No-One Ever Has Sex On A Tuesday: A Very Funny Romantic Novel (11 page)

Katy thought she might hit him there and then.

“Sensible,” she exclaimed. If ever there was a word that summed up her biggest fear at hitting her mid-thirties and the thought of becoming a mother, it was sensible.

“Me? Sensible?” she said again.

“Well,” said Rick starting to look a little uncomfortable, “Since I’ve got to know you I have never known you do anything that silly. Maybe it was just what you were like when you were younger. Before we met you.”

Katy couldn’t speak she was so horrified. So Rick thought that she must have got boring with age. She wasn’t boring. She could still hold her own with the carefree and fun-loving twenty-something crowd. She wasn’t past it yet. Even if she was pregnant.

She looked over at Ben for support. He obviously decided that he didn’t want to get involved as he quickly stood up and kissed her on the forehead before announcing he was off to the gents.

Great, she thought, watching him walk away. Nice to hear some words of reassurance. So they all thought they had the sole rights on being wild and crazy just because they were male and under thirty did they? She’d show them, she said to herself. She’d show them right now and wipe the smug, self-satisfied smiles off their faces. She looked around desperately for inspiration and caught sight of Gloria surveying the small pile of crisps that the “oh so hilarious” Braindead had lain at her feet.

Perfect. She glanced over at Rick and Braindead who were now debating which beer to try next.

“Watch and learn,” she muttered quietly to herself. She took a deep breath and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table really hard, enough to make her knuckles turn white. Then she let out a low groan. Rick and Braindead turned to look at her. She groaned again but louder this time, causing drinkers at the neighbouring tables to turn and stare.

“I told you that J2O is dodgy stuff,” said Braindead. “Do you need the bathroom?” he said slowly and loudly, as if she had turned deaf.

Katy groaned again, this time really loud, and clutched her belly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” cried Rick, leaping up out of his chair, knocking it backwards on the floor. “She’s in fucking labour.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah,” screamed Braindead as if he had seen a headless ghost. “What the fuck do we do?” he said, grabbing his pint and downing it in one.

Katy groaned again, trying not to laugh. She grabbed Rick’s arm, pulling him towards her.

“Not me Katy,” he shrieked. “Braindead’s much better in a crisis.”

She managed to drape herself around his neck, pressing her mouth right up to his ear.

“Steal the bloody puffin,” she hissed. “Whilst I’m distracting everyone.” She withdrew to leave a visibly shaken Rick looking nervously around. She groaned again tugging wildly at his hand.

Finally the realisation of what was happening dawned on Rick and a smile started to emerge. He turned to a frozen Braindead.

“You get Katy to the car, we have towels and hot water there,” he shouted so the entire pub could hear. “Can someone help them please?” Those on the surrounding tables swarmed to surround Braindead and Katy whilst Rick idly stuffed Gloria up his shirt before going to find Ben.

“Oh my god Katy. Oh my god. What the fuck. Are you OK? Does it hurt? What shall I do?” panted Ben as he skidded into the car where she was sitting quietly with a fully informed Braindead, the pub well-wishers having retreated inside.

“Got ya,” Katy and Braindead yelled in unison.

“Do we have Gloria?” asked Braindead, whilst a bewildered Ben looked from one face to another.

“Of course,” said Rick from behind Ben, pulling the puffin out from under his shirt.

“Katy, you are the absolute dog’s bollocks,” said Braindead, cradling Gloria on his knee. “And most certainly back in my top five, I don’t care what you say.”

“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?” asked Ben. “Why aren’t you screaming?”

“It’s all right, there’s nothing to worry about,” she said, feeling bad as well as pleased he looked so concerned. “I was just faking labour to distract everyone so we could kidnap Gloria,” she continued. “I thought I’d show you how I got my nickname, Queen of Steal,” said Katy to a totally confused Ben. “Not so sensible now eh?”

Ben said nothing, just sat down on the gravel and put his head in his hands.

“You alright mate?” asked Rick.

“I think I’ve just had a near heart attack,” he said eventually. He looked up to see his two best mates grinning away giving Katy high fives.

“But I guess I can let you off as I have never seen Braindead happier,” said Ben, finally seeing the funny side and collapsing into laughter.

