Babies in Waiting (38 page)

‘Fine, yes. Sorry I haven’t been in touch, but, well, you know about the post-baby mush-brain. I’ve really just been sitting staring at him adoringly.’

‘As you should, as you should. Listen, do you remember the Nicholson contract?’

‘Fifty banners in a very odd size, could they have a discount? Yes, of course.’

‘I’ve been looking at the numbers and I’m not sure I understand what you did with the purchasing on that job.’

‘Ah, well, even though it was an unusual size, I worked out if we printed landscape rather than portrait, I could fit five banners into the width and buy the vinyl more efficiently.’

‘Oh,’ said Adam, sounding slightly disappointed.

‘Were you hoping for a better explanation than that?’

‘No, it’s a perfectly good explanation. I was just hoping for one that was more than a sentence long so you’d have to come out to the farm for a meeting to explain it to me.’

‘I could come out to the farm to visit my old workmates and introduce them all to my baby.’

‘That would also be a good reason for you to come. I approve of that reason.’

‘When would be convenient for you?’

‘Well, purely from a workplace-efficiency point of view, I’d say lateish on Friday afternoon.’

‘Sounds good. I wouldn’t want to impact negatively on productivity.’

‘And I wouldn’t want a new mum to wear herself out driving back home on an empty stomach so maybe you could explain the Nicholson-contract thing to me one more time over a bite of early dinner?’

‘I’m sure I could come up with some more details to make the explanation worthwhile.’

‘I look forward to it,’ said Adam. ‘See you Friday.’

He rang off, and Louise sat clutching her phone to her chest, grinning at Peter like a giddy teenager, and wondering where she could buy some good tummy-shaping underwear before Friday afternoon.

She spent ages choosing outfits for her and Peter on Friday. Peter was easier: he had loads of gorgeous little tops and trousers, thanks to Simon and Rachel. She dressed him in a green, long-sleeved jumper that showed off his auburn hair, and a very sweet pair of leggings with frogs on them. Her own outfit was trickier. She wasn’t quite back to her pre-pregnancy weight, and her waistline was definitely nowhere near what it used to be, so many of her old clothes simply didn’t fit. In the end, she went for a long, white skirt (with an elastic waistband), with a pretty pale blue blouse over the top, to cover any muffin-top-type bulges at the waistline.

She got to the farm at about 4.30, and took Peter, sleeping
angelically, out of the car in his car seat. Anita, the Australian receptionist, came out to meet her. ‘Hi!’ she said enthusiastically, ‘wow, what a stunning little fella! And, Louise, you look amazing!’ The uncomplicated warmth of Anita’s welcome made Louise a little less nervous. She walked in with Anita, had an awkward moment saying hello to Alan, who clearly didn’t know what to say to her, or indeed what to say about a baby. The guys on the floor stopped what they were doing to say hello, and the dads among them asked her questions about Peter’s eating and sleeping. There was no sign of Adam. Anita took her up to the offices on the first floor and made her a cup of tea, and they sat chatting. Peter woke up, and she took him out of his car seat and let Anita have a cuddle. She had thought about it, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to breastfeed at work, in front of all the guys, and definitely not in front of Adam, so she’d expressed a bottle of breastmilk. She warmed it in a jug of water and gave it to Anita, who sat feeding a contented Peter, cooing and smiling.

Suddenly, Adam’s office door flew open and he burst in. ‘So, so sorry,’ he said, looking flustered. ‘I got stuck on the phone talking to a supplier in Ireland. The man had definitely kissed the Blarney Stone; he wouldn’t shut up!’

He was a big man, and his presence seemed to fill the room. Louise stood up and turned to face him. It was the first time she’d seen him since their chat in the shopping precinct, when she was heavily pregnant. They stood
looking at each other for a while, and something electric passed between them. Guiltily, she glanced at Anita, but the Aussie girl seemed totally focused on little Peter.

‘You look . . . great,’ said Adam and if Louise didn’t know better, she would have thought he’d come over all shy.

‘Thank you.’

He stared at her for a while longer. ‘So where’s the little man?’ he said, suddenly.

‘Oh, he’s lost his heart to Anita,’ Louise laughed, and Adam went over to kneel down and look at her baby.

‘He’s a solid little chap.’

