CHAPTER TWO

Come on Negative

Oh God.

How do I always get myself in these situations? My dad always said that if there was trouble to be found I would be right next to it. But then again I'm not sure he is the most reliable of sources on such thing since I'm fairly certain he spends the majority of stirring up trouble with my mum. Maybe trouble is a Bennet gene.

Dr Douche has worked his way around the island and had taken to staring down at me with such a heated look of disdain I'm surprised I didn't spontaneously burst into flames. Charlie had turned around to causing Jane to swing behind him in a fit of giggles.

It was sickening.

Slowly blinking, I smile ruefully as I look up at them through my lashes – maybe if I look repentant they will just go away. It wasn't that I had anything to be repentant over, it was just easier to pretend to avoid the ultimate confrontation. I was too tired and a little too tipsy to handle this entire situation.

Charlie just laughed and shrugged the shoulder Jane wasn't currently slung over. He tightened his grip on her as he turned to leave and swatted Jane playfully on the ass as took her upstairs. It was all very "me Tarzan, you Jane, now we make beautiful babies."

I was at least ninety-three percent happy for her. Which given my current state of entrenched loneliness is not too bad. We don't talk about that other seven percent.

Jane and Charlie were the very definition of the word wholesome. Not only were they singularly the most adorable couple on the planet (I'm totally not biased), but they were on that non-stop train to happily ever after.

Having been together a little over six months things were only just beginning to get serious though that didn't stop mum from being all aboard SS Wedding. She even brought home a bunch of bridal magazines, fabric samples, and had even bought her 'mother of the bride' dress.

She'd made no secret of her desire for Charlie pop the question. In her mind, there was no one better for her eldest daughter. He was smart, rich, and handsome. Well, rich wasn't quite the right to use, astronomically wealthy would be far more accurate.

Of course, that was the kind of guy Jane picked up at a bar. Some women just had all the luck.

My gaze landed squarely on Dr Douche, there he was arms folded over his chest, tapping his foot impatiently. It was the best impression of my mother I'd ever seem. I would have made a comment to that effect but the scowl he levelled on me caused me to change my mind.

Vaguely, I wondered whether there was a correlation between the level of attractiveness in a man and how much of an asshole he is. Dr Douche was off the charts for both of these qualities so there simply had to be a link.

Being alone with Dr Douche wasn't something I had planned nor was it the way I wanted to end my evening. But here I was, once again caught in a situation I had no control over that painted me in a less than desirable light.

Great.

It was really so tremendously unfair that he looked exactly like my dream man. Curled dark hair, mercurial grey eyes, and the most kissable lips I'd ever seen on a man. I bet he brooded too, he looked the sort in his dark shirt, dark pants combo.

There was that evil little voice at the back of my head that told me to throw caution to the wind and to forget the fact that I abhor this man and drag him upstairs myself. That little voice has a direct line to my vagina which was agreeing wholeheartedly with the idea.

Damn alcohol.

His eyes hardened further and his lips pursed as he raked his gaze over me. I was still on all fours on the ground, it was all rather embarrassing. It was actually terrifying how much he reminded me of my mother, even more so than before.

I was no stranger to disapproval. When I'd told my mother, I was dropping out of university to go to patisserie school when I was nineteen she almost had a coronary. I was supposed to be the prestigious one, the one with the law degree. Instead, now I do exactly what I love.

My best friend and I opened up our own cake and cupcake store specialising in unique and bold flavours. We were doing exceedingly well and after gaining a big following online we now have a storefront. It really was a dream come true.

It didn't take long for me to realise that Dr Douche wasn't going to say anything until I did. He was quite happy to stare and stubbornly refuse to be the first to speak. I forced a slight cough to break the tension.

"Right… I think it's time for bed," I said awkwardly.

I leaned back on my knees and tried to pull my legs out from underneath myself to stand up. It was easier said then done I quickly discovered. Somehow, and I'm still not sure just what had caused it, I ended up tipping over onto my side.

My arm knocked into the half-empty bottle of wine and it fell over with a dull thud. The wine poured from his quickly making a beeline for Dr Douche's feet. I was helpless to do anything. I was doing a rather good impression of a turtle that had been put on its back and unable to get back on to their feet again.

