is making me feel worse! I wish I’d never told you now.’
‘Aw chick, I’m sorry. Come here.’ Rising, Dympna
dodged the pizza box. ‘I’m just looking out for you.
Whatever you want, I’ll back you all the way.’
I closed my eyes as I succumbed to another hug. My
shoulders dropping, I relaxed in her embrace. She smelt
of peach-scented body spray and happier times. I made
up my mind to protect our friendship.
‘Ugh, you’ve got sauce in your hair,’ she grimaced,
releasing me from her grip. ‘You shouldn’t be eating that
rubbish any more. I’ll make us some scrambled eggs.’
‘Thanks,’ I murmured, my stomach still tied up in
knots.
She gave me a sad smile before walking through the
door. I heard her head thunk against the wood as she
leaned against it on the other side. She needed time to
process things, too. Sitting back on my bed, I opened my
laptop and scrolled through the adoption site. The other
applicants seemed so glam compared to me. Ex-models
and well-educated women with good jobs looking for the
best price for their unborn child. Was I strong enough
to compete? My life had been turned on its head. I had
to try, for the sake of the baby. It deserved the perfect
mother – which certainly wasn’t me.
7
CHAPTER TWO
Sheridan
Celeb Goss Magazine
By Alex Santana
October 2018
INSECURE SHERIDAN’S BABY
ULTIMATUM
Being married to Daniel Watson is every
hot-blooded woman’s dream, and judg-
ing by the couple’s Instagram photos, you’d
be forgiven for thinking his wife, blonde
bombshell Sheridan Sinclair, forty-four, feels
the same. But the celebrity couple’s relation-
ship isn’t as picture-perfect as it seems.
An insider tells Celeb Goss that they are find-
ing things tough: ‘Things came to a head
between Daniel and Sheridan last month.
She’s been feeling insecure about her age,
and it doesn’t help that pretty young women
flock around Daniel everywhere they go.’ It
seems that the New York actress has con-
sidered cosmetic surgery. ‘She’s been having
Botox and lip-fillers since she was thirty, but
8
The Perfect Mother
she stepped things up and told Daniel she
wanted a facelift. Daniel was totally against
it, saying she was beautiful the way she was,
but it has caused a rift.’
But fans need not despair just yet. Last
week the pair gave separate interviews and
reaffirmed their commitment to each other.
Speaking on Good Morning America, Daniel,
thirty-eight, defended the couple’s marriage,
which was put to the test when he spent
eight months filming in his home county of
Oxfordshire, England. ‘Sheridan and I are as
solid as ever, and I hope to take some time
out to spend with my family soon.’
Sheridan has been keeping busy in his
absence. Since the birth of their only son,
Leo, four, her Instagram following has gone
through the roof. Her wholesome family
photos have attracted millions of followers,
nicknamed the ‘Sheridanis’. But rumour has
it that Sheridan longs for a little girl. When
asked if they were going to try for another
baby, Daniel said: ‘It’s not off the cards.’
Sheridan Sinclair first hit television screens
at the tender age of six in the long-running
TV series It Takes All Sorts, and has starred
in many Hollywood blockbusters over the
years. However, inside sources say that since
hitting her forties, offers of work have been
drying up. The same cannot be said for her
9
Caroline Mitchell
husband, who came to acting later in life and
is in high demand. Is it really Sheridan’s age
that is bothering her, or her husband’s flour-
ishing career? Hollywood can’t get enough
of this hunky Brit. If Sheridan wants to tie
him down to family life, it seems she will
have a fight on her hands.
‘Have you read this?’ Sheridan slammed down the maga-
zine on the glossy kitchen counter. ‘Is that what people
think of me now? That I’m some dried-up old prune
trying to keep her claws in her “hunky Brit”?’
Daniel lowered his espresso and picked up the maga-
zine. ‘ Celeb Goss? Really? Why do you read this rubbish?’
‘That woman…’ she said, her features grim. ‘ That
woman has done untold harm to this family. Why aren’t
you stopping her?’
Daniel, returned his gaze to the manuscript he’d been
reading seconds before. He was wearing a designer suit
and tie, his clothes tailor-made for his broad frame. He
was due for an engagement with a producer later that
morning. The fact that he was not meeting Sheridan’s
gaze told her that he was not taking her outburst seriously.
‘What do you want me to do, take a hit out on her?’ He
smiled at the prospect. ‘We’re not the Mafia. It’ll take
time for the legal action to go through.’
‘Can’t they put a gagging order on her or something?
We fired her weeks ago.’
‘And that’s an old quote. A rehash of the story they
printed when she blabbed to the press. Relax. It’ll settle.’
