Page 45 of How We Loved

“What! I can’t just give her some cereal?”

Ben chuckled and took her from my arms, lifting her up on his shoulder to give her a burp. To be honest, I won’t be sad to say goodbye to the burp and puke stage of our lives. I leaned forward and tucked in a muslin square under her chin, but was a moment too late and a small dribble of milky liquid rolled down his shoulder.

“Can I just say, you’ve never looked more rockstar than you do right now.”

“Ha bloody ha.”

We watched one another, grinning. Hope let rip with a belch that would give a rugby player a run for his money, and Ben wiped her chin with the muslin and then handed her back. “Fine, you win.”

“Win what?”

“I’ll go do my thing and you do yours...but...”

“But...”

“All the gigs left are in the South, so I’ll be home after every one. Don’t get all stroppy with me when I wake you up.”

On tiptoes, I pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I won’t.” Clearly, the issue I have with this whole situation is that I didn’t mention Zoe’s suggestion at all. Call me a wimp, but I decided on approaching one subject at a time. I’ll do this mum thing first and then worry about releasing my deepest and darkest thoughts out into the world. I have a feeling the mum thing will come easier.

5th April

Hope puked in my mouth at 'Song-Time.'

It was literally the most mortifying moment of my life. First, getting there was traumatic. I decided to walk to the library. I guess when we were on tour, I didn’t get the time to take note of the weather much.

It’s a sodding heatwave out there.

I had on a thick knitted jumper and jeans. Problem one.

Problem two came about very quickly when, after struggling to undo the clasps on Hope’s pushchair, I then sat with her in the semi-circle on the carpet at the library and realized that all of the circle were looking at me. “Uh, hi.” I gave a small wave. Actually, no I didn’t. I used Hope’s wee small hand and gave a wave with that.

I’m one of those mothers who uses her child like a small puppet.

Anyway, they were all staring, and I was wondering if I’d gone to the wrong place, maybe this was invite-only, or I was supposed to book. I mean, I’m pretty socially awkward at the best of times, unless pissed, and it was way too early for that. Then Lorraine bustled along. She was all long skirt, vegan leather, and headscarves (yes, plural) and she sat cross-legged on the floor with us and clapped her hands, which meant the fifty odd bangles on her wrists chimed musically.

“We have a newbie, how wonderful.” Another percussion-infused clap of the hands, then she looked at me and her mouth sort of flapped wordlessly.

By this point, I was freaking the shit out. What the hell. I mean, I knew I hadn’t put much makeup on, but did I have a pulsating volcano of a spot on my chin that I hadn’t seen?

Had I walked the whole way here with my bra hanging out—could happen.

“Oh, oh. I’m Lorraine, welcome, welcome.”

Then it happened, something I never expected—she knew who I was. “Lilah. And this is...” She motioned to Hope, who was actually sound asleep on my lap and not about to participate in Song-Time any time soon. “Hope,” I filled in.

“How lovely. Welcome Lilah, Welcome Hope. Everyone say hello to Lilah and Hope.”

I was pretty certain Lorraine was high on something. “Sorry, how did you know who I...”

I didn’t finish my sentence because suddenly I knew why everyone had stared at me while I sat down.

Ben wasn’t even with me, but people still knew who I was. Holy fuck balls. Did this mean that when I nipped out at eleven thirty during the tour to get some formula for Hope, wearing just my pyjamas, there was a chance people knew who I was?

Oh. God.

I was frozen.

“My husband and I love Ben’s music.” One woman leaned forward to tell me. “This little one was conceived to Sound Box’s debut album.”