burp,â said Wendy. âHold him upright.â
âOK,â said Maggie. With tense, awkward hands, she shifted the baby round and lifted him up. He screwed up his face and for an awful moment she thought he was going to scream. Then his mouth opened, and a cascade of warm regurgitated milk streamed onto her jersey.
âOh my God!â said Maggie in horror. âHeâs thrown up on me!â
âOh,â said Wendy dispassionately. âSorry about that. Here, give him to me.â
âNever mind,â said Paddy briskly, handing Maggie a muslin cloth. âYouâll have to get used to this kind of thing, Maggie! Wonât she, Wendy!â
âOh yeah,â said Wendy. âYou just wait!â
Maggie looked up from wiping her jersey to see Paddy and Wendy both looking complacently at her, as though in triumph.
Weâve got you,
their eyes seemed to say. Inside, she began to shiver.
âWanta do a poo,â Jake announced, wandering over to Wendyâs side.
âGood boy,â she said, putting down her cup. âJust let me get the potty out.â
âDear God, no!â cried Maggie, getting to her feet. âI meanâ Iâll make some more coffee, shall I?â
In the kitchen she flicked on the kettle and sank intoa chair, shaking, her jersey still damp with milk. She didnât know whether to laugh or cry. Was this really what motherhood was all about? And if so, what the hell had she done? She closed her eyes and thought, with a pang, of her office at the
Londoner.
Her organized, civilized office, full of grown-ups; full of wit and sophistication and not a baby in sight.
She hesitated, glancing at the doorâ then picked up the phone and quickly dialled a number.
âHello?â As she heard Candiceâs voice, Maggie exhaled with relief. Just hearing those friendly, familiar tones made her relax.
âHi, Candice! Itâs Maggie.â
âMaggie!â exclaimed Candice in surprise. âHowâs it going? Are you all right?â
âOh, Iâm fine,â said Maggie. âYou know, lady of leisure . . .â
âI suppose youâre still in bed, you lucky cow.â
âActually,â said Maggie gaily, âIâm hosting a coffee morning. I have a real-live Stepford mum in my living room.â Candice laughed, and Maggie felt a warm glow of pleasure steal over her. Thank God for friends, she thought. Suddenly the situation seemed funny; an entertaining anecdote. âYou wonât
believe
what happened just now,â she added, lowering her voice. âIâm sitting on the sofa, holding this pig-ugly baby, and he starts to wriggle. And the next minuteââ
âActually, Maggie,â interrupted Candice, âIâm really sorry, but I canât really chat. Justinâs holding some stupid meeting and weâve all got to go.â
âOh,â said Maggie, feeling a stab of disappointment. âWell . . . OK.â
âBut weâll talk later, I promise.â
âFine!â said Maggie brightly. âIt doesnât matter at all. I was just calling on the off-chance. Have a good meeting.â
âI doubt that. Oh, but listen. Before I go, thereâs something I must tell you!â Candiceâs voice grew quieter. âYou remember that girl, Heather, we saw last night? The cocktail waitress?â
âYes,â said Maggie, casting her mind back to the evening before. âOf course I do.â Was it really only last night that they were all sitting in the Manhattan Bar? It seemed like a lifetime ago.
âWell, I know you told me not toâ but I introduced her to Ralph,â said Candice. âAnd he was so impressed, he offered her the job on the spot. Sheâs starting as editorial assistant next week!â
âReally?â said Maggie in astonishment. âHow extraordinary!â
âYes,â said Candice, and cleared her