As they drove home, Rick and Braindead relived Katy’s fake labour over and over again for Ben’s benefit, who was now hysterically laughing whilst stroking her knee protectively.

That night as they lay in bed Katy felt the need to apologise for giving Ben a fright even if it had given them all one hell of a funny pregnancy story to share.

“No, I’m sorry,” Ben said in response. “I should have stuck up for you when Rick wouldn’t believe you. I know that you are more than capable of stealing anything if you put your mind to it.”

“You must be so proud,” laughed Katy.

“I’m always proud of you,” said Ben, serious for a moment. “More than you’ll ever know.” He leaned forward and gave her a boozy kiss before turning over to fall asleep.

Katy lay there staring at the ceiling recalling her dramatic performance with a huge amount of self-satisfaction. It was such a relief to know that pregnancy hadn’t zapped her personality entirely. The real Katy Chapman was still alive and kicking and capable of anything. As sleep slowly started to claim her weary body the thought of the dinner party invitation was the only thing to dampen her revived fighting spirit. Tomorrow she would find a way to get out of it, she resolved as she drifted off. Tomorrow she would put Matthew firmly behind her and truly begin preparations for the arrival of her and Ben’s baby.

Chapter 11

Matthew had been sitting in his black leather executive chair in his home office for the past two hours staring at a blank spreadsheet on his computer. Occasionally his hands leapt into action and hovered in anticipation over the keyboard only to be pulled back at the last minute and rested back on the padded arms of the chair. Alison had popped in every so often to ask his opinion on possible menu choices for the dinner party on Saturday, such was her excitement at having the first guests over to show her house off to. In fact, as soon as they had got back from the class, she had disappeared behind a fortress of celebrity chef cookbooks. It was the sight of so many patronizing smiles from so many over fed, over paid chefs on the front of these overpriced passports to social acceptability that had forced him to retreat to his inner sanctum.

Every time Alison had popped in, he bent his head hurriedly over a copy of Income Tax regulations, Volume 6 and asked her not to disturb him again.

Finally at 11.04pm he selected a box on the screen, top row, two spaces in, and typed the word Katy before quickly deleted it.

Come on, he said to himself through gritted teeth. He couldn’t understand it. Normally this was exactly what he needed to sort his head out. A beautifully mapped out spreadsheet usually had the capacity to transform him from a bumbling wreck to a master of his mind and faculties.

It was Alison who had first led him to develop a fetish for this mind altering activity. In their early dating days she had been horrified that he didn’t know where he wanted to be in ten years’ time. His lack of focus in all areas of his life had driven her demented but eventually she had relished his indecision and taken it upon herself to turn him into the man she knew he could become.

So, one evening, when he thought he was dropping by to pick her up and go to the cinema, she dragged him into her kitchen. There with the help of several pieces of A3 paper and a variety of coloured marker pens, she had bit by bit encouraged, cajoled and dragged out of him what he should do with his life. By the end of the evening he was exhausted if not a little emotional having admitted things to her that he hadn’t even admitted to himself.

Two days later in the post came a beautifully-typed-up chart entitled MATTHEW’S PLAN complete with timelines and a to-do list. She had made it all seem so simple. So simple that before the morning was out he had picked up the phone and requested a prospectus from a college running evening accountancy courses. He had also rung the mate who was temporarily sleeping on his couch and told him that if he wasn’t out by the weekend he would be charging rent. The feeling of progress was so good that he soon found he was doing charts on the spreadsheet function of his computer for all manner of tricky situations. Which job offer to take once he had qualified as an accountant? His criteria for selecting his first company car? How to ask Alison to marry him? How they were going to afford endless fertility treatment? He had them all filed away on the hard disc under the title THIS IS YOUR LIFE MATTHEW CHESTERMAN. Password protected of course.

But tonight the magic of the spreadsheet was failing him. Tonight its special powers would not work to focus his mind in the right place. He knew deep down that he had nothing to decide. Katy had taken care of it. She had called the shots and decreed that all possible consequences of their one night stand should be ignored. How relieved he ought to be feeling. How relieved that he didn’t need to construct the spreadsheet entitled TAKING CARE OF THREE CHILDREN ALL AT ONCE. But he didn’t feel relieved, that was the whole point, and the damn spreadsheet wouldn’t help him work out why. Or perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to do a spreadsheet entitled, WHY KATY MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I GOT MATTHEW’S PLAN ALL WRONG.

