Breakfast In Bed (Fully English Sequel)

Chapter 3

It's still us girls when I awake. Wren is in her cot and my mother is downstairs, wrapped up in blanket and pillow on the couch. Despite offering her my side of the bed whilst I take Reece's, she refused. Apparently the thought of lying on the same bed that her daughter copulated was too sickening to stomach. My eyes blink as I adjust to the light and realise that I am alone in the bed, Reece is not here. But when I call his name, he appears with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth and a towel around his hips from the bathroom.

Eyes rimmed with red, he blinks plenty of times to adjust to the light as I open the curtains.

"Good morning," I groan.

I walk over to the cot and see Wren is sleeping soundly. The first night had not been as rough as I was foretold. Wails only pierced my dreams twice and they quickly ended when I placed nipple to gum. It had only been 24 hours day but I felt like I had a calm baby on my hands.

"Your mum's awake," Reece tells me.

I breathe in and smell that familiar scent of English breakfast wafting upstairs.

"Where's Wyatt? Verity? Your dad?"

We are both standing at the cot awkwardly. After yesterday's tiff, things were still awkward but with Wren, we were a united front.

"I'm not too sure," he says flippantly.

I can sense he is still upset from yesterday but say nothing. Or perhaps it's stress from his job. Today is the weekend and I wonder if he will go in like he did last week. With all this overtime he was doing, it felt meaningless that I was living at his dad's house. At first the prospect seemed tantalising: in West Lincoln, we were in a bubble of university so everything was surreal but in London was home. To set up a life here, together, was grounding. But this was not what I signed up for.

How many mothers could say that on the night of the birth of their first child, the father of their first child absconded for work?

It didn't feel right.

"How long will you be?"

His lips are covered in white foam from the toothpaste but his skin is dry so I assume he's going to shower.

"You can go first," his hand roams affectionately through my cornrows and I relish his touch. "I'll take care of the baby."

"Her name is Wren," I tell him as I grab a dressing gown. "Wren Karis Beaufort."

"Well I'll take care of Wren Karis Beaufort then," he mimics.

A moment of silence passes between us and we stand, staring at one another. Realisation descends that we are parents. The bond that connects us lies inches from where we stand, asleep. Her tiny arms and legs still too small for her new-born 0 months clothes.

A clank sounds from the kitchen and I startle, resume my quest to the bathroom and lock the door. It's been a while since I studied my reflection but today I have time. So I place the hard part of my hands on the sink rim and peer at my reflection. Though I am dark, my skin looks flush like I have been assaulted by too much sun. My eyes are their usual dark brown but a few shades duller and you can see the tiredness that rims them. There are no dark circles but there are bags. I press the tips of my fingers to them and see that they are blunt and uncoloured, not their usual feminine pale pink and coffin shape.

My mouth is dry and chapped, the skin around it puckered like I am bruised. My nose is open, nostrils wide. Like I have been breathing for my life. I feel fine but it looks like I've put up a fight. Then again I did just give birth to a tiny human being.