she was still raw with hurt. There was something so cruel about having to waddle around with a maternity pad between her legs without a baby against her bosom. It was a selfish thought, knowing her predicament was one that had brought joy, not the sorrow others might suffer. And she’d known this was coming. She’d had time to prepare for the void that was filling her, but sitting here with her expensive cheese and dry crackers it was a recipe for feeling sorry for herself.
Storage Wars seemed like a pretty safe bet TV-viewing wise, but then they cracked open a unit containing what could only be described as a mother’s treasure chest, the objects of childhood only a parent would hold dear: medals, drawings, photos, items of clothing. In their montage they knew nothing about the previous owner of the locker, but surmised, as the photos didn’t go past the age of about eight, that perhaps it had belonged to the child’s mother. That in the face of the father finding reminders too painful, she’d gone and rented the space to preserve her son’s memory in her own way and visited it in remembrance of him.
It was the kind of story that would have had Dawn in tears anyway. Just thinking about the poor woman having to grieve in such solitude started the sobbing, but then it was every thought that followed, which meant she wasn’t able to stop. The locker for her second child would be empty because he wasn’t hers and never would be, and somehow she had to find her peace with that.
Dawn switched the telly off, not wanting to think about it any longer. As she did so, she spotted the present Jane had given her when she’d left the school. It was nestling between the sofa and TV cabinet. It was time to open it. Ripping the wrapping paper off revealed a patchwork quilt. She unfolded it and realised each square had been made by one of the schoolchildren in her class. It gave her a whole new reason for the tears to flow.
Cocooning herself in the quilt, for now Dawn wasn’t able to stop herself from crying. Even when she managed to get up and replace her tray of unappetising snacks with a whole bar of fruit and nut, the flow of tears didn’t let up. She tried to banish the thought of the empty locker with the image of her brother’s happiness at seeing his newborn son, but it wasn’t sticking. So she allowed the tears and sadness to flow, afraid that, if she didn’t, there was a chance she would never get a grip again.
The next day was a better one. Dawn managed to get out of bed and shower without going into complete meltdown. She reminded herself she was a mother already, and even though going out of the house was the last thing in the world she wanted to do right now, it was Saturday. It was zoo day and feeling the sunshine on her face might remind her that life wasn’t so desolate. Even though Jane had offered to take Archie, she wanted to get out of the house, so had said she would take him herself.
‘You’re late, Mum,’ Archie shouted into her bedroom.
Dawn was wrapped in a towel, huddled in bed. She’d stopped there to get dry and keep warm, but she’d let minute after minute pass by without making any effort to move.
Archie knocked at the door, a rare gesture from her son who liked to stick to routines. The fact she was late would be enough to cause him distress. Maybe she should let Jane take him. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this. She made sure she was covered up, but she was pretty well cocooned. ‘Come in.’
Archie tiptoed in, like this was a mission and he needed to remain undetected. He was getting so tall and was at the gangly stage where everything was growing so quickly it hadn’t had chance to bulk out. His brown hair and grey eyes made him look like his father, a shadow of the past, but his frame made him look like David at that age. The thought brought an unexpected lump to her throat and she knew she needed to stop. She couldn’t cry in front of her son.
Archie sat on the edge of her bed, something he’d not done for a long time. It was always Dawn on the edge of his bed, sleeping on the floor next to him, seeing him through the night terrors that plagued him at times.
‘It’s okay, Mum, you don’t need to be sad.’ Archie tapped her knee, which was snuggled underneath the duvet.
The small gesture was enough to let her emotions bubble over, but this was Archie. She was his mum. He needed to come before whatever it was she was feeling at this moment. And she didn’t want him to worry about her, which he would if she put on another show like last night. ‘I just have a lot of hormones floating around my body and they’re not doing me much good at the moment.’
‘Can you give them to Rebekah? Would she like them?’
Dawn’s lip curled. It was the closest she’d got to a smile since saying goodbye to the baby. Archie’s ideas always provided obvious solutions; sadly, it was never that simple. ‘I’m sure she would really appreciate them, but Mummy can’t transfer them to her. They haven’t invented that yet.’
‘They should. It would be like giving blood and they could collect them in a bag. Then, after getting it from you, they would put it into Auntie Rebekah and she could have the hormones as well as the baby.’
Dawn actually smiled. A real smile created by her clever son. ‘It would certainly help. Do you think you could invent that process once you’ve left school?’
‘Can we go to the zoo first? I want to show you something.’ Archie got up. ‘Be ready in ten minutes or I’m sending Norman in.’
The threat was enough to set Dawn into action. Dawn hated spiders, but had conceded to having Norman in the house as he was proving therapeutic for her son. He liked taking care of the arachnoid, which was good, because Dawn wouldn’t want to. It was a compromise because a meerkat family was his top choice and, in their two-bedroom flat, there clearly wasn’t enough space, plus she was pretty sure it would be illegal. So they visited the meerkats at the zoo and Norman kept Archie entertained for the rest of the week.
‘It’s twenty-one minutes past ten, Mum,’ Archie informed Dawn once they were in the car. ‘We’ve never been this late.’
‘I know, sweetie. I’m sure your friends won’t mind.’ The meerkats were Archie’s friends. He had more social attachments to animals than he did any human.
‘But I told Joel I get there every Saturday when the zoo opens. What if he’s waiting for me?’
‘Who is Joel?’ Dawn was pretty familiar with all the meerkats’ names, but she was pretty sure none of them were called Joel.
‘The keeper. Remember, Mum, you met him last time you were there.’
‘Of course. How could I forget?’ It wasn’t like a lot had happened lately. ‘Did he say he would wait for you?’
‘He said see you next week, so he knows I’ll be there.’
‘I don’t think he’ll mind if we arrive later than we usually do. We’ve got a pretty good excuse.’ They were less than five minutes away now and Dawn hoped Archie wouldn’t freak out at any point. It had been a while since he had, but she knew only too well that upsetting his routine was a contributor to setting him off and, if that happened, she would only have herself to blame.
She should have thought about this part of the process more and put more support in for the days following giving birth. It was a shame David and Rebekah were her main source of help. Their father had passed away when they were in their teens and their mother, who’d never dealt with his death particularly well, had upped and moved to Spain. These days they were lucky if they got their annual visit. It was Jane who was being her rock and maybe she’d have to call on her more than she’d thought she would.
For some reason she’d imagined this part as easy. She didn’t have a baby to care for, so there was nothing to interrupt the course of her life other than some mild discomfort and a waistline that would need getting back in shape. Of course it wasn’t that simple and it was only in the aftermath that she was able to see she should have been more prepared.
For now, she just had to hope they survived the trip to the zoo. Because surely the best way to adjust was to keep going and carry on as normal. As for David and Rebekah, they’d all agreed that for the first couple of weeks, while David was on paternity leave, it