Page 117 of The Last Train Home
Teddy reads her expression and laughs too, pleased to have been joint instigator in this not-very-well-thought-out plan that I’ve managed to conjure out of thin air like a magician.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Abbie confesses. ‘Are you sure?’
I nod, look down at the tiny person in my arms.What’s happening to my heart? Only good things. ‘Yes. Yes, I’m completely sure.’
‘Then … thank you. How about we try for one or two nights and, if you’re put off by the constant baby screams, then I go back to my mum and dad’s and we don’t darken your door ever again.’
‘OK,’ I acquiesce. ‘But that’s not what’s going to happen.’
She laughs again, mutters under her breath how mad I must be and watches as Teddy does a crazy little dance up and down, fuelled by sheer excitement.
I think Abbie’s right. I must not be in my right mind. Because I am really looking forward to this.
Chapter 71
Abbie
After a couple of hours Tom and Teddy are ushered out by another knowledgeable but stern midwife whom Tom labels ‘Jackie 2.0’, and I spend the next few hours after they’re gone rubbing my fingers back and forth over my rough lips, made dry by crying out through the labour that never was.
I look out of the hospital window as the summer beats down. I can’t wait to get out of here. Baby and I have been feeding, cuddling and sleeping and now dusk threatens to settle, bringing another day to a close. We’re a family of two, baby and me. I knew it was going to be that way, but I’m still feeling a strange mix of shock and disbelief that it’s turned out like this.
Eventually Sean deigns to reply to my message, acknowledging the baby’s arrival, asking how we all are, asking if he can phone me. I don’t want to speak to him and, when I ignore his request, messaging to answer all his other questions, our texting comes to an end.
My mum and dad are relieved and enthusiastic when I call and tell them that Tom’s stepped in to take the pressure off them. I can’t help but agree when my dad tells me whata good egg Tom is. I say goodbye, and they say they’ll come and see me at Tom’s tomorrow afternoon when they’ve finished work.
Am I wrong for agreeing to stay with Tom? It’s so generous of him. I think back over the time I’ve known him, the way we collided into each other’s lives that night; the way we almost started something together five years ago; the way we almost started something again three years ago. And now look at us. Two failed marriages and two children between us. Yes, there have been imperfections there – too many to count. Tom has been practically riddled with imperfections.
But then so have I.
Tom opens the front door and carries the car seat holding my sleeping baby into his house, placing her in the sitting room, and then jogs back towards me as I move slowly down the path. He grabs my bags from the ground and helps me cross the threshold.
He was true to his word – driving us home to his house, even remembering to bring Teddy’s old baby car seat, which it hadn’t even occurred to me I would need. I’m obviously a slow learner, still groggy from strange sleep patterns and the always-there dull ache in my lower abdomen from the C-section.
‘You’ve thought of everything,’ I say, looking around his large open-plan kitchen. There’s a changing table in front of the built-in bookshelves, laid out with baby wipes and a mat, nappies and mini muslins. I’ve no clue what to do with them.
‘There’s a changing table down here,’ he says. ‘And one in your room. The crib’s in your room, and there’s a bassinette basket-thing over there.’ He points. ‘I can’t remember whatthey’re called. But it means that if baby wants a sleep and you’re down here, you don’t have to climb the stairs to put her down.’
I go to speak, but Tom continues.
‘There’s freshly washed bedding, in that non-bio stuff Samantha always made me use when Teddy was small. And new mattresses, which are a must … apparently. Mothercare did very well out of me this morning.’ I open my mouth to speak, but he steams right along, held on the crest of his one-sided conversational wave. ‘Your mum and dad came over earlier for a cup of tea,’ he says, which elicits a startled glance from me.
‘Really?’
He nods. ‘They brought all the stuff you’d bought for baby, and a load of your maternity clothes.’
‘They’ve chucked me out then?’
Tom laughs. ‘They don’t like you having to be here,’ he says.
‘That’s bullshit,’ I offer. ‘They love you. Adore you. My dad thinks the sun shines out of you.’
‘He’s not wrong,’ Tom says with a grin.
His smile is infectious and I can’t help but smile back.
‘It’s only for a few weeks,’ he placates me.
I glance around. There is baby stuff everywhere. Some new toys with tags attached sit on the side, and others that must have been Teddy’s look suspiciously cleaned and are already on a play mat, with items that dangle down for baby to look at. ‘Really? A few weeks? It looks like I’ll be here for ever. Tom, how much stuff did you buy?’
