For the first time since I left the house this morning, I have absolutely no idea.
Chapter 23
Albie is still crying.
I check his nappy. It looks clean but I change it anyway, just in case. I offer up a bottle but he turns his head away and keeps screaming. Is he too hot? Too cold? I grab Paddington Bear and wiggle him in front of Albie’s face. His crying only intensifies. I know babies cry, especially newborns, but even armed with this knowledge, the sound of his screams makes my entire body ache. All I want to do is make it better, but I have no idea what he wants. With one hand, I flick through the pages of my book, searching for a solution I haven’t yet thought of. With the other, I turn on the TV and turn to CBeebies.
‘We’ll be back at six a.m. tomorrow!’ the written message on the screen cheerfully proclaims.
Eleven whole hours from now.
I flick through the channels until I find an old musical. I sit on the end of the bed and turn Albie around so his body is facing the TV. My chin resting gently on top of his head, I jiggle him on my lap and gradually his crying fades as a man and woman tap-dance across the screen. We lapse into silence, sucked into their magical technicolour world where any problem can be solved with a song and a dance.
I’m sad when it’s over. From what I can work out, Albie is too. Within seconds he’s crying again. I try the other channels but nothing will distract him.
I stand up and walk back and forth. I sing every song I can think of. I run out of nursery rhymes and lullabies so have to resort to pop songs and musical theatre numbers and TV ad jingles. Not that it matters. Not even my sweetest singing will soothe Albie. I have another go with his bottle. This time he latches on. I sink down on the bed and let out a sigh of relief.
Determined to stick to the rest of his usual bedtime routine, I run him a shallow bath, checking the temperature with my elbow, the way I’ve seen Stacey do.
As I wash his soft little body, taking care to clean every nook and cranny, I feel myself relaxing once more.
The book is right.
Annie was right.
I can do this.
I can.
Back in the main room, I lower the lights. I put a fresh nappy on Albie and massage lotion into his skin before wrestling his squirming limbs into a white sleepsuit. He smells so clean and sweet and I’m tempted to let him fall asleep in my arms, but I keep remembering what Stacey says about it being a bad idea … I kiss him on the head and reluctantly lower him into the travel cot. He lies on his back, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot somewhere above his head. I sit on the edge of the bed and watch as his little body jerks and writhes until eventually he stills and his eyes flicker shut.
I check the time. 7.58 p.m.
My eyes fall on the bed.
What is it they say? Sleep when the baby sleeps?
I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, then step out of my clothes and crawl under the duvet, falling asleep within seconds.
A knock at the door wrenches me from my slumber.
I stay where I am in the bed, my body rigid, a fistful of duvet in each hand.
It must be a mistake. Someone at the wrong door.
What time even is it? Albie woke up at 10 p.m. wanting a feed, and I feel like I only just got back to sleep. I raise my head a few centimetres so I can see. It’s 12.32 a.m. I lie back down and close my eyes.
Whoever it is on the other side of the door knocks again.
I hold my breath.
Silence.
I will them to go away.
Then comes the voice.
A voice I know so well, it’s perhaps even more familiar than my own.
‘Jojo? It’s me, Frankie. Are you in there?’
I freeze.
Frankie is here, on the other side of my hotel room door.
But how? Why?
I feel sick.
She knocks again.
‘Jojo, can you hear me? Seriously, open up.’
Everything is racing. My heart, my pulse, my mind.
Still I stay where I am, welded to the mattress, unable to move even if I wanted to.
That’s when Albie starts to cry.
Almost immediately, Frankie starts knocking again.
I sit up and turn on the light. Trembling, I get out of bed and pick Albie up.
‘I know you’re in there, Jojo,’ Frankie calls. ‘And I know who you’ve got with you too.’
She knows? But how? Has she spoken to Mum and Stacey? Did she somehow work it out?
‘Please, just let me in,’ she continues. ‘I’m not mad with you, I promise.’
