Countless

by Karen Gregory

  Robin looks sceptical, but luckily for me, Rose wakes up so I change her while Robin begins cooking.

  But when he puts the plate on to the table, my stomach twists in on itself.

  ‘I can hold her while you eat if you like?’ Robin says, his voice eager.

  ‘That’s OK. I need to give her a quick feed,’ I say and turn away from the searching look he gives me.

  Unlike me, Rose is never one to turn down food. She’s filling out already, little dimples appearing over the backs of her hands. It’s good chubby. Definitely good chubby. I tuck the blanket over her fist and try and concentrate on what Robin is saying.

  ‘… got another interview next week for some care work. It’s a zero hours contract and they’ll want me to do nights, but the money isn’t bad. Better than Aldi.’

  Rose is making my arm go dead. I shift her round and accidentally pull the bottle out of her mouth. She makes a grab for it.

  Greedy.

  Was that Nia or me?

  ‘Don’t look so horrified! It’s not the worst idea in the world,’ Robin says.

  ‘What? Oh no, I just … That sounds good.’

  I ease the bottle away from Rose and lean her over my hand to burp her. A moment later the surplus milk shoots out of her mouth into a muslin cloth. The acrid smell of partly digested milk fills my nostrils and my stomach churns.

  I breathe through my mouth and say, ‘You’d be good at it.’ I think he would, actually.

  ‘Come on, pass her over. She wants some cuddles with Uncle Robin, don’t you, Rose?’ He pulls her up, out of my arms. ‘Sit. Eat.’ Robin ducks his head over Rose and touches her on the cheek with one finger.

  My feet drag as I walk to the table, but when I look down I relax a little. It’s poached fish, no sauce, veg and rice. All low-fat stuff. I can do this. I want to, almost, because Robin looks so pleased and expectant.

  But when the plate is half empty I push it away.

  ‘That’s all you’re having?’

  ‘Got a slightly dodgy tummy. Think I’m out of the habit of a cooked lunch. It’s all sandwiches, salads and soups at Mum’s. I’ll grab something later. But thanks – it was lovely,’ I say and give a bright smile, the sort that hurts your cheeks if you try and hold on to it too long.

  It’s amazing, how the lies come, like putting on a favourite pair of jeans. It doesn’t even feel that wrong to lie to Robin. It’s how it is, that’s all.

  ‘Hedda …’

  ‘I just remembered! I said I’d go to a baby group. We ought to get ready.’ I scoop Rose up. ‘Thanks again. Maybe see you tomorrow?’

  I’m already half out the door.

  Robin shakes his head, but says, ‘Sure, if you like.’

  The baby group was another lie. I’m not going to one of those things. Still, I can’t stay put now I’ve said I’m going out. Only problem is, I’ve got no way of getting the buggy downstairs unless I ask Robin and then he might want to come with me or something.

  I walk down the hallway to check the lift, which for once is actually ‘working’, but don’t fancy it. There’s a fairly high chance I’ll either get stuck in there with Rose, or with Rose and someone else too. Probably someone I really don’t want to be stuck in a lift with. The thought makes me shudder.

  I consider my options. It’s not far to walk to the library from the bus stop. I could carry her.

  I pack some supplies into my rucksack, change Rose’s nappy and set off.

  It’s fine to start with, although it takes an age to carry her down the stairs; I’m worried about falling and grope like an old woman down each step. As I near the bottom of a flight, a slo-mo vision hits me of tripping, Rose falling from my arms and her head cracking dirty concrete. I stop and breathe hard, arms tight around her. But I make it to the bottom without any accidents. My arms are shaking though, and they don’t stop until the bus arrives and I’ve sat down. For a small person, Rose is actually really heavy.

  In town, I stand outside the library. A woman lumbers past me with the buggy equivalent of a four-by-four, which she steers with an expert flick of the wrist through the doorway. Just before the door bangs shut, I grab it. It’s heavier than I thought, and for a second I think I might drop Rose for real, but I shoulder it open and shimmy through, scraping my butt as I go.

