Chapter 2
Iwrap my arms around my sister, feeling her ribs through her thin top and cardigan.
If she gained weight in pregnancy, she’s lost it already.
The instinct to protect her is primal, and sends adrenaline pumping through me.
Oddly, it doesn’t set my weakened heart racing.
How have we ended up in such different dark places: me with my health shot to pieces, and Maddie in some unexplained danger?
“I’ll help, but you must tell me what’s going on.
” After hugging her, I feel lighter—free of the shadow of our last meeting.
When Adam ordered them to leave, Maddie hurled abuse while Brett snatched two bottles of Prosecco from the funeral buffet.
I half-expected him to hit someone with a bottle, but he stalked out, yelling at Maddie to follow.
“Yes, I’ll tell you,” she promises, but a cry from baby Leon snatches her attention. “We’ve been on the road for three hours. He’ll need changing. And feeding. Watch him while I get some things from the car.”
“Sure.” Leon’s eyes are screwed shut but his head is twitching. Maddie walks backwards out of the kitchen, keeping watch over him while digging her car keys out of the pocket of her jeans.
Leon yawns. His lashes flutter and his eyes open.
They’re a distinctive brown. He looks at me solemnly.
Does he know I’m not his mum? Freeing his tiny hands from under the blanket, he waves them and cackles contentedly.
Phew! I undo the strap and scoop him onto my lap.
A whiff of ammonia confirms he needs changing.
I remember a nursery action song about a farmer riding on a grey mare going clippety-clop and bounce him on my lap.
Maddie returns as I pretend to drop him down into the ditch.
“He woke,” I say, as if caught out in a guilty secret. “We’ve been playing.”
“So I see.” She dumps a blue backpack down on the floor.
“He holds his head up well.”
“Yeah. Though I’ve not been able to take him to the baby clinic.”
“Whyever not?”
She blushes. “The health visitor rings me to talk about his goals and progress.”
“He’s—how old?”
“Four and a half months. He’s a big lad.” She unclips a changing mat and spreads it out on the floor.
“Why not use the bathroom? There’s hot water and clean towels.”
“Nah. Here’s fine. I have wipes.” She lays him on the mat and strips off his snow suit. His nappy is wet and heavy but not soiled. I’m relieved. My illness has given me a phobia of viruses and infection. I scrub the kitchen counters and mop the floor obsessively.
As she cleans him briskly with a wipe, she asks, without looking at me, “Still no kids?”
I stiffen. “No. Did you think Adam and I were planning a family?” We were—at least until I got ill.
“Well, you’re thirty-three and you’ve been married for five years. But fair enough if you’re focussed on your career.” She fixes the tape on a fresh nappy and pops the soiled one into a bag.
Her words wind me. Why should I share our hopes for a family when she’s neglected me for years? “I don’t live in a child-free world,” I snap. “I babysit my goddaughter.” I’ve not done this since before the first lockdown. “Anyway, I’m thrilled to have a gorgeous new nephew.”
This seems to pacify her. “Sorry, Tess. Things are difficult.”
“I understand. Let’s have something to eat.
” The clock on the cooker says it’s twelve-thirty.
I open the door of the American fridge we bought for our first flat.
It doesn’t suit this smart kitchen, but Adam insisted on keeping it.
It reminds him of a drunken party where we kept pulling the ice-machine lever until ice cascaded across the kitchen floor and everyone took turns skating. Those were carefree days.
“It’s tomato and basil.” I put the carton in the microwave.
“Uh-huh.” Maddie’s making a safe space for Leon with cushions. She puts him down on his tummy and he raises his head. “There you go, babe.” She hands him a fluffy blue rabbit. Once he’s safe, she climbs onto a stool next to mine. “If you’ve got a banana, I could mash it for him.”
“Sure.” My fruit bowl is overflowing. Some days fruit’s the only thing I fancy. I select a ripe banana and give it to her with a fork, spoon and bowl.
“Perfect. I couldn’t bring much—left in a hurry.” With a few strokes of the fork, she reduces the banana to pulp.
The microwave pings. I serve our soup with chunks of bread and place it on the countertop. “Now tell me what’s been going on.”
***
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