her knowing eyes towards her friend. ‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘Because it can be tough with a new baby. I know I don’t have any children… I never…’ she said. ‘But my sister, my friends. I’ve seen how difficult it can be. No matter how gorgeous and sweet they are.’
Monica’s lip wobbled slightly. ‘It’s nothing really,’ she said. ‘No idea why I’m upset… it’s just I’m very tired, I suppose. And she doesn’t sleep. Not really. Not as much as…’
Grace nodded. ‘Sleep deprivation is tough,’ she said. ‘When I went through menopause, I was up at three every morning for a while. I know it’s not the same, but…’ she smiled at Monica sympathetically.
‘And I just…’ Monica added. ‘I feel as if I’m getting it all wrong. Just… I get so frustrated. So – well, sometimes I get abit bored with nappies and bottles and things like that too.’ She said. ‘And I suppose I don’t know quite who I am as a mother, yet. I feel a bit lost.’ It was the most she’d confessed about the way she felt to anyone. Even her friends. Even her own mother. Part of her longed to step back a little in time and keep her mouth shut. Because now it was out there: the evidence that she simply wasn’t cut out for this.
Grace handed her another glass and she began to dry it. ‘What about Peter?’ she asked.
‘Well, he’s great. When he’s here,’ Monica said. ‘It’s just… he’s really busy at the moment. Holiday season. And he’s covering other pilots too, and he’s just away so much more than I imagined he might be,’ she said. She took a breath, unsure whether she was going to say the next bit. But she was here now; she’d gone this far. And Grace was kind, listening, attentive. ‘I’m not sure whether it’s me,’ she said. ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to spend time with me.’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Monica admitted. ‘Just… well, nothing’s quite the same as before I was pregnant,’ she said, patting a stomach that, to Grace at least, looked impossibly flat. ‘And I wonder whether he might have gone off me.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Grace said. ‘You’re annoyingly gorgeous.’
Monica grinned. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘Oh, believe me,’ Grace said. ‘You are.’ She passed another glass to Monica.
‘Obviously, part of me knows I’m being OTT. It’s just… I suppose all my life, I’ve been defined by my looks. And now I can see a time… well, things are starting to slip. I don’t feel as confident in myself. In Peter.’
‘Ah, the privilege of ageing,’ said Grace. ‘Happens to us all. Or at least the lucky ones.’
‘I suppose you’re right. I suppose it is a privilege,’ Monica said thoughtfully.
‘But let’s face it, it comes with a side order of yuck,’ said Grace, making Monica chuckle. ‘You have to reframe it, is all. Of course, none of us likes what happens to our bodies, our faces as we get older. But what’s the alternative? I’m as vain as the next person. But I’ve come to accept that physically, I’m past my prime. And you know what? Mentally, I’m stronger than ever. As long as I avoid looking in the mirror too often!’
Monica laughed. ‘Grace, you are gorgeous,’ she said, patting her friend’s arm. ‘In every way.’
‘That’s one of the first things to go,’ Grace said, darkly.
‘What?’
‘The eyesight,’ Grace quipped, grinning.
Monica snorted and shook her head. They lapsed into silence, the clink of glasses in water, the screech of a sponge against a smooth surface the only noise. Then, ‘I think I’m probably just being silly,’ Monica added. ‘I just… I’m not feeling myself. And with Peter not around, I’m feeling a bit lost out here, you know? It’s just me and Bella all the time, and it’s hard to go out with a baby – kind of overwhelming. So I’m here, and I suppose I need Peter here more to sort of, balance things out.’
Grace was silent for a moment. ‘I understand that,’ she said. ‘I felt that way when…’ she trailed off, not finishing the sentence. ‘Keeping busy helps,’ she said.
Monica nodded, setting the last glass back on its shelf and reaching for one of the bowls. The tea towel was sodden and barely took the water off. She dropped it, and reached in a drawer for another.
‘It’s odd,’ Monica said. ‘I guess most of my twenties were spent dreaming of the kind of life I have now. Perfect husband, gorgeous baby, beautiful home. I live right in the centre ofBordeaux, for God’s sake! I get annoyed at myself sometimes that I’m not feeling happier.’
‘I know how that feels,’ Grace said, soaping up the last bowl. ‘Sometimes it can be hard getting what you want.’
Monica laughed. ‘Definitely,’ she said. Then, ‘Oh ignore me. I’m just tired, like you say. I do know how lucky I am.’
