Michael

I amble into the kitchen to the mixed smells of toast, peppermint and coffee. Mitch, Beth and Charlotte are gathered around the breakfast table. Plastering a smile on my face, I try to sound cheerful. “Morning all.”

“Morning, Michael,” smiles Beth. She still looks tired, but like Charlotte, is still going through the stage of not wanting to let go of Adam. He coos in her arms and she keeps her attention on him.

Charlotte speaks quickly, then looks away. “Hi.”

Mitch nods, then sips from her teacup, looking down.

Have I said something I shouldn’t?

Offended one of them?

Snagging a couple of oranges, I head for the squeezer and slice the first one in half. “Juice, anyone?”

“I’ll have some,” says Charlotte. “And squeeze some for Mom too, please.”

“Sure thing.” I grab another couple of oranges, running a quick mental inventory of what I’ve said and done this morning and the evening before…

Beth was tired… Hardly surprising. But certainly not upset. Triumphant would be nearer the mark.

Did I say something to offend her?

Nah…

What then?

press down on half an orange. The squeezer hums and spins, shooting a thin

Fuck!

dribbling down my face

swipe down

convenient excuse for me to

of huddle

would have

lean in, heads close, talking quietly. This is beyond

I’m inching towards conspiracy…

hell’s going

the tabletop, lying

a pregnancy

spin. Three faces jerk my way. Three sets of copper hair sway,

wand. Two blue lines stare up at me. “Charlotte? Didn’t you want to

and her mouth opens to speak, but I’m still talking… “It’s pretty soon after the first, I know, but did you imagine

her head…

“Charlotte… It’s marvellous…”

“Michael, it’s not mine.”

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