by Amy Bratley
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’m not making any sense.’
She opened the front door and ushered Alan out. He bumped the pushchair down the steps and waited on the pavement. He smiled a smile tinged with sadness.
‘I guess I felt torn,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I clicked with you in a soulful way, but I’d just met Katy and knew she was for keeps. Life’s not black and white, is it?’
And with that horribly unsatisfactory answer, the sound of a car horn burst into their bubble. Lexi and Alan turned to look out. Gary was there, waving. He climbed out and opened the back door.
‘Did you call a cab earlier?’ said Lexi. Alan nodded then looked at Gary.
‘Alan Nicholson?’ Gary said, his eyes moving slowly from Alan to Lexi and back again. His face fell. ‘Your chariot awaits.’
It was three a.m. and, despite being more tired than she’d ever been in her entire life, Mel couldn’t sleep. It was amazing, she thought, sitting up in bed and peering into the Moses basket by her side, how a baby who was not even as big as a handbag could completely change your life. When they’d arrived home with Mabel earlier that night, Mel and Leo had had plans to eat the chilli Bella had cooked for them to celebrate their homecoming. Leo had started to talk about Coco and Jacques, but Mel had refused to join in. She felt she’d spent far too much time in the last month worrying about Leo and what was going on with him. All she’d wanted to do that evening was stare at Mabel as she lay in the Moses basket, tucked in with cream knitted blankets, tiny and helpless in the living room Mel now worried was too cold, too draughty and probably too noisy, since Mrs Lelani’s TV was blaring away downstairs. Mel had so many questions: When should she feed her again? What should she be dressed in to sleep? Should the contents of Mabel’s nappy be that yellow? What were those white spots around her nose? Should they trim her fingernails? Leo drank filter coffee to help him pay attention, holding the mug with his good hand as he turned the pages of the baby manuals like flick books, searching for the answers.
‘Are you breathing, Mabel?’ whispered Mel into the night, worried now that she had somehow managed to suffocate her with a blanket.
Leo was snoring gently beside her, and the light of the street lamp fell over their wardrobe, which was open and spewing clothes into the room. She was amazed that Leo could sleep after all that coffee, but she was glad he was there. She didn’t like to think how she’d feel if he hadn’t come back home, if he had actually gone off with Coco. She was too anxious to relax, and felt that she would be eternally awake now that she had a baby. Holding her own breath to listen for Mabel’s, she slowly rested her hand on her tiny chest, to feel it rise and fall. Immediately, Mabel started to scream at the top of her lungs.
‘Oh my God!’ Mel said, clapping her hands over her mouth and falling back into her pillow in fright. ‘I woke her up!’
Leo sat bolt upright, eyes wide as saucers, then stumbled out of bed, his hand scrabbling across the wall in search of the light switch.
‘No,’ Mel hissed, half out of bed. ‘Don’t turn the light on. She’ll never go back to sleep if you turn the light on.’
Bleary-eyed, Leo paused, then staggered round the bed to Mabel’s Moses basket. ‘Shall I pick her up?’ said he asked, hovering near the basket. ‘What time is it?’
They both peered down at Mabel, whose little face was scrunched up and getting pinker by the second.
‘Just wait a minute,’ said Mel. ‘See if she stops on her own. It’s half three.’
‘In the morning half three?’ asked Leo, blinking.
‘Yes, of course in the morning!’
Mabel’s cry grew louder. Mel and Leo sat together in the dark for a few seconds, looking worriedly at each other.
‘Do you think she needs a feed?’ Leo asked. Mel shook her head.
‘I only gave her one fifty minutes ago, and it’s so bloody sore,’ she said. ‘Better pick her up, otherwise the neighbours will complain. Maybe I put her nappy on the wrong way.’
Gently lifting Mabel out of the basket, Leo knocked his head against the musical mobile they had installed just above. ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ burst into the room, turned up to the highest, daytime volume. Mel grabbed at it and turned it off, while Leo held Mabel upright against his chest and rubbed her back, doing energetic, rhythmic knee bends at the same time. The baby calmed down a little but started to noodle against Leo’s shoulder, looking for Mel’s breast. After a moment’s quiet, she started to cry again.
