‘Well …’ She chews a mouthful of scrambled egg thoughtfully. ‘You and Rich doing karaoke together was an obvious highlight.’
‘Well I remember that, yeah.’
‘I don’t think anyone will ever forget it. Nads filmed the whole thing, by the way.’ She taps her phone on the table. ‘It’s already on the work WhatsApp.’
‘Glad to hear it. Who knew Rich knows all the words to “Gettin’ Jiggy wit It”? I swear he didn’t look at the screen once.’
Daff grins as she takes a sip of coffee. ‘Hey – did you talk to his new girlfriend? Miranda?’
‘Yeah, a little bit. She seems nice.’
‘So hot.’ She shakes her head in disbelief. ‘Even hotter than his last one.’
I load my fork up with bacon. ‘The first thing Rich said to me last night, before he even said hello, was that Miranda had once auditioned to be in a Corrs tribute band, but she’d been rejected for being – and this is a direct quote – “too good-looking”.’
Daff splutters into her orange juice. ‘Ah, Rich. His heart’s in the right place, but he really is a ridiculous man.’
A few months ago, a comment like that would probably have had me searching Daff’s expression carefully for any trace of hidden meaning. It would have sent my brain wheeling back to that day in the park at Christmas 2023 – the image of Rich’s arm slinking around her waist. Now, though, it doesn’t even make me flinch.
It doesn’t bother me when Daff and Rich work late together, or go out to plays or screenings, just the two of them. Because I know that I love her and she loves me. I believe in us completely.
I guess Harv was right in the end: all I needed was a little less self-pity and a little more self-belief.
We sit for a few seconds in contented silence, sipping our coffee, watching the sunlight filter in between the curtains.
‘When’s your Christmas thing with the teaching lot again?’ Daff asks.
‘The twenty-ninth,’ I tell her. ‘It’d be great if you wanted to come too.’
‘Yeah. I’m seeing the girls that night, but maybe we can come along for a drink later.’
‘Definitely – anyone’s welcome. I’ve invited Harv, too.’
She nudges me with her elbow. ‘You still trying to set him up with the Iron Woman?’
I laugh. ‘Can you please not call her that? It makes her sound like Margaret Thatcher.’
‘Sorry. I’m only joking – you know I love Isha.’
‘Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual. She’s always banging on about how great you are. Anyway, I do think she and Harv would be good together.’
She nods. ‘I think you’re right.’
Isha (aka the Iron Woman) is one of many new mates I made on the Those Who Can teacher training course earlier this year. She’s brilliant: smart and funny and – incredibly – perhaps even more fitness-obsessed than Harv. She ticks off a different triathlon pretty much every weekend, and since she’s recently single, I’ve been talking Harv up to her at every given opportunity.
Daff takes a last sip of coffee and plonks her mug on the bedside table. ‘I still can’t believe that by this time next year you’ll be Mr Hazeley.’
I lean into her, kissing her hair. ‘Oi, don’t jinx it. I’ve still got the exams to get through.’
She smiles at me. ‘Come on, Ben … You know you’re good at it.’
I shrug, but I can’t help smiling back. I am good at it, I think.
I’m now four months into my stint as a teaching assistant at a local comprehensive, and the first time I stood up in front of a class, it was like something finally clicked. The lesson was Year 11 English, and I had to suppress my shock when I saw the book we’d be dissecting: The History of Mr Polly by H. G. Wells. A book that contains the line: ‘If you don’t like your life, you can change it.’
Anyway, it’s early days, but I love it. I really do. By next summer – exam results pending – I’ll be a fully qualified teacher. The idea makes me tingle with excitement.
Daff finishes her last bit of bacon and sets her tray aside. ‘Well, that was outrageous. Thanks very much.’
‘No worries,’ I say. ‘Although I am kind of disappointed that you’re still eating normal food. I thought you were supposed to be having weird cravings by now. I’m quite looking forward to knocking you up pilchards with raspberry jam, or whatever.’
She smiles at me, her brown eyes sparkling. ‘You’ve been reading those leaflets the doctor gave us, then?’
‘Erm, to be honest, I think I’m getting this from an episode of Friends where Phoebe was pregnant.’
‘Excellent.’ She nods. ‘Good to know you’re taking this whole experience seriously.’
I lay my tray aside too, and cuddle up to her. ‘So … how are we going to do it today, then?’
Daff shrugs. ‘I think we should just do it when everyone’s arrived. All my lot, and your uncle and aunt and cousins and everyone. Harv and Jamila are coming for drinks at eleven-ish, so they should still be here too. We can tell them all at once.’ She pounds her fist into her palm. ‘Maximum impact.’
I kiss her shoulder. ‘Your mum is going to lose her mind.’
‘I know,’ she laughs. ‘I’m genuinely worried. I think we should hide all breakable objects.’
‘We should do that anyway, with your nephews coming.’
She kisses me on the forehead. ‘I wish your mum was here today,’ she says suddenly. ‘So much.’
‘I know,’ I say quietly. ‘I’ve been thinking about her a lot since we found out.’
We lie there for a minute, forehead to forehead. I wonder if it will ever get easier – missing Mum. Probably not. But at least I’ve let Daff in properly this time. Now at least we can miss her together.
Daff sighs and says, ‘Well. It’s been a pretty weird year, hasn’t it?’
I laugh. ‘It really has.’ I lay a hand gently on her stomach.
‘And next year’s going to be even weirder,’ she says. ‘I mean, there’s a person in there.’ She pokes her belly. ‘An actual person.’
‘Bernard,’ I say.
‘Yep. Little Bernie.’
‘The B Man.’
She nuzzles into my neck. ‘You know we have to think of some proper names soon, right? Bernard’s fine for a bump, but I’m not sure about it for our actual child.’
‘What, even if it’s a girl?’
‘Even if it’s a girl.’
‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll brainstorm.’
I’ve been thinking lately about Jack, if it’s a boy. I haven’t told Daff yet. Maybe I’ll pitch it in the new year.
The whole thing still doesn’t seem real, to be honest. When Daff missed her period back in October, we hadn’t even restarted the conversation about having kids. We were still trying to find our way back into married life. But I knew for certain it was what I wanted. A family with Daphne: the thought made me explode with joy. And when she told me it was what she wanted too … Well, put it this way, I was unable to form a coherent sentence for a good few hours.