Never Leaves Me by C J Morrow

Author:C J Morrow [Morrow, C J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tamarillas Press
Published: 2017-12-02T05:00:00+00:00

Twelve

It would be ironic if, after all my sadness about Robin not being able to father children, I end up barren too.

Mum’s face when I asked her if I was okay spoke volumes, even if her words said the opposite. Why has nobody told me? Dad told me straight about my injuries when I first came round. Maybe he couldn’t bear to talk about it, or maybe he was too embarrassed. Or maybe he thought it was pointless to mention it, they already know that I will never make them grandparents. But surely the staff would have told me. Am I just being silly? Fearful for no reason?

I remember when I told Mum about Robin’s sterility. Or rather, when she guessed.

She’d bumped into an old work colleague who was out with her daughter and new born grandson.

‘You should have seen him, tiny. Tiny. Prem, apparently. But so cute.’

‘That’s nice.’ I said it with a smile on my face and hoped the conversation would end there. ‘Do you want me to help with tea?’

‘No, that’s fine. It’s in the oven. Fish pie. He only weighed three pounds.’ She wasn’t going to be distracted. ‘Can you imagine that? But he’s a healthy six now. Still looks tiny. Head like this.’ She formed her hands into a little ball to show how small his head was.

‘Shall I lay the table?’

‘Yes. Thanks. Her daughter, Zara, I think her name is, said if we hadn’t been in the middle of Asda I could have held him. Ah, I’d have loved that.’ Mum’s face went all gooey.

I didn’t respond as I rattled around in the cutlery drawer for knives and forks.

‘His name is Bryn. His dad is Welsh. He wanted a proper Welsh name for his son.’

I turned away from her and concentrated on the precise placing of the mats on the table. I wished she would shut up.

‘There’s not a hair on his head. Not one. He’s bald. The baby, I mean. Like a cute little egg. He yawned when I was looking at him. So sweet. And his little hands were creeping out of the covers. Tiny little nails. Reminds me of you. And Madeleine.’ Her voice was soft and, I suspected, she was beaming, but I couldn’t look at her.

Shut up.

‘Is Mads upstairs?’ I’d finished laying the table and wanted to escape.

‘Yes. In her room. Probably on that phone. Not sure that was such a clever idea.’ Mum tutted but I was glad she was off the baby monologue.

Mads had been denied a mobile phone despite declaring that it wasn’t fair, all her friends had one and she was a bit of a freak because she didn’t. Dad was against it; he’d seen the effects of mobiles on teenagers, the cyber-bullying, the other horrors, but Mum had relented. She’d persuaded him it might be safer now that Mads went to school on the bus on her own. Mads became the proud owner of new mobile given to her on her twelfth birthday. I

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