I press my lips together. Mad or not, I can’t deal with this right now. I’m not ready to face everything. I need more time. I need her to go away.
She won’t, though. This is Frankie Ricci we’re talking about, and she doesn’t give up. Ever.
Stalling for time, I pace silently, Albie in my arms, his crying quieter now as I try to think.
‘Please, Jojo,’ Frankie says. ‘I’m your best friend. I’m here to help you.’
I keep pacing.
‘I love you and I need to know you’re OK. I promise you, I’ve got your back on this.’
I think of all the other times Frankie’s had my back. She’s never let me down. Ever.
But this is different.
This doesn’t even compare.
‘Please, Jojo,’ she says. ‘Just open up. I’m not going anywhere until you do.’
I believe her too. ‘Determined’ should be Frankie’s middle name.
I take a deep breath and creep over to the door. ‘Are you alone?’ I ask.
‘Yes!’ Frankie says.
‘You promise?’
There’s a beat before she answers. ‘Of course. It’s just me out here, I promise you.’
‘You swear?’
‘On my life. I’m completely alone.’
I peek through the spyhole. A distorted version of Frankie is standing in the otherwise empty corridor.
‘Hang on,’ I say.
‘OK. I’m not going anywhere.’
Miraculously, Albie has stopped crying, his eyes lolling shut. Carefully, I return him to the cot. Then I straighten up, my heart beating so hard I think my chest might burst, and head towards the door.
Towards Frankie.
Towards my best friend.
Towards the person whose heart I’m pretty sure I’m about to break whether I like it or not.
Chapter 24
The first thing Frankie does is throw her arms around me, and for a moment my terror is replaced by love, pure and simple, and for a few seconds I allow myself to believe everything might just be OK.
‘Holy shit, Jojo,’ she says, holding me tight. ‘I’ve been so worried. Like you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Sorry,’ I stammer, my voice muffled by her chest.
‘Are you OK?’ she demands, releasing me from her embrace and standing at arms’ length, her hands resting on my shoulders as she looks me up and down.
‘I’m … I’m fine,’ I say.
‘You sure about that?’
I don’t answer her.
‘I mean, what the fuck, Jojo?’ she asks. ‘This is major, you know that?’
I nod, swallowing hard.
Her gaze shifts to the right.
I know what she’s looking at.
The cot.
She removes her hands from my shoulders. ‘Is she OK?’ she asks.
She?
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But it’s not a she, he’s a—’
‘Do you mind if I look?’ Frankie asks, cutting me off.
‘No. Of course not,’ I say, standing aside.
I can’t believe how cool she’s being about all of this. I expected her to shout and scream, to rip my hair out. Instead, she’s being almost gentle with me.
I turn and watch as she heads towards the cot, dropping her handbag on the bed en route.
She peers into the cot then looks over at me, her face
contorted into a deep frown. ‘It’s not Olivia,’ she says.
‘What?’
‘The baby. It isn’t Olivia.’
‘Who’s Olivia?’ I ask.
‘Olivia Sinclair.’
I frown. I have no idea what’s she’s on about. Should I? I rack my brains but draw a blank. I don’t know anyone called Olivia, I’m almost certain.
Frankie crosses over to the bed and grabs her phone from her bag, tapping at the screen for a few seconds before thrusting it at me. I take it from her and scan the news story on the screen, my eyes widening.
‘Wait,’ I say, my mind whirring. ‘You thought I had something to do with this?’
‘Of course I did!’ Frankie cries.
I blink. What is she saying exactly? That she thought I’d actually kidnapped some baby at random?
‘But that’s insane,’ I say. ‘I’d never do something like that.’
‘Well, what was I supposed to think?’ Frankie splutters. ‘You’ve been acting weird for weeks and then you go AWOL on the very same day a baby goes missing.’
‘And from that you worked out I must have stolen her?’ I say, shaking my head. ‘That’s kind of a leap, even for you, Frankie.’
