‘I can’t believe you let that tramp into our house,’ she snarled, holding one arm up to prevent him from getting too close.
Ellis looked even worse than the last time I’d seen her. Her hair was bleached a patchy, green-tinged blonde, hacked into a mullet style that accentuated her drawn face. A vest top revealed a near-skeletal frame, running shorts hung beneath a protruding bump and her sallow complexion was flecked with patches of raw, dry skin.
‘It’s bad enough you dragging me to her snotty classes. Now, what, you’re shagging her again?’
‘Woah.’ I felt a flood of warmth at the tenderness in Jonah’s tone. ‘We’re not sleeping together. Libby came over for dinner, that’s it.’
‘A thank you dinner for ripping our family apart?’ Ellis jabbed at the air, punctuating the words. Her whole body twitched in a way that made me ache for the baby growing inside it.
I stood up, scanning the room for my bag.
‘Screw the pair of you. I only came back to get my stuff.’
‘Ellis, please, let’s talk about this.’ Jonah moved to put his arm around her, but she stumbled away.
‘Nah. My man’s waiting in the car. He’s going to take care of me. I’ve finally got someone who puts me first.’
‘Will Damon take care of your baby?’ It was probably foolish for me to get involved, but I couldn’t let Ellis leave without trying.
‘What did you say?’ she spat, spinning to sneer at me.
‘Is his place safe for your baby? Will he put them first, too? Make sure you have nappies, clothes and sterile bottles? What about when your baby won’t stop crying all night? Will Damon take better care of your baby than your brother can?’
For a second she faltered, revealing the scared, damaged teenager hiding behind the anger. Then she held up both middle fingers, told us both in no uncertain terms where we could shove her stuff, and left.
We were still standing there, frozen in shock, when my phone rang. Worried it might be Dad, by the time I’d found my bag still hanging off a kitchen chair I answered it without bothering to check the screen first.
‘Libby?’
‘Yes?’ It wasn’t Dad, but I was rattled enough that it took a couple of beats to identify the voice.
‘I’m sorry to bother you so late on a Friday night, but my contractions are six minutes apart. They’re hurting quite a bit and I was wondering if you would come and hold my hand?’
43
‘Um, what about Brayden?’ I asked. I mean, women in labour aren’t always thinking clearly, but this had to be a joke.
I waited while Silva huffed and puffed her way through a contraction, unable to resist counting how long it lasted. Around twenty seconds, so still a way to go.
‘I don’t know where he is,’ she said, in a tiny voice.
My stomach sank like a stone.
‘I’ve tried calling, social media, everything. He’s not answering. I would be worried something’s happened to him except that…’
‘It’s okay, you can tell me. I was married to him, remember.’
‘He’s taken his overnight bag. And his Future Cycling award.’
Oh dear. This wasn’t good. I recalled the drunken mess staggering into my living room a week earlier.
‘When did you last see him?’
There was another pause where I worried that Silva might be having her next contraction – in which case I’d be hanging up and calling for an ambulance – but she answered soon enough, meek with shame.
‘Wednesday morning.’
‘Has he been online since then?’
