Gradually, she stops crying. Then her mouth slips gently off the bottle with a soft plop and she’s fast asleep. The curtains are a little open and moonlight slants through the gap, falling on her curved cheek. I trace it with my eyes, move to her eyelashes and tiny lips, then up into her hairline. She looks so fresh and new and I can’t bear the thought of her getting older, realising what a crappy place the world is most of the time. But looking at this impossible, tiny person in my arms, I wonder – maybe it doesn’t have to be like that for her.
I start to make wild promises in my head. Promises I’ll keep her safe, won’t let anything bad happen to her.
But I don’t say them out loud.
How can I make promises that will only be broken?
DAY 7
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
It takes me a while to open my eyes and focus on Mum, who’s standing over me like an avenging angel.
Rose is still nestled in the crook of my arm, sleeping soundly.
‘You could have rolled on to her,’ Mum says in a hard, loud voice. Which wakes Rose up, of course.
‘I fell asleep,’ I say to the gap in the curtains.
‘You could have killed her!’
‘But I didn’t. She’s fine.’
I’m too tired to properly argue, but Mum’s not done.
She follows me down to the kitchen and wipes the already clean surface with hard sweeps as I boil the kettle and fish around in the steriliser for a bottle. The ones from last night are lined up in a row next to the sink, waiting to be washed.
‘Why are you feeding her again? You’re becoming obsessed.’ She narrows her eyes at me. ‘And I saw you at dinner last night – you only ate your vegetables.’
‘I’m feeding her because she’s a newborn baby, Mum. They need feeding, you know. And my weight is fine.’
‘What that baby needs is to be on a schedule,’ Mum says. ‘She needs to know who’s boss. You’re overfeeding her.’
I ignore her and squint at the powder in the little measuring spoon. ‘I thought you were worried I was starving her.’
Mum sucks in her cheeks then lets out a puff of air towards the ceiling.
‘I’ll give Rose her bottle while you have some breakfast,’ she says.
‘No thanks. I’ll get something in a bit,’ I say.
Mum’s lips pinch tight together, but I grab the bottle and carry Rose back upstairs to feed her.
DAY 8
At the breakfast table, Tammy yawns theatrically and I catch Mum glaring at her. Rose is in her bouncy chair, watching as I eat an egg-white omelette with tomatoes. It makes me think of Robin. He’s texted a couple of times, but mostly I’m too knackered to remember to reply. The lack of sleep is making my ears hum and my head has that fuzzed-over feeling.
I can’t remember how many calories are in an egg white. Or a tomato, come to think of it. My fork stops and my fingers itch to get my phone out and check, but Mum is watching me, so I say nothing and keep eating, past the point of fullness. I’ve noticed it comes sooner than it did before Rose was born. I have an almost unbearable urge to check how much I weigh, but it’s no use; if there’s any scales in this house, they’re well hidden.
Needless to say, Dad has already left for work.
Tammy yawns again, stretching her arms up to the ceiling. ‘I might miss music and come home straight after school tonight, Mum,’ she says.
Mum whips round. ‘No, you will not. Your Grade Eight is coming up.’
‘But I’m really tired,’ Tammy whines.
I feel Mum’s glare glance off the back of my head.
DAY 10
Mary visits again and discharges me and Rose to the care of the health visitor, which seems like a milestone of sorts. Before she goes, she presses the back of my hand.
‘Good luck,’ she says.
I want to tell her how grateful I am – for her calmness, her lack of judgement – but, like usual, I can’t find the words, so instead I try and put what I’m feeling into a smile.
It’s a sunny day, all blue-washed sky and fresh grass. Sunshine makes the clouds sharp edged, like the ones in the jigsaws we used to do on the unit. Molly never had the patience, but I’d be there for hours, slotting all those blank pieces together until I found the one that fitted.