  I have this image of myself as one thing, one size, and moments like this are still as much of a shock as they were when I had the bump. I should have fitted through that gap. I’m suddenly, completely sure I can’t do this. I’m homesick for Nia. I want to write her a love note or crappy poetry. I want to wrap her through me and hear her roar blotting everything else out. I stand, paralysed by grief, holding tight to Rose, my cheek on her soft head.

  She shifts in my arms and opens her eyes wide, as if to say, ‘Where are we now then?’, like a puppy. That’s the thing about babies. They don’t let you stop and think for more than a few minutes at a time. It’s kind of comforting actually, learning Rose, working out what she might need. It pushes Nia away, to where I can handle her. Though I wonder sometimes how can someone who came from me be so contented – in the daytime, at least? She may as well have a tail.

  The library smells the same as always. I wander up and down rows of books, holding Rose up over one shoulder, debating whether to do my usual trick of choosing one at random, and somehow manage to find myself in the Mind, Body, Spirit section. More specifically the shelf with the ED books. Can’t think how that happened. I take a look at the spines. I know most of these on sight, but one sticks out, an anorexia memoir I’ve never read. I slide it out and bend down on one knee, balancing Rose along the length of my arm, and rest the book on my other knee. Each chapter is headed up with the author’s weight, a relentless downward march. I flick through with my free hand, to see how low the numbers go.

  ‘Hello.’

  My hand jerks and the book tumbles to the floor.

  It’s Lois, with Ethan strapped into a buggy. Forget Rose filling out – he’s gigantic.

  I stand up and shift so I’m in front of the book and smile.

  ‘Hi. How are you?’ I say.

  ‘Oh, surviving. You know how it is,’ Lois says, and for a moment her face takes on a desperate look. I wonder when was the last time she had a conversation with anyone apart from the bitchy woman at her baby group. The next moment, she smiles brightly. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘This is Rose.’

  ‘What a beautiful name. And isn’t she a little poppet? I won’t ask if she’s good. I hate it when people do that. What they really mean is, does she sleep?’ Lois says. ‘Which is not Ethan’s favourite pastime.’

  I can sort of tell that by her long roots and the craters under her eyes. She looks fatter than when I last saw her, like she’s been living on cake or something.

  ‘Yeah, Rose doesn’t do much of that either,’ I say, and Lois seems to relax.

  Ethan wriggles in his buggy and she leans down to pass him a soggy-looking teddy. I take the opportunity to pick up the anorexia book and slip it on to the shelf behind me, pages out.

  Lois straightens up. ‘But look at you! Where’s all the baby weight gone? There’s nothing to you,’ she says, and I know – I know she’s two parts jealous, only one part concerned. A surge starts at my feet and works its way up through my body, so I’m tingling with it, powerful.

  I shrug. ‘Oh, you know. Rose keeps me running about,’ I say, doing my best impression of a grown-up. ‘Anyway, I probably need to get going.’

  ‘Well, nice seeing you,’ Lois says, and I can see she’s trying not to care.

  A little slice of guilt cuts through the powerful feeling, then fades away. I move Rose to the other arm.

  ‘Where’s your buggy?’ Lois says.

  ‘I carried her.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Nope.’ I start to leave.

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Lois reaches under her buggy and pulls out a stripy baby carrier. It looks expensive. ‘Here. I can’t ge
t on with it – Ethan screams whenever I try. But Rose might like it.’

  She holds it out, but I don’t make any move to take it. For starters, I don’t have any cash to spare.

  ‘Go on,’ Lois says. ‘I was going to offer it around my baby group, but I’d far rather you had it. You’d be doing me a favour – I hate to see things go to waste.’

  Lois helps me strap Rose in. I like the feel of Rose snug next to me, the padded carrier spreading her weight across my back and shoulders.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say.

  ‘Any time. Give me a call if you need anything. We could always grab a coffee sometime if you want to swap sleep-deprivation horror stories!’

  ‘Sure, I’ll text,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the carrier.’

  Maybe I will text her. Might be nice to help someone else out for a change. And I like Lois. She can’t be that much younger than Felicity, but it doesn’t feel that way.

