Daisy nodded and I left the room.

I went to the bathroom and began to run the water in the bath.

When I returned to the bedroom, I found Daisy crouched down on the floor. Fear catapulted through me. If Daisy was miscarrying, the mess would be horrendous. I wasn’t sure I was able to cope with that. However, as I approached Daisy’s bedside, I couldn’t see any blood and there were no signs that she was in pain. She was however, weeping. Well, that was something at least. But to say she was inconsolable was an understatement. It took me half an hour to get one word out of her and then another half an hour to get her undressed and into the bath. All the while, Daisy was muttering like a drunk, talking about Ben and Eve in incomprehensible short blasts. Once she was out of the bath and dry again she had seemed to settle a bit.

‘Shall I see if I can get something for you? Something to take the edge off it?’ I looked down at Daisy sat up in bed with my fluffy dressing gown on, her cheeks were rosy from the steam and heat of the bath.

‘You mean drugs?’

‘Yes, Daisy. I mean drugs. I know what to get and where to get it. I have plenty of whatever you need here. I know exactly what will work for you.’

‘What about the baby?’

‘Oh don’t worry about the baby, Daisy dear. I would never dream of hurting the baby.’

Daisy seemed to respond to the drugs very well. Just a little something to take the edge off it. At least there wouldn’t be any more of those meltdowns. There was only so much I could take of that. But it wouldn’t be long until she was completely dependent on them, so she wouldn’t experience any of those horrible feelings again.

I was never one to respond well to a cry baby. Ben hadn’t cried very much when he was a little boy. If he had fallen down and hurt himself, he would sit quietly for a moment, as though he were making the pain disperse back within him, and then he would stand up and carry on. None of this running to me to kiss it better. There was never any running to me for anything really, which at first had bothered me, until I realised the convenience of it. I was a mother with a son, but without all the silly soppy nonsense that went with it.

For the next few days Daisy took her meals alone in her room and came downstairs once a day for some fresh air and a walk around the garden. There was little interaction between the two of us. Which suited me fine. I was an excellent mother and carer. I knew how to make a house a home, I dressed my son to perfection, helped him with his schoolwork and cooked healthy homemade meals. I expected that to compensate for what I lacked in cuddles and all those other things I saw mothers do with their children. I think in the end too much soppiness ruins a child.