I slipped through my door before she could interpret the look on mine.
7
NOW
On Wednesday we managed to make it to school reasonably incident free. Finn hit Isla over the head, as usual, but with a stuffed sheep rather than his lightsabre, so the ensuing tears were minimal. This was a relief, as not only was I a complete emotional wreck after Brayden and a postcard in quick succession, but today Nicky and I were hosting twenty ex-Bloomers and their babies. Another ten or so dads and partners were joining us in the afternoon. During the last hour, they would brush up on some baby skills and dad-talk while the mums enjoyed their ‘fun time’. For those with no one to hand the baby over to at this point, each week three volunteers who loved nothing better than cuddling tiny ones came over to ensure every mum had a break.
Today Nicky was going to lead a baby massage class before I facilitated a discussion on routines. I was setting up the mats, towels and other equipment when a car pulled up that was far too noisy to be Nicky’s Tesla.
‘Hello?’ I called, placing the last towel on its mat and walking over to the cabin door – almost always propped open this time of year.
‘Hi.’
One of the mums, Courtney, was hovering in the driveway, her boyfriend, Toby, holding their two-month-old girl, Hazel, in a car seat. I caught a whiff of exhaust fumes as the car skidded away.
‘Hey, Libby,’ Toby said, shifting the car seat from one arm to the other. ‘Mum didn’t have time to drop me off later. I thought I could sort out those broken benches while I’m waiting for the lads’ bit. Give them a fresh coat of paint, if you let me know what colour you want. I’ve brought my tools and stuff.’ He turned around to show a rucksack.
‘You’re asking if I mind you mending my broken benches?’
‘Um. Yes. I know what I’m doing, like.’
‘Toby, I know you know exactly what you’re doing. I’ve seen the table and chairs you made for your mum, remember?’ Seventeen-year-old Courtney and baby Hazel were living with Toby, his mum – also Hazel – and four younger siblings in their three-bedroom terrace on the other side of the village. I’d called in for a visit the week after Hazel was born. The house was absolute carnage, but the garden furniture was beautiful. Toby was studying joinery at college, and loving it.
‘That would be brilliant. How much will I owe you?’
Toby looked horrified. ‘A load of free parenting classes? The meal you brought round for us? Lunch every Wednesday?’
‘I get paid for that, Toby. Just not by you.’
‘Not the point.’ He shook his head, determined.
Courtney, on the other hand, nudged his arm. ‘If Libby wants to pay you, let her,’ she said, scowling. ‘If you’re going to make a go of the business, you have to charge people properly. It’s not like we don’t need the money.’
‘I’m honestly very happy to pay you.’
Toby took his girlfriend’s hand. ‘I’ll take some before and after pics, and you can write me a review. How about that?’
‘It’s a deal.’
I’d also slip a gift voucher for the local supermarket inside a thank-you card, but he didn’t need to know that now.
‘Why don’t you help yourselves to a drink while I finish setting up?’ I checked the time on my phone. ‘The others should be here in about twenty minutes.’
Toby found a spot in the shade for Hazel, then fetched two glasses of juice. He disappeared off to the Bigley hardware shop for some blue paint while Courtney slumped in a garden chair several metres away from her baby, furiously tapping on her phone.
I glanced out the cabin window a few times while waiting for Nicky. It wasn’t unusual for one of our mums to appear more interested in her phone than her baby. But most of them would have at least chosen a seat beside them, or looked over occasionally. When Hazel started squawking, Courtney just sighed and shifted away in her seat.
Again, this wasn’t so unusual. But for the vulnerable mums I worked with, postnatal depression wasn’t that unusual, either, and I was constantly on the alert for any signs that someone might be struggling. Courtney had been on my radar since switching from Bloomers to the postnatal group. She’d been full of enthusiasm when pregnant, thrilled that Toby’s mum had invited her to move in, meaning she could stop living with her own parents, who drank too much. Full of TikTok ideas about life with a new baby, she’d not been interested in hearing about the tougher reality of motherhood. Courtney had also assumed Toby’s mum would be on hand to cook, clean and babysit. Being a working single mum with five kids, Hazel wasn’t about to start treating Courtney and her baby like two more.
So far, it had been Toby who had stepped up. I was very much hoping that, like a few other young mums we’d helped, Courtney simply needed more time to adjust to the huge leapin responsibility. As I watched her bury deeper into the sun-lounger, my hope did droop a little.
‘Hi, Courtney!’ Nicky arrived and scooped up Hazel just as I’d been about to give in and go to her myself. ‘Hey, little lady! What are all these tears for, then?’
When Courtney ignored her, Nicky carried Hazel over.
‘Hazel’s crying, Courtney.’
It took another couple of tries before Nicky patted Courtney on the shoulder, causing her to switch the music off on her phone and pull out an earbud. ‘What?’