‘How about a nappy change?’ Leo said, sniffing deeply and still doing the knee bends. ‘No, don’t think so.’
Mabel did a tiny hiccup. ‘Maybe she’s got wind,’ Mel said. ‘Do you think? Don’t they get colic sometimes? Or is that horses?’
Leo shrugged and shook his head at the same time. Mel sighed. She felt deranged with lack of sleep. She could not believe how impossible it was to know what was wrong with Mabel. She’d expected to feel some kind of instinctive knowledge enter her brain when she was born, but she felt completely clueless, especially in the middle of the night.
‘I need an instruction manual,’ she said. ‘I can’t work out what cry means what.’
‘What did that book I read earlier say?’ Leo said, his brow crinkling. ‘There was a checklist. Hungry, nappy change, tired . . . hot? Yes, that was it. Is the baby too hot? Or too cold, maybe. The window’s open, did you know?’
‘Oh, God,’ said Mel, moving over to close it. ‘Who opened it? Did I? We’ll have to be careful with that. She might fall out.’
‘Yes,’ said Leo. ‘I’ll get some locks at the weekend. Or shutters. We could get shutters.’
Moving over to the shelves, Mel checked the room thermometer, but the batteries had died. She shook it, and some numbers flicked on to the screen then disappeared.
‘Bloody thing. Maybe that Grobag’s too hot,’ she said. ‘Is it the right tog? I think it’s 1.5 for this time of year but – hang on, maybe she’s too small to be in one? Can you read the label and check again? I’ll just take her if you like, but, when I do, she’s going to want to feed.’
Leo lay Mabel on the bed and unzipped the sleeping bag. She started to cry again. This time, Mel picked her up and started to walk back and forth to calm her, repeating a ‘sshhhh’ noise into her ear. Leo stood there, his hands on his hips, also making the ‘sshhh’ noise. The crying got louder.
‘Is this normal?’ Mel said. ‘For her to cry like this? Do you think something is wrong?’
‘Should we check for a rash?’ Leo said. ‘Maybe she’s not well.’
Leaning over Mabel, who was on the bed again now, they took off her sleepsuit. Mel fished around in the brown envelope full of information the hospital had given her, searching for the leaflet about rashes.
‘I can’t see her skin properly,’ said Leo. ‘It’s too dark.’
‘Better put the main light on then,’ said Mel. ‘I’ll get the thermometer.’
Under the bright glare of the main light, they checked Mabel’s skin, comparing it to the pictures in the leaflet. It seemed fine. Mel pressed a thermometer strip against Mabel’s forehead and declared that her temperature was also fine. Mabel’s hands were curled up into little fists as she continued to cry.
‘Looks like she’s about to deck us,’ said Leo with a quick grin. ‘Don’t blame her. We’re a bit hopeless, aren’t we?’
Leo turned to look at Mel and gave her a slightly guilty glance, which she ignored.
‘Shall I just feed her again?’ said Mel. ‘I’m just so tired, and it bloody hurts.’
‘Why don’t you sleep with her next to you in bed?’ Leo suggested. ‘Then you can doze as she feeds.’
‘You try dozing with razors round your nipples!’ said Mel. ‘But, yes, I’d like to lie down.’
‘Maybe we should change to bottle-feeding,’ said Leo. ‘Then I could do it, too.’
‘Yes. I’m already thinking that might be a good idea.’
Mel climbed into b
ed and lay down on her side, with Mabel next to her. She immediately started to feed and Mel screwed up her face until the pain subsided.
‘I’ll fall asleep in a minute,’ she said, her eyelids drooping. ‘I know I will. You’ll have to stay awake, Leo, and watch us, in case I roll on her.’
‘I’ll watch you,’ he replied. ‘I’ll turn the light out.’
Checking the clock again, it was 4.20 a.m. when Leo lay down next to them, holding his eyelids open with his fingers, desperately trying not to go back to sleep.
‘It must make you think more about Jacques,’ said Mel sleepily. ‘This is what you missed out on with him.’
Leo turned on to his back and faced the ceiling, still holding his eyes open.
‘There’s not really time to think about Jacques, and it’s completely different because I wasn’t with Coco,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry about not telling you the truth. It’s a tough one, because I never knew whether I’d ever see him again. In a way, I grieved for him long ago, but I had to find out once and for all what he meant to me, and whether he would ever be in my life. The important thing is that we make this work. I promise to be entirely honest with you from now on.’
