---

I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece: it says 8.30 a.m. Another says 11.48 p.m. The one on the video player says it’s midday. The way I feel, any of them could be right, the days are melting into each other, but my phone confirms it’s 8.30 a.m. Victoria cried for a lot of the night again, or it feels like it, waking up at 3 a.m. and staying that way, on and off.

I am light-headed, woozy with lack of sleep. If I blink a little longer than usual, bright colours pop and replicate in front of my eyes, kaleidoscopic.

‘Shhh-shhh-shhh, baby.’ I jog Victoria up and down, but today she seems to have endless reserves for fury. Her nappy is clean, she rejects me when I try to feed her. There’s no temperature or anything. When I took her to the drop-in centre they looked her over and said she was fine. ‘Sometimes they can just be that way out,’ the health visitor said to me with a thoroughly slappable, well-slept smile.

I put my old Walkman on to escape for just the length of a song. I found it up in my room next to my bed and I wonder if Mum was still listening to it too. The batteries look new. I press the cheap spongy headphones onto my ears – I am surprised they have lasted all these years – and click play, turning the volume up as loud as it will go and singing along. ‘Common People’ by Pulp. The music masks Victoria’s crying for a while and finally she starts to calm down.

I spin her round – she’s still crying but it’s fading. I am careful not to stop for even a moment and her body starts to become more still, heavier. We are spinning round and round.

Something stops me. There’s someone outside the window. I push the headphones off backwards and they fall to the floor, dragging the Walkman with them. There’s a loud rap on the glass, so sudden it makes me jolt physically and I picture myself dropping Victoria, my heart skipping in my chest. Victoria starts to screech again, even louder, more insistent now because of the shock.

My face is already set hard. I’ve made up my mind to confront the neighbours about the banging. I assume that’s who it is. My stomach drops, though, when I realise it could be the boy with his camera again. But when my eyes focus, it’s Michelle at the window, looking in. She holds up a carrier bag, waving. She bangs at the single-glazed window again.

‘Alright!’ I mouth, Victoria drizzling a stream of warm saliva down the front of my top. I open the door and Michelle pushes her way straight in.

‘Thought I’d pop round after work. Picked some stuff up for you.’ She lifts up the carrier bag. ‘Brekky?’ Milk and croissants are poking out of the bag.

‘Yeah, alright,’ I say. ‘Thought you finished in the middle of the night, though?’

Something flickers across her face. ‘Oh, yeah, but I worked over today. Had a few things that I needed to clear. And then, you know when you get to that point when you’re just not tired any more?’

‘Not really, no,’ I say, needing to sit down on the kitchen chair, watching her as she makes coffee and warms up the oven for the croissants.

She pauses then says, ‘Not being funny, but what’s that weird smell?’ She looks around then, like she hadn’t noticed the surroundings properly before.

I sniff but I can’t catch anything. I shake my head.

‘Really? You can’t smell anything? It’s like kind of sweet. Bit rank, to be honest.’ She sniffs again, following her nose towards the bottom of the stairs.

‘Seems to be round here somewhere.’

‘Oh yeah, I smelled it before, you’re right – but I can’t smell anything now.’

Michelle looks up, screws her face up and heads towards the living room. I follow her in, look back and close the door.

‘You must have got used to it, the smell. You OK, Sylv? You look a bit pale.’

‘Thanks, I feel a bit pale.’ My left eye twitches.

She looks round at the mess, the piles of stuff.

‘Tell you what,’ Michelle says, her back to me. ‘Have this then you go and have a couple of hours’ kip. I’ll keep an eye on this one, no bother. We’ll be OK, won’t we?’ She shakes Victoria’s hand and the baby looks at her, wide-eyed.

‘She hasn’t stopped crying. She’s probably just sick of me,’ I say.

‘Don’t be daft, mate, it’s what babies do. They’re not that sophisticated, silly.’

Michelle disappears into the kitchen and when I follow her through a few moments later she hands me a plate, putting the coffee on the table next to me. She takes Victoria from me and sits her on her knee.

‘My God that’s good,’ I say, salty butter oozing from the croissant. ‘Thanks so much. You sure you’re not tired, though?’

