Page 53 of The 3am Shattered Mums' Club

3.13 a.m. – Aisha:Is anyone awake? My world has just exploded.

3.15 a.m. – Mel:It wasn’t another orange poo was it!?

3.16 a.m. – Aisha:No. My dad showed up. I haven’t seen him for twenty years.

3.17 a.m. – Mel:What? OMG, are you okay? That must have been a big shock for you.

3.19 a.m. – Aisha:It was. I thought I was being stalked by the babies’ sperm donor. But it was my dad all the time, trying to build up the confidence to knock on my door.

3.21 a.m. – Mel:Well, I don’t blame you for thinking that. But what a relief it was him. Are you glad? How are you feeling?

3.23 a.m. – Aisha:Glad, but shocked and also a bit angry with my mum for not being honest about everything. She knew my dad had been trying to get in contact with me for some time, but he left because of depression.

3.29 a.m. – Mel:Listen, it sounds complex and I am sure there is lot for you all to talk about, but you mentioned depression and that makes everything so much more complicated. I think you need to cut them both some slack. Sounds like they all went through a pretty tough time. But he’s here now, and that’s all that matters.

3.40 a.m. – Aisha:I know. Thank you, Mel x

24

SOPHY

She paced the house from room to room, waiting for it to get to seven thirty. She had put Max down half an hour ago for his evening nap so that she and Jeff could have time to talk. She had changed into light grey skinny jeans and a white T-shirt and touched up her make-up. As she read his penultimate text message over again, the anxiety began to build again.

We need to talk.

She had sent a message straight back, not even trying to play it cool, asking when. His reply had just said:

Tomorrow at the house. 7.30 p.m.

Sophy had no idea if she should be making wedding plans or looking for rental properties in the area. Jeff could be vague in his emotions, but on this occasion, she had felt more from looking at one of Max’s soiled nappies than she had got from reading that one text. At least by assessing Max’s turds she could tell how he was feeling and if his stomach was upset. But this text gave nothing away.

Sophy wondered what kind of son Wendy had raised and had a good mind to ring her and ask. But Sophy had heard nothing from her all weekend. Usually, she dropped in on a Saturday or Sunday, and there was always the odd invitation over to Wendy and Al’s for a Sunday lunch. But there had been nothing for days, which made Sophy realise that must have been where Jeff had been staying since Friday. Maybe, thought Sophy, if she’d been a little more 1950s housewife and a little less Instagram yummy mummy, she could have appeased Jeff. It did make Sophy wish that her own mother would make more of an effort. Sophy had wondered about messaging her mum and spilling it all to her, but then that was admitting that she had failed. And whilst Sophy had many doubts about her relationship with Jeff, she wasn’t ready to say it was over.

Which was why his ridiculous riddle of a message was making her stomach hurt, meaning she had barely eaten all day. Why she had barely spoken to Niall when he came to work that morning wearing one of his golden smiles.

Sophy stopped pacing. She had heard a car door slam outside. She decided the kitchen was the best place to be. It said casual. Sophy always felt her most comfortable in the kitchen where there was always something she could fiddle with. She poured herself a glass of the Malbec wine she had opened for Jeff earlier. She’d already had a sip when she remembered she wasn’t drinking at the moment. It tasted acidic, and she felt her insides burn as the liquid made its way through to her empty stomach.

A key turned in the front door and it swung open. There was no sound of Jeff’s briefcase hitting the floor or his keys dropping into the pot on the hallway table. There was just silence, and Sophy tried to imagine him standing in the hallway and what he was doing. She sat there for a few more minutes and then became unnerved. Why was he taking so long? Why was he just standing in the bloody hallway?

Maybe it wasn’t Jeff. Maybe it was an intruder, someone who had got hold of a key from Jeff’s office; there were always hundreds of people coming and going from the agency all week. Someone must have got wind that she was here alone.

She stood up carefully, sliding a knife from the block on her way past and held it close to her side. She crept across the kitchen and into the hallway.

But itwasJeff. He was standing there, wearing a pair of jeans an uncannily similar colour to hers and a white T-shirt, texting or doing something on his phone. Sophy had thought long and hard about what was the appropriate outfit to wear when your boyfriend of four years, who has been living elsewhere for the last few days, comes around to either tell you he’s leaving you or he wants to marry you. It really was a hard call, one that fashion magazines ought to pay more attention to and maybe write more features on. What she hadn’t expected was Jeff to turn up dressed exactly the bloody same as her.

‘For god’s sake, Jeff, what are you doing standing there all this time? I thought you were a bloody burglar.’

Jeff looked up at Sophy and then down in Sophy’s hand and said nothing.

‘And what the hell are you wearing?’ Sophy gestured to her own choice of outfit. ‘We look like Posh and bloody Becks, circa ’97.’

Jeff looked at Sophy and frowned. ‘Babes, Posh is at least two stone lighter than you.’

Sophy’s jaw dropped open and her knife-free hand fell to her stomach, where indeed there was a very slight mound underneath her jeggings. It was all the middle-of-the-night snacking she had been doing. How was she to curb that hunger any other way at that time of the night when Max was starving and sucking her dry of every nutrient? Perhaps she would start to have some salads prepped in the fridge so she would stop reaching for the cookies.

Jeff put his phone is his pocket and walked past Sophy his arm brushing against hers. ‘Are we sitting in the kitchen? Ah, wine.’ Sophy trotted into the kitchen behind Jeff and put the knife down on the kitchen counter. He picked up the glass, took a long sip and sat down. He winced as he swallowed. ‘Jesus, Sophy, you been nicking the builders’ paint stripper?’

Sophy put her hands on her hips and let out a sigh.

---