But how on earth was Angie going to cope? The practicalities threatened to dispel Maggie’s joy almost at once. Angie’s only income came from the business and she had no savings, as far as Maggie knew. If she couldn’t work, then she would soon run out of cash. The flat was rented, so she might lose that if she didn’t keep up the payments, and then there was the rent on Live Well, too. And just how patient would her clients be once they realised that they could actually get their treatments elsewhere from someone who hadn’t just had a baby and was perhaps more focused as a result? On top of all that, what worried Maggie most was that Angie didn’t appear to be worrying about any of it in the least.
And where was Jax in all this, she wondered – and not for the first time. Once they had established that he was definitely the father, there being no other potential candidates, he seemed to have fallen from their discussions, Angie refusing to be drawn on what his role would be. Maggie had assumed that he was going to come up to York and help, at least in the early days whilst Angie found her feet, but she realised now that Angie had never actually said this. There had been no falling out between the pair of them, though, not as far as she was aware anyway, so Maggie imagined that at least one ten pence piece had gone on telling him that his daughter had arrived. Maybe he would be at the hospital, too. She might finally get to meet him.
In the meantime, she would continue to worry for Angie, Maggie decided. Someone had to, as Angie seemed incapable of worrying about herself. Thus far, she had shown no doubts about her ability to bring a child up on her own, not a single one. But was this just plain naivety? Maggie had always admired Angie’s relentless optimism. This time, however, she couldn’t help but think that it might be slightly misplaced.
For now, though, she had been charged with a task and she needed to discharge it. She picked up the phone and dialled Leon’s number. After just two rings, Becky answered.
‘Hello,’ she said, her voice tight and in a half-whisper. Maggie checked her watch. It was seven thirty – bedtime. A more sensitive friend might have waited until Thomas and his younger brother were clear of bath and bedtime routine before interrupting, but Maggie was not attuned to the movements of a house with small children within it. She cursed herself silently for her lack of thought.
‘Hi Becky. It’s Maggie,’ she said quietly, as if the infants were actually in the room with her. ‘Is Leon there?’
‘He’s putting Thomas to bed,’ Becky replied shortly. ‘Can I get him to ring you back?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Maggie. ‘Tell him Angie’s had a little girl. We’re going to visit tomorrow at two if he wants to come.’
There was the briefest of pauses.
‘A girl. How lovely,’ said Becky, although her tone suggested that she wasn’t pleased. Had she been hoping for a girl, Maggie wondered? Surely healthy children should be enough. ‘I’ll tell him,’ Becky added.
‘And get him to ring m . . .’
But Becky had put the phone down.
Next, she had to ring Tiger. Maggie hadn’t known that he was back in York, not that it would have made any difference to anything, not really. Still, if there was a chance of bumping into him as she went about her daily business, she would rather know. The fact that they might have inadvertently shared an aisle in a supermarket somewhere gave her the briefest of thrills and she rolled her eyes at herself. She was thirty-four years old. Would she ever get over her adolescent infatuation with him? It wasn’t as if they had ever got any further than a chemical spark and a bit of harmless flirting. Each time there had been hope of something more solid, the opportunity had been snatched away from them. She hadn’t even seen him for – she added it up in her head – it must be at least five years, possibly more. In the early days after leaving university, she had tried to keep tabs on his comings and goings by gently probing Angie for information, but once Angie had become wise to what she was doing, she had stopped. She could endure many things, but relentless mocking from Angie wasn’t one of them. She had some pride to maintain, even now.
She dialled Angie’s number, her hand trembling as she punched out the digits. It rang three, four, five times. He wasn’t there. He must be out somewhere doing something that had nothing to do with her. Maggie let a little fantasy that he was actually on his way over with a celebratory bottle of wine play out in her imagination. So, when the ringing finally stopped and a male voice answered, she had almost forgotten what she had been doing.