Maybe I needed to make friends with a new penis.
“Is it called a willy or a penis, Auntie Liv?”
I sat back and let Olivia take the floor. I was pretty sure my sister had seen a penis far more recently than me.
“Both. And there are other names for it as well, but some are swear words so children don’t use those.” Olivia sipped her wine.
“Oh.” She reached for her books, bored of the conversation although I’d bet my last twenty pounds she’d bring it up again in a couple of days.
Food arrived and I sunk into my pasta after trying to cut up Rose’s spaghetti so she wouldn’t slurp it. It was a battle I lost, because the little demon was desperate to pretend she was sucking up worms.
We left her to it, knowing that she’d be dunked straight in the bath when we got home, and after that it would be bed.
“What was Seph Callaghan like?” Liv looked up from her parmigiana. “I’ve seen photos – he’s gorgeous.”
“He’s bigger than you’d think from photos. Broader. Looks like he spends a lot of time in the gym lifting weights. He doesn’t seem arrogant though.” I told her about the client he’d seen today without giving too many details.
Seph had impressed me. He could’ve been condescending or haughty, given I was new and not from the same stock that he was, with law running through my blood. Instead he’d been interested and listened.
I knew I’d disappointed him when I’d left so abruptly.
“If he’s a nice guy, just explain it to him and he’ll understand. Maybe. If he can get over that you’ve lied by omission.” Her eyes turned slightly less evil. “I get why you didn’t say anything. When you’re in the office you’re Georgia Marston, not…”
“Georgia Marston, mother of Steve Ashworth’s love child.” I muttered the words just in case Rose was listening in, but Olivia knew exactly what I was saying.
“And on that note, drink up, let’s go home. You bathe your daughter and I’ll get the kettle on.” She turned to the waiter with a big smile and asked for the bill.
“I thought you were buying us some wine?”
She shook her head. “Friday. You definitely don’t need a hangover tomorrow.”
When I foundout I was pregnant, my overwhelming feeling had been that of joy. Steve and I had been seeing each other for about nine months and a baby hadn’t been part of the plan. We were both career-focused and driven, but as soon as I saw the two lines on the test, she was all I wanted and I’d have given everything else up in a heartbeat to keep her healthy.
Being a single mum was hard, but I had help. Sleepless nights, colic, teething, forgetting your name and not remembering exactly when you last showered weren’t anything to recommend, but when my little girl was clean and tucked up in bed, her thick walnut hair spread across the pillow and her stuffed toy cat cuddled next to her, I’d have taken double the colic and teething to get to where we were.
Maybe not the sleepless nights. They were sent from the devil.
“Mummy, can we have a dog?”
I snapped out of the blissed out maternal state I’d hypnotised myself into. I was pretty sure talcum powder was some form of cocaine for exhausted parents.
“Say what?”
“Can we have a dog?”
My little angel child sat back up and rubbed her eyes.
“No, sweetheart, we cannot have a dog.” Hard limit. I loved animals, but no.
“Why?” The bottom lip turned up.
Because I can only just about keep both of us alive, let alone an animal. Because we lived in a rented property and I was pretty sure my landlord would not want four muddy paws on that gorgeously impractical champagne carpet. Because I was already short of about seven hours in each day.
“When you’re old enough to walk it yourself and pick up its poop, then we can discuss it again.”
“When will I be old enough to do that?”
Never.
