She wasn't born, technically, rather pulled from Elaine's stomach like a weed. That's where Elaine was now, having her stitches tended, having her shredded dignity prodded into further submission.
I told the baby I loved her, trying to believe it.
Coffee. I went to the kitchen and prepared a really strong cup. But we were out of milk. The shop was next door to our flat; I could be out and back before the coffee cooled. Cursing, I grabbed the ticking intercom from the lounge and went out.
"Hi, Mo," I said to the Indian guy behind the counter as I entered the corner store. It wasn't always the same guy, but as far as I could gather they were all called Mo.
"Hello, Mister Franks. How is your little girl?"
I held up the ticking intercom. "Still alive."
"This is the best age, ah? You can gaze at them all day. I have seven daughters, you know. Can't stop myself."
"Really?" I said, distracted. What had I come in for? I hadn't been getting much sleep.