I lay Rose on a blanket in the shade under a tree in the back garden, the same one Nia stared at me from. Nia doesn’t seem to be there now, or at least not if I concentrate on watching Rose looking at the patterns made by the leaves. I think about taking her out somewhere, for a walk maybe, but I don’t have a buggy yet.
I wait until Dad gets home at about ten that evening and hang around while he eats a reheated plate of risotto. Mum is in the living room, with Rose.
‘Dad? Do you think we could go shopping for a buggy?’
He drinks some wine. ‘Of course. I’m a bit stacked out this week though. Could your mother take you?’
I grimace, but say nothing.
Dad puts down his fork. ‘She’s trying hard. This hasn’t been easy for her, you know. You could try to meet her halfway.’
I feel my lips go into a pout. ‘Like how?’ I say. ‘She just wants to criticise everything I do.’
‘She wants what’s best for you. And for Rose.’ He picks up his fork again and takes a mouthful. ‘Let her go shopping with you.’
‘All right,’ I say, because, let’s face it, I don’t exactly have a choice.
We start arguing before we’ve even left the house. Rose is strapped into her car seat, which I’m insisting I carry even though I can feel my sore stomach protesting. Since the birth, my core, those muscles that are supposed to hold you tight, have turned jelly-like, as though I’m about to fall out of myself, front first.
Mum keeps getting in my way. She puts a hat on Rose even though it’s in the high twenties outside, and tucks a blanket around Rose’s bare toes – she kicks socks off and I think she prefers them uncovered anyway.
More drama when we try and get the car seat into the car. By the time we’ve worked out how to thread the seat belt around, Rose has begun to cry.
‘Maybe I should get her out and feed her,’ I say.
‘Leave her there,’ Mum snaps. ‘She’ll go off to sleep when we get going.’
‘But –’
Mum goes to the side of the car and opens my door. I know if I try and get Rose out Mum will sulk for the rest of the day, so I sigh and say, ‘Fine.’ I get in.
Rose’s crying seems to go on and on, and I’m at the point of screaming, ‘Stop the car!’ when she thankfully falls asleep.
She sleeps in her car seat all the way round Mothercare while we look at buggy after buggy. The same salesgirl is there as before, but she keeps talking to Mum, not me. They finally settle on one.
Mum turns to me. ‘This fine with you?’
I bite back my sarcastic response and nod, my eyes fixed on Rose.
Mum turns back to the salesgirl. ‘Now, about a cot …’
I open my mouth to protest, but think better of it and let Mum have her way. She buys all sorts: changing bag, a cot and bedding, clothes, a sleeping-bag thing. I start to wonder if the salesgirl is on commission. I nearly faint when I see the amount at the till, but Mum hands over a card without comment. We pile the boot with all the stuff, but Rose’s eyes open and she starts winding up to cry. I know for sure she won’t go back to sleep again on the way home.
‘I need to feed her,’ I say.
Mum huffs.
‘It’s been four hours,’ I say. ‘The book says she needs two to three ounces of milk every four hours.’
I get out the ready-mixed formula and measure it on the bonnet of the car. My hand shakes and I spill some, then wipe it away with my sleeve before Mum notices.
When Rose is done, I realise she needs a nappy change. I get out the fold-up changing mat from the new bag and spread it out on the back seat.
‘What are you doing?’ Mum says. ‘You can’t change he
r there, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because … because it’s not decent.’
I feel like screaming, ‘Who exactly do you think is going to care?’ But to keep her happy, I traipse back into the shop and find the baby-changing table in the loos. It takes ages because Rose won’t keep still and I’m scared she’s somehow going to fly off the table and hit the dirty floor.
A woman comes in with a little boy and gives me a harried look, then they disappear into a cubicle. There’s some rustling about while he goes to the toilet, then she says, ‘Hang on, I need to … No! Don’t unlock it!’
‘I can see your bum,’ he says.
I nearly laugh, but I’m too tired.
When I emerge, Mum says, ‘Finally.’
We get Rose strapped in and drive home in silence.
