EPILOGUE

One year later…

The atmosphere in Bread & Cake is positively festive and so it should be; we are celebrating Millie Bean’s first birthday. Somehow, over the course of the last year, the name began to stick when people kept calling her Bean and then having to correct themselves, despite our efforts to quell it. Though, to be fair, we were probably just as guilty as anyone.

Pink helium balloons dot the ceiling and bunting in shades of hot pink, purple and lime green line the walls. A towering castle cake sits in one corner and a table adorned with a pile of presents stands in the other.

Bea and Andreas are laying out cupcakes and sandwiches while a happy little Millie toddles between her favourite grown-ups demanding ‘pickiups’ and cuddles. Taylor swoops down and picks her up, tickling her mercilessly as she squeals and wriggles.

The past year has been one of the most amazing yet challenging I have ever experienced. The physical aspects of my homecoming were hard enough. The fact that is was three weeks before I could even pick Millie up without pain shooting through me drove me crazy. Once the visitors petered off because of course, everyone had their own lives to get on with, I had to find a way to bond with my daughter who I had barely had a chance to hold. Because of all the medication I had been on and then the ongoing painkillers we had decided that I wasn’t going to breastfeed so I didn’t even have that interaction with her. The only way I could comfortably give her a bottle was for her to be laying on a cushion next to me. Oh, how I envied Taylor and everyone else who could cradle her in their arms.

Once I was finally signed off by the physical therapist, it was then up to me to ultimately become a proper mother, something that was made increasingly hard by my strong-willed daughter who was determined to push my limits to their maximum.

It didn’t help of course that Millie has two very stubborn parents, as my mother has repeatedly told me when I have called her to moan about something Millie has or hasn’t done. The number of meals I have spent hours lovingly preparing only to be tipped dramatically onto the floor in refusal has had me in bits. And then there have been the nappy wars when Millie has just flat-out refused to have one on, or then obtusely refused to let me remove her sodden, soiled ones. There have been times when I have been ready to tear my hair out and Taylor has come home to find me in tears because Millie has spent the day screaming as she cuts a tooth. Motherhood has by far been the biggest challenge I have ever faced.

But conversely, it has also brought me the most intense joy I have ever felt. The day Millie took her first steps and the first time she called me ‘mama’ have imprinted themselves on my soul. And then there are the simple things like taking a walk to the playground on the beach and pushing her on the swings as she squeals in delight. Those are the parts of her childhood I’m desperately trying not to take for granted.

I am surveying the scene in front of me when I notice a figure on the periphery. Turning my head, I see it is Gillian, hanging back as if she is not sure she’s welcome. A year ago she wouldn’t have been but it’s amazing what a breakdown and twelve months of intense therapy can do to a person.

“Gillian,” I say in greeting as I move across to her with a smile. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Abby. I’m sorry we are late; the traffic was terrible. Nicola is just parking the car but she will be in in a moment,” Gillian says quietly.

“It’s no problem,” I say with a smile trying to put her at ease.

“Gama!” a little voice squeals as Millie barrels through people’s legs. Gillian picks her up and squeezes her tight while singing happy birthday to her. It’s a sight that brings a smile to my face. I cast my gaze over Gillian; she is less made up and tidy than she used to be but the change is refreshing making her look more relaxed and approachable.

Her demeanour has also changed. Whereas the old Gillian would come across as being very judgemental and abrasive, these days she smiles more and tends to think before she speaks. It has been a very slow process but I think Harold and Richard’s deaths brought a little perspective into her life. She may still not be my favourite person–I can’t forgive and forget everything she allowed to happen to Taylor–but at least we have a decent enough relationship these days.

Taylor spots us and comes over, greeting his mother with a kiss on her cheek. “Where’s Stix?” he asks just as she comes bursting through the door.

“Sorry, we’re late,” she says apologetically. “Mum let me drive and the traffic was horrible!”

Chris rolls his eyes at us. “What she doesn’t say is she planned on wearing these crazy-high heels and then found she couldn’t actually feel the peddles so it took at least twenty minutes for her to find a pair that was, what did you call it, ‘fashionable yet functional’?”

Stix punches Chris in the arm playfully, “Shhh, don’t tell them all my secrets!” Ever since Stix passed her driving test a couple of weeks ago, she has been driving as much as possible; the novelty definitely hasn’t worn off yet. I look down at her feet and comment that the heels she is currently wearing couldn’t have been much better.

Chris chuckles and responds that Stix ended up wearing a pair of flip flops to drive in and then changed when they arrived. “Took her five minutes to get the bloody things done up,” he grumbles in jest, earning himself another whack.

Just then Michelle and Marc come through the door laden down with a pile of brightly coloured presents. As I embrace Michelle she whispers into my ear, “I don’t know how you coped with this morning sickness, Abs. Seriously, this sucks.” Michelle leans back and I look at her carefully, noticing that, despite her makeup, she is actually very pale.

“Go sit, lovely,” I say. “I’ll bring you some ginger tea which should help.” When Michelle called me a couple of weeks ago to say she was pregnant, I was over the moon. She and Marc had got married six weeks after I was shot, the whole horrible affair apparently making them realise that life was too short to wait and spurring them to ‘just get on with it’. And now she is expecting her first baby!

“Where’s my lovely Goddaughter?” Michelle asks looking around for her.

“Um, with Gillian and Stix a moment ago,” I respond looking for Millie. Dressed in a fuchsia pink confection of lace and tulle netting she should be impossible to miss but the little minx has a habit of disappearing and then reappearing just when the panic has descended and we are ready to form a search party.

I hear a little giggle from behind Michelle’s knees and we both glance down to find Millie grinning up at us with a cheeky smile, a sure sign that she’s been to no good. “Come on, Millie Bean,” Michelle says holding out her hand. “I think Auntie Michelle needs to help you unwrap some presents.”

Michelle gives me a smirk and leads Millie off to a corner where they proceed to unwrap all manner of completely crazy presents for a one-year-old. Never mind, I reassure myself, I’ll be able to get my own back in a while.