Overturning years of seemingly unshakeable cynicism, V has discovered life coaching. One upshot of this is a large Excel spreadsheet that tabulates her long and short-term goals in a colour-coded chart. Many of these goals seem to involve us having children, soon.
The other upshot is that our days start slightly differently now. Each morning, the first thing V does is to listen to the ‘mind programming CD’ that came with her life-coaching book. From what I can gather, this is a 20-minute hypnotherapy session that purports to help disciples start each glorious day of potentially limitless achievement in a positive frame of mind, and achieve something called ‘flow state’. Even in Hackney. Never one to do things by halves, this week V has been getting up early so she can listen to it twice.
So it is that when I stumble through to the living room in the morning, looking like I’ve just been roused from a mild vegetative state, V is already immaculately dressed, sitting with a rod-straight back on the sofa, watching the news and drinking hot water and lemon in a state of alarming cheeriness.
“Morning!” she says as I slump down next to her, still in my boxer shorts and with a small amount of dried saliva at the edge of my mouth.
“Morning,” I reply. “Sleep well?”
“Sleep of queens. You?”
I shrug and mumble some half-formed sounds that may not even be words.
“Are you going in to Good Man today, my good man?”
Good Man is a men’s health/lifestyle/naked women magazine that I sometimes freelance for.
“Yeah,” I reply, squinting at the television. “I’m there all week.”
“Super duper. What time are you in?”
“Ten.”
“Best get a bend on then. It’s quarter to nine now. If you want to accompany me to the train station, I’m going in 15 minutes. Come on, it’s a beautiful, glorious morning outside. Each breath is a small symphony.”
I dash through to the bedroom and throw some clothes at myself in the hope that some will settle upon me in the right order. I grab half a slice of cold buttered toast from the kitchen and speedwalk back into the living room.
“What is it with weather girls?” says V as I hop around, trying to put a sock on.
“What do you mean?”
She points at the breakfast news programme on the telly. “They all seem to be pregnant, all the time. Look at the size of her. You can hardly see Cornwall.”
“Have you seen my white shirt?”
“Whatserface on the sofa’s up the duff as well. Looks like her waters are about to burst live on air. Hanging up on the back of the bathroom door.”
One of the many advantages of living with V is her uncanny ability to provide me with the location of almost every object within the flat, as if she’s been fitted with domestic GPS. I nip through and pull my shirt on. By the time I’m done, V is pulling on her jacket and taking long, deep breaths. Her positive aura seems to have been clouded slightly and she is now shaking her head and scowling at the TV.
“Oh, Jesus wept,” she says, lowering her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. “For the love of God, no, please. Please spare us.”
I peer at the telly and catch a glimpse of a woman with elaborate hair, who is billed as a ‘Motherhood Expert’. She is being interviewed by the life-sappingly bland male/female presenter double act. Today’s hot topic is that a newspaper columnist - of the swivel-eyed, why-oh-why variety - has suggested that women are irresponsibly leaving it too late to have children, in order that they can instead fritter selfishly their lives away drinking martinis in style bars, smoking the odd cigarette and generally having a nice time of it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Look,” says V, pointing at the TV, mouth agape.
As I look more closely, I realise what has dented V’s positive outlook. The camera switches back to the ‘Motherhood Expert’. It is Jody, with hair extensions. The unique insight she offers appears to be that women either accept that they will have to make some sacrifices and compromises in their lives if they have children, or continue to enjoy a certain amount of freedom and take the chance that they may one day regret not producing an heir if they choose to remain childless. The presenters are deeply impressed by Jody’s sage-like perspective on the non-issue. As is Jody, who looks like she feels very much at home on the red sofa.
“So do you think women are leaving it too late?” the boringly handsome male presenter asks her.
“Well, I had my first child – Molly, hi Molly! – when I was 32,” says Jody, waving at us through the screen.
“Liar!” shouts V, outraged. “She was 34.”
“I don’t think that’s too late, and I am pretty physically fit,” continues Jody, with a casual extension-flick. “Most people of my age group have kids now, but I do have close friends who are in their late 30s who haven’t had kids yet. I think they might be pushing the envelope a bit, yes. But that’s their choice. Although I think they might regret not going for it, might feel a bit, y’know, empty in later life. I’m just so lucky to have an adorable child like Molly.”
The presenters nod solemnly.
“‘Late thirties?’” gasps V.
“Erm, we’d better make tracks,” I say, hitting the mute button.
“‘Pushing the envelope?’ I’ll push her bloody envelope, the smug twat. She’s always been the same, ever since school. She always has to go one better than me. Now she’s using her child as a stick to beat me with. Metaphorically speaking.”
“Don’t be so ridiculous. It’s not a competition.”
V wheels round to face me. “How naive you are. How naive. That was all for my benefit.”
“Great," I groan. "Are you going to turn into one of those nutters who say newsreaders are spying on them through their telly?”
V inhales deeply through her nose, three times. Her nostrils flare, rather impressively.
“Make no mistake. I am not mad with Jody,” she continues, in a weirdly flat tone. “I am calm. The universe supports me. I can access flow state whenever I like.”
“Wow. This life coaching thing really works. You seem so... ”
"Centred?"
"Yeah. What does that mean exactly?"
V ignores the question and returns to inhaling deeply once again.
“I can and will achieve my goals,” she chants.
“Er… great!”
“I can and will get even with that cow. And if that means having a baby, then so be it.”
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