Free The Baby by Lisa Drakeford Page A

this benefit and that benefit. There are even a few charities involved. I’ve been assigned a temporary social worker, which is weird. She’s been good though. Lets me know what I’m entitled to and stuff. But it looks like as soon as Eliza’s old enough I’ll have to get some work. Cos as my mum keeps telling me, there’s not enough money coming in, even with the benefits. So I won’t be going to uni, like you. And I’ll be lucky if I work for New Look. Versace’s definitely not going to happen now.’
    Olivia pays attention, her head to one side. Nicola is reminded of how good she is at listening. She nods. ‘And Jonty pays nothing?’
    Nicola shakes her head. ‘My mum keeps going on and on about it. I haven’t told her it’s Jonty,’ she adds in a rush. ‘I haven’t told anyone.’
    Olivia shuffles forward on her knees and then reaches for Nicola’s fingers. Both sets of hands are warm and damp.
    She winces. ‘Well, Nicola Taylor. I might not ever be able to forgive you. I might never understand.’ She draws her hand away and bites her nail again. ‘But I do think I can help you. Whatever happens, Jonty needs to take responsibility for his actions. And I’m going to make sure he does.’
    Not completely sure what Olivia means, but grateful all the same, Nicola tries a small smile. It hovers. ‘You will?’
    Olivia nods. Squeezes Nicola’s fingers. ‘I will.’ There’s a slight return of the smile. ‘And you know what?’
    Nicola widens her eyes in a question.
    â€˜â€¦ I might actually enjoy it.’
    Nicola bites her lip, hardly daring to admit the rush of relief. It feels like she’s getting her friend back.

    Eliza won’t settle. Almost as soon as Nicola arrives home from Olivia’s she begins to grizzle. Her knees draw up against her tummy and her face becomes pinker and pinker as her temper gets more frantic.
    Nicola tries everything. She remembers how the health visitor has told her to run through the checklist. Is she hungry? Does she need changing? Is she too hot? Is she too cold? Is she wet? Does she just need a cuddle?
    None of this works. In fact, with all the checking and the manhandling Eliza just seems to get more and more upset. Nicola’s scared. She’s at her wits’ end. It is nearly midnight and the crying has not shown any sign of stopping. She’s conscious of her mum in the next bedroom. The impatient knocking on the wall hasn’t started yet but she’s sure it won’t be long before it does. It is a school night after all, and no one with any sense of hearing could sleep through the racket coming from this small bundle of fury in Nicola’s arms.
    Sweat spreads across her back. Prickles of anxiety encase her throat. She can’t stop her baby crying. She must berubbish. What made her think that she could do this?
    She paces with Eliza from the Moses basket to the window, from the window to the bed. She swaps the screaming baby from her left shoulder to her right. She rocks her, she sings to her, she lies her down, she picks her up again. Eliza just won’t stop the screams or the wailing. Her little face is purple with rage and her fists clench in anger.
    Nicola suddenly misses the hospital. It was very difficult in there but at least there were nurses to ask. Now there’s no friendly face to keep an eye on the baby while she nips to the toilet. No midwife rushing over to answer the bell if Nicola needs some help. No comforting eyes if she makes a mistake.
    And there’s nowhere lonelier in the dead of night than your bedroom with a baby screaming blue murder and your mum sighing through the paper-thin walls.
    She tries her with a bottle again. Even though she only had one an hour earlier. Eliza spits the teat out. Her tongue is strong and outraged. It makes her cry even more.
    Nicola’s crying too. She catches sight of