Baby on Board

Isaac

"Why hasn't she phoned? I should call her, shouldn't I? Maybe I'll Skype her instead. We should check that she's ok and not lying dead in a ditch somewhere on some stupid island in the middle of the Med. I'm going to phone her."

Lottie and I were having dinner at her parent's house in Surrey and we were both watching, enthralled, as Jimmy Delaney word vomited his thoughts on why my teenaged- yet adult- daughter hadn't been in contact with him since she flew out to Ibiza on the weekend. Earlier, he was convinced that Martha had been kidnapped and that's why we hadn't heard from her. Neither Lottie nor I had the balls to tell him that she texts us on the hour, every hour just to let us know that she is indeed alive and not dead in a ditch. 

From the sounds of her texts, Martha and her friends were enjoying every single second of their time in Ibiza. For a group of young ones, she, Flo and Kizzy hadn't been out much, instead, they had spent most of their days lounging by the pool and catching up on gossip. Martha was constantly updating me with the news that so-and-so that she used to go to school with was now in rehab, or someone-or-another was pregnant.

You should be glad that I didn't turn out to be as much of a fuck up as some of the other people. 

I wasn't sure whether I should be proud about that or not. While I'm happy she's not in rehab and that she isn't pregnant, it still doesn't detract from the fact that Martha can still be considered to be a fuck up. Then again, if it's any consolation, aren't we all fuck ups really? 

"James," Camille Clément sighs out her husband's name in that long drawl that she was famous for. It was a mixture of exasperation and amusement, tinged with love. I've heard it countless times between Jimmy and Camille but it's the only thing that can reign in Lottie's hot-headed father. When Jimmy rolls his eyes and crosses his arms while pouting, Camille gives a victorious smile and nods with satisfaction. "Alors, Charlotte, we need to discuss the names that you have chosen for the baby."

I should have seen this coming. I'm not sure how Camille found out about the name choices we'd settled on but as soon as we turned up earlier, it was the first thing she wanted to discuss. Thankfully, at the time, Lottie was starved and was more fixated on going into the dining room so she could devour the delicious smelling dinner than talking about what names we decided on. However, now that all the food had disappeared, there was nothing stopping Camille from demanding that we change the names. 

"Harlow thinks-"

"Never in the history of the English language has a good sentence ever started with, 'Harlow thinks,'" I can't help but say as I interrupt Camille. I'd spoken without meaning to but once the words were out, I didn't regret them and I wasn't going to apologise for saying them, no matter how hard Lottie glared at the side of my head. "This is why I didn't want to tell anyone what we'd picked. Everyone is going to think they have a say in what we name our child when really, the only ones that should be making the decision is us. And by 'us', I obviously mean you, Lottie, because I lied and passed the naming rights to you."