seat swings into a more upright position. Strapping her niece in carefully, she then leaps back upstairs to get her coat and bag. She’s halfway down before she remembers the door key and has to go back again.
‘How does your mummy manage it?’ she says, pulling a bobble hat from her pocket. ‘I’m worn out already.’ She has to drag the buggy away from the door, then squeeze past so that she can open it. Cursing at the sheer awkwardness of it all, she finally manages to exit the house.
The sun is still shining – just about – but wintry grey clouds are gathering and it feels colder than before. They’ve missed the best of the weather, but Ruby is undaunted. She has to get outside, regardless of Mabel’s schedule. The flat, perfect for a working couple, is too small for a family. You can’t move without tripping over some item of baby equipment, the windows are constantly steamed up from the wet washing draped over the radiators, and it’s full of dubious smells. It’s a far cry from the cool, glassy office where Amber used to work as a management consultant. Is it any wonder she’s not coping?
She crosses the road and heads into Lilac Park. It’s lunchtime, and the place is heaving with families. Feeling a sudden pang of hunger, she steers the buggy towards the so-called farmers’ market by the far entrance. It’s no more than a few stalls selling incredibly overpriced bread and gluten-free cakes, craft cheeses, pasties filled with exotic ingredients and some rather limp-looking vegetables. She buys a spicy Moroccan wrap and a vegan chocolate brownie, then finds a bench. She puts the brake on the buggy and sits down.
Mabel is awake and alert. Her bright-eyed gaze follows the parade of pushchairs, scooters, bikes and marauding toddlers. There are lots of people about – joggers, couples, family groups, grandparents. Everyone seems in a good weekend mood and several people smile at her as they walk past.
Mabel suddenly gets excited when a pigeon tries to eat the crumbs from Ruby’s lunch, flapping her arms until it flies away.
‘Nasty things, pigeons,’ advises Ruby. She’s not sure whether Mabel is allowed chocolate – probably not – but she can’t resist popping a teeny-tiny morsel of brownie into her mouth. Her eyes widen as her tongue explores the taste, making Ruby think this is probably her first time.
‘You loved that, didn’t you?’ she says. ‘Sorry, but I daren’t give you any more.’ She wraps up the remaining brownie and puts it in its paper bag.
They go to find the ducks, although Ruby has forgotten to bring any bread to feed them with. Not that it matters, because when they reach the pond, there’s a sign saying that the ducks should only be fed with special food available at the park café. She looks at the long queue snaking out of the door and decides she can’t be bothered to join it. Besides, Mabel has lost interest in the ducks and is starting to squirm uncomfortably in her seat. Either she’s tired or she’s done a poo. A quick sniff confirms it’s the latter.
‘Oh Mabel! That’s a real stinker,’ Ruby says, laughing. ‘And in public too!’ She spins the buggy around and pushes it in the direction of the house.
She rummages in her bag for the key and eventually finds it in the back pocket of her jeans. She turns it in the lock and the front door judders open. A fresh batch of dried leaves shuffles into the hallway along with the buggy, and at the same moment Ruby’s mobile rings. She fishes it out and sees that it’s Lewis calling.
‘Hi,’ she says, shoving the door shut with her bottom. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘Just wondered how you were getting on.’
‘Why don’t you come over, then you can judge for yourself.’ Mabel starts to grizzle. Ruby tucks the handset under her chin while she undoes the buggy straps.
‘I told you, I’ve got a cold coming. I don’t want to infect her,’ he replies.
‘Hmm … Look, I can’t talk now. Mabel’s just done a whopping enormous poo. I’ll call you back when she’s having her nap.’
‘Okay,’ he says, clearly disappointed. ‘Do you think you’ll be home in time for lunch tomorrow? I could cook.’
‘No idea.’ She heaves Mabel out of the buggy and sets her on her hip. ‘If it goes well, they’ll hang around at the hotel; if it’s a disaster, they’ll head back straight after breakfast. Sorry,