  When I’m sure Lois has gone, I double back for the book and tuck it under one arm. I get a sudden sense of Molly, peering over my shoulder, one eyebrow up. Then I notice the children’s section, with a picture of a train full of books on the wall. I take Rose over to have a look.

  It’s a bit tricky leaning down with her strapped to my front, but I kneel and scan the rows of board books. I notice The Very Hungry Caterpillar, which I definitely don’t pick, then Spot the Dog. I take that and then dither in front of one with bunnies and another with aliens, then decide on the aliens because they’re cute little red ones and somehow I think Rose might like them. She spent a good ten minutes staring at the sunflower print in our living room the other day anyway, so I’ve decided she likes bright things.

  I check the books out, then decide I’ll walk home.

  Rose falls asleep as soon as I start walking and doesn’t wake until I climb the stairs and unstrap her.

  It feels like a tiny triumph, sort of.

  Chapter 19

  3 WEEKS

  I wasn’t kidding when I told Lois last week that Rose doesn’t sleep much. I wake up feeling like a zombie. I swear last night was the worst one yet. Aren’t babies supposed to sleep, like, twenty hours out of the day? Rose seems to get by on less. A lot less. I don’t feel as sore as I did when she was first born, but if I take things too quick, I know about it. My stomach muscles are still shot, but I’ve been doing sit-ups to help with that.

  I feed Rose, then read her the alien story before I put her down for a nap. I think she likes me reading to her. She stays super quiet anyway and seems to be looking at the pictures, although I remember she can still only see in black and white. It feels good though, like I’ve done something right for a change. When she’s asleep I cook up some lunch. Nothing too tricky. Then I need to get ready for my session with Felicity. I rifle through the rack of clothes and old chest of drawers in my bedroom for something to wear, which doesn’t exactly take long. My old hoodie is in a crumpled heap on the floor, like a discarded friend. It’s warm out though. My jeans don’t do up properly yet, but they almost do. Another couple of pounds should do the trick. I settle for leggings and a long baggy T-shirt to cover everything up, then I sort Rose out and set off.

  As we’re leaving, the dodgy guy who lives on the other side of me opens his door. I get a flash of the tattoos crawling up his neck as he gives me and Rose a filthy look.

  ‘You want to keep that baby quiet,’ he says and slams the door before I can reply.

  I think back uneasily to him banging on the wall when Robin and I made too much noise cooking, and how much Rose cried last night.

  The hill up to the unit seems longer than usual. The sun is out and it feels like it’s sucking all the moisture from my skin, leaving me panting and exhausted. My legs are jelly-like by the time I make it to the top. I’m worried about Rose overheating and when I sit down in the waiting room, she’s hot and pink in the face. I run my finger over her fontanelle, feeling it pulse, worried in case it’s sunken in too much. I’ve read that’s a sign of dehydration in babies and I must check her fontanelle a million times a day. She stirs and opens her eyes, but doesn’t seem hugely impressed by what she can see, which is mainly chairs and white walls. Or she senses the atmosphere in this place. Whatever it is, her face crumples and she begins to cry. Can’t say I blame her.

  It takes me a while to calm her down because she’s gone from zero to hysterical in the space of two seconds, but eventually I get her to take a bottle. When I look up, Laurel is in a seat opposite me. Her chin is practically on the floor. I consider reaching over and pushing it back up, but wait until she’s managed to blink a few times.

  ‘What is that?’ she says, eventually.

  ‘Hello to you too. What do you think it is?’

  ‘But … but … when? How? Is it yours?’

  ‘Well, I’d hardly be feeding someone else’s baby, would I? And she’s a she.’

  Milk trickles down the side of Rose’s face. I sit her up on my lap, muslin at the ready, and wait for the inevitable sick-up, which comes a minute later.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Laurel looks near tears.

  She comes to sit in the seat next to me, and reaches out a tentative finger – which I can’t help noticing is significantly plumper than the last time I saw her – and touches Rose on the cheek.

  ‘Well,’ I say slowly. ‘You were in New–’ I catch myself, ‘–land, and I suppose I thought … It was a bit of a shock, you know? And then she came early and I guess I’m still trying to get my head around it all.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Rose.’

