“Some flowers have arrived,” says a midwife, coming in. “And we’ve had a message from your husband. He’s stuck on the island for the moment because of bad weather, but he’ll be here as soon as he can.”
“Thanks,” says Suze, managing a smile. “That’s great.”
But when the midwife goes out again, her lips begin to tremble. “Bex, what am I going to do if Tarkie can’t get back? Mummy’s in Ulan Bator, and Daddy doesn’t know one end of a baby from the other… I’m going to be all on my own…”
“No, you aren’t!” I quickly put an arm round her. “I’ll look after you!”
“But don’t you have to go back to America?”
“I don’t have to go anywhere. I’ll change my flight and take more vacation days.” I give her a tight hug. “I’m staying here with you for as long as you need me, Suze, and that’s the end of it.”
“What about the wedding?”
“I don’t need to worry about the wedding any more. Suze, I’m staying with you, and that’s that.”
“Really?” Suze’s chin quivers. “Thanks, Bex.” She shifts the baby cautiously in her arms, and he gives a little snuffle. “Do you… know anything about babies?”
“You don’t have to know anything!” I say confidently. “You just have to feed them and dress them up in nice clothes and wheel them around the shops.”
“I’m not sure—”
“And anyway, just look at little Armani.” I reach into the white bundle of blanket and touch the baby’s cheek fondly.
“We’re not naming him Armani!”
“Well, whatever. He’s an angel! He must be what they call an ‘easy’ baby.”
“He is good, isn’t he?” says Suze, pleased. “He hasn’t even cried once!”
“Honestly, Suze, don’t worry.” I take a sip of tea and smile at her. “It’ll be a blast!”
FINERMAN WALLSTEIN
Attorneys at Law
Finerman House
1398 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10105
Miss Rebecca Bloomwood
251 W. 11th Street, Apt. B
New York, NY 10014
May 6, 2002
Dear Miss Bloomwood:
Thank you for your message of April 30, and I confirm that under the fourth clause I have added the section “(f) I give and bequeath to my gorgeous godson Ernest, the sum of $1,000.”
May I draw your attention to the fact that this is the seventh amendment you have made to your will since drawing it up a month ago?
With kind regards,
Jane Cardozo
Fourteen
I STUMBLE UP THE steps of our building. Swaying slightly, I reach for my key — and, after three goes, manage to get it in the lock.
Home again.
Quiet again.
“Becky? Is that you?” I hear Danny’s voice from above and the sound of his footsteps on the stairs.
I stare dazedly up, unable to focus. I feel like I’ve run a marathon. No, make that six marathons. The last two weeks has been a blurry jumble of nights and days all run into one. Just me and Suze, and baby Ernest. And the crying.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore little Ernie. I mean, I’m going to be his godmother, and everything.
But… God. That scream of his…
I just had no idea having a baby was like that. I thought it would be fun.
I didn’t realize Suze would have to feed him every single hour. I didn’t realize he would refuse to go to sleep. Or that he would hate his crib. I mean, it came from the Conran Shop! All lovely beech, with gorgeous white blankets. You’d think he would have loved it! But when we put him in it, all he did was thrash about, going “Waaah!”
Then I tried to take him shopping — and when we started out, it was fine. People were smiling at the pram, and smiling at me, and I was starting to feel quite proud of myself. But then we went into Karen Millen, and I was halfway into a pair of leather trousers when he started to yell. Not a cute little whimper. Not a plaintive little wail. A full-throated, piercing “This Woman Has Kidnapped Me, Call the Cops” scream.
I didn’t have any bottles or nappies or anything, and I had to run down the Fulham Road, and by the time I got home, I was red in the face and panting and Suze was crying and Ernest was looking at me like I was a mass murderer or something.
And then, even after he’d been fed, he screamed and screamed all evening…
“Jesus!” says Danny, arriving downstairs in the hall. “What happened to you?”
I glance in the mirror and feel a dart of shock. I look pale with exhaustion, my hair is lank and my eyes are drained. Tarquin got home three days ago, and he did do his fair share — but that didn’t mean I got any sleep. And it didn’t help that when I finally got on the plane to fly home, I was seated next to a woman with six-month-old twins.
“My friend Suze had a baby,” I say blearily. “And her husband was stuck on an island, so I helped out for a bit…”
“Luke said you were on vacation,” says Danny, staring at me in horror. “He said you were taking a rest!”
“Luke… has no idea.”
Every time Luke phoned, I was either changing a nappy, comforting a wailing Ernie, comforting an exhausted Suze — or flat-out asleep. We did have one brief, disjointed conversation, but in the end Luke suggested I go and lie down, as I wasn’t making much sense.
Other than that, I haven’t spoken to anyone. Mum called to let me know that Robyn had left a message at the house that I should call her urgently. And I did mean to call back. But every time I had a spare five minutes to myself… somehow I just couldn’t face it. I’ve no idea what’s been going on; what kind of arguments and fallout there’s been. I know Elinor must be furious. I know there’s probably the mother of all rows waiting for me.