From Mum With Love Read online

  Jessica laughed dryly. ‘No, not really. We had another big argument last night. We never used to row like this, Fran. And half of me hates myself for it, because I know deep down that he doesn’t really get a choice when he leaves work in the evening, but the other half just doesn’t understand why he doesn’t make more of an effort. Bella goes days without even seeing him. That can’t be normal, can it?’

  Fran sighed and took a sip of her coffee. ‘I’m pretty sure there are thousands of parents having exactly the same argument every single night. Babies do that to you. It’s not easy. And yes, I do think it’s pretty normal for a lot of babies not to see their dads during the week.’

  ‘Do you think?’ Jessica asked, turning to look at her sister.

  ‘Yes, when do you think Dad got home to us every night? He worked afternoons and evenings down on the railway – and Mum just had to get on with it. I remember you being a newborn, don’t forget!’ Fran said, winking at Jess.

  ‘Well, that makes me feel a bit better I guess,’ Jessica replied. ‘But I still wish he got home for Bella’s bedtime every now and again…’

  ‘I’m not saying he’s a saint, Jessy. In my opinion, men rarely are…’

  ‘He went for a bloody pint after work last night! Can you believe that?’ Jessica snapped back.

  ‘So what? He isn’t he allowed to have friends now?’ Fran asked, smiling.

  ‘I didn’t mean that… It wasn’t even his friend, it was his boss, but it’s just frustrating when he’s promised to be home and I’m sat there waiting for him,’ Jessica replied, her eyes to the ground.

  ‘I know, I remember it well! It’s bloody hard work! But that’s maybe why this blog is a really good idea, because then you have something else going on too. Maybe even a career, if it goes well,’ Fran said.

  ‘I don’t know whether I’ll be successful enough to turn it into a career, but I’m enjoying it,’ Jessica replied, sipping the dregs of her coffee.

  ‘You should send a message to Tiggy. Do you remember her?’ Fran asked.

  ‘Tiggy from our street in Mottingham?’ Jessica asked.

  Fran nodded. ‘Yep, she’s Tiggy Blenheim now, but she was Tiggy Lewis back then.’

  ‘Yes I remember,’ replied Jessica. ‘They only lived a few doors down, didn't they? Her brother caught the same bus as me every morning for years after you both left school and moved on. Do you still see her?’

  ‘No, she moved away years ago. But I still see her parents every now and again,’ Fran said. ’Have you seen her blog?’

  ‘No,’ Jessica replied quickly. ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘I don’t read it,’ Fran replied. ‘Something like “Motherhood and Tiggy”?’

  ‘“Tiggy Does Motherhood?”’ Jessica snapped back, her eyes wide open in surprise. ‘Is that her blog?’

  Fran shrugged. ‘That sounds right. You’ve seen it then?’

  ‘Yes!’ Jessica replied. ‘I haven’t followed it that closely, as her children are a bit older, but I’ve seen a few posts. I had no idea that it was the same Tiggy that lived on our road! Wow, she’s changed!’

  ‘Yep, a completely different person to the girl I used to hang out with… I think she’s got about seventeen children now!’ Fran replied, laughing. ‘But seriously, I think she's been quite successful with her blogging and she might give you some tips.’

  ‘Do you think she’d even remember me, though? I mean, I was quite a lot younger than you both…’ Jessica replied, biting her fingernails.

  ‘Jess! She’ll probably remember the day you were born! We were always together, that gang on the street. She even babysat for you a few times when I was away at college. Do you remember that?’ Fran asked, turning to her sister.

  ‘Shit yes…’ Jessica said, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe I hadn’t worked out that it was the same girl.’

  ‘Send her a quick message,’ Fran replied, smiling. ‘I’m sure she’ll be happy to help you.’

  ‘I will, thanks Franny,’ Jessica said warmly. ‘Now come on, let’s go play with your niece’.

  4

  Followers – 824

  Dear Bella,

  I had time for lots of reading when I was pregnant. I read mainly in the evenings, cuddled under blankets on the sofa, popping ice cubes in my mouth and crunching as I turned the pages. I read books cover-to-cover, I scrolled websites, I flicked through magazines, and I devoured the information leaflets handed to me by the midwife. I genuinely believed that the more I read, the better a mother I’d be when you arrived.

