by Lisa Swallow
“This is what you make me, Sky Morgan.” I lean across and kiss the spot between her eyes. “Happy, contented, loved.” I place a hand on the bump between us. “And a dad.”
She touches my cheek and smiles. “I love you so much. Seeing the light in your eyes when you play your music, or talk about the baby, is infectious. You’re an incredible man, Dylan, and I’m lucky to be the person who shares this life with you.”
“I guess you are. Tying down Dylan Morgan.” She rolls her eyes at me. “And all the crap it brings,” I mutter.
Sky sits around and pushes hair from her face. “What’s happened? Have you spoken to Tina recently?”
I have no choice; I can’t go down the same route again. “Yes. Earlier today. Was about to talk to you after I played you these.”
Sky slumps back. “What did Lily send this time?”
“I don’t know. I won’t let them open the packages. They’re returned to sender.”
Lily. The first few months after we announced the pregnancy, we didn’t hear from her. But in recent weeks, letters arrive at the PR offices again, accompanied by gifts, for the baby and Sky.
“Is she still sending pictures of the kid?”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t know. Lily seriously needs help. She’s unhinged. Pretending her best friend’s kid is her own.” Discovering this didn’t take long; within a week private investigations found the truth.
“Yes, a kid she never demanded maintenance for and refuses DNA tests. Even the press know it’s bullshit.”
“Ah well, Lily can send what the hell she wants as long as she keeps away.” I straighten as Sky’s mouth turns down. “She is keeping away from you, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but last time I didn’t respond to her letters she came looking for me, didn’t she?”
“But she hasn’t?”
“No, but I won’t be able to run away fast enough if she does.” Sky gestures at herself. “A speedy waddle is all I’ll manage.”
The humorous words don’t work, and my thoughts darken. “Don’t make light of this.”
“I’m not. What do you expect me to do? Not go anywhere? Then she’s won.”
Sky travels to Tara’s, of course. Other times when we’re in London, she spends time with Cerys because she’s closer. Ruby and Jem spend most of their time in the country, but they occasionally head to London for Ruby Riot business. Jem’s passing the management mantle on now but is closely involved still. I’m not involved with them, and I haven’t seen them since the European tour. Ruby Riot are on hiatus too, due to Ruby’s baby, but are focusing on an album release. I expect to see them exploding across the world soon. Talented kids.
“No, but….”
“But what? I’m safe.”
“You should let me employ a bodyguard.”
“Don’t be so over the top!”
“I’m worried, Sky. What if she totally loses her shit. Like, complete psycho. You hear things about this happening to stars. Hell, you must’ve seen court cases.” I pause. “I had this dream the other night that she attacked you and stole our baby and—”
“That’s ridiculous, Dylan. She’d need to get the baby out of me first.” Her eyes widen at my worried expression. “Are you seriously thinking she’s insane enough to steal an unborn baby?”
“No.” Yes. “I mean after the baby’s born.”
“Wow, I thought I was supposed to be the pregnant woman with crazy thoughts.”
“Yeah.” I play my fingers along her smooth legs, grasping common sense. I know my overprotectiveness can annoy Sky, but sometimes nightmares take a long time to fade.
Sky sighs. “We’ve visited the hospital and the place is more secure than any other. The hospital all the famous babies hang out.” She pokes me. “Royalty. We’ve seen where I’ll have the baby, met everybody who’ll be involved. Nobody will steal our baby, Dylan.”
“I know. I’m just cautious.”
“Cautious? Maybe armed security by my bed? Round the clock surveillance of the baby?”
“Don’t tease me.” I pout.
Sky strokes my arm. “Everything will be fine.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t go away again next month.”
“No, Dylan. You need to. This is your last chance to finish things. Any later and you’ll be up to your elbows in nappies.” Dylan pulls a face. “I’ll have four weeks to go, and if this baby is like either of us, she’ll be stubborn and late. Most first time mums are.”