DAY 12
It’s my first trip out with the buggy. I pack the gigantic changing bag for every eventuality I can think of, shove my phone in a side pocket and strap Rose in. Mum stands at the bottom of the stairs and watches as I crash the buggy into the doorway twice before I manage to get it out.
‘Back soon,’ I say.
She makes a movement as if to stop me, then draws her hand up to her mouth like Molly used to do when she was about to bite her nails. Mum checks herself though, and simply says, ‘You have your phone?’
‘Yes. I won’t be too long, just going round the block,’ I say.
But I don’t just go round the block.
Once I’m out and walking, I don’t stop until the smart rows of identikit houses are far behind me. I don’t even know where I’m going. I realise it’s just me and Rose for the first time. No midwives or social workers, or Mum hovering nearby. We’re properly on our own.
‘Well. And how are you?’ I say to her.
She watches me with serious eyes for a while, then casts an indifferent look at the ‘stimulating’ black-and-white mobile Mum insisted on attaching to the top of the buggy and a moment later she’s asleep.
I stride on, and realise I know where I’m going: the Yewlings. Maybe I want to show Rose where I live, I don’t know. When I get to my block of flats I see that the lifts are, as usual, out of order and I’ll either have to carry Rose all the way up then come back for the buggy – not likely – or somehow bump the buggy with Rose in it up eight flights of stairs.
I’m thinking about what to do, whether I should go back to Mum’s and if I can manage the walk because I’m completely knackered, when there’s a voice at my shoulder.
‘Hello.’
I whip round, heart going a million thuds an hour, and see Robin.
Something lights up inside. I didn’t realise I was missing him until I see his face.
‘You scared the life out of me,’ I say.
‘Nice to see you too.’ He peers into the buggy. ‘Hello, Rose.’
Rose ignores him; she’s still fast asleep.
‘So are you back or is this a social call?’ he says.
‘The second one. But I don’t know how to get this up the stairs.’
‘No problem.’ Robin picks up the back of the buggy. ‘I’ve got all the weight – you just need to steer the front.’
It’s hard work though and I’m sweating buckets by the time we get up to our floor. I spend ages turfing out everything in the changing bag before I turn to him.
‘Er, I think there’s been a technical hitch,’ I say.
‘No key?’
I shake my head. ‘Seems not.’
‘Come on then,’ Robin says.
We go into his flat and, sensing the change, Rose wakes up. Robin makes a cup of tea then sits on the other end of the sofa while I feed her. When she’s done, I spread a muslin cloth under her head and pop her on the rug, then give Robin a proper once-over. He looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him and it seems crazy that the whole world and everyone in it hasn’t changed.
‘So … Er, how are you getting on?’ he says.
‘All right, I guess.’
He’s giving me this look like I’m someone new.
‘Mum’s driving me insane though,’ I say.
‘Why?’
And I’m off with a long list of complaints about Mum and the way she’s interfering and how annoying it is. I leave out the fact that she’s constantly nagging me about how much I’m eating. I suspect Robin might not be sympathetic on that front. Robin listens calmly until I get to the end of my rant.
‘Sounds like she’s just worried about you,’ he says.
I’ve missed that about him, the way he tries to see things from every point of view. Even though I only want him to see things from mine.
Robin insists on giving me change for the bus back to Mum’s and I agree because, truthfully, even I know I’ve walked too far today. In my head I fast-forward through the days until I’ve recovered enough from the birth to begin exercising properly again.
He carries the buggy back downstairs and gives me a hug at the entrance.
‘See you soon?’ he says, and there’s a different question in his eyes.
I get on the bus and spend ages trying to fit the buggy into the space provided. I feel like everyone is staring at me, and when I finally sit down, I’m sweaty and red-faced. No one offers to help. Rose isn’t bothered; she’s asleep again.
I stare out of the window at the tower block fading into the distance. I think how good it was to go out on my own and how much I enjoyed seeing Robin again. By the time I get home, I’m almost smiling.