  When it came to your birth, everything I read told me that you’d be handed over to me and I’d feel a deep, overwhelming and very instant love. I imagined a thunderclap and flash of lightning in the hospital room, followed by a warmth spreading quickly from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. My heart would instantly swell to double its usual size, and I’d mutter things like ‘I’ve never felt a love like this before! It’s incredible!’ to anybody who happened to be in earshot. I looked forward to feeling it; this amazing kind of love. It’s what got me through those last achey, heavy days.

  But do you know what Bella? It doesn’t happen like that. At least, it didn’t for me. I knew you were mine and I needed you close to me from the beginning, but I didn’t experience the sudden, gushing, overwhelming, toe-warming love that everyone talks about. Maybe it was because you were early and I wasn’t ready, or maybe it was because I was so tired and I was struggling to remember my own name, or maybe it was because I was in so much pain from those stitches that I was pre-occupied trying to imagine the relief of plunging my nether regions into an ice bath. I don’t know, Bella – but in the days and weeks that followed your speedy birth, I worried about it.

  ‘Does it make me a bad mother?’ I mused, as I pressed the button on the coffee machine and inhaled a whiff of caffeine, watching it stream into the mug.

  ‘Is everybody else just lying about it? Or does this epiphany really happen?’ I thought to myself, as I stood in the shower in the morning, barely noticing the milk trickling down my tummy.

  ‘Maybe it did happen, but I’d had too much gas to notice,’ I wondered, as I sat feeding you in the darkness at 3 a.m., urging you to go back to sleep.

  The truth is, Bella, that those first few weeks at home were hard. I found it really difficult to breastfeed, recoiling in pain each time that you latched. I cried a lot of big, ploppy, hormonal tears, feeling shell-shocked by the tiredness. I quickly realised that none of those books, or magazines, or leaflets, or websites could prepare me for the whirlwind of having a newborn. One day, while trying to find a chapter on the colour of newborn poo to determine whether we should be worried, I flung one of those books so hard against the wall in a fit of rage that a handful of pages detached from the cover and slowly danced to the floor in a messy heap.

  But, as the days ticked on, the fog started to lift. I still sobbed occasionally but my tears weren’t so big and ploppy. I still felt deliriously tired but it was nothing a few coffees couldn’t fix. I still found it all incredibly overwhelming (especially when Daddy went back to work just a week in), but I started to understand your cries, your habits, and your routine. I was getting to know you, Bella; a little more every single day.

  But the moment I realised things had really changed was when Granny and Grandad suggested they took you for a walk around the streets on a sunny morning, so I could have some time to myself. I agreed hastily, thinking I’d hop into the shower, have time to apply some makeup for the first time in weeks, and maybe even have a few spare minutes to enjoy a hot drink before they returned. But I did all that, and they still weren’t back. Panic started to bubble in my tummy, as time slowly ticked on. Various natural disasters, freak accidents, and kidnap attempts flashed through my mind. Messages were delivered to their phones, but not read. And when I decided enough was enough and picked up the phone to call them, hearing the sound of their forgotten phones ringing in the hallway was pure torture. So when they fin
ally delivered you home (an hour and thirty-seven minutes after they’d stepped out the door), I ran to you, pulled you out of your bassinet, and took the deepest breath of your milky scent in relief.

  And that’s when I knew Bella.

  That is the moment I knew.

  I loved you.

  Even though I hadn’t experienced fireworks, or lightning strikes, or a symphony orchestra breaking into tune at the very moment of your birth.

  I loved you.

  I really did.

  And from that moment in the hallway, we never looked back.

  Love from Mummy x

  *

  As Jessica sat at the dining table, light streamed through the living room window. Her fingers were dancing on the keys of her laptop, copying the words of her letter word for word.