“Yeah, but—”
“France, Dylan. If I did go into labour, you’d be back in hours, and I doubt this will be quick. I’ll get checked out before you leave and see what the midwife thinks. If she thinks there’s any chance baby could be early, then I’ll make you stay. Otherwise, go. This is important to you.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You know, you can be too supportive and understanding sometimes.”
“I know. I’m just amazing,” she says, tongue in cheek.
“But you can be stubborn and impossible to say no to, a lot.”
“I know that too.”
Standing, I pull Sky to her feet. “I just want everything to be perfect and you both to be safe.”
“Nothing’s ever perfect, Dylan, but we’ll sure as hell try to get as close as possible.”
25
SKY
As promised, Dylan and I headed to the hospital for a check up on the pregnancy progress. We’re told the baby hasn’t settled into any position to suggest she’s arriving soon, but there’s always a possibility. Cue another half hour of Dylan deliberations whether to travel. His commitment to the pregnancy, from the start, is one hundreds of women would crave, and I love him for it, but two days isn’t long and France isn’t far.
A small niggle I don’t want him to go edged in last night, but he left me with a kiss and with a promise he’ll fly straight back if anything happens. He even bent down and told his daughter to stay where she is before he climbed into the taxi. This man…
I don’t entertain Dylan’s crazy stories. She unnerves me, but I don’t worry about Lily to the extent he does. She’s too public with her actions now. I call SMC to ask about the mail from Lily Dylan mentioned and am told Dylan’s in charge. I call Dylan and inform him he’s not in charge. Dylan retorts in this situation he is. I assure him the conversation isn’t over, and we’ll discuss this when he arrives back from France. Then I take a trip to Tara’s for a couple of days to lose myself in a tiny piece of normal.
We head out to the shopping centre. A weekend in early December, and the crowds are thick enough to lose myself in as a pregnant woman Christmas shopping, and not Sky Morgan. The silver and blue lights join the Christmas music in creating an ambience that hurts my head as much as my back does after an hour standing in a department store while Tara coos over designer babywear. She’s already bought the baby a whole wardrobe and behaves more like she’ll be an aunt. In a way, she will be, as she’s my sister in many ways.
“This one?” She holds up a tiny pink dress I swear would fit my daughter for ten minutes before she grew.
“Um.”
“Omigod! Look! How cute is this?” Tara holds up a furry, white all-in-one, complete with cat ears and lets out a quiet squeal. “This so makes me want a baby!”
I can’t help my eyebrows shooting up. “Seriously, Tara? And what does Tom think about the idea?”
“Oh, I won’t.” She waves a dismissive hand. “But you didn’t plan so who knows?”
“We did plan this baby,” I reply.
“But not the fir—” Tara places a hand over her mouth as my heartache grips, as suddenly as always. “Sorry.”
I can’t say “that’s okay” because it’s not. Because two weeks ago I lay on the bed crying, holding the toy Dylan bought for our baby, on the anniversary of the day we lost her. That day was tough; as tough as the due date, and hit me like a truck. I tried hard not to pay attention to the date, but as it drew nearer, I knew how hard the day would be.
Dyl
an didn’t mention anything, until he found me sobbing. He’d attempted to stay strong for me, and as he held me, he let some of his grief go too. Our daughter shifted inside me, kicking a reminder she’s almost here, but however hard I tried, I couldn’t forget the day I lost her sister.
Dylan drove us from the house, away from the world and into the secluded hills above a nearby town. We sat together on a bench overlooking the houses, wrapped up against the winter and in each other. For a long time, we hardly spoke, his warm hand encompassing my gloved one, the arm around me stroking my neck with his thumb a bigger comfort than any words.
“I’m sorry, Sky. I didn’t mean to sound heartless.” Tara interrupts my thoughts, and I take the furry suit from her hands.
“Dylan will love this.” I give a weak smile.
Tara laughs. “Dylan? You mean he’s already trying to dictate his daughter’s fashion choices?”
“Weird, huh? I mean, look at him.” I point at a dad-to-be whose fake interest in his partner’s excitement over clothes is laughably unconvincing. “That’s what I expected.”