The fight goes on for what seems like hours.
‘Didn’t know where you were … not answering your phone … nearly called the police …’ Mum goes on and on, as I change Rose and put her down in her basket.
I go into the kitchen and find some noodles, but these are my safe food and Mum knows this.
She glares at them. ‘You can’t just eat those.’
‘Watch me’ is on the tip of my tongue.
But she suddenly says, ‘Joanna came round.’ Her voice is dangerously quiet.
I freeze, noodles in hand. ‘What did you say to her?’
‘Just that you’d gone out. Which isn’t the half of what I should have said. She’s coming back tomorrow.’
I don’t believe that’s all she said, but I’m too exhausted to fight any more. Instead, I make the noodles and eat them up in my room, like old times, except for Rose slumbering peacefully on in her Moses basket.
When I finally fall asleep, I dream I’m in a huge labyrinth and I can’t find my way out. I know something is coming, but I can’t see or hear it and I don’t know which way to run. I hurtle around corners, push through gaps too small to squeeze through, scraping my arms on rough stone. Everything shrinks, squeezing tight.
I wake up and listen to Rose breathe and the sound of my heart and I know I can’t stay here. It will be better when it’s just the two of us.
We’ll work it out together.
Chapter 18
2 WEEKS
‘Well, I suppose this is it then.’ Dad stands at the door to my flat, shuffling his feet forward and backwards, like he can’t quite bring himself to leave. ‘I’ve put some money in your account.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say.
‘And you’ll phone us and let us know how you’re both getting on?’ he says.
‘If you want me to,’ I say.
‘Maybe phone my mobile,’ he says.
I nod. Mum isn’t speaking to me.
‘She’ll come around,’ he says. ‘She’s just worried about you and Rose.’
‘She doesn’t need to be. Rose is putting on weight. We’ll be fine,’ I say.
Dad does his foot shuffle thing again, then finally goes.
I put the chain on, then turn to Rose in her car seat, the buggy and all the other new stuff piled next to her. Dad said he’d drop the cot off in a couple of days but until then Rose still fits in the Moses basket.
‘Well. It’s the two of us now,’ I say to Rose.<
br />
I unstrap her and show her around. ‘It’s not much, but we’ll make it home, right?’
I don’t feel self-conscious any more, talking out loud to Rose. It feels like the most normal thing in the world and, anyway, she’s a good listener.
It’s nice, here in the quiet, just Rose’s snuffly breaths and her warm head snuggled under my chin. Her hair is so smooth and I turn my head so my cheek rubs gently on it, like a cat, my arms around her feeling strong.
But after a while, I begin to feel antsy. The flat is smaller than I remembered, the walls too close in a way that reminds me of the labyrinth dream.
‘Let’s go and see Robin, shall we?’ I say to Rose.
I knock on his door and he gives a huge smile when he sees us. ‘You’re back then?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well, you’re in time for lunch!’
I work hard to keep my face from falling.
We go in and Robin holds Rose. She looks super comfortable in his arms. He holds her the right way too, up high against his chest, not down flat like you think you should hold babies. Took me a while to figure that one out.
‘You’re a natural,’ I say. ‘You been getting in some practice?’
It’s only a joke, but for a second Robin looks strange, like he’s off on some other planet or something. Then he passes Rose back to me slowly, like he doesn’t quite want to let her go. Can’t blame him – she is gorgeous.
‘So, did something happen between you and your mum?’ he says.
‘Pretty much.’ I give him a quick replay of the argument I had with Mum. ‘After that, I realised I couldn’t do it. She was taking over. I felt like I couldn’t breathe in that house. And I suddenly saw I have to do this on my own, my way.’
‘How did your mum take it?’ Robin says.
‘Well, she threatened to report me to social services, for starters. But I’m not worried,’ I say.
This is a lie. I’m actually terrified of what Joanna is going to say, but I couldn’t stay in that house any more. It’s got nothing to do with Mum hovering at every mealtime.
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