The Good Sister(77)

‘Ooh, is this Dad?’ the nurse says, gesturing to Wally. ‘Of course it is, silly me, she’s got your hair. She really is just a darling little thing. Who wants to take her?’

She gathers her up with the ease of someone who spends much time around newborns, and then glances from me to Wally, as if expecting a tussle. She doesn’t get one. We are both too shell-shocked. Wally is so still I think he may have ceased to breathe.

‘Give her to him,’ I say, finally. ‘He’s got some time to make up for.’

Wally remains frozen for just another second. Then he nods, visibly relaxes a little, and opens his arms.





Wally stays in the chair beside my bed for twenty-four hours. When he’s not tending to Willow or checking on me, he’s downloading parenting books onto his phone and reading them furiously. He introduces me to an app for my every parenting need – a tracker for feeds, sleep times and nappy changes; a white-noise maker; a height and growth chart. Rather than feeling overwhelmed by this, I find the ritual of entering information into the different fields surprisingly soothing. I am hopeful that soon the new rituals and routines will become a new kind of normal.

For someone who didn’t want children, Wally certainly appears enamoured with Willow. He holds her like one might hold hot tea in a fine china cup and looks at her the way one might admire a favourite painting or sculpture. In the middle of the night, I wake to find Willow in his arms and him looking down at her like this. I watch for an indeterminable amount of time. The sight of them nearly overwhelms me.

‘I’m glad,’ I say, startling him, ‘that you are my person.’

He looks up at me and smiles. ‘I think a few people might fight me for that role.’

My face must convey my confusion.

‘I don’t think you realise how many people you have, Fern. Carmel. Gayle and your library colleagues. Owen. And yes, me. And don’t forget Willow.’

I take a minute to consider that. While I’m doing so, Wally says, ‘Rose said you weren’t capable of raising a child. I suspect she may have convinced you of that too, right?’

I shrug.

‘Is it just the Billy thing that worries you?’

‘It’s mostly that. But also my sensory issues. You have to admit, I’m not the ideal mother. What if the baby wants to watch fireworks? Or have a birthday party? I couldn’t even handle school pick-up or drop-off with all those shrieking children and swarms of mothers in puffer jackets, making small talk.’

Wally thinks about this. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Well, I’ll do the school pick-ups and drop-offs and the birthday parties.’

‘You? When? When would you do the school drop-off? When you’re in your van creating your app? When you are travelling around the world promoting FollowUp?’

‘I sold FollowUp, Fern.’

I blink. ‘You sold it? Already?’

He nods. ‘For a lot of money. It makes the deal for Shout! look cheap. So I can do the school run every day, if you like. And you can stay home, or go work in the library, or come to school pick-up with me and wait in the car. You can do whatever you like!’

But it can’t be that easy. Nothing in life is that easy.

Willow chooses that moment to start fussing.

‘Is she due for a feed?’ I ask.

Wally checks the app and determines that she is. He brings her to me. As she latches on, he enters the feed time into the app. The ritual of this, even over the past twelve hours, is one I’ve come to quite enjoy. As she feeds, we watch her. It’s surprisingly satisfying. I’ve never found watching an adult eat enjoyable.

‘She’s a miracle,’ Wally says.

I think about that. ‘Well, no, not really. Pregnancies are actually biologically quite straightforward.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Sure, but . . . you were on birth control. Which means, what were the chances? Point zero three per cent or something?’

I look at him. ‘I wasn’t on birth control.’

He blinks. ‘But you told me you were.’

‘No, I didn’t. Why would I say that?’

‘I don’t know, but you did say it,’ he says emphatically. ‘The first night. I remember it clearly. You told me it was safe.’

I frown. ‘It was safe. But what does that have to do with birth control?’

Wally closes his eyes for a moment, then he exhales and smiles. ‘Well, I guess that solves that part of the mystery.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean . . . it explains how you mysteriously became pregnant.’

If Wally is bothered by this, he is keeping it well hidden. But his proclamation about ‘mysteriously’ becoming pregnant triggers a realisation that there is something I haven’t been clear about.

‘There’s something else I have to tell you, Wally,’ I say. ‘The pregnancy wasn’t an accident.’

Wally frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Rose couldn’t have a baby. She confessed this to me when I found prenatal vitamins in her bag and assumed she was pregnant. It turned out she’d been trying for a baby for a while and couldn’t have one. So . . . I decided to have a baby for her. It sounds crazy, I know. I just thought . . . I can have a baby and Rose can’t. Why wouldn’t I help her out? It seemed so simple. Then . . . I met you and . . . and . . .’