He rose from his chair and smoothed down a loose
strand of Sheridan’s hair. It was still damp from the
shower she’d taken after her morning workout. Her
10
The Perfect Mother
personal trainer had left her feeling energised, ready to
face the day.
Daniel’s touch had an instant calming effect and as
he rested his palm against her cheek, she felt the stress
melt away. She rose on the balls of her feet to kiss him,
grateful to still feel a spark there. She wanted to part her silk dressing gown and take him to bed. But his meeting was an important one, and her hair stylist was due to
arrive soon. She could wait for now. Isabella, the nanny,
was taking Leo to school and Sheridan had scheduled in
a few minutes alone with Daniel before he left.
‘Have you found a baby yet?’ Daniel said, taking half
a step back.
‘Are you sure it’s what you want? It’s not too late to
back out.’
‘You’re a great mother. Leo will love having a sibling.’
Sheridan frowned. He had not answered her question.
‘If the press finds out…’ she traced her finger over his
chest, imagining alternate futures for them both.
‘They won’t. We’ve been stung once. It’ll never happen
again.’ Daniel’s voice was deep and filled with conviction.
‘I have found a potential donor,’ she said, a smile rising to her lips. ‘Her name is Rosalind Foley. She’s from
Ireland. I thought it would be nice, given your mom’s
background.’ Daniel’s mother was Irish an
d had passed
away just last year. ‘If we have a girl, we could name the
baby after her. The press would lap it up.’
‘That’s a lovely thought.’ Daniel sat back down, raised
his cup for another sip.
‘She’s living in Dublin, twenty-four years old. She’s
estranged from her family, so we don’t have them to worry
about. Nobody knows about the baby apart from her.’
‘Sounds promising.’
11
Caroline Mitchell
Sheridan nodded, her smile growing. ‘She doesn’t
drink, smoke or take drugs. A good Irish Catholic girl.
But this is what drew me to her straight away. Look.’
Lifting her mobile phone from the kitchen counter,
Sheridan brought up Roz’s profile. Roz was sitting on a
park bench and smiling, looking slightly embarrassed as
she held her camera aloft. ‘Apologies for the selfie,’ she
said. ‘But nobody else knows I’m doing this, and that’s
how I want it to stay.’
‘She looks nice. Why didn’t she get a termination?’
Daniel asked, his interest aroused. Roz looked appeared
remarkably like Sheridan in the early days. Her blue eyes
seemed to see right through you, but her most striking
feature was her white-blonde hair.
‘She’s a practising Catholic,’ Sheridan continued. ‘They
don’t believe in abortion.’
‘If she were a practising Catholic, she wouldn’t have
got pregnant in the first place,’ Daniel grinned, his dimples enough to melt any woman’s heart. ‘Who’s the father?’
Images of a little girl with blonde hair floated in
Sheridan’s vision. Leo looked just like Daniel. If she had
a daughter to focus on, it would put an end to the ru-
mours for good.
‘There is no father,’ Sheridan said, then raised her
hand before Daniel could come back with another quip.
‘I mean, it was a one-off. A young army man, so he must
be reasonably fit. He doesn’t know about the pregnancy.’
Sheridan paused for breath as nervous excitement took
hold. The palms of her hands felt sweaty and she dried
them as she smoothed down her dressing gown. ‘What
do you think? Will I make contact?’
‘Best you do, before someone beats you to it. Hopefully
it’s a girl.’
12
The Perfect Mother
They had already discussed the issue. A blood test
could determine gender as early as eight weeks into the
pregnancy. It would be easy to get Miracle-Moms to send
the results directly to them.
‘Do you think she’ll go for it?’ Sheridan said. ‘I have
a good feeling about this. She’s young, healthy, clean-
living. Artistic, too.’ She scrolled through some of Roz’s
portraits, which were remarkably lifelike.
‘If you tell her what we’re offering, she’ll bite your
hand off.’
‘She does say she’d like to travel one day.’
‘Well, there you are. If she’s carrying a girl, we can
bring her over, run a few more tests, check her back-
ground. How many weeks is she gone?’
‘Eight,’ Sheridan replied. ‘Which means I could be a
mom in just over six months’ time.’
Daniel had insisted from the start that she pass the
baby off as her own. When you had as much money as
they did, it could be arranged in the blink of an eye.
Would Roz be happy with such an agreement? It had
cost them over $10,000 to register as prospective parents
with the adoption website, but it had been worth it to
preserve their anonymity, and it had excellent security
measures in place. According to the site, their names
were Julie and Glenn. Their real details would be re-
vealed much further down the line, when non-disclosure
agreements had been signed. Sheridan had made a huge
mistake in trusting her former maid, Rachel. It would
never happen again. Women would be queuing round
the block to have Daniel’s baby if their true identities
were revealed. That was why she could not use a sur-
rogate. She couldn’t bear for another woman to carry
his child.
