An exhausted Dottie sits on the sofa in the living room. In her arms, against her chest, is baby Eliza, bundled up in a blanket and fast asleep, listening to her mothers heart.
After leaving hospital, Dottie found sometimes the only way she could glam the wailing baby was to put her against her heart. She believes Eliza feels comforted by the sound of a rhythmic beat.
Dottie stares forward. Her skin pale, with slight freckles dancing along her skin. Her eyes are sunken in, with large black and blue bags hanging underneath them. Her clothes have begun to hang of her, her cheek bones prominent to anyone who looked at her. It seems motherhood has been affecting Dottie.
However, having a newborn baby in the house wasn't affecting Reggie, who stands in the living room shrugging on a coat and fixing his tie in the mirror. He smoothes down his hair next.
"When will you be home?" Dottie asks quietly, conscious of her brother and her mother sleeping upstairs, much to the disappointment of Reggie.
"Later," he dismissively says, "reckon I'll be finished around five, then will need to go to the shops. We don't have any food..." he turns round, looking at Dottie, his eyes glaring in to hers, "how is she this morning?"
Dottie looks down at Eliza, "okay, I think—"
"So your mum and brother can move out?" He asks, raising his dark eyebrows slightly. He tilts his head when Dottie hesitates, "we don't have the room nor the money."
Dottie doesn't answer causing Reggie to irritably sigh.
"You not going to answer me, eh? Am I talking to myself?"
Dottie looks down at Eliza, she strokes the baby's back, as if to comfort herself.
She looks back up at Reggie.
"We do have the room, Reg... Mum's in the bigger spare room, and Micheal's in the smaller one, plus Eliza won't need her own room until she's older—"
Lifting up his jaw, Reggie crosses his arms over his chest, flexing his biceps, "you're full of answers today, aren't you?"
Dottie ignores him, ignoring that look he's burning in to her. "Plus, if we need money, I can ask Mum or Michael, or even Tom—"
He steps forward causing Dottie to quickly stop talking. When he's in front of her, he kneels down.
"I am not asking your family for money. They already hate me, they already say I don't provide for you... what will they say when you ask for money, eh?"
Dottie doesn't respond.
"Considering you've been a fucking mess and haven't spoken more than two words to anyone, you've suddenly got all the answers, haven't you? Have you been thinking about this? Been telling your mum and brother about this?"
She shakes her head, pushing Eliza further in to her chest. Reggie frowns.
"I'm not going to hurt her. I would never hurt my baby." Reggie says, his voice cracking slightly, "is that really how you think of me?"
Dottie doesn't respond.
Reggie lifts up his chin, "when have I hurt her, Thea?" He asks, his voice small and gentle, causing Dottie to suddenly think of when they first met.
"I swear I would never hurt her."
"I know."
"Do you?" Reggie responds, "from the way your knuckles are turning white, I wouldn't say you do." He stands up and leans over Dottie, grabbing hold of his wallet on the small cabinet behind the sofa. He then kissed her forehead and steps back.
"When you see Arthur, will you ask him to get me some snow?"
Reggie lifts his eyes brows up, he rubs his fingers across his temple. "I thought we decided you wouldn't touch that now you've got the tablets from the hospital."
"It's not for me," Dottie replies, "it's for Micheal—"
"Why can't he tell Arthur?"
Dottie hesitates, knowing her answer will anger Reggie, however Reggie's recent promise gives her some comfort as she holds Eliza in to her chest.
"Arthur's given him some more time off."
Reggie's eyebrows raise again.
Dottie doesn't speak, looking down at Eliza, trying to ignore Reggie's ominous glare. The baby begins to groan, moving against her mothers chest.
"I'm going now," Reggie says, picking up his flat cap and walking to the living room door, "I'll be home later. Be good."
"I love you," Dottie says quietly, not really sure whether she's saying it to Reggie or to Eliza.
"I know you do."
—
Polly holds baby Eliza against her chest. She gently rubs her fingertips against Eliza's back, soothing her softly. She looks down, seeing the small baby's eyes droop with tiredness. She can hear upstairs voices, Micheal's and Dottie's. Dottie shushes him as she begins to walk down the stairs. Micheal's close behind her, almost walking on her heels.
Dottie seems to be relieved when she walks in to the living room. She smiles at Polly, who smiles back.
"She's just gone back to sleep," Polly says in a quiet voice, "started crying as soon as you went upstairs."
"Was she hungry?" Dottie asks as she takes a seat on the sofa, curling up her legs underneath her.
"No, it's different cry." Polly says almost too quickly, she freezes, looking at her daughter as if she's a deer struck in headlights, "have you... have you been able to tell the difference, love?"
Dottie nods, almost scoffing, "of course..." she freezes, raising her eyebrows as her words trail off, "you think I'm a bad mum, don't you?"
"No. You're not a bad mum, but you are a new mum, plus no one can blame you if you are after what happened to you... you had a traumatic labour—"
"Mum, I'm okay," Dottie says, however the eye bags say something different.
"Darling, Reggie told us you're not sleeping. He told us you stay awake at night staring at Eliza..." Polly looks at Micheal, who walks forward and sits down on the sofa beside Dottie.
"Dots, have you been taking your medication?" Micheal asks, taking hold of Dottie's hand in a tight grasp, "we need to know if you haven't."
Dottie scowls. "Of course I've been taking the tablets! I take them every morning with my cup of coffee!"
Micheal frowns, his eyebrows furrowing. "Dots... you don't like coffee. You never have."
Dottie freezes.
Squeezing her hand, Micheal continues, "it's okay, Dots. We can deal with this, just—"
Dottie shakes her head, whipping her head round to stare at him. "You can't send me to a mental hospital, Micheal. My daughter needs me, they'll never let me out, oh god, Micheal please—" she whips her hand out of Micheal's grasp and jumps up, backing away from the sofa.
Polly watches from the rocking chair. She keeps hold of Eliza, a slight fear of her daughter going for her granddaughter consumes her mind.
Micheal follows her, following her slowly. He has his hands out, as if he's trying to show her he means no harm. "It's okay, Thea, we won't send you anywhere. You'll stay here—"
Micheal notices Dottie's pupils are large. Larger than normal.
"You're lying. You're going to send me away. They'll never let me out. Micheal, please!"
"It's okay, Thea!"
"No! I don't believe you! You're going to send me away! I'll never see—"
Micheal quickly steps forward, grasping hold of his sister in his arms. She thrashes about, scratching her nails against his arms. She screeches.
"Let go off me! Henry! Henry! Please!"
Micheal winces, heading his sisters cracking voice, however he continues to keep a tight hold on her shaking body.
"I fucking hate you!" Dottie screeches, her voice like daggers to Micheal's heart, "let go of me! Please! Please!"
He ignored her pleas as she begins to kick at his skin, twisting her body to try to free herself. He gets a slight lion at her face, her tear stricken and sunken in face.
"Dots, please, we're trying to help you."
Micheal turns his head to Polly, "call Tom, get him to get Reggie home. Now, Mum."
Dottie's screams become louder, awakening a sleeping Eliza, who how wails against her grandmother's chest.
"Don't you fucking call him!" Growls Dottie, "I don't fucking need him. Now please! Let me go! Please, Micheal! I'm sorry!"
He doesn't repent until she's still, apart from her sobs echoing the room. He looks at Polly, who stares at Dottie with a broken and lost expression. She manages to shush the wailing child.
"It's okay, Dottie. We can get you help."