Poppy is bustling around the kitchen, cleaning the already immaculate work tops with Patrick propped on her hip. Poppy puts a brave front on and acts like she's okay, but really, how can she be? After Brandon’s death, I made her move in with me. Staying in her and Brandon’s flat wasn’t good for her. It was too much of a reminder. Her and Patrick stayed with me until last month when the apartment downstairs became available and she rented it. I love her, but the squalling baby in my apartment was doing nothing for my love life. I'm surprised the old girl hasn't sealed over down there.  

The phone rings and goes to voicemail but it says the mailbox is full. Sighing, I chuck my phone on the sofa beside me. Bloody Finn.  I feel guilty I haven't really checked in on him over the last few months, but I've been so focused on Poppy that he's barely crossed my mind. I've sent him the occasional text message which he never responds to. It is Finn though, and he's not exactly Mr. Chatty.  

Poppy lingers in the doorway with a small frown on her face. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." I plaster a smile on my lips. "What are we doing today?" 

"Hope..." she starts.  

I sigh and roll my eyes. "Nothing you need to be worrying about. Go. Get changed because I am not being seen in public with you like this." I wave my hand in her direction, pointing at her leggings and loose-fitting jumper.  

"Hope..." 

"No, you had a baby. You did not suddenly become a middle-aged Catholic house wife. You're starting to remind me of Mrs McCormick." 

Her mouth drops open. "I do not!" 

"Seriously, you're a pair of Crocs away from giving the fuck up. Up. Go. Jeans. And put on a bra that lifts those tits." I hold my hands out for Patrick and she reluctantly passes him to me. I swear she thinks I'm going to drop him at any given moment. "Ugh! And wash" I look at Patrick as he blows a little spit bubble. "Jesus, what is it about you that means your mother can't even shower?" I ask him. He blinks at me with wide, innocent eyes as though butter wouldn't melt. I swallow the lump in my throat that always rises when I stare in his eyes. His eyes are the same vibrant green as Brandon's. It's uncanny. I can't decide whether it must upset Poppy or comfort her.

"You look just like him, kid," I say, taking a seat on the sofa and propping him on my knee. "He was a little shit when he was younger." I smile as I think of all the trouble Brandon used to get in. He was a ripe cunt from the moment I met him. I hated him, but there was always something about him that you couldn't help but like. It was always Poppy, Brandon, Connor, and me. And now it's just me, Poppy and Patrick. Funny how people can touch your life and the ripples can be so far reaching. Patrick makes a face at me and I narrow my eyes when a little grunt slips from his lips. "Oh, you just took a shit, didn't you?" Oh god, the smell. "God, you are vile. You are Brandon's child through and through." His face wrinkles. "Oh no, do not cry about it. You can't shit your pants and then get upset about it, dude." He opens his mouth and lets out the most horrific wailing noise. Shit. What do I do? I eye the changing table.  

Any minute now Poppy is going to come out and think I'm completely incompetent. I mean, shit, I am, but I can do this. How bad can it be? 

Oh god, so bad. So, so bad. I'm standing in front of the changing table with Patrick naked from the waist down. I have one of Poppy's scarves tied around my face because I swear to god, it's like something crawled up his arsehole and died. He's already pissed on me and himself. A second wave of the smell hits me and I wretch. He's screaming blue murder, probably because he's lying on a table with his tadger out.  

"Look, Patrick, this is not how I wanted to spend my Saturday morning either!" I roll up the offending nappy, fighting the urge to vomit as I shove it in one of those flowery scented bags that Poppy keeps.  

"What are you doing?" Poppy asks from behind me. I turn to face her and her lips twitch as she fights a smile.  

"Do not laugh. What the fuck have you been feeding him? Jesus, Mary and Joseph."  

"Is that?" She points at my top. 

"Yes, your son not only shat his pants, he pissed on me." She laughs hard, swiping tears from beneath her eyes. "Glad you find it funny," I say acerbically. I step away from Patrick and she moves in, wiping and talcum powdering expertly.  

I go to her room and throw the scarf back in her closet before digging through her wardrobe and trying to find something that doesn't scream 'I've given the fuck up'. I settle on a plain tank top, because there's no helping this. I go back into the living room and fold my arms over my chest, glaring at the shitting machine. "Your wardrobe is shameful. We're going shopping."  

Poppy drags a hand through her hair and sighs just as Patrick rolls onto his back on the floor and inserts his entire fist into his mouth. "Hope, if you're going to drag me into a thousand designer shops..." 

"Hush, put the baby in the pram and let’s go." She knows better than to argue so she does as I say.  

* * *

Four hours of shopping and there is an assortment of bags hooked over the handles of Patrick’s pram, making it hard for Poppy to push. She looks completely fed up, but honestly, it's nice to see her out and about like a normal person. Being a single mother is hard—or so I'm told. I try to help, but I'm not cut out for babies. Patrick and I have a good relationship as long as he doesn't shit near me.  

We walk back to my car and she puts Patrick in his car seat while I fold up the pram and place it in the boot—just call me Mary Poppins.

I pull up outside the apartment and help her get the stuff out of the car.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," I say, on my way back to the driver’s side door.  

"Where are you going now?" Poppy asks, gripping the handle of the pram. 

"To check on Finn," I say. Her eyes drop to the ground and she nods her head once. She hasn't spoken to Finn since we told her about Brandon. He didn't choose to find Brandon. It's not his fault. I know she knows it as well but the mind isn't always rational. "I'll see you later." I slide behind the wheel and pull away, watching Poppy disappear in the rear-view mirror.