‘Nah, honest, I feel fine. I’ll sleep later, don’t worry about me.’

‘OK, if you’re sure.’ I hesitate at first because I’ve never left Victoria with anyone else except Nathan before. But I feel so tired I could faint and I’ll only be upstairs, I reason.

Michelle strokes Victoria’s head. ‘As my sister says to me, “You wake it, you take it.” And I think I woke Victoria up before, didn’t I? So… I’ll take her for a bit.’

‘If you really don’t mind, then. I’ll leave this in here,’ I say, turning on the baby monitor. Michelle looks at the monitor then at me.

I feel the need to explain myself. ‘I’m not being funny, but if she’s crying I usually know if it’s a proper cry, where she wants something, or she’s just having a moan, so I’ll feel better.’

‘If you want,’ Michelle says, turning away from me.

I can’t tell if she’s offended about the baby monitor. She has Victoria balanced on her hip, wiping crumbs off the counter. I put it next to her anyway and pat her lightly on the back to show my appreciation.

I can feel myself relaxing even as I haul myself up the stairs. It’s comforting to hear Michelle pottering around in the kitchen, running water, clanging pans. She puts the radio on too. I listen out but I can’t hear anything from Victoria. The clatter reminds me of living here as a child, before everything that summer.

I lie on the bed on top of the sheets, fully clothed, placing the baby monitor on the pillow next to me, and the sounds from downstairs soothe me to sleep.

---

When I wake up I have that woolly-headed, furry-mouthed feeling of oversleeping. The pillow is wet where I have dribbled. I feel disorientated and the light has changed, it doesn’t feel like morning any more. The clock in this room says 7.30 a.m. A flash of temper. I need to change them all to the right time.

I get to my feet unsteadily, irritably pulling my top down as it’s snarled itself around me. There’s a cup of tea next to the bed, which wasn’t there before, but when I touch the cup it’s cold.

When my mind focuses better, I notice the monitor on the pillow next to me, but there’s no sound coming out of it. Suddenly I am wide awake. I have a sudden panic that they will both be gone: Michelle and Victoria. Why did I leave my baby with someone I hardly know any more, that I haven’t seen in over twenty years? That’s what they’ll say in the papers; what people will whisper about me. The whole story is unfurling in front of me.

But when I get downstairs and open the door, Michelle is lying on the floor next to Victoria, who is playing happily on her activity mat, transfixed by the mirrors and bells.

‘Shit, what time is it?’

Michelle eases herself up slowly and checks her mobile. ‘It’s one o’clock.’

‘God! Why didn’t you wake me up?’

‘I tried, Sylv. I came up but you must have fallen back asleep. I brought you a brew up.’

‘She must need feeding. Has she not been crying? Did you turn the monitor off?’

I go into the kitchen and check it. Michelle is getting to her feet.

‘Sylv, what’s the matter with you? I changed her nappy, she’s had a little sleep. She’s been absolutely fine. I even had a little nap too.’

The kitchen looks transformed. I thought I had made progress on the house but this is something else. I have to look twice to check what I am seeing – the space pops before my eyes. The work surfaces and table are all empty and wiped, the floor mopped. It’s the first time I have seen the sink empty and the taps gleaming. There’s a pleasing lemony scent in the air.

‘Bloody hell, Michelle, did you do this?’

‘Yeah.’ She looks coy. ‘Who do you think did it, the baby?’

‘God, you’re making me look bad.’

‘Sorry I was just…’

My anger at her letting me sleep in is fading now. I am touched that she would do this for me. Baffled at how she’s managed it. But still, touched, and relieved.

‘God, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for being such an ungrateful, grumpy cow. This is amazing. Thank you so much.’

‘It’s what mates are for, isn’t it?’ She punches me lightly on the arm. Then, after a moment, ‘I do have some bad news, though, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, what’s that, then?’

She opens the cupboard door under the sink, takes out the torch and switches it on, pointing it into the back corner. All I can see is manky old bottles of bleach that look like they’re from the 1980s, gunk crusted around the spouts, dirty yellow dusters and a few carrier bags.