Mel looked at the clock again. The sky was lightening and the birds were starting to sing. ‘Let’s just get a few hours of sleep,’ she said, feeling like she’d been drugged. ‘She seems to have nodded off. Can you put her back in her basket for me?’
Leo lifted baby Mabel into the basket and Mel shifted down the bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. A second later, she was asleep – only to be woken ninety minutes later by the doorbell ringing in two long bursts. Mabel woke up, too.
‘I’ll get it,’ Leo said, groaning. His eyes were bright-red slits. He staggered like a drunk towards the front door in just his pants, and Mel heard him say ‘Thank you’, then a rustling noise as he walked into the bedroom clutching a big bunch of roses.
‘They’re probably from work,’ she said, pulling off the envelope and opening it. Glancing at the card, she saw Coco’s name under a message, which she didn’t read, before grabbing the flowers and dumping them in the bin in the corner of the room. Leo was back in the bed, leaning over to smile at Mabel.
‘Don’t fucking believe it,’ she said.
‘Who are they from?’ Leo said.
‘Coco,’ she said. ‘I’m not even reading the message. Silly cow. Doesn’t she know when to leave it?’
Leo sat up, not knowing whether to be pleased or angry.
‘Really?’ he said. ‘Well, I guess she’s trying to be friendly because she feels bad for upsetting you.’
Mel got them out of the bin, opened the window and threw the flowers outside to the bins below. A cat screeched. She slammed the window shut.
‘I have had two minutes’ sleep,’ she said in a stone-cold voice. ‘I do not want flowers from your ex, with whom you already have a child. Okay? I wish she didn’t even exist.’
She burst into tears. Leo was out of bed again, pulling on his T-shirt and jeans.
‘I’ll take Mabel out for a walk in the pram. You can have a nap.’
‘I’m so tired,’ she said, ‘I can’t function. My nipples hurt.’
‘I’ll buy you lots of chocolate,’ he said. ‘Keep you going. I’m sorry about Coco’s flowers.’
‘What about the changing bag?’ she said. ‘You need to take all that stuff with you, and it’s half empty. Nappies, wipes, changing mat, change of clothes, cotton wool. Shall I fill it up before you—’
‘No,’ Leo interrupted. ‘I’ll sort that out. We’ll just walk down to the beach and sit there for a while. I’ll buy some formula, too, so we can try her on a bottle.’
‘But it’s windy out there,’ Mel said. ‘What if she—’
‘What if she what?’ said Leo. ‘Stops breathing because of the wind?’
‘Yes!’ Mel said, bursting into tears again. ‘What if she dies?’
Leo put his arms around Mel and held her. He pressed his face into her hair and kissed her head. ‘I’ll make sure she’s exactly the right warmth,’ he said. ‘Now get into bed and sleep.’
Suddenly, with the doors closed, the flat was silent. Mel closed her eyes, only to be woken up again by the sound of drilling coming from next door. With her hands over her ears, she laughed, half hysterically. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Coco’s card, which had fallen from the flowers. She picked it up and read it. It was written in a florist’s hand, dictated, perhaps, over the phone.
‘Leo, I hope Mel is well. Congratulations on your second baby. I’m in London. Call me sometime. Coco.’ Under her name was her new address in London and her number.
What’s that supposed to mean? Mel thought. I’m in London. Call me. Why does she want Leo to call her?’
Mel walked through to the kitchen and turned on the cooker. She held the card in the flame and watched the corner burn and curl in the flame. But, at the last second, she had an idea. Blowing out the flame, she cooled the card and pushed it inside her diary. She had a thought: I might need that. One day.
Chapter Thirty
‘We need toilet roll,’ said Lenny, as he shoved his house keys into his pocket and picked up his guitar. He moved towards the front door and put his hand on the latch. ‘Can you pick some up? I’ll probably be rehearsing most of the day.’
