Sequel: Upwards

Frontwards

Eventually, inevitably.

Saturday 10th February, 2006.

When I woke up on the bus this morning, I was a little more prepared for the feeling of motion. I was more surprised, to be honest, to see that Frank was already up and gone. A glance at my watch informed me that the time was just after 8am. I thought he might have liked a lie-in this morning. Evidently not.

My stomach made a low grumble and I figured I had better have some breakfast. By the silence I could tell that it was only Frank and I awake. And hopefully the driver. And maybe Tony. Who knows with that guy. He went to his bunk at like 9pm last night so I assumed he must be awake. But then it wouldn’t surprise me if he needed 14 hours a night to function. Crazy Tony.

So anyways I pattered quietly to the kitchen area which, since we were on a bus, wasn’t such a long journey. I found Frank sitting at the small table, staring vacantly into space with a bowl of cereal in front of him. He didn’t even flinch when I entered the room. Didn’t even seem to notice.

“Frank?”

He jolted to attention, eyes wild and red as if he hadn’t slept all night. Maybe he hadn’t. “Hey, Diz.” And yet he still managed to sound so casual.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly, opening a cupboard with the hope I might find some bread. “You look troubled.”

The truth was Frank had been a little off with me ever since last night when I mentioned finding out the sex of the baby. So my logical conclusion was that he was concerned about that for some reason. I don’t even know. I couldn’t figure out why that would worry him.

“It’s nothing,” he said as I loaded the toaster. I turned to face him with an eyebrow raised so he knew I was sceptical. He gave a small smile. “I just think we should have talked about that kind of stuff before,” he explained.

I took the seat next to him. “We’ve had lots to think about, Frank,” I said softly. It is not often that I get a chance to be the reasonable one, believe me. So I was trying very hard not to screw this up. “It’s still very new to both of us. But I don’t think we need to decide everything right away. We have six more months ahead of us and I don’t know what will happen but I know that we will get through it together but that’s just what people do. Everybody is different. There isn’t one right way to do this. We just have to do what feels right for us and trust that everything will turn out okay in the end.” I was seriously surprising myself with how grown-up and serious this all sounded.

I think I surprised Frank, too, judging by his silence. He blinked a couple of times and then nodded. “That makes sense,” he said slowly. Like he had expected me to say something about custard and then cartwheel out of the window, rather than thinking things through in a logical manner. The cheek of it.

I smiled and went to get my toast. “Don’t sound so surprised,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. This was far too serious of a discussion to be taking place at 8am.

Finally, Frank laughed. That’s the Frank I want. The Frank I know and – god help me – love.

A couple of hours later, we stopped in Oklahoma. I was a little surprised to see that another driver had replaced the one from yesterday, but if you really think about it, it makes perfect sense. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for somebody to drive for 30 straight hours. Or at least it should be. So I guessed they swapped at some point during the night. Who the hell knows.

Anyway, I gave this driver a little smile as I stepped out of the bus, and he gave me a little smile back before disappearing and being replaced by yet another driver. A lady this time. She was very skinny and leathery and looked angry at the world. I decided not to smile at her in case she bit me.

It’s pretty sunny in Oklahoma. Not insufferably warm, but nice and sunny anyway. Thankfully I had my new summery clothes to change into before we evacuated the bus. I decided to slip on one of the many dresses I had bought, along with my sunglasses and my now-favourite shoes: the flip-flops. Damn it, they’re just so comfortable. If I could get away with flip-flops all year round, I definitely would. Sadly, I may lose a toe or two to frostbite.

“You look pretty,” Frank smiled, reaching for my hand as I hopped down the final step and into the warm sunshine of the south.

“Thanks,” I smiled.

We headed into the services in the hope of finding a nice spot for lunch, while the drivers did the old switcharoo and filled up the bus with petrol and whatnot. Tony was waiting in the bus because, according to Gerard, “He’s more or less allergic to sunlight.” I didn’t know the extent to which this statement was true, however. Gerard is not known to be a reliable source of information at the best of times.

