33
DYLAN
I’m worried about Sky.She insisted she leave the hospital the next morning, and her mum arrived that afternoon to see her grandson and lend a hand. Each time Karen walked around the room cuddling and speaking to the baby, I thought of my own mum. I’ve thought about her a lot over recent months, feeling cheated I can never share any of this with her. Will my dad crawl out of the woodwork again too?
I haven’t spoken to him for years, never forgave him for what he did to my family. Something that will never ever happen to mine. You don’t marry someone and have children and then leave. Selfish bloody bastard. A year into Phoenix’s success, my dad appeared, wanting to “reconnect.” Such a fucking cliché. He doesn’t talk to me for years, and then he visits his wealthy son.
Just no.
But for the first time in months, I wished I had family to show my son to. Sky reminds me we can visit my gran and take pictures for her to hang on the wall next to choirboy Dylan, and I smiled at the Sky I know peeking through the quiet girl.
Everybody we’re close to wants to visit, and I attempted to put people off, but Sky insisted people came to the house in Berkshire. Odd for such a private person, though good for me because I could show off my beautiful son. For the first few days, Sky’s exhaustion continued, and myself and her mum took over allowing her to sleep. Everywhere I turned, somebody wanted to hold or fuss over him.
Karen left today, after a week’s stay. Her own son needs her back in Spain. Sky’s reaction was unreadable. She took our son, fed, and changed him without allowing me near and settled him in his crib in the nursery. Then she sat in the lounge with him asleep upstairs, curled up on the sofa beneath a blanket, and slept.
I haven’t left the house much, apart from the occasional trip to my studio insisted on my Sky. Sky’s happy to stay in the house too, not unusual for us anyway. One week already feels like a strange eternity, like we’ve been a family forever.
The nurse spoke to me before she left, asking me to keep an eye on Sky’s mental state after the trauma surrounding the baby’s birth. Sky seemed fine at first, full of life. Recently, she’s distant and lost in thought, but I am too. We’re trying to find our feet; both dazed by new parenthood.
I don’t talk to Sky about Lily. The police want to interview Sky about events, and I’ve managed to put them off. I know she’ll have to speak to the police soon, but is she strong enough right now? Jem’s told the police his side of the story, and that’s enough for them to keep Lily in custody. They can’t predict what she’ll do, and we’re safer with her locked up. Safer for Lily too because if she steps anywhere near me or my family, I’ll end up arrested for my actions.
Despite all this, there’s a strange energy around Sky.
Energy she’s currently using to reorganise the kitchen.
I halt in the doorway and stare at Sky, and the items on the floor split into two piles. She sits next to them, shoving tea towels and cloth napkins into a large, black plastic bag.
“Spring cleaning?” I ask.
“I think we should redecorate, like I did the apartment.” Sky gestures at the walls. “I never liked this colour. White is too stark. I think warm colours. Maybe we could buy some paint this afternoon.”
“Or maybe we can contract somebody to do it for us?”
She scowls. “No, I want to do it myself.”
Dark shadows sit below her eyes, hair loose and untamed, but Sky’s showered and dressed in leggings with my blue shirt she adopted as hers, months ago. I’m partly relieved because she’s heading away from the direction of quiet exhaustion I saw her heading in.
“Okay. Maybe next week?” I suggest.
“Or today. Well, tomorrow I guess.” She balls a cloth napkin and shoves it into the bag.
I rub my face and pull out a chair to sit. Plates piled on the table are sorted into sets, mismatched colours rest in a separate pile. “Can we talk about a name?”
Sky doesn’t look up from her sorting. “I told you, I’m happy with whatever you choose.”
“I know, but I want to choose together.”
“Really, Dylan, I don’t care.”
Now I’m confused, considering the arguments we had over girl’s names. We never discussed boy’s names, and now she doesn’t want much input into our baby’s name? In fact, she cuts the conversation dead each time we have it. Does Sky genuinely not care?
“I made a list. You could too and we can compare? We can’t just call himthe babyanymore.”
“Sure.” She holds up a weird kitchen utensil “Do we need this?”
I have no clue what the thing’s for and shake my head. “How long have you been awake, Sky?” I ask. “You didn’t sleep much last night.”
“That’s normal for a new mum.” She looks up and smiles.