‘How’s things? Enjoyed any good bananas lately?’

Okay, apparently not, because her enormous eyes filled up with tears, and her lip began wobbling precariously. Oh, no. Oh, crap. Please don’t start crying. There’s been enough of that in this bed for the both of us lately, I promise.

She looked just like Charlie when discovering that yet another man had deceived her, or she got fired, or when she felt the evil brain-death demons of darkness stirring.

‘Please don’t cry!’ That’s better, try saying it out loud, Eleanor. ‘There, there. I know this room is distressingly ugly, and you’ve been dumped here with a slightly unhinged woman who hasn’t showered in several days, but I’m sure your dad will be back to fetch you soon.’

Only he wasn’t. And when, a couple of minutes later, I ran out of small talk and Hope broke into full-on screams, wide open mouth revealing two tiny teeth as she scrunched up her miniature fists and let rip, he still didn’t come bursting in to save her. Galvanised by how the pitch of her cries seemed to jab right into the bruise on my forehead, I upped my game. Pulling faces, singing jumbled snatches of nursery rhymes and patting her head did no good at all. And when I tried to take hold of her hand (that always made me feel better) she reacted with an instantaneous increase in both pitch and volume, while simultaneously diving for the edge of the bed.

Crap!

I instinctively jerked forwards and grabbed her around the tummy, pulling her up close as I sat back against the headboard. That seemed to help. The wails faded to a warble, and her body visibly softened as we adjusted ourselves to find a comfortable position.

‘There we go, then. Is that better?’ I mumbled more meaningless platitudes, leaning my cheek against her downy head as we gently rocked from side to side. After a while, Hope’s sobs became sniffles which then dissolved into disconcertingly loud hiccups. She smeared a load of snotty dribble across her face and then batted her hand about, daubing it across my shoulder and pyjama sleeve. Letting out a long sigh, she then slowly tipped her head forwards, conking her chin on her chest as she fell asleep.

After a brief panic while I checked that she was still breathing, I settled back and closed my eyes in solidarity, listening to the sound of our twin breaths. Her heavy warmth nestling against my cracked heart was probably the best cuddle of my life so far. I know she was only a baby, and potentially not that great a judge of character yet, but I felt honoured – astounded even – that Hope trusted me enough to sink into a snuffly oblivion in my lap.

Her father, however, who had all the wisdom and common sense of an adult, also trusted me, it seemed. Not only had he left Hope here in the first place, he sent me a text casually letting me know that he’d ‘popped out for a couple of hours, back around 12’ and that there was a bottle of milk in the fridge.