Page 33 of The Three of Us
‘I called her, gave her a bit of warning,’ he says. ‘So, she’s either frantically hiding all the piles of dirty washing or she’s upstairs getting changed.’
‘I heard that!’ Rosie comes down the stairs, unusually without a baby in her arms, and greets me with a hug. ‘They’re both in their cots, just while I’m getting sorted, but it’s a bit early to expect them to go to sleep. Still, you’ll want to see them properly before we go out, won’t you? If you want to have a go at nappy practice or whatever.’
‘It’s the whatever that bothers me. You do realise that I have never looked after a baby before, don’t you? Let alone two at once.’
‘You sure you want to do it?’
I see the flash of disappointment cross her face.
‘Well, I’m not going to let you down now, am I? Not when you’ve already got your glad rags on.’
Rosie looks down at her sick-stained top and baggy jogging bottoms and we both laugh. ‘I will be getting changed, honestly. Now that you’re actually here and I know Syd wasn’t just getting my hopes up.’
‘As if I’d do that to you.’ Syd plonks himself down on the sofa and checks his phone before switching it off. ‘Right. I am officially not working tonight. No calls, no messages, no appointments. Rosie, my love, I am all yours.’
I settle myself down and open my battered old childhood copy of Mary Poppins while my friends disappear up to their bedroom to get ready for their date. Something about this evening has put me in the mood for a bit of magic, with beautifully behaved children and everything going like clockwork, spoonfuls of sugar and all. I know that, later, when the twins are downstairs, I’m unlikely to get much time to myself. Hot drinks could be risky, and is it even possible to eat pizza with two crying babies balanced on your lap? Oh, well, there’s only one way to find out. And, really, what’s the worst that can happen? A wonky nappy or a bit of spilt milk never killed anyone, and we can’t all be the perfect Mary Poppins, can we? If I have to get by without a cup of tea, or go home hungry, so what? It’s just one evening, and I had nothing else planned. In a funny kind of a way, I’m looking forward to it.
As it turns out, I quite enjoy myself. I watch as Rosie does both nappies just before they leave, and unless some awful pooey accident occurs she assures me they shouldn’t need another change until morning. I am given two bottles of milk, colour-coded and already warmed, a cloth to sling over my shoulder, and vague instructions about when to take them up to bed, which I take to mean it could be at any time, whenever their little eyes close, and basically just to play it by ear. She lies them down on the sofa, one each side of me, and promises me they won’t roll off so long as I keep an eye, or a hand, on them, and then she and Syd go out and I’m on my own. Well, not quite!
Jamie is a sweetheart, all smiley face and squishy little grabbing fingers. I lift him into my lap and he’s got his fist looped into my necklace within minutes. The only way to get it away from him and stop myself from being strangled seems to be to take it off and drop it into my bag. He takes his milk easily and slowly slips into sleep, so I carry him across the room and lie him down in one of the Moses baskets, happy to have both arms free now to turn my attentions to his sister.
Becca proves to be more of a challenge. I get back to the sofa just as she’s attempting a kamikaze roll towards the edge. I lift her into position in my arms and try to get comfortable before round two begins. Her eyes follow my every move and there’s a strange puzzled expression on her face as if she’s trying to figure out who I am. Every time I try to slip the teat into her mouth, she turns her head away and flatly refuses to suck. Maybe she’s testing me, maybe she’s showing me who’s the boss around here, or maybe she’s just not hungry.
Reading my book is a definite no-go so I reach for the remote control and switch the TV on. I think perhaps a bit of background noise might just help to settle her, but she’s having none of it. She’s a born wriggler, this one. It takes one episode of Emmerdale and an hour of Corrie before she finally gives in and drinks her milk, falling asleep mid-suck.
It makes sense to bypass the basket and take her straight up, so I walk very carefully up the stairs with her in the crook of one arm, holding on tight to the banisters in case I trip and drop her. Once she’s in her cot, tummy upwards as instructed, I dim the light and go back for Jamie.
It seems strangely quiet when I’m back in the living room by myself. It scares me to have the TV on too loud and maybe not hear the babies if they cry. There is a monitor but I’ve never been one to fully trust in technology. So, I switch the TV off, pick my pizza from the menu Syd has left me (along with a twenty-pound note that he refused to take back), phone in my order, pour myself a large glass of cider and open my book.
Is it odd that a thirty-one-year-old woman has never spent any time alone with a baby? I suppose having just a younger brother, and no cousins within a hundred-mile radius, and my small group of close friends still being mostly single, I just haven’t come across a lot of mother-baby situations. Rosie has kind of opened up the way, been a pioneer, when it comes to kids. And, with two at once, she’s certainly done it in style. I know I’ve done a lot of mocking in the last four months, joking about her being up to her eyes in sick, feeling sorry for her and all she’s had to give up, dreading the day it happens to me, but I’m beginning to think I was wrong. What Rosie has is good. A loving husband, a proper home, and two little people who are totally dependent on her. There’s a lot of love in this house.
Syd insists on driving me home. ‘Can’t have you waiting for buses at this time of night,’ he says. It’s only just after half past ten, but I can’t pretend I would relish hanging about in the dark, so I say yes. ‘And I haven’t had a drink,’ he adds, as if I might be worrying, which I wasn’t. ‘More than my job’s worth.’
‘So, how was it, really?’ he asks, when we are driving and Rosie’s no longer around to hear. ‘I know Rosie won’t admit it but she does worry a bit, whenever she has to leave them. Even with someone like you, that she trusts.’
‘Does she? That’s good to hear. I know I’m new to all this, but it was okay. Becca was a bit of a handful, fighting to stay awake, but absolutely no problems with Jamie. If you don’t count trying to steal my jewellery!’
‘Ah, there you are, see? You females are always the difficult ones. Obstinate, demanding, hard to please… We men are much more easy-going. And always looking for ways to pocket a few quid, of course.’
‘Just a cheap chain, I’m afraid.’
‘Never mind. He was just attracted by the sparkle, I expect. No idea of value yet. He’ll learn!’
I laugh. ‘You old cynic, you.’
‘So, how’s life, Carly? No bloke on the scene? No possibility of tiny feet pattering your way anytime soon?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘You’re not still pining over old Jacky Boy, are you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ I watch his face, in profile, as the street lights throw a half-light into the darkened car, expecting him to turn towards me, but he keeps looking straight ahead at the road. ‘And I have never pined in all my life!’
‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. He’s not for you, Carly, you do know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ I can’t help remembering how close we had come to kissing and I’m glad of the darkness that hides what I know only too well will be showing in my face. ‘But…’
‘But what? Come on, you can tell me. I’ve said this before, but if you need anyone to talk to, you can trust me. It goes no further. I’m a safe pair of hands. Or ears, or whatever.’