  She hadn’t published a letter for a few weeks. The gap had been intentional at first, because she didn’t want to post too quickly and run out of letters, but with the pain of new teeth burrowing through Bella’s gums rocking her world (and in turn, rocking Jessica’s with a fresh wave of sleep deprivation), she simply hadn’t had the time to focus on the blog. But when Chris had turned to her the night before and asked: ‘You are going to keep going with the blog, aren’t you? It’s too good to stop now!’ she had the incentive she needed to sit down, open her notebook, and start typing.

  As she tapped, she could hear Bella’s breathing through the monitor propped on the table next to her, heavy and sleepy. Her coffee mug sat next to it, the dregs at the bottom now cold. The crumbs of a hastily eaten sandwich lay on a plate by its side.

  Jessica had chosen a photograph of Bella sleeping in her bassinet to illustrate this letter. It was one of her favourites from the early days at home, and after pausing to admire it for a second, she cropped it to the right size, pressed ‘ADD MEDIA’, and uploaded it to the top left corner. The words wrapped around it neatly, and after admiring her work for a second, she pressed ‘PUBLISH POST’.

  Right on cue, the monitor flashed red and within seconds, a call of ‘MAMAMAMAMA!’ followed loudly. Jessica carried her mug and plate into the kitchen, dumped them in the kitchen sink with a loud clunk, and started climbing the stairs.

  It was now the middle of July and the weather was disappointingly overcast, so she had made a plan to head to Henny’s house that afternoon to keep the little ones busy. After pulling an angry, sweaty-haired Bella from her cot, making a start on packing her bag, and dabbing a bit of concealer under her eyes to try and hide the fact they had all been awake since 5 a.m., she picked up her phone to check whether Henny was ready for them.

  Hey, Hen, let me know when Tallulah is awake and we’ll head over xx

  But as she pressed to send it, another message flashed onto the screen.

  Fran: Hi Jessy, if I noticed something bad about the blog, would you want me to tell you?

  She tapped back quickly.

  Yes of course. What is it?

  She held her breath as she waited for a reply. When a message popped up, she jumped.

  Henny: Hi babe, I’ll wake her in 10 minutes and send you a message. See you soon xx

  Jessica swiped away the message to wait for a reply from Fran, her foot tapping impatiently on the floor. Seconds later, it arrived.

  Fran: Check the comments under the new letter you just put up! Do you know her? What a bitch!

  Glancing quickly in Bella’s direction to check she wasn’t up to trouble (which she wasn’t, if pulling every shoe off the rack in the hallway didn’t count as trouble), Jessica made a beeline to the dining room table and opened her laptop. Clicking straight onto her social media, she found the link she’d just posted.

  ‘Holy shit,’ she said out loud, noticing there were already 163 likes on the post. ‘163 likes in less than ten minutes? That’s crazy.’ And with that, she started scrolling through the comments underneath.

  Rebecca Atkinson: OMG somebody has finally said it! Why does everyone talk about this amazing moment when a baby is born. IT DOESN’T HAPPEN LIKE THAT!

  Alexandra Young: A symphony orchestra didn’t break into tune at my birth either! I just love this. So honest! Keep writing!

  Lucy Thompson: I’m so happy that you have written another letter! I’ve been checking constantly! And it’s the best post yet! Can’t wait for the next one!

  She continued to scroll… and there it was.

  Felicity Macdonald: Well, this is just delightful for your daughter to read in later life isn’t it?! You didn’t love your daughter when she was born and you want to tell the world about it? You should be ashamed of yourself! How about you forget the blogging and concentrate on your daughter?!

  Jessica froze in shock, forgetting to breathe. ‘What the fuck?’ she finally blurted out loud. ‘What the actual fuck!’

  She clicked on the name and a profile picture enlarged on her screen. Felicity Macdonald. Blonde hair, dark plum lipstick and the hint of a pregnancy bump. Clicking the arrow next to it, another photo appeared, and there she was smiling in a family photo with her husband and a young son. In the next photo, the little boy held a baby scan photo up to the camera. No, she didn’t recognise her. She was sure of it. Felicity Macdonald was a complete stranger. A complete stranger who was so outraged, disappointed, and offended by her words that she had taken the time to write a comment telling Jessica that she should be disgusted with herself.