‘He’s finished eating . . . want to hold him?’ said Anita, and handed Peter to Adam.

Adam stood up, expertly cradling Peter against his shoulder, and rubbing his back. Peter let out an almighty burp.

‘Wow!’ said Louise. ‘How did you do that? It usually takes me ages to wind him.’

‘It’s not my first time,’ Adam smiled. ‘It’s been a while, but it’s definitely one of those riding-a-bicycle things.’

Because it was Friday everyone who worked at Harper Graphics was keen to get off home, and within fifteen minutes the offices and printing floor were deserted. Adam and Louise walked over to the house. He’d obviously planned ahead, and had a chilled bottle of white wine in the fridge and a big salad already made. ‘I thought we could have a sort of ploughman’s for dinner, if that’s okay,’ he said. ‘Cheese and pickles and bread and salad. Sound okay?’

‘Sounds lovely,’ said Louise. It was her turn to feel shy . . . being back in Adam’s house reminded her of their intense last night together before he went sailing, and also, more uncomfortably, of Brian’s time there and the mess it had caused.

‘Wine?’ Adam said.

‘I’d better not,’ she said regretfully. ‘I’m driving and breastfeeding, two things best not mixed with alcohol.’

‘What if I make you a very weak spritzer?’

‘Now that sounds good!’ said Louise.

‘When I saw Anita giving him a bottle, I assumed you were bottle-feeding,’ said Adam, pouring the drinks. She noticed he poured himself a rather large glass of wine. She was pleased . . . at least she wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

‘Nope, he’s getting the good stuff. I expressed some to bring with me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be whipping a boob out on the factory floor.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Adam, and she could swear he was blushing. Maybe she shouldn’t have said ‘whip a boob out’.

He brought her her drink, and then busied himself preparing their dinner. Millicent came strolling through from the living room and sniffed at Peter in his car seat with great suspicion. Then she let out one of her human yowls and stalked out of the cat-flap in high dudgeon.

‘Oh dear,’ said Louise.

‘Millicent has never liked competition,’ observed Adam. She’ll punish me all weekend for letting someone smaller and cuter than her into the house.’

He set dinner out on the table and they kept the conversation on safe topics, chatting about Harper Graphics and Adam’s sailing trip. Every moment, however, she was aware of him, the warmth of his arm close to her own, the way his hair curled above his ears, the deep burr of his voice. Peter sat in his car seat, watching them contentedly, happily awake.

When they had finished eating, they went through to the living room and Louise settled in an armchair, Peter on her lap. She wondered how long they could make polite small talk. She wasn’t sure she was ready for a heavy discussion, but there seemed to be so much that was unsaid. Was Adam avoiding talking about it because he now saw her as just a friend and a colleague? Was he just being nice to the unemployed new mum?

She didn’t get a chance to ask him, though, because Peter chose that moment to do his characteristic hunch, grunt and push. An ominous rumbling issued from his nappy area, like a stampeding herd of buffalo, heard from afar. Adam looked surprised, then realised what had happened and laughed out loud. His loud guffaw made her laugh too, at least until she felt warm wetness spreading across her thighs. She lifted Peter up, and to her horror, neon-orange-breastmilk poo had leaked around the nappy, through his leggings, and liberally all over her carefully chosen white skirt. ‘Oh no!’ she cried. Peter squirmed in her hands, and a little more poo dripped into her lap. Adam was doubled over, laughing so much he was crying.

‘Help me!’ she cried, starting to laugh too.

‘Your baby went off!’ he roared.

‘I’m aware of that. Don’t just stand there, help me!’

Adam came over and took Peter away from her, holding him at arm’s length.

‘Well done, little buddy,’ he said. ‘That’s a crap any man would be proud of!’

He carried Peter to the bathroom, and Louise followed. Grabbing some loo roll, she mopped the worst of the poo off her skirt, and together they stripped Peter and showered him with warm water, then wrapped him in a towel.

‘I assume you’ve got spare clothes,’ said Adam.

‘For him, not for me.’

‘Ah, rookie mistake. I’ll lend you something. Get your skirt off and hop in the shower. I’ll pop something into your bedr—into the spare bedroom.’

‘And Peter?’

‘Are the spare clothes in your nappy bag?’ She nodded. ‘I’ll dress him,’ he said calmly.