In the absence of a seriously soothing spreadsheet, Matthew found himself the following day pacing up and down the pavement in front of Katy’s office. After twenty painful minutes he finally walked through the doors and strode up to the pink-haired, pierced-lipped receptionist and asked to see Ms Chapman. She buzzed through to Katy’s PA via a headset and helped him negotiate with Louise the opportunity for him to wait in Katy’s office until she came out of a meeting. She did this whilst also whipping him up a decaf latte from the fully-equipped coffee bar that stood behind her.

He was now sitting staring at a gilt-framed Smash Hits poster of Patrick Swayze in his Dirty Dancing days in Katy’s highly individual office. He could still picture the same poster on Katy’s bedroom wall all those years ago. It seemed to Matthew that he’d spent a lot of time thinking about his teenage years since he had seen Katy again. It had been bothering him as to whether the teenage boy he was then would be impressed with the man he was now.

He jumped as his phone buzzed at him from his belt clip. Unhooking it he saw Ian’s name flash on the screen.

“What do you want? I’m busy,” said Matthew under his breath, afraid Louise, who was right outside the door, might hear.

“Where are you? You sound funny?” asked Ian.

“You really don’t want to know,” Matthew whispered.

“Oh come on. The minute you say that then of course I must insist on knowing exactly where you are. But if you tell me you’ve gone down to that new lap dancing bar without me for a quickie at lunchtime, I will have to kill you.”

“Believe me, I am not in a lap dancing bar.”

Louise looked up far too quickly, making it obvious she had heard what Matthew had said. Matthew turned his back on her in what he hoped was a casual manner.

“OK, so not a lap dancing bar. Are you with any attractive birds?” asked Ian.

Matthew eyed the stuffed puffin perched on Katy’s desk warily. It had been giving him a very disapproving glare ever since he had sat down.

“You could say there are birds involved, yes,” admitted Matthew.

“Interesting,” said Ian. “Are they naked?”

Matthew switched his gaze to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room on which stood the plaster cast of Katy’s pregnant belly and breasts. He knew it was her because there was a handy plaque on the plinth stating her name and, surprisingly, her newly acquired cup size.

“Are you still there?” said Ian. “Come on answer the question. I’m enjoying this game.”

“Well I guess you could say that at this particular moment I can see some kind of nakedness yes,” muttered Matthew, glancing nervously over his shoulder at Louise.

“Wow, and it’s only half past eleven in the morning. You rock Matthew. So who is it? Come on tell me. Are you watching Sue from accounts take her cycling top off through that broken window in the second floor loos?”

“No I am not.”

“So who is it then? Tell me now before my head explodes,” insisted Ian.

“Well I’m actually looking at Katy’s…” started Matthew.

“Katy? The Katy? Bonus baby Katy?” interrupted Ian.

“Shut up Ian. That is so inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate? You can talk. You’re looking at her tits.”

“They are not her real tits. Look, I’m in her office. I’ll tell you why later but there is this sort of sculpture of her naked pregnant body.”

“Wow. Just give me a moment whilst I take in what you have just said,” said Ian.

The line went quiet.

“OK, I now have the scene in my head. Now concentrate, the next question is really important. Are you alone in the office?” asked Ian.

“Err yes. Katy didn’t know I was coming so I’m waiting for her to finish in a meeting.”

“Good. So tell me. Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“You have haven’t you?

“Have what?”

“You know. Had a quick squeeze of the tits.”

“No I have not,” said a shocked Matthew.

“Aw come on. No man alone in room with an inanimate object shaped like a naked woman is going to resist a quick grope.”

“Not all men are like you Ian.”

“Don’t give me that. I just have the guts to say what everyone else is thinking,” said Ian. “So come on. Don’t you at least want to know if they feel different now that she’s pregnant?”

Matthew peered over his shoulder to see if Louise was still sniffing around. Her chair was empty.