Page 114 of The Last Train Home
Tom could have messaged me, and I look at my phone to check that I’ve not missed a text from him. I haven’t.
I also realise that Sean hasn’t replied. I sent him a message to tell him I’d had the baby early and that it was a girl. I didn’t ask for help in choosing a name. I didn’t ask if he wanted to come and see her. I didn’t ask anything. I didn’t expect him to offer anything, but I did expect a reply, an acknowledgement that our child had entered the world safely. I realise now that when I left him I gave him an ‘out’ and he’s grasped it with both hands.
‘Darling, we’re so proud of you,’ my mum says and my dad echoes it, and then they tell me about how they’re going to handle the next few weeks until they break up for the summer holidays, trying to work out how to support me while not being able to take time off. They were relying on me giving birth nearer my due date, which would have taken them comfortably into the six weeks’ holidays when they’d have been around.
My mum goes through the bag of stuff she’s brought from home for me and baby – the nappies and a couple of whitebabygrows I’d purchased. I hadn’t managed to buy anywhere near the right amount of items yet. I thought I still had a few weeks to go, and I had yet to undertake a huge blitz in Mothercare of neutral yellow and cream outfits, just to get us going.
And then visiting hours are over and I’m left alone, in time for a lunch tray to be brought to me. Baby comes back from the lamp and we breastfeed together again.
‘We’re alone, little one,’ I say quietly as she sucks away. ‘And I’m sorry to say it, but I think that’s kind of how this is going to play out.’ I stroke her little cheek, so soft, so thin and delicate. She’s so small, being so early. ‘It might be just you and me for quite some time,’ I tell her. ‘But that’s OK, isn’t it? We can do this. We’ll learn together.’
Chapter 70
Tom
Abbie’s sleeping when I arrive. I stand by the door and watch her. A ridiculous number of feelings rush through me, all at the same time. It’s only Teddy, standing next to me quietly and tugging my hand gently, that shakes me out of my daze and into a slow action. I nod at him, usher him gently into the room.
The baby’s been moved into a little plastic crib next to Abbie, and I guess it’s because she doesn’t need the lamp any more. She looks a much better colour. Abbie looks a much better colour too. She was ashen yesterday.
Teddy and I stare at the baby, marked ‘Baby Girl O’Hara’ on the end of her crib. She still doesn’t have a name then. I wonder if Sean will turn up at some point and bestow one on the kid. He might be the hero of the hour, sweep in, declare undying love for Abbie and his child, whisk them back to Singapore and then I’ll never see them again.
I’m not sure I could deal with that now, even though only twenty-four hours ago Singapore is exactly where I thought she still was.
‘She’s so small,’ Teddy whispers, his hand still in mine.
‘She is,’ I whisper back. ‘She’s gorgeous too.’
He points to the bag I’m carrying. ‘Can we give the baby the presents now?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Put them at the end of her crib, not up by her face.’
Teddy does as he’s told, placing a little plush toy giraffe and an elephant at the end of the blankets. He’s a bit put out that the baby can’t see them and I have to go through the reasons why the toys can’t be next to her face, and we agree that when the little one wakes up, he can hold them up to show her. We went into Mothercare after pre-school together and I bought things that I wasn’t sure Abbie had: a few little newborn outfits, a pack of nappies, some of those pre-mixed milk cartons that might save Abbie’s sanity in the middle of the night, if baby can’t be bothered to latch on and breastfeed correctly. Those pre-mixed cartons saved my own and Samantha’s mental stability in the early days. I should have bought shares in them.
‘You’re here,’ Abbie says groggily.
‘Of course,’ I reply gently.
‘You didn’t come this morning.’
‘I wanted to let your mum and dad come, and not have to be kicked out after a while to let me in. I didn’t think you’d mind me not coming.’
She doesn’t reply, and her face looks thoughtful. She looks towards Teddy, still peering into the crib. Abbie smiles at him. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ he says back. ‘Can I hold her?’
I cut in, ‘Oh, I don’t know about—’
‘Of course,’ Abbie says. ‘Maybe your dad can help you while you sit down and hold her on your lap?’
Teddy nods, jumps into the plastic chair by the side of Abbie’s bed.
I pause by the crib. God, I’m a bit scared of picking the baby up. I stare at her little mouth puckering in her sleep and feel like someone’s kicked me in the guts. What is this feeling? I can’t tell if it is a good feeling or not.
‘You OK?’ Abbie asks.
‘Yep,’ I say, in a strangled version of what I normally sound like.
‘You remember how to hold a baby, right?’ Abbie asks, now genuinely concerned.