“Who’d’ve thought Dylan would be such a hands-on dad.”
“Hah. We’ll see what happens once the nappies appear.” I link my arm through Tara’s. “Might want to warn Tom if you’re planning on having his baby.”
“I was kidding.” She rests her head on mine. “Coffee break?”
“Definitely, my back’s killing me. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. I don’t get as tired anymore.” She tugs my hand. “My shopping addiction is fully functional again.”
March sees two years since Tara’s accident, and each time I see her, she’s improved further. Her energy levels are higher and walking is normal, but Tara still tires easily despite what she tells me. I hug her that bit tighter each time we meet, remembering her lying in the hospital bed.
We weave through the crowds to the busy food court where I use my “eating for two” excuse to order cake.
“Tom wants to move to London,” says Tara as we take a table in the middle of the crowds. One or two people glance at me, but nobody approaches.
“Moving there would be awesome! We’d be closer some of the time.”
“Hmm.” Tara blows on her hot coffee.
“You don’t want to?”
“Not sure. I don’t like change. I’m not as confident after the accident. I like being in my own place and I’m not big on crowds.”
“Sounds like you have some decisions to make,” I say and squeeze her hand.
“And I’ll cross the bridge when I come to it. Tom might change his mind.” Tara frowns at me shifting around on the chair in an attempt to find a comfortable position. “You okay?”
“These seats are hard,” I grumble. “And I’m fed up with madam kicking my bladder all day.”
“Nearly there, then you’ll have the joy of sleepless nights.”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I whisper. “I wish she’d come early. It’ll kill me if she’s late.”
“Yes, you’re pretty big.”
“Charming!” I pout.
“Any news for me about names?” Tara straightens expectantly.
“Nope.” I tighten my mouth. “Stalemate. We have a few lined up, and I think when we see her, one will fit. Does that make sense?”
“I guess. So, names like…?” She looks at me over her coffee cup.
“Not telling.” Tara scowls. “Sorry.” The baby kicks as if she knows we’re talking about her, and I grimace.
“Pain? You’ve been pulling faces a lot today, Sky.”
“No more than usual.” Well, a few more than usual, but nothing I’d panic about. Not a word to Dylan though, who has the hospital on speed dial and moved us back into the London apartment. Not to mention the constant texts and calls since he arrived in France. “Nothing close to regular contractions. Don’t fuss. You’re as bad as Dylan.”
“When’s Dylan back?”
“Monday. He won’t stay away longer than a couple of days.”
Tara sighs and places her hand across her heart. “I think I swoon over him more now than when I fantasised about the bad boy Dylan.”
“Tara!” I smack the back of her hand. “It’s not appropriate to tell your best friend you fantasised about her husband.”
“Pfft. He’s a person to me now. Before he was some hot guy with his shirt off a lot. Now he’s… Dylan.”
I can’t help but laugh at the situation. “Objectifying my husband!”
If anybody else had said these things to me, I’d be pissed off, but this is Tara, telling things how they are. I had my own fantasies about actors when growing up; I suppose if by any miracle Tara had met and married one of them, I’d tell her the same.
I live in a weird world.
I stay overnight at Tara’s but don’t sleep well; I swear my daughter spent the night practicing gymnastics. Dylan called too. He told me he’d try to finish up early and be home sooner. I’m partly relieved because, despite my refusal to admit this to him, I’m worried about the pains and that he won’t be here for the birth.
Driving becomes more awkward as my belly grows, and concentration takes up all my energy. By the time I return to the London apartment, I’m exhausted and starving. Baby stopped her gymnastic performance, but my aching back won’t ease. The first time I had them I panicked, but my midwife checked me over and explained what they were. The Braxton Hicks cramping stepped up recently, and I resolve to call the midwife again when I’m home, just in case. There’s no pattern to them yet, just a painful reminder what I’ll face in a few weeks.