Ten minutes later, she came into the living room wearing a pair of Adam’s old jogging bottoms and a soft grey jumper. He was sitting on the sofa. Peter, dressed in clean, dry clothes, was fast asleep in the crook of his arm. He patted the sofa cushion next to him with his free hand, and she went to sit next to him. He took her hand easily, companionably.

‘That was a bit shitty, eh?’ he said, and they started to laugh again, softly though, so as not to wake Peter.

‘Thank you,’ she said finally.

‘For what?’

‘Dinner. Jogging bottoms. Finding this funny.’

‘I can’t believe
anyone
wouldn’t find it funny.’

‘Well then, thanks for not making me feel awful about it. And also, thank you for so much else.’

They started to talk then. She told him the story of her and Brian, and explained her feelings of guilt and inertia when he had arrived on the doorstep. She didn’t hold anything back. He told her about the break-up of his marriage and his wife’s infidelity, and how hearing Brian was in the house had brought feelings of betrayal flooding back.

She took Peter from him. He smelled her and began to snuffle and root, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to put him to her breast and feed.

After a while, Adam said softly, ‘And what now?’

‘Well, “what now” is a big and complicated question,’ she said, looking down at Peter.

‘Does it have to be?’

‘Well, Brian is going back up north, but he hasn’t gone yet. I think in the interests of keeping things clean and simple, I should wait for him to go, and I should also tell him about you.’

‘I agree. But what will you tell him?’

‘What do you think I should tell him?’ she said, batting the question back to him.

‘Tell him you’ve met someone you’re interested in. I hope that’s true. And tell him we’re going to take things slow. A kind of old-fashioned courtship, if you like. I’d like
to take you and Peter out for dinner, have the two of you over for lunches at the weekend, maybe take walks in the park with the pushchair.’

‘I never imagined I’d find a man who wanted to date me
and
my baby,’ she said, smiling.

‘Are you joking?’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘A wee man that can produce a weapon of mass destruction like that . . . I’m going to want to stay on his good side!’

Gemma sat and stared at the email for a good long while. She had junked it twice, then moved it back to her inbox. She didn’t want anything to do with Louise. But at the same time, she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that Louise was right. There was something very wrong with Toni at the moment.

Gemma had made a resolution to go and visit Toni at least three times a week, and for a few weeks, she had, but Toni was very resistant, and would use any excuse she could think of to stop Gemma from coming. When Gemma did go, they’d sit in Toni’s none-too-clean living room, and they wouldn’t
do
anything. Toni didn’t neglect Harry, but she didn’t seem very interested in him. She’d feed him and change him and hold him, but she didn’t seem to want to play with him, and she definitely wouldn’t go out. No matter how many times Gemma tried to persuade her to go for a walk, or even just pop down the road for a coffee, she wouldn’t. It became such hard work that Gemma had kind of stopped trying. When she rang Toni’s
mobile these days and it went to message, as it invariably did, she felt a guilty relief, and went off with Millie to do something else instead. She told herself that she had tried, and that if Toni didn’t want company, she couldn’t force her.

She clicked on the first of the links Louise had included in her email. It was a list of possible symptoms of postnatal depression. Exhaustion, lack of interest in the baby, taking no pleasure in day-to-day activities, changes in eating habits . . . Toni had shown signs of all of those. She hated to admit it, but Louise was right. And she was also right that the best thing to do was to speak to James. She knew if she tried to talk about it to Toni herself, she’d just turn away and say ‘I’m fine’, in that strange, colourless voice she’d started to use.

Gemma waited till after eight o’clock that night and dialled Toni’s home number. She was taking a chance . . . if Toni herself answered she could always say she was ringing to make an arrangement for the next day. But she was in luck, James picked up the phone.

‘James, hi, it’s Gemma.’

‘Oh, hi, Gem,’ he said warmly. ‘Sorry, Toni’s already gone to bed. Can I take a message for her?’

‘Er . . . I actually rang to talk to you.’

‘You did?’

‘James, I’m worried about Toni. She seems very down.’

‘She is. I know. Well, Harry’s not an easy baby, what with the colic, and she’s still recovering from the Caesarean . . .’

‘I think it might be more than that. Louise . . . Well, you know Toni’s friend, Louise?’

‘The one on the farm? Embarrassing end to a lunch?’