let her have a nap in her carrier then. That baby sleeps like a log. She’ll be fine. We’ll only be out for a bit anyway,’ my mum says impatiently. ‘I just want to see if I win anything in the raffle. Mick’s worked really hard on this year’s draw. The top prize is a romantic getaway to Marrakech!’
‘A romantic getaway to Marrakech!? Seriously?’ I balk. ‘I could swear the last time I went to Mick’s fundraiser the top prize was a picnic hamper.’
‘Well, it’s come a long way since then! Mick’s been pulling some strings.’
I raise an eyebrow. Mick, pulling strings? He’s a retired office administrator whose social life revolves around the local bridge club, how many strings can he pull?
‘A trip to Marrakech could be just the thing for you!’ my mum says with a twinkle in her eye.
‘Didn’t you say it was a romantic getaway? Who am I going to take?’
It’s a bit tragic to admit, but I haven’t so much as held hands with another man since things ended with Leroy. I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to be a good mum and keeping my business running smoothly that I haven’t had any time to go on dates. It’s not like I meet anyone now that I’m a homebody. The only men I encounter in my daily life these days are the postman and takeaway delivery men (and unfortunately neither are sexy).
‘You could go with Lauren. I’ll take Hera for a few days. And anyway, you could always make it romantic,’ she suggests with a wink.
I frown. ‘Huh? Mum, are you suggesting that I seduce my best friend?!’
‘No!’ I’m suggesting that you might meet a nice man while you’re there. Have a little holiday romance!’
‘Oh God,’ I grumble. ‘Are you serious, Mum?’
‘What?’ She shrugs exaggeratedly with a cheeky wink. ‘It wouldn’t hurt!’
I stare back at her, deadpan. ‘Somehow, I doubt a dodgy holiday romance in Marrakech would be a great move right now and secondly, I find your concern for my sex life a little disturbing!’
‘I’m not concerned. I’m just saying, a little holiday romance might be fun. It might do you some good,’ my mum says, waving Mr Bear for Hera. Hera ignores her, nodding off instead.
‘Some sun might do me good,’ I point out, when all of a sudden, an image pops into my head of me and Lauren lying on sun loungers sipping cocktails by a big sparkling pool. Going on holiday hasn’t occurred to me once since I had Hera, but it is a surprisingly appealing image.
‘Sun! Is that what they call it these days?’ my mum sniggers.
‘Oh my God, Mum!’ I groan. ‘This conversation is over!’ I tut, picking a sleeping Hera gently up from her highchair and placing her in the carrier, where she continues to snooze.
My mum laughs. ‘Well whatever, let’s just hope one of us wins!’
By the time we get to the village hall, my mum and I have already fallen out over whether the washing up has been done and whose turn it was to do it. The car has stalled three times and Hera has woken up. My mum parks wonkily in a space outside the village hall and as soon as the car comes to a stop, I jump out and open the back door to check Hera.
She reaches for me from her baby seat, wailing loudly.
‘Baby! It’s okay sweetheart,’ I coo, attempting to calm her, while rocking her gently on my shoulder. My mum turns the engine off and gets out of the car.
Hera lets out a few more loud cries.
‘Sweetie, it’s okay, it’s okay!’ I rub and pat her back as I pace back and forth by the side of the car. My mum looks on with concern.
‘Shall I just go home? Maybe this is too much for her?’ I suggest.
‘Give her a minute …’ I can tell my mum’s really desperate to have a night out at the village hall, so I keep patting Hera and making soft cooing noises in her ear.
She lets out a few more loud cries and then, strangely, she quietens down.
‘Oh, thank God for that!’ I breathe a sigh of relief when suddenly, Hera’s body swells and an eruption of green-tinged vomit spurts out of her mouth.
‘Eww!’ I yelp as the vomit lands on my jumpsuit and drips from my shoulder down over my right breast.
‘Oh no!’ My mum opens the car door and reaches into the glove compartment for a pack of baby wipes while I rub Hera’s back, comforting her, while trying not to breathe in the pungent smell of fresh sick.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ I coo as my mum dabs at Hera’s face, wiping the sick away. She chucks the vomit-soaked wipe into a nearby bin and then gets a fresh one and tries to mop up the warm sick that’s dribbling down my jumpsuit.
‘What do you think is wrong with her, Mum? Do you think she’s okay?’ I ask, fretting. My mum may wind me up a bit sometimes, but it’s been a godsend having someone nearby who’s been there and done that when it comes to motherhood.
‘Yeah, she’s fine. She probably just ate too much at lunch. I thought she was gulping down that apple crumble dessert a bit fast,’ my mum comments.
‘What? You gave her apple?’ I gawp.
‘Yes,’ my mum answers hesitantly. ‘Was I … not meant to?’
‘It doesn’t agree with her, Mum, that’s why she’s vomiting,’ I grumble. ‘Poor Hera-pops …’ I rub her back some more.
‘Oh dear, let me have her.’ My mum reaches for Hera.
I hand her over and take a wet wipe. My mum comforts Hera, while I dab at the sick on my boob. I love my baby, but she’s managed to produce the most disgusting slime-like vomit. The more I dab at it, the more it seems to be getting everywhere and before I know it, my entire left boob is soaked and gunky.
‘Oh God,’ I groan.
My mum looks up from Hera and eyes my jumpsuit in shock.
‘It’s everywhere,’ she comments.
‘Pam!’ my mum’s friend, Sandy, calls out, waving over her shoulder as she heads into the hall.
‘Hi Sandy!’ my mum calls back in a strained voice. ‘Oh no, they’re going to get all the raffle tickets, we need to go in,’ she adds under her breath.
‘But Mum, look at me!’
My mum plasters a smile onto her face as she takes in my frazzled, vomit-spattered appearance. ‘You don’t look that bad,’ she insists.
‘You just said it was everywhere. I look awful,’ I sigh.
It’s true, I do. I go over to the