Right now, I need food and sleep. I open the door to the apartment. The lights are on in the hallway, and a spicy smell drifts from the kitchen. My stomach grumbles, and I smile to myself. I knew Dylan wouldn’t be able to stay away.
I drop my small bag on the low table by the front door and rush towards the kitchen to greet him. I spent last night in a cold bed dreaming his arms were wrapped around me, and right now that’s what I need.
“I didn’t think you’d be home this early,” I say as I step into the kitchen. “You should’ve called.”
Omifreakinggod.
In a scene straight out of Fatal Attraction, Lily stands in the kitchen stirring something in a large saucepan. I half expect her to pull out a rabbit. The tall girl looks around when she hears me and my hiked pulse rate calms slightly when her face is open and friendly.
“Hey, Sky.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask and steady myself on the door as frozen panic interferes with my instinct to run.
“Making dinner. Somebody needs to look after you when Dylan goes away. He really shouldn’t, not just before the baby is due.”
“Please leave, you shouldn’t be in here,” I say softly. How the hell did she break into the apartment?
“Wow, look at you.” She points at my belly with a wooden spoon covered in a dark sauce. “You look huge!”
“Lily—”
“I didn’t realise how long it’s been since I saw you. Time flies, hey? Did you get my gifts? I wasn’t sure because you never replied,” she burbles, waving the spoon around.
I tense as she approaches, but Lily sweeps past me and into the next room. Leave. Call somebody. Police? Shit. Before I can pull myself together, she returns with a blue and red gift bag.
“I thought if I brought the gift myself this time, I’d know you received it.” She thrusts the bag at me, and I numbly take it. “Go on, take a look.”
With shaking hands, I open the bag and look inside. Clothes. Lily takes the bag and pulls out the tiny dress. “Won’t she look gorgeous in this?”
“She?”
“You are having a girl, aren’t you?”
“I think you should leave,” I say, dragging myself together. “You shouldn’t be here. Dylan would—”
“Dylan’s in France, isn’t he? That’s why I’m here. I want to look after you.”
I search her face fo
r any sign of malice, but there’s none. A warm happiness surrounds her, as if she really believes she should—and can—be here.
“How did you get into my apartment?”
“With my key, silly. The one you gave me.”
I rub my head as the surreality grows. I misplaced a key once and told security, but somebody finding it never crossed my mind. Nothing was attached to the key to identify me and the building’s security is tight.
“I’m tired, Lily. It’s very nice of you to drop by, but I’d rather be on my own.” I force a smile, mind cycling through my options. Police. I need to call the police.
“Oh, and Jem called,” she continues, oblivious to the real world.
“Jem?”
She giggles. “I know. He was surprised to hear my voice too. He thought I was you.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much. Asked me to pass a message on.”
“Oh?”
“He’s in London and has something to drop off for Dylan, said he wanted to call round some time. I told him tonight wasn’t convenient because Dylan’s away, and you’re spending time with me. So he said he’d call tomorrow.”
“Right.” A glimmer of hope rises. Jem will tell someone. He has to. He wouldn’t be deluded I’d deliberately spend the evening with Lily. Christ, I hope not. “Okay. Um. Thanks.”
I haven’t moved from my spot by the kitchen doorway, and I swallow as I notice the knife next to the chopping board across the kitchen, on the island counter. “Should I help?” I ask.
“I have everything under control.”
Lily turns away. Should I grab the knife? What would be the point in removing it from her reach, there’re more in the block nearby?
I need a different plan. “Right. Thanks. I should freshen up before we eat. Long trip from Bristol.”
Lily turns and studies me, her brow furrowing for a second. I back up again as she steps through the door between the kitchen and the hallway. “Don’t leave, Sky.”
“Oh. No. I wasn’t. Bathroom.” I point.
Lily’s frown dissipates. “Sure. Dinner won’t be long. I made curry. Do you like chicken?”
She remains where she is, blocking my way from the house. For a horrible moment, I think she’ll follow me to the bathroom too, but she remains in the space between the kitchen and front door.