The good doctor came towards me, a slight smirk on his lips. The kind of smirk you just want to kiss off. Wow. Where the Hell did that come from? My lady bits were clearly trying to control this situation much to my chagrin.

Leaning over my sprawled state, Dr Douche extended his hand to me. I debated for all of about two seconds before I slid my own into his. I hated that I noticed how warm they were, slightly rough and huge. Never in my life had I ever taken such a keen interest in hands and I didn't think I particularly wanted to start now.

He pulled me up with a quick tug that sent my tumbling into his chest and boy what a chest it was. Well, what I could feel under my palms in any case. How could God create such a perfect specimen of a man but make him so tremendously awful? It was hardly fair.

I looked up into his eyes, butterflies erupting in my stomach, my heart thudding a hundred miles a minute in my chest.

Get a grip, Lizzy!

Shaking my head I rip my hand from his and stepped back so fast it was as if I had been struck by lightning. His eyes flick to the bottle of spilt wine, then back to me, then the wine again.

"You know drinking alone is the first stage of full-blown alcoholism?" He drawled.

And for the first time in my life, I was literally struck dumb. I had no words. How could he go from doing something nice (something that went a long way in helping him redeem himself) to saying something like that?! It truly baffles the mind.

I hit him with a sharp glare. "Is that your professional medical opinion then?"

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "There have been numerous studies done on the subject."

It took all the strength I possess in my tiny body not to roll my eyes at him. "Well in my professional opinion I don't think we dedicate nearly enough time to researching a cure to assholishness."

"That's not a word."

"What? Assholishness? Sure it is," I smile sweetly. "I can use it in a sentence if you like. Here you go, guys that go by the name of Darcy are the definition of assholishness."

He furrowed his brows slightly. "That's a gross generalisation."

"Can you present a study on that?" Cocking my eyebrow I feel my lips form a devilish smirk and that's when I know I've back him into a corner.

"If this is about-"

My phone buzzes effectively cutting him off from what he was going to say – not that I particularly care. I spy my phone laying discarded on the kitchen floor, lighting up the room brightly as the ringtone blares full volume – and much to my eternal shame it's Will Smith's "Get Jiggy With It".

There was only one person who would call this late. Well… two people but one of them was upstairs getting jiggy with her perfect boyfriend upstairs. That left Charlotte Lucas, my best friend, business partner, and all-around partner in crime.

Ignoring Dr Douche's less than impressed look, I bent down and pick up my phone from where it lay just out of what I'm calling the wine danger zone. It had already gone to voicemail by the time I'd gotten to it but as soon as I got in my hand it quickly came back to life as Charlotte's name flashed screen.

I press talk and press the phone to my ear.

"Alright, what happened?" She only calls when something major has happened. Something that couldn't be said via message.

"Lizzy…" Her voice is trembling slightly and I sober up almost instantly. "I've fucked up. Big time." I don't dare breathe, Charlotte is the together one, she doesn't have the opportunity to mess up. That's my job. "Lizzy? You there?"

"Yeah… I'm here."

Charlotte takes a deep breath before continuing. "I'm late, like really late. Oh God."

Two days later and instead of saving some money at the boxing day sales, I'm instead in line at our local pharmacy with three different pregnancy tests in hand. I should win an award for being the best best friend ever. What do I know of pregnancy tests and babies? Absolutely nothing, but here I am being as supportive as can be.

The cashier gives me a judging look that I didn't appreciate. It was one of those looks that every woman over the age of forty has perfected. Will I just wake up one day in the midst of middle agedom and suddenly able to slip that look to anyone in their twenties?

I wanted to scream; "it's 2017 Carol!" But I thought better of it. I can handle it. I think it would break Charlotte though and she was already a little fragile these days.

It took me less than five minutes to get home, tests in hand, and the huge bottle of orange juice she'd requested. She was sitting in our small lounge room, head in her hands. I felt for her, I really did.

"Cha cha, time to pee on a stick!" I say brightly, maybe if I'm at ease she will be as well.

She looks up at me her eyes rimmed red from her crying. "I really don't want to know. If I don't know I can pretend it's not happening."

"Come on Char. You know you need to. Then you can work out what you're going to do next. But until you do you'll be stuck in this limbo."

