Perfect Day

they were both strangely disappointed that what had felt so spontaneous had not produced a baby after all. They told each other that they would not really have wanted to have a baby in Tokyo anyway.
    After that, it seemed only sensible to start using condoms again. They never discussed it. Nell thought Alexander had forgotten the conversation, or didn’t want to remember it, so she tried to put it out of her mind, until one day, during the rainy season when the city felt particularly loud and dirty and busy, they both arrived home from work together drenched.
    As she made tea, she could feel his eyes on her back, watching everything she did, and when she turned round, he said, ‘Why don’t we go somewhere lovely to live and have that baby?’

    ‘Did you see that?’ Frances shouts from the other end of the green.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Only a hole in one!’ Frances says.
    ‘Really? That’s brilliant,’ Nell says, as if she’s talking to Lucy.
    ‘Course it wasn’t, you daft cow,’ Frances says. ‘God, your mind’s gone soft. I thought you weren’t meant to get nappy brain until the baby’s actually born.’
    ‘Baby?’
    For a split second, Nell thinks that Frances has been able to hear everything she has been thinking, and then she remembers. Baby. The baby inside her now. She has not allowed herself to acknowledge properly that she is pregnant again. It makes her feel guilty that the tiny speck of embryo that’s forming in her womb is starting its life forgotten.
    Lucy is now on her second round. She’s good at playing on her own. She’s been an only child for five years, and Nell wonders how she will deal with having a little brother or sister. It doesn’t seem fair somehow to impose it on her without her agreement, and yet it might improve her life. Being the only one can be a terrible burden. Alexander still seems to carry the weight of his mother’s love on his shoulders even though she’s been dead for years.
    Nell thinks of her brother, and his kids who rush around the garden with Lucy when they visit.
    ‘I’ve been wondering whether to have one myself,’ says Frances .
    ‘What?’
    ‘Jesus!’ says Frances .
    ‘A baby?’ Nell asks, suddenly understanding Frances ’s slightly peculiar mood.
    ‘You can talk to baby Jesus if you feel sad, can’t you?’ Lucy chimes in, then swipes at her ball.
    ‘Mrs Bunting’s rather happy clappy ,’ Nell explains.
    ‘Who’s Mrs Bunting, for God’s sake?’ Frances asks, clearly irritated that her big news has been hijacked.
    ‘Lucy’s teacher at school. Have we had enough of this now?’ Nell asks.
    ‘Yes, let’s get some lunch,’ Frances says.
    ‘Are you pregnant?’ Nell asks in a low voice as they resume their walk along the promenade with Lucy trotting along in front firing back questions that usually just require the answer ‘later’.
    ‘If I were it would be an immaculate conception,’ says Frances .
    Nell’s never been completely sure about Frances ’s sexual orientation. She talked about boyfriends in the past, but Nell never actually saw her with one. She’s always had the slightly uncomfortable feeling that Frances fancies her, because she’s always going on about how beautiful she is, and her antipathy towards Alexander feels almost like jealousy that he stole Nell from Frances .
    ‘Can we go on the pier?’ says Lucy.
    ‘Later,’ Nell says, then asks, ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’
    ‘Are you conventional, or what?’ says Frances .
    ‘I meant, are you in a relationship?’
    ‘You don’t have to be “in a relationship” to have a baby these days. Or even before, for that matter,’ Frances says, deliberately avoiding the question. ‘There’s turkey basters with a handsome and intelligent friend, probably gay, or there’s going down the pub and picking up a yob who’s here for a weekend of sex. I haven’t decided on the method of conception yet...’
    ‘Can I have a lolly?’ says Lucy.
    ‘After lunch.’
    Nell is trying to think of an appropriate response. She can’t imagine Frances as a mother.
    ‘How exciting,’ she says lamely. ‘Why do you want a baby all of a sudden?’
    ‘I’m very selfish, and it makes me sad to think that my genes won’t survive,’ says Frances .
    ‘That’s the strangest reason I’ve ever heard,’ Nell says.
    ‘It’s called the evolution of the species, I believe,’ Frances says.
    Nell laughs.
    ‘I suppose you’re right!’
    ‘And I like the idea of having