“Mummeee!”
We halt—hands frozen awkwardly in clothing, eyes wide and ears peeled. At least until Lulu’s next sorrowful wail when we become a flurry of motion. “I got popcorn coming out of my n-n-nose!”
It’s a cry that doesn’t announce her appearance but comes from the hallway. Fee almost vaults from my legs, stumbles, then bangs her toe on the edge of the coffee table.
“Ouch! Ouch.” She hops around almost comically. “Holy fluff!”
“Almost.” It was almost heavenly.
“What?” Her brow puckers, and as she swings around to face me, her hair coming loose from her silken ponytail.
“M-m-mummeee!”
“I’m coming, sweetie. My top. Where’s my top?” she whisper-hisses, whipping her bra from the couch before deciding against it as necessary.
“Here.” I hold out her undershirt, and she whips it from my hands, stabbing her arms through the holes.
“Can I help?” I scan the space behind the back of the sectional for my sweater when her derisory laughter brings me up short.
If she has any buttons left on her pyjama shirt, she doesn’t bother to fasten them before she begins to hobble away. And her answer to my offer of help? Words thrown over her shoulder.
“I think you’ve done quite enough.”
11
Fee
I lie awake most of the night, barely daring to breathe, let alone sleep.
After rubbing Lulu’s back while she cried and vomited, cleaning her up, stripping the sheets, and soothing her to sleep, there really wasn’t any point going into the den to see if Carson had waited. It was far too late by then.
So the reason the dirty bed linen is stuffed behind the bathroom door rather than in the washing machine in the laundry room is . . .?
Shut up, brain.
I wasn’t going out there because I shouldn’t have been drinking wine with him in the first place, okay? And that’s why, when he’d knocked softly on the bedroom door to check if we were both okay, I’d tightened my grip on my child and pretended to be asleep.
Sweet girl. The endearment was like a flicked switch, turning the feminist in me to goo. His dark whisper made my insides glow, and I wanted so much to be good for him. Because surely, good little girls get their just rewards.
Especially when they’re sitting on him.
Be strong, I remind myself. You’re a woman. A mother. Not anyone’s good or sweet girl.
“Because kisses aren’t trifles.” Trifles to be frittered away on a man who has no plans of being Lu’s father and my forever.
“Ooh, Mummy. Don’t talk about trifle when my hummy still turts.”
“What?” At least she didn’t pick up on kisses. “Your tummy still hurts?”
“Why are you whipsering?”
“Because . . . it’s early, and maybe Carson is still asleep.”
“Uncle Carson promised to make me pancakes with bluebs this morning.”
“Did he?” Now that is a breakfast I’m not partaking in. Maybe I can persuade her to go to a café for crepes instead, and we can sneak out again. “You shouldn’t eat pancakes. Not after you were so ill. How about—”
“It doesn’t matter ’cause he’s not here.” Lu throws her arms around her chest, her brow pulling down low.
“Not here?” I repeat, pushing up onto my elbows. “How do you know?”
“’Cause his bed is tidy, and he isn’t in it.”
“You shouldn’t be snooping in Uncle Carson’s bedroom.” Who knows who or what you might find when you do? A horror-filled thought suddenly hits me then, but for Lulu’s tummy troubles, it might’ve been me she found in there this morning.
After everything I’ve done to protect her.
After everything I’ve done to normalise her life without a father.
Cradling her chin in my hand to guarantee her attention, I bring my eyes level with hers. “His room is off-limits, Lulu.” And so is he, even if I seemed to be temporarily deaf and blind to those facts last night.
Worse than that, I took the lead.
Oh, God. What have I done?
I rode his lap like a pony at a county fair!
What must he think of me?
That I’m the world’s biggest cock tease.
And that is some cock to tea—nope, not going down that road.
How will I face him after this?
Maybe I’ll need to fake my death?.
I am the worst person in existence, and not just because I flaked on him without a word of explanation. But because I blamed it all on him.
You’ve already done quite enough. When that was all on me.
“Can you let go of my face now?”
“Sorry, sweets. Urgh!” Pulling my pillow from behind, I press it to my face in an attempt to muffle my mortification. I was at fault last night. I took the lead.
“Is your tummy ouchie, too?” Lulu tugs at the edge of the pillow, her sweet face filled with concern.
“As a matter of fact, it is.” Swirly and sickly and cramping with anxiety. But there’s nothing else for it. I’ll just have to pull on a pair of big girl knickers (not the kind that have a demi bra to match) and next time I see him, I’ll apologise.