even visited in my darkest nightmares. Suddenly, sitting across the table from my father for a couple of hours feels more appealing.
Greg clocks my expression. ‘Don’t panic, I meant a boys trip.’ He nods at the guys. ‘We could get up there early doors, have a few drinks, do the gig, go to a club … stay overnight. It’s been God knows how long since we all went out on the lash. What do you reckon?’
Like highly strung barn owls, Suze and Maddie’s heads rotate round towards their partners.
Rollo laughs. ‘Well, I think that’s your answer, mate. Sounds great, but it’s the aftermath I can’t handle … that noise you heard earlier, imagine that when you’re hungover. All day. It’s torture.’
‘I hate to tell you,’ Suze adds, ‘next weekend it will feel more like an actual torture chamber. Eves and Jasps are having a sleepover weekend at ours with four pals. Imagine the first Saw movie with elements of Hostel thrown in.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus, no …’ moans Rollo.
‘You’ll have to count me out too, Greg. Sorry …’ Kian apologises. ‘Obviously, I can’t leave Maddie overnight.’
‘What with her being a fully functioning adult and all that,’ jokes Greg.
I don’t laugh as I know Maddie is staring at me.
‘He means leave me with the baby,’ she says. ‘It’s still early days, and besides, Greg, the last time Rollo and Kian went out with you overnight, Kian came back with a black eye, his arm in a sling and a cracked tooth.’
Greg sighs. ‘Come on, that was an isolated incident.’
‘It wasn’t that bad, Maddie,’ I add, sticking up for Greg. ‘They didn’t leave him on the pavement. A night in Casualty and Kian was good to go.’
‘Good to go straight back to bed, where he remained for two days,’ says Maddie. ‘And he couldn’t do a feed either.’ She nods at Kian. ‘Forget it, you’re not going.’
‘Jesus, you’re so pussy whipped, mate.’ Greg laughs.
‘Yep,’ smiles Kian, quite happily. ‘That pretty much sums it up.’
‘What about Jez?’ I suggest. ‘He’ll want to go …’
‘Nah, not his thing. Too edgy. Jez doesn’t like to veer too far from the status quo. The concept or the band,’ he mumbles.
I can sense he is getting irritated.
‘Tell you what,’ I suggest. ‘Why don’t you go to the gig and stay over? I’ll go to my parents on Friday night, then meet you in London on Saturday morning, and we can spend the weekend there … do something fun. By “fun”, I mean something in no way involving trippy guitar music. And nothing experimental or, heaven forbid, experiential.’
He smiles at me. ‘Yeah … why not? You’ve got yourself a date, babe.’
I smile back. If there was ever a perfect time for us to have The Baby Talk it will be on a ‘mini-break’ (not that I would call it that out loud because I hate all that couples parlance). I’ll splash out, book us into one of the luxury suites at The Rexingham, that posh hotel where Noelle did her book launch. Greg and I will be in our room—which will be a textbook lover’s playground of squishy pillows, his’n’hers dressing gowns, a fully stocked mini-bar and a remote-control docking system—lying in bed after having ‘nookie’ … and start talking. I will pre-empt the conversation by saying that at no point during our future life as parents will we be like them. ‘Them’ being Suze and Rollo, Maddie and Kian or any other couple who reproducing has turned nuts. Or boring. Or both. He will laugh. So will I. And we will both know that we are in this together. It will be as far removed from what happened before as it is poss—
I jolt.
‘I’m gasping for a fag,’ says Suze. She puts her knife and fork together and glances up at her husband. ‘Can you go and check on the little shits? They might be hot wiring the Range Rover. Greg … cigarette?’
I scan his face for a vague hint that he could be considering it, but he doesn’t flinch.
Suze looks at him. ‘You’ve given up?’
‘Yep, it’s all behind me now,’ he says. ‘I’m a reformed character.’
‘That’s … good. Good for you,’ mutters Suze, pulling a Marlboro Light out of her pack. ‘I’m the only one still up for it, then?’
‘Looks that way,’ he confirms.
I stop myself from looking too pleased.
‘D’you mind not having one at the table, Suze?’ Maddie grimaces at Suze. ‘I know we’re outside, but with Carter here …’ She reaches over and strokes her baby’s cheek. ‘Actually, we’re going to need to make tracks soon. My precious boy needs a nap.’
‘Yeah, I’m exhausted,’ says Kian, downing the remainder of his pint.
Maddie tuts at him. ‘I meant Carter, you idiot. I hope he doesn’t go bananas again when we put him in the car seat. It’s the only time he really screams. You don’t mind if we sneak off, do you?’ she asks me.
‘Erm … no, of course not.’
‘I mind,’ says Suze. ‘Not all of us are ready to leave yet.’
I tap her arm. ‘Relax, it’s fine, Suze … we can stay.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘It’s always the end as soon as someone leaves,’ she snaps. ‘Jesus, Maddie, if you go slightly off schedule for one day, Carter is not going to grow up to be a serial killer.’
Maddie looks wounded and says nothing.
‘Why don’t you go for a cigarette?’ I suggest to Suze, to diffuse the situation. ‘Let me say goodbye to these two and I’ll catch up with you. Greg, you don’t mind, do you?’
‘Nah, I’ll go and help Rollo.’
Suze eyeballs him. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘Because it’s fun watching over-indulgent middleclass parents being relentlessly poked at and abused by their own offspring.’ He grins at her as he wanders off. ‘It’s a modern and far less upsetting form of bear baiting.’
After watching Maddie buckle a suddenly inconsolable Carter into the back of the car, I find Suze at the bottom of the beer garden next to the pond.
‘What was all that about?’ I ask her.
She drags on her Malboro Light. ‘I thought we were going to be making a day of it, that’s all.’
‘No, not that. Getting at Maddie.’
‘Oh, right … she’s bugging me at the moment. It’s as if she’s produced the first baby to crawl the earth and everyone has to be reminded of this every second of every day. When I first had Jasper I was not like that. I was a lot more relaxed …’
‘You were stoned, plus you had your sister and your mum—a hugely experienced GP!—on hand twenty-four hours a day to help.’
Suze pulls a sheepish face. ‘Yeah, okay, I hear you. Hey, maybe the reason why my children are so out of control now is because I was too effing chilled out then? They’re rebelling against their incense-infused, Portishead sound-tracked babyhood.’
I smile. ‘Nah, they’re going through a phase … one which I have to say, you’re dealing with incredibly well. I’d blow a gasket if mine started acting like that.’
‘Oh, I’m only dealing with their behaviour thanks to Philip Morris and endless boxes of picnic wine from Lidl.’ Suddenly, she stops. She is making her Munch face again. ‘Sorry, what did you say? ‘If