‘Hey, Paige.’ He beams his wide smile at me and pulls me into his usual Paul-style hug.
My arms snake around him, possibly too tightly and for a moment too long. I pull away and take a step back. ‘It’s good to see you,’ I say in a small voice.
A glimmer of curiosity flashes across Paul’s face for a moment before Piper distracts him by tugging at his shoelaces. ‘Come on in. You’re just in time. Ollie’s spilt his breakfast all over the kitchen floor.’ He lifts Piper into his arms and calls out down the hallway, ‘Ollie, look who’s come to visit!’
Hope’s kitchen looks as if it has been messed up by four wild animals, not one almost twelve-month-old baby. There’s a sink full of dishes, dishcloths over the bench, coloured plastic blocks strewn across the floor and a trail of spilt cereal and milk leading all the way from Ollie’s high chair to the fridge. Piper scampers across the floor and starts licking it up. Ollie, who is sitting in his high chair, squeals with delight and bangs his spoon on his tray at the sight of her.
Paul shakes his head and laughs with him. ‘Hey, how’s Nick?’ he asks. ‘I’ve been meaning to drag him out for a game of golf now the weather’s better.’ He opens up his wallet. ‘I’ve got tickets for the next Victory game. You want them? We’re playing Melbourne City.’ He holds them up for me.
‘I don’t know if we’ll get the chance to use them.’ Not only is Nick on call this weekend, I’m not convinced that either of us will be in the mood for a soccer match.
‘Here, take them anyway,’ Paul says, pushing the tickets into my hand.
Hope enters the kitchen with a bottle of Spray ’n’ Wipe and roll of paper towel. She has oats in her hair, which is sticking out haphazardly. ‘Hey you! Aren’t you meant to be at Windsor Lakes today? Why so early?’ She brushes her hair away from her face as Paul leans over to kiss her goodbye. He ruffles Ollie’s hair and pecks him on the cheek. ‘See you later, Paige. Say hi to Nick for me.’
‘Will do. Thanks for the tickets.’
Hope crouches on the floor and starts tearing off sheets of paper towel so she can mop up the mess Piper is helping her with. ‘Aren’t you gorgeous?’ she says, rubbing her hands over her fur. She stands up, the paper towel dripping milk across the floor as she ventures towards the kitchen bin. Ollie bangs his spoon on the high chair, sending splatters of sloppy cereal across the kitchen. Hope looks at me, exasperation on her face.
‘He does this every single morning,’ she mutters. ‘I can never keep the kitchen clean. Welcome to Monday in the Barrett household.’ Hope works four days a week, often bringing home work to catch up on in the evenings. I know how hard the long days are on her and wish I’d been around more to help her out in the early days.
‘Let me deal with it. Go take a shower,’ I say, waving her away.
Ollie starts crying for his spilt breakfast. I scoop him into my arms and carry him across to the bench. Securing him with one arm, I reach for the cereal box, hand him a spoon and then fill his bowl, drowning the Weet-Bix with a splash of milk.
‘Go on,’ I say to Hope, nodding.
She smiles with relief before heading for the shower.
‘Okay, little guy, let’s eat,’ I say, returning Ollie to his high chair.
I wipe down the walls and help Ollie finish his breakfast. Between spoonfuls, he claps his hands together and smiles, his little mouth opening in anticipation, his dark brown eyes so full of innocence, I feel an overwhelming surge of love for him. And then, my body floods with warmth, and my thoughts flash backwards to Max and forward to the baby in my belly. Max would have been one soon. If life had gone to plan, I’d be at home spooning cereal into my baby’s mouth, most likely on the phone to Hope while we challenged each other as to who could get to have their own shower first. And I wouldn’t be sitting here, pregnant, my heart threatening to rob me of ever getting to bear witness to my baby spraying mushy Weet-Bix all over my kitchen.
I don’t realise I’m holding the spoon in mid-air, teasing Ollie with it, until I hear him squeal, jolting me from my thoughts.
‘Oh, sorry, honey,’ I say, guiding the spoon into his mouth.
Hope has re-entered the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, her wet curly hair in a messy topknot. She smells of pomegranate and lime soap. ‘Okay, so what’s wrong?’ she says, flicking the kettle on. ‘I know it must be bad.’
I look up at the ceiling and cringe. ‘It’s up there. But how can you tell?’
‘Because you were sitting there spaced out, in your own little world, while my son was opening and closing his mouth like a fish and you didn’t even notice.’
I busy myself by scraping the sides of the bowl clean and give Ollie the last spoonful of cereal before wiping his mouth with his bib. I lift him up from his high chair and he crawls to the centre of the living room, where he starts playing with his toy blocks.
‘Pa-aige?’
‘No coffee for me,’ I say. ‘I’m pregnant.’
Hope tilts her head and mouths, Pregnant?
I nod.
Her eyes search mine. ‘Oh, shit. So what did Nick say?’
‘He’s still coming to terms with the news.’
‘And you? Have you come to terms with it?’ Hope’s eyes are filled with concern.
‘I have an appointment with my cardiologist at ten to sort out my meds.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’ Hope chews the inside of her lip and reaches for her phone.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m skipping Mother’s Group. I’ll go with you to your appointment and then we’ll go to the boathouse after that.’ The boathouse is our go-to place to visit whenever one of us is going through a particularly bad time. Its cherry sundaes have massaged us through exam failures, bad job interviews, family arguments, boyfriend break-ups, one engagement break-up, one baby loss and now a wanted but very badly timed pregnancy.
‘No, I’ll get out of your way,’ I say, going to stand. ‘You can’t mess up your day because of this. I’ll be fine on my own.’
‘Uh-uh,’ she says, pointing a finger at me. ‘I’ve been meaning to quit Mother’s Group for weeks. This’ll be the third week I’ve missed in a row, and got-it-all-together Nina’s already snitchy about the “level of effort” I put into the group, so it’s probably time to do it.’
‘You’re quitting Mother’s Group? I thought you loved your Mother’s Group. Why?’
Hope puts her hands on her hips. ‘Why? I’ll tell you why. I’m sick of hearing about how Beau is most likely gifted, and vaccinations might cause this or that. I’m a little cheesed off with the way Georgie makes Tash feel inferior because she bottle-feeds and uses a dummy, and how Nina always has to compare Lila’s sleeping habits with Ollie’s. I mean, really, are there not bigger things in the world to worry about than how many hours’ sleep someone else’s kid is getting?’
‘Yes, there are much bigger things to worry about.’ I sigh.
Hope’s shoulders drop. ‘Sorry – didn’t mean to make it about me.’
‘You know I don’t think that. Send the message and tell Nina it’s none of her business,’ I say.