13
Caroline Mitchell
‘Let’s do it,’ she said, beaming at the thought. ‘I’ll put
something together now.’
But as Sheridan turned away, her smile faded, and
a tightness grew in her chest. There was much more to
all this beneath the surface, but neither of them had said
the words aloud. She thought of Roz, a country girl who
came across as young and naive. Was she gullible enough
to fall for the story that Sheridan was about to spin?
14
CHAPTER THREE
Roz
‘Yous aren’t gonna throw up on me now, are you, girls?’
As I opened the back door of the taxi, I flashed the
driver a reassuring smile. ‘I’ve not been drinking.’ I fol-
lowed his gaze to Dympna, whose breath carried the
tang of alcopops mingled with cheese and onion crisps.
I could have ordered an Uber, no questions asked. But
I had my baby to think of and I felt safer in the back of
a licensed cab.
‘Hop in,’ the driver sighed, after I gave him my address.
‘But there’s an €80 fine if you puke on the back seats.’
‘Best we vom on the floor then,’ Dympna giggled,
her words mercifully muted by Johnny Cash on the car
radio, singing a tune about a ring of fire.
I slid into the back seat, pushing a giggling Dympna
ahead of me before the driver could change his mind.
My tights were laddered where I’d caught them with my
nail, and my hair was frizzy from the rain. We looked a
right pair. Dympna snorted as she tried to find a home
for her seat belt, mumbling something about putting it
in the wrong hole.
‘Shh,’ I warned. ‘My head’s banging.’ The beat of
the nightclub speakers still drummed in my ears; the
smell of sweat lingered on my skin from my moves on
15
Caroline Mitchell
the dancefloor. It was just a headache, though, not the
after-effects of alcohol. Our nights out weren’t the same
now I was the sober one, and I was beginning to feel like
Dympna’s mother. Still, it was sweet of her to make time
for me, now she was all loved up. I kept one eye on the
cab fare, aghast to discover what little money I had left
in my Hello Kitty purse.
‘Sorry, can you drop us off around here?’ I leaned for-
ward to ask the taxi driver. ‘I’ve only got five euros left.’
But he was nicer than I gave him credit for, and
he took us right to the door. People in Dublin were
like that. Some wouldn’t give you the time of day, but
there were still decent souls around who looked after
their own.
I helped my friend up the narrow stairway to our
tiny two-bedroom flat. ‘Uhhh … make the room stop
spinning, will you?’ Cushions tumbled to the floor as
Dympna sprawled herself dramatically across the sofa.
> ‘This is all your fault.’
‘My fault?’ I queried, pouring a glass of water from
the kitchen tap and kicking off my shoes. ‘How do you
work that one out?’
Our flat comprised of an open living room-cum-kitchen
diner, two cramped bedrooms and a bathroom with a leaky
shower in which you could not swing a cat.
‘I was drinking for two!’ Dympna giggled. ‘One for
me and one for you.’
‘Here,’ I thrust the water into her hand.
‘I don’t want water, I want curried chips. Be a love
and pop next door…’
‘I will in my backside! I just spent my last five euros
on the cab. Now drink. Then off to bed.’ Morning sick-
ness had not hit me too hard, but my sense of smell had
16
The Perfect Mother
taken on superhero proportions. The thought of walking
into the greasy caff downstairs made my stomach churn.
‘Where’s my phone?’ Dympna slurped her water. ‘I
wanna ring Shheamus and tell him how much I luurve
him.’
I rolled my eyes. Seamus would hardly appreciate such
slurred declarations of love. Normally on our nights out
I would be equally hammered and collapse in a giggling
heap on the floor. Being the sensible one was no fun at
all. I undid my earrings and hair clips, dropping them into an unused ornamental ash tray so they wouldn’t get lost.
After finally getting my flatmate to bed, I went to
the loo for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
Already, the baby was making itself known as pregnancy
hormones sent my kidneys into overdrive. A fresh pang of
fear struck as I washed my hands in the sink. There was
no backing out now. In a few months my stomach would
be huge, my pregnancy plain for all to see. The father
would guess the baby was his. What sort of life would the
poor mite have, being born into such drama? At school,
I felt the stigma of coming from what the nuns called a
‘broken home’. Single-parent families were accepted now,
but I could have done with someone pointing that out
to the bold Sister Agatha in the convent school where I
spent my teens. I shuddered as the tap water turned cold.
The boiler was playing up again.
* * *
After warming some milk in the microwave, I took a
seat at the wobbly piece of furniture we optimistically
referred to as a kitchen table. Beneath one of the legs was a folded-up beer mat - Dympna’s idea of DIY. Opening
The Perfect Mother (ARC) Page 2