"I know you're right," I rummage through my bag and pull out the first test, shaking it slightly in front of her face. She snatches it quickly. "Pass the juice as well."

With a slight flourish, I pull out the litre carton for her and proceed to watch with gross fascination as she downs the entire contents without a break. That was a neat party trick.

Charlotte stands stiffly and marches towards the bathroom. I follow her and set up camp just outside the door. We may be close but there is no way I'm going to watch her go to the bathroom. There are some lines that can't be crossed.

"How did this even happen?" I call through the door, trying to ignore the fact I can hear everything going on in there.

"I met a guy at O'Malley's we flirted, had a few drinks, and well one thing led to another and bam! We were back at his house. The worse thing is I don't even remember his name."

"What you wearing?" I don't know why I asked that question, it definitely wasn't relevant, but I always was a curious one.

"It was that black Vivienne Westwood," that explained a lot. She only wore that dress when she was on the prowl which meant she always carried some protection. Idiot thy name is not Charlotte Lucas.

"Okay, but you made him bag it right?"

"I think so?"

"You think so?" This was so unlike Charlotte, she was the most careful person on the planet with absolutely everything she does. She won't even leave the house before she's checked the stove has been turned off twice.

"Yeah well, I really drunk…"

Not an excuse.

"Maybe his machinery is broken?"

"There was nothing wrong with it. It was perfect. I've never come so hard in my life. Maybe his boys don't swim right?"

I choke slightly. "Or that he's spent his entire life nuking his balls."

"I'm praying his sperm is lazier than Homer Simpson right now."

Okay so this was a little bit of a mess, but we were true champions. There was nothing we couldn't do if the test produced two lines instead of the one she clearly wanted it would be fine. Charlotte always had the startling ability to land on her feet, unlike me who always seemed to crash face first into the pavement.

"So I take we're praying for negative?"

"To every single freaking deity you can name," she punctuates every word.

"How long do we have to wait?" I can't help but ask, I think we're as nervous as each other at this point.

"This one take five minutes," I heard the toilet flush and Charlotte swung the door open. "I'm so scared. What if it's positive? I can't be a mum. Look at me."

I was looking, and she looked a complete mess. I'm not sure when the last time she slept was though judging by the dark circles under her eyes it can't have been recently. Her hair was a tangled, greasy mess on top of her head, she had a major break out across her chin, and she was in sweatpants so old I'm surprised they haven't retired themselves.

It was a good thing I came home early.

No sister left behind.

"There are options you know…" I hope I sound sympathetic, but there's no precedent for this in my life. I know people who have given birth to tiny humans. I've just never been there on this side of things.

Charlotte looked at me sharply and I know I've said the wrong thing. "I'm keeping it," she paused. "If I am, you know… spherical…"

I tried not to laugh I really did, but a bubble of laughter escaped my lips anyways. "Spherical?"

"Rotund. Expecting. Knocked up!" Her frustrated tone sobers me up instantly and a feel a pool of guilt well in my stomach.

Time to change tactics.

"Are you going to try and track down baby daddy?"

"I don't really know what I should do there. Is it wrong that if I am in that way that I sort of want to go it alone?"

Personally, I think Charlotte could do anything she sets her mind to. A child though? That's a huge thing. It's not even a thing, it's a human being. A whole human being. That's a mildly terrifying thought.

I would support her no matter what she chooses. She was with me when I told her about my cupcake idea, I will be here for as long as she wants me to.

"Who's to say what's right or wrong anymore?"

She looks thoughtful for a moment, mulling over my words, but instead of saying what was clearly on her mind she changed the topic.

"Alright, we have three and a half minutes left to go so distract me."

"With what?"

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "Anything. You never told me what happened after your showdown with Doctor Douche so start there."

"There isn't really much to say honestly. After you called I went straight to bed and he was gone by the time I woke up the next day. Charlie said he had to work or something. Not that I cared. Especially since Caroline was still there and still laughing over the vibrator thing. Which only got worse when I opened Lydia's present which was for reasons only known to her and the rest of her clearly alien species was a rather scintillating porn DVD," I paused before adding perplexed. "Who even buys DVDs anymore?"

One would think that was the worst aspect of that present. But no as soon as I tore off the gold wrapping paper and looked down at the monstrosity in my hands I knew I would never be able to forgive her. What could be worse than a porn DVD? A parody porn DVD based on my favourite film.

