Not My Daughter (ARC) by Kate Hewitt

Author:Kate Hewitt [Hewitt, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786818218
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

When Anna comes by later, I am resting in bed. I hear her moving downstairs, her delighted coo to Alice. Then I hear Matt’s low voice, the creak of footsteps. When she peeks through my door, I pretend I am sleeping.

Later, I make myself go downstairs and face them all. Anna, Matt. Alice. The scene that greets me as I come into the sitting room is the perfect tableau of happy families, except it’s not my family. Anna and Jack are sitting on the sofa together, Alice lying on her back on Anna’s lap, Anna holding her tiny feet in her hands, as they both coo at her.

They look up as I come into the room, and I swear they both look guilty. For a second I feel dizzy, and I grab onto the door frame.

‘Where’s Matt?’

‘He just went out for some milk.’ Yes, definitely guilty. Anna scoops Alice into her arms, and Jack helps her to stand. ‘Do you want to hold her?’

Do I need her permission? ‘In a minute. I’ll get a coffee first.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Anna says quickly. ‘Here – hold her.’ She thrusts Alice towards me, and I stare at her levelly. What is going on here?

Anna tries to smile, but her lips tremble. Silently I take my daughter, and hold her awkwardly to me. I’m not as adept as Anna, or perhaps even Jack. I turn away from them, pressing Alice against me, and then she starts to cry.

Damn it. I can’t do this. I can never do this. Still, I am determined to try, for my sake, for Alice’s sake, and because Anna and Jack are both watching. I jiggle her, patting her back, whispering soft words. Nothing works. She keeps crying, and before I can keep myself from it, I let out a sob of frustration.

‘Maybe she’s hungry,’ Anna offers. ‘Do you want to give her a bottle?’

I think of my one attempt at feeding my daughter, and shake my head. ‘I think she needs a nappy change. I’ll see to it.’ Still clutching a crying Alice to me, I head upstairs, grateful to be away from an audience.

The nursery is as beautiful as I remember making it, except now it is clearly used. I haven’t been in here since I came home, and now I notice the stack of nappies by the changing table, the hamper of dirty baby gros and sleepsuits, reminders of everything I’ve already missed.

‘Come on then, sweetie.’ My voice sounds manic, a falsetto of fake cheer. I lie Alice down on the changing mat; she is still crying, her face red and furious, her tiny fists clenched. I fumble to unbutton her sleepsuit, my fingers feeling too clumsy for the tiny snaps.

Alice’s cries increase, shriller and shriller, making me feel even clumsier and more anxious.

‘Come on, Alice.’ I can do this. I need to do this.

I take off the nappy, which is completely dry. Anna must have just changed her, and for some reason this infuriates me.

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