Free Face by Bridget Brighton Page A

red rose. “Tonight, Dave is looking for The One,” says the voiceover, mock-scientific, with bottled excitement. The bar is packed with raucous women in tight groupings, all with their backs to him. A glossy mane of hair here, a backless gown there. Which way shall he try his luck? The women turn en masse, every face a Marilyn Monroe. Blank faces that come to life upon seeing Dave- or do they? Their gazes settle over his shoulder. Behind Dave, another man enters with Dave’s face- Brad Pitt Inspiration, that was the range- and another, and another, until there are two crowds on opposite sides of the bar. The soundtrack is female voices rising in anticipation, blending with masculine tones, as the identical men weave into the identical women. The rose is crushed underfoot. The C.O.F logo appears over the top, the three letters stamped over that gap-toothed grin, belonging to the female face of C.O.F.
                  “Oh, Hi.” Mum does a kind of double-take. Comical, like she’s been caught red-handed. “You never sit down here anymore.”
                  “I’m all recovered. How are you?”
    I watch the SexyFace do fleeting suspicion. She answers like it’s a job interview, upbeat but guarded.
                  “Fine, really fine. A bit tired.”
    She is standing in the centre of the roo m, a vast arena of personal space encasing the two of them, mother and child. She feels closer than she is. Mum turns a slow circle and I’m struck by how normal she looks from behind. Then it’s all bump and double-bump lips in profile. She opts for the same sofa right as me, drops into it with a huff.
                  “How’s baby?”
                  “Couple of elbows to the internal organs, busy as ever.”
    There is a stillness about her, she’s sizing me up. Is that a sign of guilt?
                  “I’m glad you’re feeling better, that’s one less thing to worry about.”
                  “Mum, are you having an affair?”
    Mum makes a sound like laughter retracting.
                  “Oh God, no! Who’d have me like this?”
    I believe her straight away- but the next bit just pops out.
                  “So you’re sure Dad’s the father?”
    Mum cups the bump. The bump will need to know the truth.
                  “Absolutely no doubt about it.”
    Mum turns her head to the window, her eyes fill with their reflection.
                  “It was our last frozen embryo, you know that.”
                  “The SexyFace... I thought it might be for somebody else, somebody new.”
                  “My Update was for me alone, an attempt at glamour. Pregnancy takes that away from you, and nine months is a long time.” Mum puts her fingertips to her lips like they might bite. “To be honest, I’m not sure I like this face on me.”
                  “You look fine, Mum.”
    My smile blocks, Mum looks down.
                  “I look pregnant.”
                  “Was it to get back at Dad?”
    Mum considers this.
                  “I don’t know. I miss him. It doesn’t help that he messages me all the time. Wanting updates on us, on the baby.”
                  “So ignore him.”
                  “Perhaps I should.”
                  “What have you told him about me?”
                  “That you’re still cross with both of us. That it makes me feel bad.”
    I can’t get side-tracked by all this break-up baggage; it packs the room if you let it.
                  “Have you told him about my new face yet?”
                  “Yeah...it seemed important...”
    M um’s voice trails off with a lilt of sadness.
                  “Good. I’m glad he knows.”
                  “He likes to hear the