Broken Chords (Love in London 2)

“He's so beautiful.” Beth sighs.

“He is,” I agree. “Though not so cute at three o'clock in the morning when he's wide awake and wanting some company.”

“Well, the next time I come up I'll stay over and give you a break for the night.” She tugs at his foot and he kicks in delight.

I smile and grab her hand. “Sounds like a fabulous idea to me.”

8

David steps back onto the pavement, his face screwed up in concentration. Lifting his hand to his hair, he scratches hard. “It's not going to fit.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Amy has been watching our attempts at loading the car for half an hour. She's sat down on the front wall of our tiny garden, and is polishing her toenails with a dark blue hue. David turns around and shoots her a look. She carries on painting, oblivious.

“The buggy has to go. And maybe you can only bring one bag?” Andrea sounds apologetic. “We can take turns holding Max, or we can use that papoose?” She gestures at the tangle of fabric I've stuffed on top of the buggy.

It's no good; babies and music festivals clearly don't mix. The days of slinging a short dress and a pair of Wellington boots in a bag are clearly over. Packing for today has been like a military operation.

“Let me take out some toys.” I rummage through the huge bag full of everything Max could possibly need for a day trip in the country. “And if I can work out how to attach that bloody baby sling, we can use it.” I've had it since Max was born, and not once have I been able to fasten it. The one time I tried to tie Max against me, he slid out. I managed to catch him by the shoulder of his sleep suit, but it was a close-run thing.

“How difficult can it be?” David asks. He has the confidence of a man who thinks he knows it all.

“I guess we'll find out.” Is that a smirk on Amy's face? For a moment she looks so much like her brother it's unbelievable. Same face shape, same inky black hair. She has the same sense of mischief, too, though I sense she still has a bit of growing up to do. Which is fine, because she's almost ten years younger than me.

Eventually, we manage to tessellate Max's things, and then we have the pleasure of trying to strap his car seat in. It's a feat of engineering when we finally succeed, and we practically collapse into the car, exhausted.

“I never realised kids were so complicated,” Andrea murmurs, smoothing her dress across her knees. She twists the key and the engine rumbles.

“That's not the half of it,” I say. “I thought I packed light.”

I lean forward to talk to her. She's sitting in the driver's seat, with David and his long legs on the passenger side. Max's car seat is behind him on the back seat, and I'm squashed in the middle between Max and Amy. “That's a pretty dress, Andrea, where's it from?” I think it's the first time I've seen her in a dress. It complements her toned, smooth legs. I've noticed David glancing at them more than once.

“I've had it for ages,” she answers airily. “I can't remember where it's from.”

She's so convincing I almost believe her. Then I see the corner of a white paper price tag sticking up from the neckline and smile to myself. “You should wear it more often.”

I hear a low, “Yeah,” coming from the passenger seat and try not to laugh. It's kind of strange that David seems into Andrea after they've only met once. They seem to be getting on pretty well—having bonded over the boot of doom—but I still can't quite see they have much in common, unless David really does have a librarian fetish.

It takes a few hours to get to the festival site. The last thirty minutes are spent crawling in a huge line of cars as each one has to be checked by security before heading towards the car park. Max begins to get restless and we all end up trying to entertain him, with David doing an amazing rendition of a Kylie Minogue song, falsetto tone and all.

During the wait I stare out of the window at the fields spread out before us, their greenery obscured by a sea of tents that stretches out towards the horizon. I find myself getting excited for Alex, as well as a little bit nervous. When he referred to this as a 'small festival', I'd imagined

a few dozen tents and a hay barn. But this is Glastonbury-Lite. Even if they're playing on the smallest stage, it's still one heck of an opportunity for them.

We park up and unload the car, the process so much simpler than when we were trying to fit everything in. David shows me how to strap the baby sling to my chest so Max is snug against me, his little legs dangling down and pressing into my stomach. Max thinks it's hilarious, being so close to me, and he gets all grabby, going for my hair, my face, and occasionally my chest.

He is, after all, his father's son.

It's one of those rare Saturdays when the sun decides it has nothing better to do than blast down on us, the lack of clouds leaving the sky a deep, cerulean blue. The result is a thousand pairs of closely cropped denim shorts and tiny flowery dresses, without a Wellington boot in sight. Even though I've managed to lose most of the baby weight I put on during pregnancy—not through any concerted effort but because Max has spent the last six months literally sucking the life out of me—I can't help but feel a little bit dowdy in comparison to these young, luscious girls.

It's okay. It's not as if I've had a baby and immediately decided I must always wear a trouser suit and elasticated skirts. At the moment I'm wearing a black and pink floral mini skirt and a tight grey vest, plus my accessory du jour; a slobbery, giggling Max who keeps pulling down the neckline to flash my tits at everybody. But there are some things you give up when you have a baby: drunkenness, debauchery, and the ability to wear crop tops. I can't help but feel jealous of all these smooth, tanned stomachs.

I used to have one of those. Not anymore, though. It's disappeared into the ether, along with the chances of a good night's sleep and the ability to hold my pee in whenever I cough.

“What time is the band on?” David asks, lifting up the bag full of baby stuff and pulling it onto his shoulder. Andrea grabs my handbag and kindly carries it for me. Amy's wandered off somewhere, walking away with a cheery “See you later”, so it's the three of us.

“Alex said six o'clock, which in festival language probably means seven.” When I glance at my watch I note it's not quite noon. Seeing the sun so high in the sky reminds me that Max should be wearing a hat to go along with his sunscreen, and I lean across David to rummage through his baby bag.

It's really weird having Max strapped to my front, as if I’m regressing back to pregnancy, except this time all the kicks are on the outside. I keep forgetting he's there and squashing him until he starts to squeal.