“It’s private, but if you can post the letter or give me an address or some form of contacting him.” I’m not about to have her give me a lecture by telling her the truth. My own mother has lectured me enough these last few weeks. I don’t need her making me feel worse than I already do.
“All right. I’ll see that he gets it, but I can’t promise he’ll be in touch. You know he’s stubborn.” She closes the door and I stare at my reflection in the frosted glass. A distorted, fuzzy image of myself resembling just how I feel on the inside.
I don’t know what else to do. If I flew over to Sydney, where do I look? The idea of flying to the other side of the world while pregnant is ridiculous. If he doesn’t want to see me again or be part of his child’s life, his mum’s right—I can’t force him.
* * *
In the changing room,I take my red swimsuit from my bag. It's cute and one I bought for my holiday in Greece this Easter, although getting it on is a feat in itself. It’s so tight.Well yeah. You’re six months pregnant.And you’ve been eating for two ever since you found out. I thought lycra stretched, though.
After wrestling with the lycra for what seems like five minutes, I'm in. I have to adjust my breasts into the cup area, and I wonder if I made a mistake with this costume. It's rather low at the front. Great for lying on a beach working on your tan, but maybe not so good for doing aqua-aerobics. Oh well, I'm in a pool. Who's gonna see me? I should be okay.
I walk out in my red suit that has a small skirt attached to the waist to hide my arse and thick thighs. Although it doesn't even cover my arse fully, making the skirt is totally pointless.
Holding onto the metal railing, I step into the rectangular pool, dipping my toe in the water first, and quickly retract. Oooh, it's cold. Remind me why I’m here again.Just get in and do your warm-up. Okay, bitch. Let's do this.
I'm a strong, independent woman. I’m a strong, independent woman. For frig's sake, I can handle the cold water. I climb down the ladder and lie back in the water, causing a mini tidal wave to ripple along the lanes.
Claire waves from the deep end as she does her breaststroke like a channel swimmer.
I do the backstroke while I wait for the aerobics instructor to start the session, but I'm basically just floating along the lane. Apparently, the more fat you have, the better you float—who knew? I don't think I could sink if I tried.
Claire’s head bobs next to mine. “You made it.”
“Just. After almost losing the battle with the swimsuit, you’re lucky I’m not sitting in the leisure cafe right now.”
She giggles. “How’s the kids doing?”
“They’re okay. They still hate me.” I blow out my mouth, lifting my fringe up as I tread water, well float and waft my arms to keep my balance.
“They’ll get used to it, especially when they realise they get double the number of Christmas gifts.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Have I still got to buy Justin a gift? What’s the protocol for ex-husbands? I mean, we’re not even divorced yet.”
“Just get him something from the kids, hun.”
My baby bump sticks out of the water as I float on my back. “That could actually be his gift.”
“What?”
“Divorce papers. He said he was going to sort it out. I’m not sure what’s taking so long, although there’s no rush is there. It’s not like I have anyone else wanting to pick up the baton.”
“Do you want another man? I thought you were happy re-inventing yourself as a new independent woman. I mean, look at you, here doing an aqua-aerobics class, of all things.”
“I cooked a lasagna last night too. From scratch and the kids ate the lot. I even plated a portion up for Justin. You know, to rub it in his face. Not literally—although that’s a good idea.”
“Steady on, Nigella. Is Justin still all right with you?”
“Oh, he’s living his best life. He’s shagging Maxine on the side and out most weekends with the lads from the builder’s yard. He thinks he’s twenty again.”
The music starts. A remix of ‘Pump up the Jam’ and the pint-sized slender instructor stands at the side of the pool in her lycra leggings and leotard, dancing like she's at a 90s disco on crack.
“Morning everyone.” She jumps into a lunge. “Let's workout. We’re going to start with a warm-up. Stand and stretch your arm.”
Stand? I'm at the deep end. The bottom is out of my reach. I bob up and down a little and sway side to side, trying to follow her moves. The pointless frilled skirt rides up and fans out around me. I tug it back down while bobbing in the deep.
With each movement I swim to the right, moving further up the pool until my feet come into contact with solid ground. My breasts are half in and half out of the surface with a mind of their own.
“Okay, now move those legs. We’re going to run on the spot.” She bounces up and down in what she calls a run totally effortless. Every part of her body stays in place where it should be.