On Wednesday we managed to make it to school reasonably incident free. Finn hit Isla over the head, as usual, but with a stuffed sheep rather than his lightsabre, so the ensuing tears were minimal. This was a relief, as not only was I a complete emotional wreck after Brayden and a postcard in quick succession, but today Nicky and I were hosting twenty ex-Bloomers and their babies. Another ten or so dads and partners were joining us in the afternoon. During the last hour, they would brush up on some baby skills and dad-talk while the mums enjoyed their ‘fun time’. For those with no one to hand the baby over to at this point, each week three volunteers who loved nothing better than cuddling tiny ones came over to ensure every mum had a break.
Today Nicky was going to lead a baby massage class before I facilitated a discussion on routines. I was setting up the mats, towels and other equipment when a car pulled up that was far too noisy to be Nicky’s Tesla.
‘Hello?’ I called, placing the last towel on its mat and walking over to the cabin door – almost always propped open this time of year.
‘Hi.’
One of the mums, Courtney, was hovering in the driveway, her boyfriend, Toby, holding their two-month-old girl, Hazel, in a car seat. I caught a whiff of exhaust fumes as the car skidded away.
‘Hey, Libby,’ Toby said, shifting the car seat from one arm to the other. ‘Mum didn’t have time to drop me off later. I thought I could sort out those broken benches while I’m waiting for the lads’ bit. Give them a fresh coat of paint, if you let me know what colour you want. I’ve brought my tools and stuff.’ He turned around to show a rucksack.
‘You’re asking if I mind you mending my broken benches?’
‘Um. Yes. I know what I’m doing, like.’
‘Toby, I know you know exactly what you’re doing. I’ve seen the table and chairs you made for your mum, remember?’ Seventeen-year-old Courtney and baby Hazel were living with Toby, his mum – also Hazel – and four younger siblings in their three-bedroom terrace on the other side of the village. I’d called in for a visit the week after Hazel was born. The house was absolute carnage, but the garden furniture was beautiful. Toby was studying joinery at college, and loving it.
‘That would be brilliant. How much will I owe you?’
Toby looked horrified. ‘A load of free parenting classes? The meal you brought round for us? Lunch every Wednesday?’
‘I get paid for that, Toby. Just not by you.’
‘Not the point.’ He shook his head, determined.
Courtney, on the other hand, nudged his arm. ‘If Libby wants to pay you, let her,’ she said, scowling. ‘If you’re going to make a go of the business, you have to charge people properly. It’s not like we don’t need the money.’
‘I’m honestly very happy to pay you.’
Toby took his girlfriend’s hand. ‘I’ll take some before and after pics, and you can write me a review. How about that?’
‘It’s a deal.’
I’d also slip a gift voucher for the local supermarket inside a thank-you card, but he didn’t need to know that now.
‘Why don’t you help yourselves to a drink while I finish setting up?’ I checked the time on my phone. ‘The others should be here in about twenty minutes.’
Toby found a spot in the shade for Hazel, then fetched two glasses of juice. He disappeared off to the Bigley hardware shop for some blue paint while Courtney slumped in a garden chair several metres away from her baby, furiously tapping on her phone.
I glanced out the cabin window a few times while waiting for Nicky. It wasn’t unusual for one of our mums to appear more interested in her phone than her baby. But most of them would have at least chosen a seat beside them, or looked over occasionally. When Hazel started squawking, Courtney just sighed and shifted away in her seat.
Again, this wasn’t so unusual. But for the vulnerable mums I worked with, postnatal depression wasn’t that unusual, either, and I was constantly on the alert for any signs that someone might be struggling. Courtney had been on my radar since switching from Bloomers to the postnatal group. She’d been full of enthusiasm when pregnant, thrilled that Toby’s mum had invited her to move in, meaning she could stop living with her own parents, who drank too much. Full of TikTok ideas about life with a new baby, she’d not been interested in hearing about the tougher reality of motherhood. Courtney had also assumed Toby’s mum would be on hand to cook, clean and babysit. Being a working single mum with five kids, Hazel wasn’t about to start treating Courtney and her baby like two more.
So far, it had been Toby who had stepped up. I was very much hoping that, like a few other young mums we’d helped, Courtney simply needed more time to adjust to the huge leap in responsibility. As I watched her bury deeper into the sun-lounger, my hope did droop a little.
‘Hi, Courtney!’ Nicky arrived and scooped up Hazel just as I’d been about to give in and go to her myself. ‘Hey, little lady! What are all these tears for, then?’
When Courtney ignored her, Nicky carried Hazel over.
‘Hazel’s crying, Courtney.’
It took another couple of tries before Nicky patted Courtney on the shoulder, causing her to switch the music off on her phone and pull out an earbud. ‘What?’
Nicky smiled as if she wasn’t resisting the urge to knock Courtney’s phone out of her hand and stomp on it.
‘Your baby needs you.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about it. She’s always crying for no reason.’
‘Okay, so how about we check whether there’s a reason this time?’ Nicky asked, in a voice that left no room for arguments. ‘Can you remember the crying checklist?’
With a vigorous eye-roll, Courtney ticked off on her fingers. ‘She was fed an hour ago. Nappy changed. Not tired. Not ill or too hot or cold…’
‘What’s the last one?’
‘Being a needy pain in the arse?’
Nicky visibly flinched. I could practically see her safeguarding antenna spinning. However, before things deteriorated any further, Courtney got up and took her baby back. ‘Chill out, I’m only messing!’
