Resolutions. More stress. If she didn’t keep them she’d have to admit that she’d written down her Declan-affair worry. Which – obviously – might by next Christmas be common knowledge, if it was true. But on the off chance that itwasn’t, what a terrible thing to have written, and it should remain secret forever. So this year she couldn’t have any dessertsat alland she had to lose two stone, she had to get Daniel to sleep through the night by his first birthday in May, she had to cook a new dish every week (so ridiculously over-ambitious) and she had to learn to hula anddo the splits(life lesson: never promise to achieve an unachievable life ambition).
Declan. Just, Declan.
Also:
Was she going mad? Talking to herself in numbered points in her head.
Ha, yes, she probably was. Ridiculous.
The buggy suddenly lurched, and the front stopped while the back carried on going with the impetus of her pushing. For a split second she thought the whole thing was going to flip over onto the ground with Daniel underneath and her on top, but then she managed to stop herself and pull the buggy back towards her.
As she bent, heart racing, in front of Daniel to check that he was alright (he seemed completely unfazed, thank heavens), she heard Beth call from the pub doorway.
‘Are you okay, Pops darling? I heard you scream.’ Beth was always so sweet.
‘Oh, thank you, lovely Beth. Yes, we’re fine. I just caught one of the buggy’s wheels in a cobble and we nearly fell over, but all good.’
‘Oh my goodness. I’m glad you didn’t fall. Are you sure you’re okay? Can I tempt you back into the pub to help you recover? I’msurethere’ll be a loophole in your resolutions so you can eat pudding if you’ve just had an incident.’
Poppy laughed. ‘I’d love to come back but Daniel should go down for his sleep.’ Did that sound lame? ‘And I’ve got lots to do.’
She did not have lots to do. Nothing interesting, anyway. She did have a mountain of laundry and a lot of tidying to do but those were a permanent feature of her life nowadays. It was hard to keep on top of things when you were always tired. Whywasshe going home, actually? Did it really matter if Daniel missed a bit of sleep as a one-off given that at night he essentially hadnoroutine? And she’d been enjoying herself. Okay, yes, she was going to go back in.
But as she opened her mouth to say so, Beth flew down the steps, gave her a huge hug, and said, ‘Love you, Pops. I’m so glad you’re back. Let’s get together again very soon,’ and then said, ‘Wow, it’s cold without a coat,’ before running back up the steps.
Georgie appeared behind her.
‘Is everything okay?’ Georgie poked her head round Beth’s. ‘I remember what it was like when Max was little. You’re always desperate for them to have a sleep and you’re shit scared, oops, sweary—’ she made a silly face and did a big eye swivel in Daniel’s direction, definitely on purpose for a bit of comic effect, which suddenly made Poppy feel as though Georgie felt she needed to be cheered up; dideveryonethink she was miserable? ‘—of ruining their routine.’
Georgie was always so nice and so comforting. Except it wasn’t comforting because firstly Poppy did not want people to think she needed to be comforted and secondly, unlike your average baby – and Poppy really should know this, because it was the kind of thing that GPs knew – Daniel did not have a frigging routine outside his afternoon sleep. Unless you could call going ballistic when he was tired and religiously waking up a minimum of every two hours at night a routine.
‘It must be so difficult.’ Ankita was in the doorway too now, with a very soft un-Ankita-like expression on her face. Poppy looked at her perfect hair, perfect make-up, perfect pale grey cashmere jumper, beautifully tailored navy cigarette pants and mega-expensive-looking navy suede boots. If Ankita ever did motherhood, it would be Notting Hill yummy-mummy style and her baby would be in an amazing sleep routine immediately. Poppy nearly sighed out loud in envy of Ankita’s not-yet-even-conceived perfectly sleeping baby.
‘Come here.’ Ankita stepped forward and gave her a hug. Oh no. Poppy felt the tiredness-related (and maybe Declan-related) tears that had recently seemed to be regularly bubbling away just under the surface rise towards the rim of her eyes. She sniffed, hard. She couldn’t ruin the exclusive cashmere jumper with tears, plus it would be embarrassing to cry. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Poppy smiled brightly, hoping that the smile looked convincing.
Raf had been right about the lying-every-ten-minutes thing. When had she started lying to her friends?
Andwhywas she lying now? Why couldn’t she just admit that occasionally she wasn’t sure that she was alright? That sometimes she was absolutely desperate for some proper sleep and that she was worried, actually terrified, almost out of her mind, that Declan was having an affair. When they were younger, she’d have just told the others, they’d have hugged her, they’d have said lovely things, and everything would have felt a lot better. But now… No, she just couldn’t get the words out.