  ‘She’s beautiful.’ Laurel says it on an out breath, all wistful.

  I smile in that proud parent way I’m pretty sure I’d have rolled my eyes at a few weeks ago. I can’t help it; Rose is so beautiful, I still can’t believe she’s mine. Even if I’d be a hell of a lot happier if she’d just bloody sleep.

  ‘What about you? How are you doing?’ I say carefully.

  Laurel shrugs and grimaces, pulls at her top. ‘Well, I got out last week. They discharged me back here for outpatients, at least until I’m eighteen.’ She twists her face, then adds, ‘Couple of months to go.’

  ‘Who’s your key worker?’

  ‘Angie.’

  ‘Oh, you’re lucky! I still have –’

  I break off because Felicity is coming into the room. She smiles hello to us both and then retreats towards her office.

  I’m about to follow when Laurel puts a hand on my arm. ‘Can I come round sometime?’

  A part of me wants to say no, but I recognise that post-discharge look, that panicked ‘what do I do now?’ made up of freedom and loneliness and fear.

  ‘Um, yeah, definitely,’ I say. ‘Maybe in a week or two. I’ll text you, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she almost whispers. Then, louder: ‘Bye, Rose.’

  As I make my way to Felicity’s office, I’m trying not to think about Joanna, who visited a couple of days ago. The way she scrutinised every bit of the flat, her head twisting towards the sound of banging and shouting from the bloke next door.

  ‘Is there often … disruption?’ Joanna said.

  ‘Oh no! He’s usually fine. Friendly, you know?’ I pasted as bright a smile on as I could, coughed as another crash came from next door. It sounded suspiciously like someone throwing furniture.

  Then a huge slam that rattled the walls, and everything went quiet again, except for Joanna’s pen going scratch, scratch on her pad. When she looked up, I knew it wasn’t good.

  ‘I have some concerns, Hedda. You don’t have much of a support network around you.’

  ‘I’m going to a baby group,’ I lied. ‘And making friends. I’m going for coffee with someone from the group, Lois. She has a lovely little boy called …’ I broke off. I don’t know why I couldn’t remember the baby’s name. I tried and tried to conjure it up, but it was like the space where the name should be had been erased.

  Joanna pursed her lips. ‘You look exhausted. You can’t do
this all on your own.’

  ‘But Rose is fine! I took her to get weighed the other day and she’s putting on weight. She’s right where she should be in the charts.’

  Joanna sighed. ‘Hedda. It’s about more than how much she weighs.’

  Then she started on my sessions with Felicity, making me promise to attend each one. She’d be back the following week to do some sort of assessment. I saw her out, holding on to Rose so tight she began to squirm in my arms and cry.

  I give my head a shake, trying to dislodge it all, and tap on Felicity’s door. When I go in, I see she’s not happy.

  ‘Hedda, it’s not appropriate to bring Rose to your sessions,’ Felicity says.

  ‘Well, what do you want me to do? I don’t have anyone to leave her with,’ I say.

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘We’re not exactly speaking at the moment.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  I really, really hate Felicity’s ‘mmm’s.

  ‘It’s not my fault!’ I burst out, which makes everyone jump, me included.

  I walk up and down with Rose to settle her back down, looking at the spidery plants on the shelves, which are lined with books that all have ridiculous titles. One in particular catches my eye – something about the ‘unmothered child’. This, amusingly, is next to another book all about letting go and building confident kids.

  I swing back to face Felicity then point to the books. ‘Which one is it then?’

  ‘I don’t think I follow …’

  ‘Seems to me you’re going to mess up whatever you do, if you’re a parent.’

  ‘Is that how you feel, about Rose?’

  I shake my head and laugh – a proper one, not sarcastic. ‘You can’t just leap in with a question like that! I mean, there’s Rules here.’

  Felicity holds my eye and I blush. We both know there are Rules to our sessions, but I’ve never actually said anything about them before. It’s kind of a rule of mine. Or was, anyway.

  ‘You brought it up,’ Felicity says, but she’s smiling back at me too.

  We talk about Rose. Felicity listens while I list all the awesome things about her, like the way she pulls the most amazing faces, and how soft her feet are.