“She’d go mental.”
“We’d not hear the end of it for decades. We’d literally never be able to sell the place.”
She hears something in his comment. He’s thinking they’re going to sell the flat. They’re still splitting up.
She ends the call by telling him she’ll come home as soon as she can. Clover comes downstairs in the clothes she was wearing the day before, a white T-shirt that looks dirty and boy’s jogging bottoms, donated by the hospital.
“I have an idea,” Luna says. “Why don’t we go get you some new clothes?”
Clover’s eyes light up, and Luna remembers how much she and her sister loved dressing up as children. It’s a reassurance, a tenuous one. But she can’t help but feel hopeful.
She’s uncertain where to go for toys or clothes befitting a child, least of all in somewhere as rural as Drumnadrochit. This is not something she’s ever done before, and she hasn’t even started shopping for the baby yet. They drive to Inverness, where the busy city and bustling mall are a comfort. A false one, she knows, but it’s a relief to be among crowds.
They find a Starbucks—thank you, God—where she gets a decaf latté and a croissant. The presence of familiar chain-store names is a balm. They find a Next store. Clover’s face lifts at the bright lights and the mannequins dressed in colorful clothing, the racks of sequined and printed T-shirts and dresses.
“Can I try on this one?” she says, lifting a tulle dress in vivid pink ombré.
“I’m afraid that’s only for babies,” Luna says. “See? It’s too small. The label says it’s only for children aged eighteen to twenty-four months.”
Clover is crestfallen.
They head to the section for children aged seven and over, where Clover delights in the range of outfits, the velvet headbands, trainers with pom-poms, and dinosaur-shaped handbags. The mystery of Clover’s age aside, her reaction is heartwarming; the angry, sullen child from last night is gone, and in her place is a chatty, funny child completely in her element among fashion.
Clover picks out leggings with a unicorn print, dungarees embroidered with roses, a dress with pink and blue tassels, and a handful of shoes, including wellies with a dolphin fin on the back seam. In the baby section, Luna can’t help but look over the beautiful sleepsuits and dungarees. Would it be jinxing things if she bought something for the baby? She lifts a panda-print onesie in newborn size and thumbs the soft fabric. She tries to imagine a baby wearing it, her baby, slipping the tiny legs and arms inside and holding him lengthwise along her arm. Will it actually happen?
In the changing room, Luna waits outside while Clover tries on her selection. She calls out, “Luna? Would you help me, please?” The curtain moves, and Clover’s head appears there. She gestures for her to come in.
Inside the cubicle, Clover is naked save her underwear, and instantly Luna’s eyes fall on her little body reflected in the triple mirror. The smooth, unblemished skin, the round belly and flat, undeveloped chest. How little she is, Luna thinks. And how vulnerable. Just this morning she’d wanted to strangle her. Well, not quite—but putting her on a time-out for sure.
The square white dressing on Clover’s hip stares back at her.
“How’s the ouchie on your hip?” she says as she bends to zip Clover’s outfit. “Do you need a new dressing on it?”
She glances at it in the long mirror. Clover follows her gaze and twists to inspect the dressing. “It hurts a little,” she says, her fingers tracing it.
“How did you get that mark, Clover?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Unease grows in Luna as she studies the mark. A memory rises up: she’s in a police station right after she’d been found in the forest, after her mother had left her there and she’d apparently tried to find her way home, but got lost in the process. There’s something on her leg that the police were concerned about. They ask her about it, over and over. I don’t know how it happened, she hears herself saying, just like Clover is saying now.