‘Even for me?’ Frankie says. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
I hesitate.
‘I’m not the one in the wrong here,’ she says. ‘I’m not the one holed up in some hotel with some strange baby. OK, it may not be Olivia, but I’m pretty damn sure it doesn’t belong to you.’
I don’t know what to say to that.
‘Well?’ she demands. ‘Whose is it? Do they even know you’re got it?’
That’s when it hits me. Frankie doesn’t know a single thing. All that stuff about ‘I won’t be mad’ was based on another scenario entirely – a scenario in which I’d taken off with the blonde baby in the photo, this Olivia Sinclair.
‘Well?’ she repeats. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘He,’ I say, my voice oddly calm. ‘It’s not an it, it’s a he.’
She rolls her eyes hard. ‘OK, fine. Then where did you get him?’
I take a deep breath.
I need to say it quickly. While I still can.
‘I didn’t get him from anywhere,’ I say, my words clipped. ‘He’s mine.’
For a moment Frankie looks like she’s going to burst out laughing. ‘What do you mean, he’s yours?’ she asks after a moment’s silence.
‘He’s mine,’ I repeat, standing up a little straighter, my chin raised. ‘As in, I’m his mother.’
Frankie shakes her head. ‘But that’s impossible,’ she says. ‘To be his mum you’d have had to have given birth to him.’
‘I know.’ I hold her gaze.
In what feels like slow motion, her face crumples. I roll back my shoulders and try to steady my breathing.
‘But you were never pregnant,’ she says.
‘Yes, I was.’
‘No you weren’t. I would have known.’
‘I was pregnant, Frankie. I just didn’t show.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I had no bump.’
‘So where was the baby?’
‘The midwife thinks I must have carried him under my ribs.’
Frankie pulls a face. I don’t blame her. When the midwife shared her theory, I shivered with horror.
‘But you must have had other symptoms even if there was no bump,’ Frankie says. ‘What about your periods?’
‘You know how irregular they are.’
There’s a pause.
‘When?’ she asks. ‘When did you have him?’
Here we go.
‘Three weeks ago.’
‘So the whole thing about you having a virus …’
‘It was a lie. I’m so sorry,’ I say in a desperate whisper. ‘Truly.’
‘But why did you lie about it? Three weeks is a long time, Jojo.’
‘I know, It’s – it’s complicated.’
She snorts. ‘No shit.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat.
And even though I mean it with all my heart, out loud my apology somehow sounds flimsy and insincere.
Frankie shakes her head and begins to pace up and down in front of the bed. I stay where I am, standing at the bottom corner. My hands are trembling. I clasp them together in an effort to still them.
‘But you’re a virgin,’ Frankie says, whirling round to face me. ‘You’ve never even had sex, Jojo.’
I don’t say anything. I don’t need to.
Once more her face sags. I want to look away but I don’t dare drop her gaze.
‘Why you didn’t tell me?’ she whispers.
‘I told you, I didn’t know.’
‘What?’
‘I didn’t know I was pregnant. I had no idea until I was actually giving birth to him.’
‘No, Jojo. I meant about losing your virginity.’
I remain silent.
‘I told you when I lost mine,’ she says.
‘I know.’
‘I told you practically the second I’d done it.’
She’s not exaggerating. I remember her breathless call from Ram’s bathroom as if it was yesterday.
Suddenly I feel faint. ‘I think I need to sit down,’ I say.
‘So, sit down,’ she mutters.
I lower myself onto the bed.
Frankie stays where she is, her hands planted on her hips. ‘Well, who is it then?’ she asks. ‘Is it someone I know?’
I hesitate before nodding.
‘Someone from school?’
‘No.’
She frowns. ‘OK, then. Someone from Youth Theatre?’
‘No.’
‘Is he our age?’
‘Please don’t make me do this, Frankie.’
