‘Is that right?’ I grab a couple of bowls, spoons, and the milk from the fridge and place them in the middle for the twins to help themselves.
‘How old’s Phoebe going to be?’ Anything to distract them from the other questions. The ones I don’t know how to answer, even if I know how I want to answer them - yes, yes, yes and yes would be my preference.
‘She’s going to be seven. She’s allowed three friends to sleep over, so she asked us and Sarah Snowden.’ Isla thumbs her chest proudly.
I head to the coffee machine, load a capsule, hit the espresso button, and add two sweeteners. I know exactly how Savannah likes it.
‘I’m just going to take Mammy this coffee, okay?’
‘Sure,’ Isla says, pouring a mountain-sized portion of Coco Pops into her bowl.
Eden’s voice wafts up the stairs as I carry the coffee up. ‘I like having him here,’ she says. ‘And not just because he gives us treats.’
‘Me too,’ Isla agrees.
‘I hope he stays.’ Eden’s voice is wistful. She sounds way older than her years. These girls, my heart breaks for them. Where is their father? Who is their father? And why wouldn’t he play a role in their lives?
His loss is my gain.
Given half the chance, I’m going to be everything they ever needed and more.
I nudge open Savannah’s bedroom door with my knee. She’s propped up against the headboard, her face is stricken as she stares blankly out of the window. Quick hands swipe across her cheeks, wiping away her tears, but not quickly enough.
‘Are you okay?’ Placing the coffee cup in her hands, I perch on the edge of the bed.
‘Oh God, Ro, I knew it would be bad, but you should see what they’re saying about me. It’s absolutely hateful. The damage is colossal.’ Tears stream from her eyes. This time she doesn’t even try to wipe them away.
‘It’ll pass, sweetheart.’ I brush her hair from her face and tuck it behind her ears.
‘The things they’re calling me are beyond cruel.Hypocrite. Whore. It’s unreal. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from this.’ Her stunning azure eyes well again.
My jaw locks hard enough to hurt. How dare they judge her? Judge us.
‘You will. We’ll get through it together. Next week, they’ll be talking about someone else.’ My fingers blaze a trail across her shoulder, sweeping soothing strokes across her skin.
‘Did you check Instagram?’ She places the coffee cup on the locker beside the bed.
‘No.’ The only thing I ever used Instagram for is to check on the woman beside me, and given I haven’t left her side in almost twenty-four hours, I didn’t feel the need.
‘It’s fucking mental…the abuse…’ She trails off.
I flick open the app on my phone.
She’s lost almost half of her following, and the other half aren’t holding back on their opinions. I scroll through the comments under the picture she posted yesterday.
Slutty Sav.
Oh, er…Sexy Sav
Sneaky Sav. I want my money back! I can’t take advice on how to parent single from a woman who isn’t single.
Go on, my son!
Single Sav’s a hypocrite, preaching about being an independent woman, then banging the biggest playboy around.
At least she got a nice photo - let’s be honest - we all know she’ll never get another one with him.
Rage roils inside of me as her head falls into her hands, and she sobs. ‘Cassandra emailed. Inkwell Imprint has withdrawn their offer for a second book. Bella Baby is renouncing me as their ambassador, and I’ve had three missed calls from Lucas Beechwood, so you can guess how that will probably go.’
