differences that increasingly yawned between them – had badly affected Tash’s great friendship with Zoe. Although the latter was fourteen years older, the two women had a natural affinity and were instinctive, deep-set friends.
Tash called Zoe less often these days, but when she did, as now, the two fell immediately into an affectionate, intimate chat that required no small talk.
‘I am so glad you called,’ Zoe’s voice spoke of smiles and warmth – and rather a lot of good red wine. ‘You must be so fed up hauling that little passenger around, and desperate to meet him. I bet you’re still working far too hard and putting your feet up too little.’
‘I’m not working at all, and I can’t see my feet any more,’ Tash pointed out.
Zoe tutted fondly. ‘I remember how fed up and uncomfortable I got, especially the second time around. India was terribly late – then as now. Tell Hugo I insist that he pampers you like mad in these last weeks.’
‘He hasn’t time with the Games coming up.’
‘Do I take it that he’s horribly distracted?’
‘I wish I could be there for him more.’
‘Don’t you mean you wish he could be there for you more?’
Tash was grateful that Zoe knew her so well. ‘Maybe a bit of both.’
‘You need his support now, Tash.’
‘He can’t help it. Running the yard and competing every week is all-consuming; I should know. It’s hard for him to understand that I’m up to my eyes in hormones.’
‘Some men find it very hard to engage with pregnancy. It’s such an alien process for them.’
‘Niall spent every day telling you how your babies were developing,’ Tash remembered, ‘when they could hear and see and had begun to grow nails and hair.’
‘That was Niall’s way of connecting, of feeling a part of the action.’
Tash found herself blurting: ‘And Hugo’s is to sneak into Waitrose each week to buy expensive flowers.’
‘Well that’s very romantic.’ Zoe’s voice was joined again by babbling talk and laughter as someone opened the door behind her.
‘The flowers aren’t for me.’
But Tash had lost her audience.
‘What? Is he? Okay,’ Zoe was talking away from the handset. Her voice came hurriedly back. ‘I have to go for a moment, darling. Cian is awake and needs settling. He’s been having bad dreams. Here, talk to Niall. Tash was just saying how romantic Hugo’s being …’
Within seconds Tash found the melodic and world-famous deep tones of her ex, Niall, purring in her ear.
‘How are you, angel? Bountiful as a ripe pear, I’ll wonder. I remember Zoe was so amazingly beautiful at nine months that I just couldn’t keep my hands off her. No wonder Hugo is so loved up now. I’d never have had him down as a romantic, but there you go! What fatherhood does to a man, eh?’
‘Yes. Quite.’ Tash tried not to dwell on the early, sulky stages of her romantic dinner, followed by the rampant seduction that was entirely of her own making, although Hugo had been a willing participant. She was equally reluctant to admit just how much her horniness was down to hormones, Dillon Rafferty’s song and – alarmingly – table talk of Lough Strachan, and how little the result of anything Hugo had actually said or done himself. ‘Of course, the baby could be better timed given it’s Olympics month.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Hugo’s on the British team, Niall.’
‘Is he now? Ah, that’s great. Say good luck from us.’
Tash laughed with incredulous delight. The thing around which her entire life was revolving – more than having a second child, trying to keep the house running, worrying about their livelihood – was barely of passing interest to Niall.
‘In that case we must watch him on TV,’ he was saying vaguely. ‘India is here next week; she’ll be keen to see it. Still has horses in her blood after all those years grooming for Penny and Gus. Now, are you going for a home birth?’ he asked cluckily, more fascinated by
Tash called Zoe less often these days, but when she did, as now, the two fell immediately into an affectionate, intimate chat that required no small talk.
‘I am so glad you called,’ Zoe’s voice spoke of smiles and warmth – and rather a lot of good red wine. ‘You must be so fed up hauling that little passenger around, and desperate to meet him. I bet you’re still working far too hard and putting your feet up too little.’
‘I’m not working at all, and I can’t see my feet any more,’ Tash pointed out.
Zoe tutted fondly. ‘I remember how fed up and uncomfortable I got, especially the second time around. India was terribly late – then as now. Tell Hugo I insist that he pampers you like mad in these last weeks.’
‘He hasn’t time with the Games coming up.’
‘Do I take it that he’s horribly distracted?’
‘I wish I could be there for him more.’
‘Don’t you mean you wish he could be there for you more?’
Tash was grateful that Zoe knew her so well. ‘Maybe a bit of both.’
‘You need his support now, Tash.’
‘He can’t help it. Running the yard and competing every week is all-consuming; I should know. It’s hard for him to understand that I’m up to my eyes in hormones.’
‘Some men find it very hard to engage with pregnancy. It’s such an alien process for them.’
‘Niall spent every day telling you how your babies were developing,’ Tash remembered, ‘when they could hear and see and had begun to grow nails and hair.’
‘That was Niall’s way of connecting, of feeling a part of the action.’
Tash found herself blurting: ‘And Hugo’s is to sneak into Waitrose each week to buy expensive flowers.’
‘Well that’s very romantic.’ Zoe’s voice was joined again by babbling talk and laughter as someone opened the door behind her.
‘The flowers aren’t for me.’
But Tash had lost her audience.
‘What? Is he? Okay,’ Zoe was talking away from the handset. Her voice came hurriedly back. ‘I have to go for a moment, darling. Cian is awake and needs settling. He’s been having bad dreams. Here, talk to Niall. Tash was just saying how romantic Hugo’s being …’
Within seconds Tash found the melodic and world-famous deep tones of her ex, Niall, purring in her ear.
‘How are you, angel? Bountiful as a ripe pear, I’ll wonder. I remember Zoe was so amazingly beautiful at nine months that I just couldn’t keep my hands off her. No wonder Hugo is so loved up now. I’d never have had him down as a romantic, but there you go! What fatherhood does to a man, eh?’
‘Yes. Quite.’ Tash tried not to dwell on the early, sulky stages of her romantic dinner, followed by the rampant seduction that was entirely of her own making, although Hugo had been a willing participant. She was equally reluctant to admit just how much her horniness was down to hormones, Dillon Rafferty’s song and – alarmingly – table talk of Lough Strachan, and how little the result of anything Hugo had actually said or done himself. ‘Of course, the baby could be better timed given it’s Olympics month.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Hugo’s on the British team, Niall.’
‘Is he now? Ah, that’s great. Say good luck from us.’
Tash laughed with incredulous delight. The thing around which her entire life was revolving – more than having a second child, trying to keep the house running, worrying about their livelihood – was barely of passing interest to Niall.
‘In that case we must watch him on TV,’ he was saying vaguely. ‘India is here next week; she’ll be keen to see it. Still has horses in her blood after all those years grooming for Penny and Gus. Now, are you going for a home birth?’ he asked cluckily, more fascinated by
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