Rebecca eyed up the yellow-and-brown Moroccan jug Lenny’s mum had given her as a gift and considered throwing it at Lenny. It was heavy enough to knock him out. His hair was wet from the shower, and he’d put on a flannel red-and-green checked shirt and jeans. Unlike Rebecca, he looked fresh as a daisy. Like a boy. Unlike Rebecca, who felt like a haggard old witch, he seemed to be able to sleep through Elvis’s night crying. Though she used to sleep well, now she woke up at Elvis’s every sniff.
‘Great,’ she muttered. ‘That’s something to look forward to.’
Lenny let his hand fall. He moved towards her and put his guitar down on the floor.
‘What’s up, babe?’ he said, running his eyes over her face worriedly, reaching out and putting an arm around her waist. ‘Becs?’
Rebecca felt suddenly desperate, but made herself keep those feelings inside. What about me? she wanted to shout out. What about me? Behind Lenny’s head, there was a big wall mirror. Rebecca looked in it and saw how dreadful she looked. Her hair was scraped back and unwashed, her skin was pale and the skin under her eyes was grey and sunken. Dressed in mismatched pyjamas, there were baby-sick stains and milk spills all over them. She’d seen how her friends looked at her with a mixture of pity and disgust when they came round to see Elvis. But there wasn’t any time for anything any more.
‘You’re with Elvis,’ he said, gesturing towards the bedroom, where Elvis slept, the door open. ‘You’ll be fine.’
‘But I need sleep, Lenny,’ she said, her throat hurting with the need to cry. ‘It’s been nearly a month, and I haven’t slept for longer than two hours in a row. And I need to eat something that isn’t peanut butter on toast. And I’m so thirsty.’
‘Look, babe,’ he said, ‘you know I’ll do anything for you. But I’ve got to rehearse today. I can’t let the band down. Get some sleep when he sleeps, and I’ll be home to give him a bath and we’ll get a takeaway.’
Rebecca didn’t say anything. She swallowed. She knew she was going to cry, and she didn’t want Lenny to see her cry. She didn’t want to make him feel guilty for rehearsing. He had every right to. He needed it. I don’t even know why I want to cry, she thought. I love Elvis. I love feeding him and cuddling him and talking to him . . . It was just, she’d never imagined feeling so exhausted, and there was so much to do. The nappies needed washing and drying, the dishes weren’t done, there was all the food shopping and cooking, she wanted a shower and to wash her hair, she needed to buy cream for Elvis’s bottom. She wanted to call the others, to see how they were. She wanted to see her friends and talk about music and parties and travelling.
They needed toilet roll.
&nb
sp; ‘Don’t forget,’ Lenny said, giving her a kiss, then making a move to leave. ‘We need toilet roll.’
She picked up the jug, but he’d closed the door by the time she threw it. Mercifully, her throw was poor and it landed on the mattress Lenny had dragged into the living room to ensure he got a decent night’s sleep. She went to the window to watch him walk off down the road. She folded her arms and looked over at Elvis, who was rousing from his sleep. The sight of him, his little starfish hands waving around, lifted her spirits. His eyes were open and she grinned at him.
‘Shall we go and get some fresh air?’ she said, gently lifting him out. ‘Buy some toilet roll?’
Pulling shut the window with one hand, she glanced out of it again, watching people bustling up and down the street. She noticed Katy, dressed in a heavy work suit, getting out of a cab and walking in the direction of Rebecca’s flat while speaking into her phone.
‘Katy!’ Rebecca called out of the window, and Katy looked up, startled but distant.
‘Where’s Rufus?’ Rebecca muttered to herself, but waved and gestured that Katy should come in for a cup of tea, which Katy seemed to think about for a few minutes, before shaking her head and pointing down the street, as if she needed to be somewhere.
‘Wait!’ Rebecca said. ‘I’ll come down.’
She put on a polka-dot jersey dress that wasn’t too tight anywhere and put Elvis into his sling. Grabbing the changing bag, she pushed her feet into her ballet pumps and walked quickly down the staircase, passing two people who said ‘Hello’ and ‘How’s the baby?’, great big smiles on their faces. Pushing open the heavy main door, she walked out into the communal front garden, where two boys were playing football. Patting Elvis’s back, Rebecca smiled, feeling instantly happier to be out in the bright day. Brighton seemed to sparkle in the sun.
‘Katy?’ she said, frowning as she scanned the street. But there was no sign. She had gone.