“She’s perfect.” He lifts her slowly and kisses her forehead. “You’re perfect,” he tells her directly. While the absolute honesty in his tone is comforting, it also twists my heart, because, although I need him to agree to this, and now know for sure that he will… God, I don’t want to say what I’m about to say.
“She needs us.” He looks up from his adoration, and his face starts to fall. He can see I’m serious, and that he’s not going to like what’s coming. “And…listen…” I take a deep breath. I had a speech prepared, but I let it go. There is no speech that can fullycover this. “We have so,somuch growing up to do now. And…relationships…romantic ones, I mean… They can break up. They often do. But people who…stay close friends, and commit to that…” I wipe under my eyes. This is all so much, too much. I’m still shell shocked from what I’ve been through physically. If I’m honest with myself, I’m scared that it could happen again, which would be made more likely if Tim and I carried on our relationship the way it was.
I’m tired. I’m overwhelmed. I want someone to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be OK, and lift up some of the heavy load that’s settled on my shoulders. I desperately want -need- to be a good mother, and I want to just go home and put my feet up with a good book and have a sandwich and forget about everything for a little while.
And, more than anything, I want Tim to hold my hand through it all.
“What’s her name?” he whispers.
I bite my lip, sensing that he’s on board. “I don’t know. What do you think we should pick?” He’s been shut out of too much already; I promise myself that I’m going to agree to whatever he wants to call her.
He gives her a long, loving look. He may be young, but he’s a dad now, wrapped around her little finger. “There’s a song I really like. Can we name her after that?”
I lean forward a little so I can see her too, ignoring how the movement makes my vulva feel bruised. “Sure.” I trust him. He won’t have picked anything janky.
His answering smile is sad, but also kind of peaceful. Like he knows we’re doing the right thing. “It’s by Jet. It’s calledEleanor.” I think of the lyrics, and smile.
She makes a contented, comfortable little yawn, and we both manage a soft chuckle together. “Eleanor Stewart. Sounds good,” I offer.
He shakes his head. “Eleanor Karas-Stewart. You deserve a mention.” Our eye meet goes on just a little too long, and we rest our foreheads against each others, despairing but resolute.
“We will always be in each other’s lives,” I promise him, and he nods.
“I’ll always love you, Nat,” he whispers back, and I bury my face in his shoulder and go entirely to pieces as he recites the Walt Whitman poem he ended all his secret notes to me with. “Loved you then. Love you still. Always have. Always will.”
And, for now, those words need to be enough for us both.
Chapter 6
Then
Nat and Tim are both 17
Nat
“Maaaaaaaasabadafah!” Eleanor shouts as she reaches for me, making grabby hands imperiously. Mum hands her over and ruffles her hair.
“Thanks,” I tell her. She held El while I got changed for my dance class tonight. I’ve been able to pick it back up, and it’s been great for helping me feel like myself again. And Mum’s been brilliant, really solidly helping me out and giving me advice while still leaving me to make final decisions, respecting the fact that I’m Eleanor’s mother. Even if I’m still not old enough to buy an alcoholic drink in a pub.
“No probs. Alright, I’m off. Tim still dropping by?” It’s Mum’s book club and my dance class this evening, so Tim always looks after our daughter on Thursday nights at Mum’s. And yet, Mum always checks, even though he’s never once been late.
“Yep.” I kiss El’s chubby little cheek and don’t bother calling her out. Things are mostly good between us, and it’s not worth it.
“OK, have a good lesson.” She smiles at me and waves at El as she grabs her bag and heads out.
“Borrrrrrrrrbaba,” my daughter advises me sagely, and I laugh and cuddle her, spinning in a circle the way she likes until she giggles. She’s just started making more recognisable sounds, trying so hard to have a proper conversation with everyone, and it melts me every single time. She’s magical, and damnit, I’m glad she’s here.Even if I still have nightmares about how she arrived.
“Would you like a banana?” I ask her.
“Nanananana,” she agrees, and I carry her to the kitchen and peel it for her, holding it so she doesn’t drop it. I grin when my independent little munchkin pulls my hand towards her, wanting to feed herself rather than be fed.
When she’s eaten about half, the doorbell rings. I check the clock. Ten minutes to six. My heart pings; he’s always a little earlier than the agreed time, soaking up every minute he can with her. “Is that Daddy?” I ask her, and she calls out, “DADAAAA!”
I open the door quickly, knowing the sort of fit she’ll throw if I dawdle even a second, and beam at Tim as she lunges for him, demanding to be held.
“Heyyyy, Princess,” he says warmly, and holds her close as she clutches his shirt and the strap of the bag over his shoulder. I know it’s hard for him to not have her all the time, like it is for me when she spends nights with him, but we’ve made it work, and he’s a brilliant father. Utterly devoted and all in. Nothing is too much trouble, he changes her nappies without pulling a face, and he’s stayed up all night with her when she’s been unwell, even if he had college the next day.
We’re both continuing our education, him at the college and me at the local sixth form centre, with the help and support of our families. Cathy Stewart has become a friend, even if her husband is still gruff and sour. Even he, however, is not immune to Eleanor’s gummy smiles, and he hasn’t yet spoken a cross word to her. The moment he does, he’s out, as far as I’m concerned. And as for Sadie… She’s the best aunt anyone could wish their child to have: attentive and present, full of handmade gifts and fun vibes, and always happy to babysit if needed.
