‘Come on, let’s give them some space.’
We go out into the back garden. Tippi snuffles through the flower beds and Milo paces back and forth across the width of the small garden.
‘What do you think they’re saying?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ I’m trying to put myself in Sophie’s position and imagine what their conversation might be, but I’m finding it impossible.
‘I’ve tried to make him see sense. Face what’s happening, but he shoots me down every time. It’s starting to upset Mum.’ Milo is rubbing his hands together, agitated. ‘He’s making it worse for her and things are hard enough. It shouldn’t be her job to make him see sense. I should have been able to take that stress away.’
I lay a hand gently on his arm. ‘Maybe she’s the only one who can make him face up to it.’
We sit down on the plastic garden chairs in silence, the onlysound the occasional chirp of birdsong. After what feels like an eternity, Tippi gives a high-pitched whine. She’s standing by the back door, wanting to go back inside.
‘She wants to go back to Mum,’ says Milo, getting to his feet.
We go back inside, and Milo stops in the hallway. There are no voices coming from Sophie’s bedroom now. Milo looks at me uncertainly. ‘Should I let her in?’ He nods towards Tippi, who is standing staring at the bedroom door, her tail waving.
I nod. He steps forwards and opens the door. Tippi trots in happily, heading straight for her bed. Milo stiffens beside me and his knuckles whiten as he grips the door handle. I move to be next to him and what he’s looking at rips a chasm straight through the middle of my heart. Jackson has his back to us and is lying on the bed next to his mum, his knees bent up so he’s in the foetal position. His head is on her chest and she’s stroking his hair tenderly, like she did when she was comforting me. Sophie lifts her head to look at us. Even from here, you can see her eyes are red and puffy. She nods to us, then drops her head to look back at Jackson.
Milo closes the door and Jackson and his mum disappear from view, although I don’t think it’s a sight I will ever forget and my heart aches for the pair of them.
Seventeen Years Ago
Fifteen weeks pregnant.
My eyes squint at the pain slicing through my head and my mouth is dry and gritty. I peel the duvet back slowly and push myself upright, groaning. I swing my legs out of bed and my feet land in a plastic washing-up bowl.
‘What the …’
‘In case you were sick, again.’ Reeni is lying on the blow-up mattress under her bedroom window. It was where I should have been sleeping when I stayed over after the party. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Crap.’ My voice croaks. I can’t sit up any longer and I lower myself gingerly back down to rest my head back on the pillow. ‘I don’t remember getting back here.’
‘Shannon brought you back. You were out of it.’
I cover my eyes with my hand and wince. My mouth tastes claggy and sour. ‘Shit.’ My voice pitches too high and tightens the screw on my headache. ‘I threw up, didn’t I?’
Reeni nods towards the corner where my black dress is in a scrunched-up heap. ‘I don’t think you’ll be returning it.’
‘I must have ate something dodgy.’ I look at Reeni out of the corner of my eye. She has one eyebrow arched, making it plain she doesn’t believe that lie for one minute. But she doesn’t push me for an explanation.
An electric spear of pain spikes behind my eyes. ‘Have you got any painkillers?’ I ask, glad to change the subject. I glance at the bedside clock. I still have two hours before I have to meet Mum for my midwife appointment. Thank God Jackson isn’t coming as it’s only talking and no scan, because he’d see through me in an instant.
Reeni clocks me reading the time. ‘Do you still want to meet at Daisy after your appointment?’
‘Yes, if I’m still alive,’ I groan. I take the glass of water and the two tablets she hands me and gulp them down, praying they’ll kick in soon.
‘You don’t look too good. I thought you were over your morning sickness?’ says Mum as we walk towards the hospital entrance.
‘It’s come back,’ I mutter, putting a Polo in my mouth.
‘Poor you,’ Mum says, rubbing the small of my back. ‘I can still remember how ill I felt when I had you.’
I smile weakly at her, praying the mint is covering up for me.
The maternity unit is on the first floor and we get the lift. The upwards motion does not do my already queasy tummy any favours and I lean my head against the cool metal wall and close my eyes. We don’t have to stay in the waiting area long before I’m called in. It’s the same midwife as last time, Sue.
‘Ellie’s feeling a bit sick,’ says Mum, thinking she’s doing me a favour by pointing it out.
