One of the things that astonished Saz about becoming a mother was how incredibly long everything now took. She’d heard other parents moan before, how every journey was a mission, and she’d thought they had to be wrong. How hard could it be? You had a bag and your baby and that was it. Saz wasn’t sure why she’d imagined she might suddenly become perfectly organised simply by virtue of getting an egg to agree to the attentions of a passing sperm – she’d certainly never been that together before – but she had figured it couldn’t possibly be so hard. And then Matilda came and Saz understood. Not the reasons why, she still didn’t know why it was that every time she tried to get out of the house with her daughter something seemed to go wrong or get in her way, but she knew for sure that she’d become one of those parents. The one with everything sitting on the back doorstep and ready to load into the pushchair. Everything except the baby. She hadn’t yet left Matilda in a shop, but she no longer thought it was too far-fetched a possibility.
This morning though, was different. This morning Molly was starting back at work fulltime, and in the space it took her partner to wash, dress, drink two cups of coffee and eat three thickly buttered slices of burnt-to-black toast, Saz had fed, washed and dressed Matilda, showered and dressed herself by the time Molly had her own things ready.
And all the while the morning routine was undercut with the combined tensions of Molly’s first fulltime day and their unresolved conversation of the night before, with an extra determination for Saz that she get out the door before any unwanted visitors came knocking again. Though she did admit to a growing interest as to why he’d come. Interest and fear – two of her more usual emotions. Molly didn’t need to repeat her view, Saz knew well enough exactly what her partner thought about her becoming involved with any of Claire’s work.
“I’ll see you tonight?”
“Yep.”
“No, it’s just … well, you know.”
“Molly, I’ll see you when you get home. We’ll both be here, safe and sound.”
Molly sighed, not wanting to get into it again, not wanting to leave it unfinished. She chose to be nice, make nice. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Understanding how I feel.”
Saz’s tone was crisp, she wanted Molly to go. “It’s fine. Done. Good luck.”
“What for?”
“The beginning of a week’s work fulltime? Being a big girl?”
“Oh right, that.”
Then Molly was gone and Saz stared around her, at the messy kitchen and her ready and waiting daughter, slowly relaxed her shoulders, let out her held breath, realised she had made her choice without even noticing it. She reached for the phone.
The phone rang in New York, Saz left a message on Claire’s machine. Five minutes later a barely awake Claire called back. Another ten minutes and the phone rang in Carrie’s flat, the one she’d been sub-letting from Saz for years now. Saz left a message. Within half an hour an emailed attachment of several pages had arrived. Saz printed out photos and addresses. The phone rang again and now Carrie was talking, croaky sleep voice edged with wakening interest. Saz explained her story and just over an hour later Carrie was standing in Saz’s kitchen, a half-eaten Mars bar in her hand and a wicked grin on her face.
“Just one thing, Carrie, I don’t want Molly to know you’re here today.”
Carrie finished the last mouthful of the caramel topping and threw the mangled nougat half into the bin. “Why not?”
“I just don’t, OK?” Seeing the resentment on her ex’s face, she added, “It’s nothing to do with you, it’s just … you know … ”
Saz could feel the smirk even though her back was turned and she was pulling on her jacket.
“Of course I won’t let Molly know I was here instead of you. You know how much I love it when you lie to her.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Sure it’s not, but you do have a story just in case? To explain why I looked after your daughter all day?”
Saz grabbed her car keys and bag. “I thought maybe I just wouldn’t bother.”
“I see. Sin of omission rather than commission?”
“No idea, sweetie, we lapsed Protestants don’t care so much about the definitions.” Saz was playing along, much preferring to bat the idea back than acknowledge the complicity. “You’re sure you know what to do with Matilda?”
“Feed her, play with her, put her to sleep, change her if necessary, feed her some more, watch telly. Maybe in that order. How hard can it be?”
Saz looked at her daughter’s face, the slight yawn and simultaneous frown indicating a looming tetchiness. “Good question. You can let me know later. And don’t answer the phone. Molly will call my mobile if she thinks we’re out.”
“What if she comes home unexpectedly?”
“She won’t.”
“She might.”
“No, she won’t. Doctor Steel has precious little lives to save. Very important job.”
“Well I have daytime telly to watch, so piss off.”
“Good luck.”
“You too.”
Saz heard the first of Matilda’s wails as she reached the footpath. Part of her felt guilty and wanted to run back. Part of her knew her daughter had had a disturbed night and that Matilda tired was simply Matilda tired, no matter who was holding her. And part of her was happy to be walking out of the flat. She got into the car and drove away.