anyway. She had never done the whole property ladder thing. One of her few sensible decisions
.
â
So sorry if the place looks a bit bare. Not a lot left in the kitty for furniture!
â
â
Ah, no, itâs lovely
.â
It wasnât really. They walked along a narrow dark corridor, half lit by a series of dim fluorescent bulbs. Someone had spilt what looked like a Chinese takeaway on the ground and she was glad of his arm as she stepped, wobbling over the mess
.
His door was painted cream, identical to the rest. Number 183. How many apartments were there in this place? And it looked like most of them were empty. He took out a key and fumbled for a moment. Strange, heâd only had a few pints. Maybe he was nervous
.
â
Youâll have a glass of wine?
â
â
Ah, go on, so
.â
The walk had sobered her up, but not so much that she wanted the evening to end. She wasnât quite sure where she wanted it to go, really. Sheâd been out of the game for a long time. But thereâd be no harm in a glass of wine. He went into the kitchen and she settled herself on the narrow corduroy sofa. He hadnât been joking about the place being bare. Not a picture on the wall, nothing on the mantelpiece apart from a takeaway menu and a coffee mug. The ex must have taken everything. He was probably still getting over her too. Well that suited Miriam just fine. She wasnât looking for a boyfriend. That certainly wasnât why sheâd come out this evening. But a bit of fun wouldnât do anyone any harm
.
â
Red okay?
â
â
Lovely
.â
The sound of a cork popping, some rattling in the kitchen and then he emerged, carrying two large glasses. She took a big swallow and exhaled, happily. She had forgotten how good this felt. Tipsy, but not drunk, relaxed, but not too pissed. Aware of her surroundings. The cream walls, the wooden floor. The sigh of the springs as she settled further into the sofa. The space she left for him to come and sit beside her
.
The conversation was easy, a few gaps in places, but that was okay too. He chatted a bit about the ex, the problems he had with the heating in the apartment. She tried to stay away from the topic of RéaltÃn but failed. Showed him a few more photos, the ones from her wallet, the baby ones. He said he didnât mind, just poured her another glass of wine. This time she savoured it. It was nice, feeling like this. Relaxed. A bit tired. But happy. Not drunk. But happy
.
Not drunk, but then drunk, or something like it. She sipped at the wine again and blinked as a fog enveloped her. Weird feeling. Distant. Strange. She shook her head gently. Drank wine a lot, at home. âWoush ent ushually getâ¦â She tried to say the words, but her tongue was too thick, too dry. Stupid. Headache
 â¦
â
Afther. Drinkingtoomuch
.â
â
Ah, no, youâre grand
.â
Miriam shook her head again, trying to clear her brain. But the words wouldnât come out straight and she could feel her eyes growing heavier, the fog descending. She coughed and tried to straighten herself up on the sofa. That was when she realised his hand was around her shoulder. It was firm. Warm. She resisted the pressure for the moment and then found herself curving back against him
.
And then he asked her a question. And she couldnât for the life of her understand why he wanted to know that. So she laughed, and thought instead of her daughter
.
Baaa
.
What does a sheep say, baby?
Baaa
.
She couldnât say her name. But she was thinking of her, as the fog thickened and her eyelids drooped. She was thinking of RéaltÃn as they closed
.
CHAPTER FOUR
Can Anybody Help Me?
Della
So there I was, 5am, up to my armpits in poo and wondering how to clean myself, baby and changing table without destroying the carpet ⦠Thinking I have an Masters, dammitEnded up getting into shower with DS, changing mat and all and