I was more than a little bit murderous when I threw Evil Head at her. It caught her dead centre of her forehead and I was insanely proud of my new found throwing skills, something I had never possessed before that moment. Seriously, how do people even take these films (I use that term very broadly) serious enough to get off? I would be laughing as soon as the imitations made it onto the screen.

My other question was, how dare they desecrate the pure B-Grade genius that is the Evil Dead films? It's a crime of the highest order.

But my story worked, Charlotte cracked a smile and even laughed somewhat. "She didn't! Where would she even get one?"

"eBay apparently. She told me it was listed as 'like new'", I shuddered.

Like new isn't the same as brand new and we all know it.

"Ew…"

"My thoughts exactly," I said. "I threw it straight in the bin after that."

"Well, what else were you going to do with? It wasn't like you could watch it since you don't even own a DVD player and keeping it around kind of feels gross. You can't hide that nearly as well as you can hide your internet history."

Isn't that the truth.

"Dad, of course, thought it was hilarious," I rolled my eyes. "He says mum's the crazy one. I think he needs to take a look at himself."

"I love your dad," Charlotte laughed.

"That's because he's not yours!"

"Yeah but my dad thinks he's a comic genius when he says the jokes from the Christmas crackers. He laughed for twenty minutes over one this year. Twenty minutes!"

"Which one was it?" She shoots me a 'don't go there look'. "What? Some of them are genuinely funny."

She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Fine. What does Santa suffer from when he gets stuck in a chimney?"

"I have no idea."

"He gets claustrophobia."

I can't help it. I laugh harder than I ever thought possible. Don't ask me why I found that so funny. It just did.

"That's gold. Pure gold."

As I say the words the timer on her phone goes off. Time to face the music so to speak.

Come on negative!

I notice Charlotte's hands are shaking as she picks up the test she'd left on the basin. Turning back to me with a pale face I know all our praying hasn't worked.

"Well…" She breathes through her teeth. "Shit."

It's one of those insanely awkward moments where you just don't know what to do. Do I hug her? Do I say something? What do I do?

"Do you want me to do anything?" I ask.

Her eyes well up with tears though she blinks them away quickly. "Yeah, there is. Can I just get a little alone time? I need to process this."

I nod in understanding and decided leaving the house would be the best call of action.

Knowing me, if I stayed I would be just asking her every two minutes if she was okay and how she was coping. She didn't need that from me.

It takes me approximately thirty minutes to tube it to our cupcake store in North London, and as soon as I resurface from the underground I check my phone. There are three messages – two from my mother about my dad's upcoming birthday and one from the phone company – but all is silent on the silent front.

Not that I was expecting anything.

Is it weird that I was feeling as helpless as I was when none of this was happening to me?

I wanted to be there for Charlotte, but I just didn't know how. Her parents would blow their tops, Glenda would have an aneurysm and there was really no telling what her policeman father would do. Her siblings would be absolutely no help and she was planning to go it alone.

Walking up to store I feel myself relax somewhat. There's nothing like baking to help you think and relax. We were opening up the next day for limited trading, in any case, there was no harm in getting ahead of the baking.

Twisting my key in the lock I come face to face with my favourite place on earth; For Cake's Sake! Everything is decorated in soft pastels, contrasting with cool steel and glass of the display cases. We have an old-fashioned cash register and plush booths for patrons who decide to eat in.

I don't even bother going into the small office to check the emails. Instead, I go straight into the kitchen of my dreams- the place I whip up all my best recipes.

Spying a forgotten bottle of Guinness sitting in the fridge an idea begins to form. And before I know it I have my cherry red Kitchen Aid mixer on the counter and I'm measuring out my ingredients.

A cup of Guinness here, some Irish Whiskey there, a dumping of chocolate, and some Irish Cream to finish it off.

Bake.

Fill.

Frost.

I pick one up and take a massive bite – it's one of my best yet. I named it; The Baby Maker in honour of Charlotte. I'm not sure she'll appreciate the name, but I know she'll appreciate the effort even if she can't eat them.

Taking another bite I realise I still have no clue what to do about the Charlotte situation. This baking frenzy has only accomplished a few extra pounds headed straight to my hips.