  She didn’t know what to do. Should she delete the comment? Should she just delete the whole blog post? Should she try and ignore it? Or should she reply?

  Her attention was suddenly pulled away by Bella, who was trying to climb up her legs. Lifting her onto her hip, she paced the room for a moment. ‘Why did she write that Bella Boo?’ she said to her daughter, who was more interested in the box of raisins she’d spotted on the kitchen surface. As she gesticulated and shrieked loudly, Jessica gave in. She handed her the box, put her down, and watched her toddle away.

  She suddenly knew what to do. Grabbing her phone, she scrolled down the list of her last dialled numbers and found ‘Chris Mobile’ in seconds. Three rings later, he picked up.

  ‘Hi, all OK?’

  By the tone of his voice, she could tell he was at his desk with his colleagues around him. ‘No, not really. Can we talk?’

  ‘Sorry, not now. Speak later, OK?’.

  As the line beeped and then disconnected, Jessica felt winded. What did she do now? She was expecting him to have the answer and make it all OK. As she chewed her fingernails, the comment played over and over again in her mind.

  How about you forget the blogging and concentrate on your daughter?!

  Sitting down at the table, she made a snap decision. Her fingers moved quickly across the keys, forming words on the screen as her mind simultaneously screamed them:

  Haven’t you got anything better to do with your time than leave vicious comments? Maybe you should forget the online trolling and concentrate on your son?!

  It was her blog and she had the right to defend herself. After a deep breath, she pressed ‘send’ and watched the comment pop up underneath Felicity Macdonald’s. She wasn’t going to sit back and let people talk to her like that.

  But as she was re-reading her comment, a reply suddenly popped up:

  How do you know I’ve got a son?

  Her stomach plunged. How could she explain why she’d been clicking through her photos? She exhaled loudly and moved her fingers back to the keyboard.

  I was trying to work out whether I knew you – or whether it was a complete stranger telling me I should be ashamed of myself…

  As she watched the comment pop up, she held her breath. She was angry now, and her heart was beating fast in her chest. Quick as a flash, Felicity’s reply appeared:

  And I’m the troll?!

  Jessica felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. How could she reply to that? She’d dug a giant hole for herself and managed to jump straight in. She put her head in her hands and sighed, only sitting up when the loud cl
atter of a full box of building blocks was turned upside down onto the living room floor.

  Within seconds, her phone rang.

  ‘Hi honey’, Chris said. ‘Sorry about earlier, I was with a client.’ Jessica could hear the background noise of a busy London street as he made his way back to the office.

  ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,’ Jessica replied, pushing the palm of her hand against her forehead repeatedly. ‘I need some help.’

  As she spoke, she glanced back at the words ‘And I’m the troll?!’ and could see three people had liked the comment. Her readers were turning against her!

  ‘What’s up?’ Chris asked, his tone changing.

  Jessica spoke quickly, her heart beating with an increasing sense of panic. She explained how she’d published the blog post, seen the comment, and then made a flip decision to reply. She felt so silly now for thinking she could handle it on her own. She should’ve waited to speak to him first. He was always so calm and collected, always the voice of reason.

  ‘OK, stop, Jess. Wait a minute. Let me go back to my desk and I’ll have a quick look and get back to you. OK?’ Chris suggested.

  Jessica took a deep breath. ‘Yep, OK. Fuck. What do I do?’

  ‘Bear with me. I’ll call you back!’

  Jessica hung up and stood still for a moment, deep in thought. She had always shied away from controversy, and now suddenly she had hurtled face first into it. She felt like deleting the whole blog. Forgetting it completely. Putting her laptop into a drawer and never opening it again. She clearly didn’t have thick enough skin to take one nasty comment on the chin, so starting a blog had probably been the worst idea she’d ever had.

  But before she could think any more about it, her phone jumped into life on the table and a picture of Chris’ face lit up on the screen.

  ‘Hi,’ she said into the phone, just as a couple of stray raisins on the carpet caught her eye and she bent down to pick them up.

  ‘Hi honey,’ he replied. ‘Now listen, I’ve read it and I just think you should just leave it. It’s slipping down the comments now, so very few people will see it anyway.’