Edible Woman - Margaret Atwood [15]
“Well, she is seven months pregnant,” I said. “And she’s never been well.”
“She’s not well!” Ainsley said indignantly. “She’s flourishing; it’s him that’s not well. He’s aged even since I’ve known him and that’s less than four months. She’s draining all his energy.”
“What do you suggest?” I said. I was annoyed with Ainsley: she couldn’t see Clara’s position.
“Well, she should do something; if only a token gesture. She never finished her degree, did she? Wouldn’t this be a perfect time for her to work on it? Lots of pregnant women finish their degrees.”
I remembered poor Clara’s resolutions after the first baby: she had thought of it as only a temporary absence. After the second she had wailed, “I don’t know what we’re doing wrong! I always try to be so careful.” She had always been against the pill – she thought it might change her personality – but gradually she had become less adamant. She had read a French novel (in translation) and a book about archaeological expeditions in Peru and had talked about night school. Lately she had taken to making bitter remarks about being “just a housewife.” “But Ainsley,” I said, “you’re always saying that a degree is no real indication of anything.”
“Of course the degree in itself isn’t,” Ainsley said, “it’s what it stands for. She should get organized.”
When we were back at the apartment I thought of Len, and decided it wasn’t too late to call him. He was in, and after we’d exchanged greetings I told him I would love to see him.
“Great,” he said, “when and where? Make it some place cool. I didn’t remember it was so bloody hot in the summers over here.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come back,” I said, hinting that I knew why he had and giving him an opening.
“It was safer,” he said with a touch of smugness. “Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile.” He had acquired a slight English accent. “By the way, Clara tells me you’ve got a new roommate.”
“She isn’t your type,” I said. Ainsley had gone into the living room and was sitting on the chesterfield with her back to me.
“Oh, you mean too old, like you, eh?” My being too old was one of his jokes.
I laughed. “Let’s say tomorrow night,” I said. It had suddenly struck me that Len would be a perfect distraction for Peter. “About eight-thirty at the Park Plaza. I’ll bring a friend along to meet you.”
“Aha,” said Len, “this fellow Clara told me about. Not serious, are you?”
“Oh no, not at all,” I said to reassure him.
When I had hung up Ainsley said, “Was that Len Slank you were talking to?”
I said yes.
“What does he look like?” she asked casually.
I couldn’t refuse to tell her. “Oh, sort of ordinary. I don’t think you’d find him attractive. He has blond curly hair and horn-rimmed glasses. Why?”
“I just wondered.” She got up and went into the kitchen. “Want a drink?” she called.
“No thanks,” I said, “but you could bring me a glass of water.” I moved into the living room and went to the window seat where there was a breeze.
She came back in with a scotch on the rocks for herself and handed me my glass of water. Then she sat down on the floor. “Marian,” she said, “I have something I need to tell you.”
Her voice was so serious that I was immediately worried. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to have a baby,” she said quietly.
I took a quick drink of water. I couldn’t imagine Ainsley making a miscalculation like that. “I don’t believe you.”
She laughed. “Oh, I don’t mean I’m already pregnant. I mean I’m going to get pregnant.”
I was relieved, but puzzled. “You mean you’re going to get married?” I asked, thinking of Trigger’s misfortune. I tried to guess which of them Ainsley could be interested in, without success; ever since I’d known her she had been decidedly anti-marriage.
“I knew you’d say that,” she said with amused contempt. “No, I’m not going to get married. That’s what’s wrong with most children, they have too many parents. You can’t say the sort of household Clara and Joe are running