been wrong to think her clothes would fit Samir. He made her T-shirt look like body-con.
She laughed mid-sob and almost choked to death on her own snot bubble.
“Shit,” he said, not in a Good God, how disgusting sort of way, but more of an Oh no, this baby bird has been run over, how sad and disgusting sort of way. It was a crucial difference.
Then he picked her up. Like, picked her up. She didn’t have the energy to complain, or worry, or feel self-conscious, or even enjoy it.
She felt like she’d never enjoy anything again.
“I don’t believe you.”
Laura closed her eyes as if doing so could block out the memory of those poisonous words. She felt Samir put her down on the bed, and then she rolled over, sinking into a pile of soft pillows. Maybe, if she kept her eyes shut and stayed very still forever, she could turn to stone.
Only she’d definitely need the toilet before that happened. Like, a thousand times.
And, wait—she couldn’t turn to stone, because then Bump would never be born. She couldn’t even turn to stone after Bump was born, because who would look after them?
No-one. Bump only had Laura.
The thought was sobering enough to calm her gulping sobs.
“Hey,” Samir said. He’d left a moment ago, she thought, but now here he was, coming back. Being back. Or something.
Her brain was fuzzy.
He pulled her onto her back, and she flopped over like a doll. Kept her eyes closed, too. Overwhelming despair was starting to fade, which allowed room for other emotions, like embarrassment, to creep in.
But as long as she closed her eyes, and couldn’t see him, she could pretend that he couldn’t see her. Right? Wasn’t that how things worked?
She heard Ruth’s dry voice in her head, saying simply, “Nope”.
Then she felt tissue pressed against her nose, which was a surprise.
“Blow,” Samir said.
Laura’s eyes flew open.
He was sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, looking at her as if she might detonate at any moment, holding an enormous wedge of fluffy white tissue against her face. There was a roll of toilet paper in his free hand. Clearly, he had come prepared.
She tried to say, I’m not letting you wipe up my bloody snot, but when she opened her mouth all she got was a gob full of tissue.
“Blow,” he repeated sternly.
She blew. She glared at him something fierce, but, well—she still blew.
Absolutely mortifying.
He looked satisfied. Meanwhile, Laura was so embarrassed by the trumpeting sound her nose emitted, she would’ve happily crawled into a black hole right then and there.
He replaced the snotty tissue with another clump, moving with the speed and efficiency of those mothers on TV—the ones who actually gave a shit about their kids and had developed Mary Poppins-esque superpowers. The kind of mother Laura secretly wanted to be, and not-so-secretly doubted she ever could be.
But the sight of Samir right now, the grim determination on his face mingled with tender concern, was making her think that perhaps the superpowers were simply a matter of trying.
She blew again, and he gave her a pleased sort of nod. Then he produced more tissue and began dabbing gently at her cheeks, her eyes, her chin, her neck—Jesus, those tears got around.
But by the time he finished, she felt much drier and less, well, hysterical. Her devastation was more flat and empty, now, rather than an all-consuming, drowning sort of wave.
Laura wasn’t sure which of the two states she preferred.
Samir disposed of the tissue and disappeared without a word. She meant to do something useful while he was gone, like pull herself together, but those words snatched up her thoughts again—"I don’t believe you.”
And then all of a sudden, she’d replayed them a thousand times while staring at the polka dots on her pyjama bottoms, and Samir was back with two glasses of water and a bowl, all balanced on one tray.
He put the tray down on the bedside table, handed her one of the glasses, and said, “Drink.”
She drank.
He took the empty glass and gave her the bowl. Laura looked down to find a mountain of dry Rice Crispies staring up at her.
She looked up again. “How did you know I—?”
“I pay attention. Eat it.”
Her tongue slid out over dry lips. “I… I’m not sure if I can.”
He sighed. This was the part where he told her what an awful disappointment she was, right? And she didn’t even have the strength to be angry about it, because at that