She started walking up and down the lawn, cooing into her daughter’s ear, and after a few moments Nicky felt reassured enough to join me in the cabin.
‘Worth a quick chat with Hazel?’ she asked, automatically straightening a towel that was out of line by one millimetre, before moving on to scrutinise the rest of the set-up.
‘I’m not sure she’ll be able to understand us just yet.’
Nicky gave me a pointed look.
‘You don’t have to check every bottle. I’ve made sure they’re the baby-safe oils. And yes, if I can’t have a discreet word when she comes to pick them up, I’ll pop over to see Grandma Hazel in the salon. I’m sure she’d notice if there was anything to worry about.’
At that point, the first group of mums appeared, having walked together through the village, and by the time we’d caught up on hellos and how their little ones were doing, the others were arriving thick and fast. To my surprise, Daisy and baby Bolt also turned up.
‘Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?’ I asked, taking a delighted peek at Bolt’s tuft of black hair. ‘You must be exhausted.’
‘Nah.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘I feel better than I did when carrying this lump around inside me twenty-four seven. You told us to make the most of them early days when baby sleeps all the time, so I am.’
I raised my eyebrows at her foster carer, Lisa, who waited until Daisy was distracted showing off Bolt to the other mums before saying, ‘She was up and dressed at seven-thirty, asking if she could come. I think the shock of how it all happened is starting to hit her, and she needs the reassurance of being with the other mums, and you and Nicky. She’s missing Raz, too, of course.’
‘Okay. We’ll make sure she takes it easy, and Nicky will keep a close eye on her.’
‘You’re a pair of angels,’ Lisa breathed, disappearing before I could change my mind.
Bolt was too young for a massage, but he enjoyed a cuddle with his Auntie Libby while Daisy reclined on a beanbag, answering dozens of questions about her dramatic labour.
‘You lucky cow’ was the general consensus by the time we broke for drinks and cake. ‘Less than an hour, no being jabbed with needles or stitches? We’d have loads of babies if it was that easy.’
‘I dunno.’ Daisy grimaced. ‘If Dr Nicky had offered me a shot of painkiller, she could have jabbed it wherever she fudging liked.’
* * *
I went to admire my partially restored benches at lunchtime, while Nicky handed out soup and sandwiches.
‘These are going to be gorgeous, Toby.’
He beamed at me, eyes glowing with pride.
‘I think you might need to paint the rest of the wooden chairs another time. The benches will show them up.’
‘Of course! I saw a couple of holes in your fence, too.’
There were more than a couple. I had even less motivation to maintain the outside of my property than I did the inside, and let’s just say the inside was all shabby and no chic.
‘On one condition.’
He ran a hand through the curly mop of honey-coloured hair on top of his head, before giving the shaved sides a good scratch. ‘It kind of has to be on a Wednesday. I can’t really get here with all my stuff any other day. And I’ve college three days a week.’
‘Wednesday morning is fine. But I’m going to pay you,’ I carried on, before he could protest. ‘No. I mean it. None of the other parents feel the need to provide free labour in return for the sessions. That’s the deal.’
I told him how much I would pay him for two hours’ work, and after spluttering for a few seconds, he made a counteroffer.
‘You know, Courtney’s right. You won’t make much of a living if you don’t value your services.’
He looked sheepish. ‘Mates rates or nothing.’
I made a final offer, and we shook on it. I liked Toby. In contrast to his own father, he was determined to be a good dad. Being an older brother to four siblings probably helped. He’d clearly done his fair share of nappy-changing and bottle-feeding over the years. I only hoped his positive attitude would help Courtney get through her bumpy start. Her lack of engagement with the morning session hadn’t eased my concerns.
‘How’s Courtney doing?’ I asked, while we were out of earshot of everyone.
His face instantly dropped. ‘I dunno. She’s still dead tired. I thought now I was doing the night feeds it would help, but she wakes up anyway because I don’t get up fast enough.’
‘You’re doing all the night feeds?’ And going to college?
‘Yeah. Hazel’s sleeping better, though. It’s only once or twice, now.’
‘What about during the day? How is Courtney coping then?’
‘It’s tough, isn’t it? Every new mum finds it hard, like you told us. Marnie loves being an auntie, she’ll cuddle the baby and change her nappy, give her a bottle when she gets home from school. Mum watches her on Monday mornings, and I’m around at weekends so Courtney can see her friends or go out or whatever.’
‘It sounds like she’s got some fantastic support.’
‘Yeah.’ He sighed, glancing back at where she was sitting with a plate of food, once again scrolling on her phone. ‘I guess so. It doesn’t seem to make any difference, though.’ His voice dropped lower. ‘I know she’s not going to love every second of being a mum. But sometimes I wonder if she likes any of it. If she even likes Hazel.’
I waited for him to pull his eyes off the ground and look at me. ‘You remember when we did the postnatal-depression session?’
A bleak nod.
‘Do you still have the leaflets we gave out?’
‘They’re in the folder.’
‘Have a read, show them to Courtney, see if she thinks any of it might relate to her. It can affect some mums’ ability to bond with their baby, so is worth considering.’
It broke my heart to see this hulking great lad blinking back tears. ‘Thanks, Libby. For everything.’
‘No problem. It’s what I’m here for. Now, let’s get some lunch. You don’t want an empty stomach for Nicky’s discussion on sex and relationships after childbirth.’