AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He shakes his head. “I don’t gossip. Neither does Casey.”
I can be thankful for that, at least. “So, what now?”
“That’s your call. Now that she’s no longer a police officer, my objections to your relationship are withdrawn.”
“It could still be some sort of a scheme,” I begin, “She could be trying to trick us…”
“Yes, that’s possible.” He helps himself to coffee. “I expect you to check that out, assuming you do want to get back in touch with her, of course.”
“I need to know if that baby is mine.”
“Yes. I can see that.” He sinks his coffee in two gulps. “Let me know what you decide to do.”
CHAPTER23
Ruth
Christ,what a mess.
I peer at my reflection in the mirror and finger comb my hair. It looks no better for my attentions. I haven’t showered for days. The last proper meal I ate was over a week ago. I’ve been existing on a sandwich snatched here and there, or the occasional biscuit binge-fest. I can’t even get comfort from a nice strong cup of tea because it might affect my milk.
I’m sinking. Fast.
No one ever said it would be like this. All those ante-natal appointments, the jolly pep talks about the joys of breastfeeding and admonishments to have a care for my own welfare as well as that of the tiny human growing inside me. Fat chance! The reality is that any welfare I might want to lay claim to is totally swamped in favour of pandering to my baby’s every need.
Not that I resent it, exactly. I love her. But it’s hard work, especially on my own.
A thin, high-pitched wailing from my bedroom announces that she’s awake. Again. And no doubt hungry. She’s always hungry, or wet. Or bored. Or just plain crying because something in her life is less than perfect.
It’s an effective strategy. I trudge back into the bedroom ready to prostrate myself before the altar of lone parenthood.
“Morning, sweetie,” I croon, picking her up.
She quiets immediately and snuggles into my shoulder. Perhaps this is all she wants, a cuddle and company.Mycompany.
I sigh. Moments like this make it all worthwhile.
I carry her through into the living room, turn on the electric fire, then carry on through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. I’ve got used to managing tasks one-handed over the last few weeks. Armed with a fortifying mug of tea, I wander back to the living room. We settle down to watch the morning news on the television. I sip my tea while she latches on for her first meal of the day. We enjoy a companionable breakfast until she’s milk-drunk and I’m satisfied with my hit of caffeine.
An ominous aroma fills my nostrils. “We need to find you a new nappy, sweetheart.” I get to my feet and head for the bathroom, only to find the empty packet under the sink.
Bugger! I lay my baby back in her cot while I rifle the house for any stray nappies that might be secreted somewhere. I come up with zero.
Right. Shop, then.
I pull on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie. My training shoes have gone AWOL, but I manage to come up with a pair of wellington boots. My baby will be okay bundled in a warm blanket while we nip down the road to the mini market on the corner.
I pull on a quilted jacket, tuck her inside it, and set off. It’s only a couple of minutes’ walk, and I chat to the sleeping baby as we go. She’s oddly good company, mainly because she never argues back.
I grab a pack of nappies, some wipes, a frozen curry with rice, and a two-litre bottle of lemonade. That should be enough to get me through the day. I can do a proper shop later, provided I can keep myself awake long enough.
I’m exhausted. All the time. Why doesn’t she sleep for more than a few minutes at a stretch? And why, when she’s awake, which is almost constantly, does she require my undivided attention?
“Babies are like that, love.”
I can almost hear my mum’s voice, and for the millionth time I simply wish she was still here. I’ve never needed her more than I do now. I long to be able to show her my baby, to glow with pride at what I produced, to crow over every little miracle in her life, every milestone. I crave her gentle, supportive presence, her smiles of encouragement, her calm, unflappable certainty that things will be all right.
But she’s not here. No one’s here. I’m alone.