I don’t really think Frank much appreciated watching me demolish an 8oz burger in front of him, what with him being a vegetarian and all that. But fuck it, meat is good. It’s so damn good. Especially when put between two slices of bread and covered in cheese. Fuck. I could happily eat burgers until the cows come home. And when the cows came home, I’d cut them up into burgers and eat them too.

Anyways, Frank’s never mentioned it so I have to assume he doesn’t mind that his unborn child is already carnivorous.

“Wow, you are really going to town on that thing,” Mikey observed.

The facts were that I finished my burger before Gerard finished his. Which, as far as they were concerned, made me some sort of eating machine.

“I’m impressed,” Gerard admitted. “You are a worthy opponent, Miss Montague.”

I nodded modestly and leant back in my chair, rubbing my full belly. Pregnant women always rub their bellies. I never got that before. But it is quite soothing. I like it. It lets people know that I’m not just a fatty; I’m a pregnant fatty, thank you very much.

“So how much longer until we get to California?” I asked, taking a sip of my Sprite. It really was getting nice and warm. A little too warm, for February, if you ask me. I’m from England: the temperatures barely rise above freezing until mid-April. I was suspicious.

“We should be there by this time tomorrow,” Bob answered. “We have our first meeting on Monday.”
God, it takes for-frickin’-ever to get anywhere in this damn country. At home I thought a 4-hour train ride to London was ridiculous. But there you go.

“Sorry for making you all drive over with us,” I said guiltily. If I wasn’t for me then they could have been there yesterday. Or they wouldn’t have had to leave yet. Damn baby ruining everybody’s plans.
“Don’t be silly,” Alice smiled. “It’s like a road trip.”

Everybody else said vaguely similar things. That I don’t have to be sorry, that they don’t mind the journey, etc etc. But I still felt a little bad.

By the time we got back to the bus, we were all ready to set off again. For a couple of hours we sat around the sofas chatting and listening to mix-tapes that Alice had made for the trip, bless her. It was actually really nice, being surrounded by all these people who I finally felt comfortable with. Real friends, who I could trust. I haven’t had many of those in my life.

Eventually, and you might argue inevitably, the topic of baby names came up. Everybody wanted us to name it after them. Which would be a nice thing to do if I didn’t know how many fucking arguments it would stir. Plus – and I don’t want to be offensive to anybody here – I couldn’t really imagine having a beautiful baby boy and looking deep into his innocent eyes and calling him Bob. Call me crazy.

The only thing I have ever had to name before was Atticus. And I think it’s probably pretty easy to guess where he got his name from. Being the nerd I am, I always liked the idea of naming my pets after great heroes in literature. But for kids, it’s much more difficult. You have to consider what you’re setting that child up for in their future. Names are very important. This is what I was trying to explain to Gerard.

“No, Gee, it’s not that I don’t like your name, I just-”

“No. It’s fine. I have a stupid fucking name. You’ve basically said it. Fuck you.”

I rolled my eyes as Gerard sulked. “Gerard, you know you mean a lot to us, but I want my baby to have its own identity, and not be forever associated with-”

“Fuck you, fatty.”

I sighed. “Anyway, it doesn’t even matter,” I said slowly. “Because I think it’s a girl.”

The whole room took a collective breath. Frank, sitting right beside me, shifted to look me in the eyes.

“Oh you do, huh?”

“I do,” I said, and then I felt all weird because I remembered what Kate said to me the other night. Fucking Kate and her ideas.

Frank, oblivious to this, smirked. “Care to make it interesting?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I bet you the name of the baby,” he said. “If I’m right and it’s a boy, I get to name him. If you’re right and it’s a girl, you get to name her. Deal?”

I thought about this for a second. Could I really trust Frank to name our son? Would I end up with a Frodo or – even worse – a Gerard? Was that really a risk I wanted to take?

“Deal.” We shook on it in front of our friends and witnesses. No going back now.

“So, Frank,” Ray said. “What are you gonna call him? Are you gonna call him Ray? Ray is a good name.”

“Ray is a shitty name,” argued Mikey. “If you want a good, strong name you should call him Mikey.”
Frank shook his head. Ha. His fucking problem now.