‘I’m not making you do anything,’ she says, her eyes flashing. ‘I was under the impression we told each other important shit like this.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
Once more, my apology sounds inadequate, but I don’t know what more I can say apart from ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again.
‘I don’t want you to be sorry, Jojo,’ Frankie snaps. ‘I’m sick of sorry. I want you to fucking talk to me.’ She sucks in a breath. ‘Does he know? The dad, I mean?’
I manage a shake of the head.
‘Are you going to tell him?’
I sigh and rake both hands through my hair. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do, Frankie.’
I’m exhausted. All I want to do is crawl under the duvet and sleep, but I know Frankie won’t let me in a billion years. There are too many unanswered questions.
‘So, are you going to tell me who it is or what?’ she asks.
‘Does it matter?’
She throws her hands up in the air. ‘Of course it matters! It’s the father of your baby, Jojo.’
I wince.
‘What do you think I’m going to do?’ she asks. ‘Run around telling everyone?’
‘Of course not.’
‘So, why all the secrecy? We’re supposed to be best friends, Jojo. We’re supposed to be there for each other.’
‘I know.’
‘So give me the chance to be there for you!’
I open my mouth, then close it again, my brain trying and failing to come up with the right words.
‘Jesus Christ, Jojo!’ Frankie cries. ‘What is going on with you? Seriously, it’s like I don’t even know you any more!’
That’s when I lose it. ‘This isn’t about you, Frankie!’ I shout.
Her eyes bulge in surprise. Answering back and making a scene is normally her department.
‘This is about me,’ I say, jabbing my chest with my index finger. ‘Me and my baby!’
She lets out a splutter of laughter. ‘Oh, so I’m the selfish one now, is that it? I’m not asking for the moon, Jojo. I just want you to be honest with me so I can actually try and help you. I would never not tell you something like this. Ever.’
<
br /> ‘I wanted to!’ I cry. ‘So badly. Do you have any idea how lonely these past few weeks have been? How scary? I wanted you by my side more than anything!’
‘Then why didn’t you say something? I was just at the end of the phone. Why didn’t you call? I’d have been there in a shot, you know I would. Why let me find out like this?’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Then explain it me. At least give me the chance to understand.’
I shut my eyes.
‘The father,’ I say. ‘You know him.’
‘I thought we’d already established that.’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ I say. ‘You know him.’
‘Oh my God, it’s not Luca’s, is it?’ she asks, her voice dripping with disgust.
My eyes fly open. ‘No! Of course not!’ I say, shaking my head frantically.
‘Then who?’
Just say it, Jojo. Fast. Like ripping off a plaster.
I can’t, though. I’m trying, I swear I am, but the words just won’t form.
Another feeble ‘I’m sorry,’ is the best I can manage.
Frankie swears under her breath and marches back over to the cot. She looks down at Albie, her face in profile.
The longer she looks, the harder my stomach churns.
‘Frankie,’ I say.
She ignores me and continues to stare, her fingers gripping the edge of the cot, her back and shoulders tensing.
‘Frankie.’
Slowly, after what feels like for ever but is probably no more than ten seconds, she looks over at me. Her eyes are full of tears, the realization etched all over her face.
‘It only happened once, Frankie, I swear,’ I say, wobbling to my feet.
‘Shut up, Jojo.’
‘But it’s true. Please, Frankie, you’ve got to believe me. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Shut up,’ she says, talking over me. ‘Just shut up, Jojo.’
‘Please, Frankie,’ I say. ‘I can explain.’
‘I said, SHUT UP!’ she shouts.
‘But it’s not what it seems, I swear to you. Please, if you’d just let me tell you what happened.’
‘It’s too late, Jojo,’ she says, tears running down her cheeks now. ‘The damage has already been done. You and me? We’re over, OK? Finished.’
She grabs her bag off the bed and storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her with such force the entire room seems to tremble.
First Day of My Life Page 15
