Just like I thought, though, the fridge was almost empty. There was a little milk, which would be enough for two bowls of cereal in the morning, a little cheese and about four eggs, which would do for lunch. I spotted half a loaf of bread on the side, and I swore under my breath when I noticed Rory had left the bag open so it would have gone a little stale. I shoved my hand in, squeezing it to see if it could be saved. It was a little firmer than I would have liked, but it was still edible. Sighing, I wrapped it back up before quietly heading into Rory’s room. He was sprawled out on his bed, fully clothed, one arm hanging off onto the floor, snoring, TV still on. I smiled and threw the quilt over him to keep him warm and turned his TV off. Rory was a good kid, a little troubled what with our parents’ strict and mostly-harsh upbringing, but he was still a good kid. As little brothers went, he was the best.
I snuck out, closing the door silently, heading to my room next. After slipping out of my clothes and pulling on a worn old nightshirt, I shoved my hand into the pocket of my work shorts and pulled out the wad of cash from Carson. It was thick; he’d overpaid.
I counted it out onto the bedside cabinet. £400. I smiled and closed my eyes, a tear falling down my cheek as relief washed over my body. That would pay for Rory’s trip and would leave some left over, too. Now I could stop worrying so much.
After taking out forty pounds, I shoved the rest down the back of my chest of drawers, pushing it into the little envelope I’d taped there for cash. I pushed the forty back into my jeans pocket. I could eat tomorrow now, too, thanks to Carson.
I smiled and headed over to the little cot at the foot of my bed. Leaning my arms on the rails, I looked over the side to see my little girl sleeping peacefully, exactly where I left her before going to work tonight. I smiled when I saw her perfect, angelic face. She was so beautiful, just like her daddy. Her mess of curly, light-brown hair was all strewn out on the pillow; she was hugging her teddy bear tightly in her sleep. Her features were so perfect, just like Carson’s. She had his cute little nose and the same shape to her pretty face. If she opened her eyes it would be like looking into the eyes I had stared into tonight.
I reached out a hand and, being careful not to wake her, stroked the side of her face. “I love you, Sasha,” I whispered.
She was my reason for living, my motivation for getting up in the morning, my incentive for going on with each day when all I wanted to do was break down and sob. Sasha and Rory were my reasons for working in that horrible place, for wearing that nasty uniform, for almost crippling myself in those cheap shoes. Both of them were so totally worth it, though.
I sighed and decided to go to bed. Sadness started to build inside me, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I broke down. Grabbing the pillow from the empty side, I hugged it tightly as the tears I knew would come started flowing silently down my face. Climbing into the bed, I pulled the quilt over my head to muffle the sound, and then I did what I did every night after seeing Carson: I sobbed until I fell asleep.
IN THE MORNING, I woke to the sound of cooing and the covers being gently pulled near my feet. When I opened my eyes, they stung so much I actually hissed through my teeth. My gaze settled on the clock, seeing it was just after six-thirty. This was the downside of working nights in a club: the getting up in the morning with your almost two-year-old after having around four hours sleep.
Pushing myself up, I crawled to the foot of my bed, looking at the best thing I’d ever done. She was sitting up in her cot, her big blue eyes just looking at me, a beautiful smile around her dummy she had in her mouth.
“Hey, Sasha,” I whispered, sticking my hand through the bars.
She smiled and took the dummy out of her mouth, placing it in my hand, still smiling. “Mummy, up, up!”
I smiled at her latest attempts to speak. It was so cute and every word melted my heart. “Want to get up, Sash?” I asked, sitting up and rubbing a hand over my face. She pushed herself to her feet, standing at the bars, her arms outstretched. I smiled and plucked her out of the cot, sitting her on the bed next to me. “Hungry?”
She didn’t answer, just pushed herself up, climbing over me and plopping down onto the floor, looking at me expectantly. “No,” she stated confidently.
“Drink?”
“No.” She shook her head, turning to walk out of my bedroom. We shared my bedroom because this was only a two-bed flat and Rory (being a fifteen-year-old doing his GCSEs soon) needed his own space, so she’d moved in here with me when he came to live with us.
“Can’t you say something else?” I teased, grinning.
“No.”
I laughed and followed her out of the room, grabbing a nappy and baby wipes on the way past. Sasha was just learning how to speak. She was a little under two years old; her birthday was in two months. She knew about fifteen words which were understandable to a stranger, but her favourite, by far, was ‘no’.
I scooped her into my arms as we approached Rory’s bedroom door, heading past quickly so she didn’t bang and wake him up. There was no point in both of us being awake at stupid o’clock on a Sunday morning. After changing her nappy, we settled onto the floor to play dolls for a little while before I made breakfast. I had money to go shopping today so there was no need to just eat cereal this morning. I boiled two of the four eggs, leaving two for Rory.
While Sasha and I were sitting at the table, Rory graced us with his presence, stretching like a cat and yawning as he walked up the hallway. “Morning,” I greeted, smiling at his dishevelled appearance. He was still in yesterday’s clothes he’d fallen asleep in.