‘I don’t follow?’ I pull my head out from the cupboard.

‘I think I know where your stink is coming from.’ She waggles the torch and I see black drops in the corner. ‘You’ve got mice,’ she says, sounding triumphant. ‘That’s mice droppings for sure. Seen them in the warehouse at work. And that stink in your hallway. You’ve a dead one in your walls or under the floorboards.’

I put my hand to my mouth, feeling queasy.

She nudges me and I lose my footing. ‘Don’t worry about it, Sylv. They won’t hurt you, you wimp! They’re more scared of you than you are of them. You don’t want them leaving their mess everywhere, though, with the little one around. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it sorted for you next time I’m round.’

‘Really, do you think you can get rid of it?’

She laughs. ‘It? You never get one mouse, Sylv. There’ll be loads of the little buggers. They breed like God knows what.’ All the little hairs on the back of my neck prickle up.

‘I told you, I’ll sort it. Fancy some soup?’ she says brightly.

‘Ummm, I’m not very—’

‘Because I’ve made us some.’

‘Erm, OK, go on then,’ I relent.

‘Alright.’ She claps her hands together and rubs them. ‘You sit down and I’ll do soup and toasties.’

I don’t usually have a chance to eat during the day, not since I have been here. Most of the time, it’s a few chocolate biscuits shoved in when I have a moment. The thought of a proper lunch makes my stomach twitch.

I go through to the living room and pick Victoria up from the mat, I don’t want her down there now, at mouse level. ‘Come on, baby, you need to have your dinner, don’t you?’

Michelle pops her head through the doorway. ‘Maybe she’s just not ready for any food yet, Sylv. Let her play for a bit and feed her when she’s hungry, eh?’

My irritation shoots up again and I take a few deep breaths before responding. ‘She needs to eat regularly, Michelle. She’s a baby.’ I push out the thought that she’s already been damaged because I slept for too long.

‘She’ll be fine, Sylvie. Babies are more resilient than you think, you know. If you’re all uptight, she’ll sense it.’

I purse my lips, avoid snapping. Michelle looks down and fiddles with the can opener in her hand.

‘My sister has kids. I looked loads of stuff up when they were born.’

‘Ignore me. Sorry, Chelle.’ Me calling her Chelle seems to please her and she goes back into the kitchen.

I put Victoria to my breast but she won’t feed, struggling to get her face away and crying.

‘Come on, please, Victoria. For Mummy,’ I say, but she won’t.

‘You have to keep trying,’ the health visitor had said. ‘Don’t react too much.’ So I make an effort to stay calm. I realise that Michelle has sat back down on the sofa and is watching me. I want to cover myself up but it would look obvious.

‘You tried formula? Saw you had some in the cupboard,’ she says.

I bristle at that, at the thought of her rooting through the cupboards.

‘My sister was the same. Switched to formula and she was fine. Started sleeping through the night then, too, putting weight on. The baby didn’t do too badly either.’ She laughs at her own joke. ‘You don’t have to be bullied into breastfeeding, you know.’

Eventually Victoria latches on and feeds hungrily. Afterwards, Michelle and I eat the soup at the kitchen table. I just pick at mine, keep having the sensation of something crawling on me, the way you do when someone mentions insects. The idea of the mice.

Michelle slurps her soup. When she looks up at me, the bowl to her face, she looks young again, like a kid eating breakfast cereal. A twinge of guilt. About how we would leave Michelle out at school. I always saw her as a bit of a drifter. She never really belonged to any particular group. We wouldn’t invite her places. Sometimes I think people did that on purpose. Maybe even Victoria. But most of the time, and for me anyway, it wasn’t a conscious thing; I just didn’t think of her at all.

There was one time when she called for us during the summer holidays. There was only me and Victoria in the house. We hid behind the sofa. We were laughing and I sneaked a glance. Michelle was pressed up to the window looking in, just like she was this morning. It must have jogged the memory loose. There was always just something about her, though. She tried too hard. She wanted to hang around with me and Victoria, I know she did.

We didn’t need someone else, though. There wasn’t room. You couldn’t get a piece of paper between us, Mum used to say.