18th January 1998
My darling Dom,
I can’t sleep, so I thought I might as well do this! Fitz says it works; that it helps people focus on exactly what they want to say without any fluff.
I’m not sure what to do, how to do it, other than I start things by being first. And the first thing I need to say is that I love you. All of you, despite the fact that you’re snoring away in bed after drinking wine I can’t drink and I’m here awake again.
Yep. Sleepless nights, insomnia again. For about another six months.
I bet you’re scratching your head now. I can see you; your face is wrinkled, you’re trying to work out what the hell I’m saying and how the hell you should respond and whether I expect you to reply. Do I really expect you to write back? Well, yes – I’m going to leave this book on the hall table. I’ll stick a big post-it with your name and instructions on the mirror above, so you’ll see it first thing in the morning, when you’re up with the birds and I’m finally asleep. Read Fitz’s card again – it’s just on the inside flap and it explains what this is about. And when you write back, please be honest. Be brutal. No, don’t be brutal, I’m not sure I could take it. I’ll take honest though.
And just because honesty is what this is about. Here it is, the fluff-free version, written down because I’m not sure your poker face is good enough to hide your feelings and I can’t bear to see if I’m right:
I’m pregnant again. Over three months, I reckon. It must have happened during that time I was ill in October, probably didn’t keep the pill down for a few days. I’ve only just found out because, since Maisie, it’s quite normal for me to miss a period. Or two. But not three …
I love you with all the love in my heart but according to Fitz I’m supposed to end anything I write with a reason why, so …
I love you because you’re a brilliant father and I hope that being a father again won’t faze you. And I love you because you iron my jeans, and because you run a bath for me when I’m tired and because I heard you apologise to a snail yesterday when you accidentally stood on it.
Erin x
19th January 1998
Beautiful Erin,
This is just the second of our many un-planned plans. You ARE the most beautiful woman in the world. And you’re mine and I’m yours and we’ll work it out. We will.
Love you mightily,
Dom x
THEN – April 1998
‘Tea with your mother. Alone. Can’t you take the day off?’
Dom laughed.
‘I’m serious. You won’t be there. Your dad won’t be there. The two of you will be huddled by a desk probably both worrying about who’s killed who.’ Erin stopped folding the laundry. ‘What if we have an argument, I mean—’
‘Erin, you’re overthinking it. Stop. Mum’s just asking you and Maisie over for a cup of tea and a slab of Teletubbies cake for Maisie’s birthday. That’s it.’
‘She has a Teletubbies cake?’
‘Not only,’ Dom stood and took his jacket from the back of his chair, ‘has she got one. She made the cake.’
Erin closed her eyes, felt his gentle kiss on her lips. ‘Shit, I’m going to have to go, aren’t I?’ she sighed, knowing that there was no way out.
‘You are, and who knows, you might enjoy yourself.’ He waved a backward wave.
‘I’d rather pull my toenails off with pliers!’ she called after him. ‘I’d rather poke my eyes out with cocktail sticks!’ she yelled louder.
‘Give her a kiss for me!’ he called back and moments after Erin heard the sound of the front door close, she heard the sound of Maisie’s voice. She flicked the kettle on to heat her bottle. ‘I’d rather have surgery with no anaesthetic,’ she said aloud to no one before walking down the hallway and peering around Maisie’s door.
‘Good morning, birthday girl!’
Maisie stood at the edge of the cot, her arms already in the air, and when Erin picked her up, she balanced her on the edge of her growing bump and danced around the room singing ‘Happy Birthday’. She grabbed Maisie’s favourite furry toy, an elephant with one ear and, heading back to the kitchen, she cooed the words ‘Yes! I’d rather have a real elephant stand on my toe, yes, I would!’
Maisie chuckled, and Erin felt a couple of well-placed kicks just above her bladder. In the kitchen, she placed Maisie’s bottle in a jug of boiling water and made a coffee she knew she’d only drink half of.
‘What shall we do today?’ she whispered into her daughter’s tiny ear. ‘Shall we go and eat special cake with Nanny?’ Maisie began to jump in her arms. ‘Okay, okay, I’m outvoted, we’ll go and eat cake with Nanny. Mummy would rather eat raw offal but hey, we’ll go anyway, eh?’
Erin sipped tea from a china cup and placed it back on a matching saucer on the dining table that Dom would have had so many Sunday dinners at when growing up. She found it easy to picture him there; a boy tall for his age, shy, with hair combed to one side, and short trousers. Looking around the room, at the mass of heavy brocade curtains, the wood store cupboard beside the imposing fireplace, she could see the places that he and Lydia might have played hide and seek as children. It was a grand room, in a grand four-storey Victorian villa, nothing like Fitz’s place.
‘It’s really warm for April, don’t you think?’
Erin nodded politely, pushing aside all thoughts of the previous week’s relentless rain and the fact she’d worn a woollen sweater this morning. She fixed her eyes on Maisie who crawled around her feet.
Sophie’s head shook suddenly. ‘Though you must know I didn’t ask you here to talk about the weather.’
Erin remained silent.
‘I owe you an apology,’ Sophie said, her eyes moving from the child to Erin. ‘I was most unfair to you when I met you first … and … for a while afterwards.’
‘“She’s shameless”,’ Erin quoted, as she helped herself to a purple slice of Tinky-Winky’s hand. It was probably a good idea to eat, probably a good idea to stop herself talking.
‘You heard that?’ Her mother-in-law’s cheeks blushed puce. ‘I was out of order and I was wrong. I’m sorry.’
‘Sophie—’
‘No,
