Chapter 32

I’m so not ready for this.

Brodie is driving us back to Exeter, and my head is all over the place. Everything is so surreal. We have a car seat in the back. We’ve practised getting it in and out of the car without too much jostling, but it’s going to be a different matter when it has a baby in it.

I can’t believe that in a few hours’ time, I’ll be responsible for a three-month-old child. He’s not going to know who I am. He’s going to cry all the time, and I won’t know what to do to make him stop. We’ve read through his routine over and over, even made some formula and put nappies on one of Willow’s dolls. Will he sleep? He’s going to be so confused, missing his foster parents. Oh god, the foster parents. What if they hate me, hate that I’m in a relationship with a man? I’ve spoken to them, and they seem okay, but that could change. Ogilvie could refuse to let us have him.

“Calm down, Ivan. You’re starting to panic. Whatever is going on in your brain is not going to happen. We’ve got this.”

“We haven’t got this. We have no fucking idea what to do. It’s going to be a nightmare, and they’ll take him away from us.” I scrub a shaky hand down my face. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Brodie pulls over at the side of the road. “Don’t you think every new parent has this panic as the delivery date gets close? This is the same, only it’s a few months later for us. We’re going to make mistakes, but that doesn’t matter. It’s what we learn from them that’s important. All babies need is love and attention, and we’ve got plenty of that to give.”

I lean over the handbrake, wrap my hand around the back of his neck, and pull him closer. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”

“Don’t be daft. I love you. Now, shall we get back on the road?”

I press a firm kiss to his mouth. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Brodie gives me a long look. What is he searching for? He seems satisfied with what he sees and pulls away, following the instructions from his satnav to Ogilvie’s office.

The receptionist smiles brightly at us. “Mr Machin, Mr McClean, it’s good to see you again. Mr Ogilvie is ready for you.”

She walks ahead of us, taps on the heavy wood door, and opens it. “Mr Machin and Mr McClean are here for you.”

My heart feels like it’s in my throat, a heavy lump that’s stopping me from swallowing and forming words. Brodie offers his hand. I find my manners and do the same, then blurt out, “Is he here?”

Oglivie represses a small smile. “Yes, they’re in another room waiting for us to get over the formalities, although there isn’t much for us to go over. We dealt with most of it in our previous meeting. The financial aspect for Milo is all set up and ready to be transferred to an account of your choosing.”

“I want it in a trust for him until he turns eighteen. I don’t want her money. The fact that she’s happy to hand over her child to me without any contact for nearly a year is dreadful enough. To give me money to do it is insulting. I can raise my child.”

“Very well. Do you have your own solicitor, or would you like me to handle it?”

“It will probably be easiest if you take control of it. It makes more sense to have you manage the trust. After all, you probably know where Ms Pierce is if you need her to sign anything.” I look to Brodie. “Unless you want to use your solicitor?”

“No, I’m fine with keeping it in-house.”

I have something else on my mind. I haven’t mentioned it to Brodie, but it’s something we should address now. I take his hand in mine. “I do have a question for you, Mr Ogilvie. If in the future Brodie wanted to adopt Milo, would we be able to do so without any agreement from Milo’s birth mother?”

“Yes, Ms Pierce has signed away her rights to the child.”

Brodie tightens his hand, but I ignore the pain. “That’s good to know.”

“Thank you,” Brodie whispers, his eyes glassy, filled with emotion and unshed tears.

“Always. We’re in this together.”

Ogilvie is looking at us fondly. “Mr Machin, if you sign these forms, we can get to the fun part.”

“If you think any of this is fun, you have a weird sense of humour.”

“I have every faith that you’re going to embrace your son wholeheartedly. You’ll see why in just a moment.” He picks up his office phone and presses a button. “We’re ready for Milo.”

“Are we ready?” I ask Brodie, who lets out a dry laugh and rubs his hands down his thighs.

“As we’ll ever be.”

The door opens, and a couple around the same age as us comes in.

Ogilvie introduces them as Rachel and Simon. Rachel is carrying a bundle of blue blankets in her arms. “You’re right, Roger. This little one looks just like his daddy.”

She pulls the blanket down a little, and there he is, a tiny version of me. He’s asleep, so I can’t see his eyes, but I bet they’re as blue as mine. Brodie stands next to me, his hand on the small of my back and leans in too. “Oh, he looks just like you.”

The others are talking quietly, but I can’t take my eyes off my son. He’s lovely, his pale face relaxed in sleep, his eyelashes swept onto his chubby cheeks, and his mouth slightly open, the cupid’s bow of his top lip perfectly formed.

“Would you like to hold him?” Rachel asks and holds him out to me.

All nerves disappear as I eagerly take him from her. He nestles neatly in the crook of my arm. The blanket falls open. He’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt that says ‘I love my daddies’. The tears I’ve been holding back for days now fall freely down my face.

“Hello, Milo.” I stroke my fingertip over his cheek, and he startles, his arms going up, his mouth opening a little more, but he stays asleep. I laugh through my tears. “I’m going to have to start using hand cream.” I open my hand to show the rough, work-hardened skin.

“He’s such a good boy and sleeps through the night. You know his routine, but don’t worry about changing it. Just try not to do it too quickly. He can be very vocal if he’s hungry or dirty.”

Rachel gently pats Milo’s head. “I’m going to miss this little one. He’s been a joy to look after. There’s a list of things he likes and doesn’t like in his folder. We printed off all the photos we have of him so you can see him from the very beginning.”

Her husband hands Brodie a packed folder with plastic sleeves holding all the information. “His medical record is in the bag too. You’ll need it to register him with your GP as soon as possible.”

Hopefully, Brodie is paying attention to her because I can’t stop looking at the precious bundle—my son. I sniffle again. How callous Kate has been. What the hell was going on in her head to give up her son and to do it in such a clinical way? She could’ve come to me at any time, and we could’ve worked something out. “I feel I’ve missed so much.” I hiccup and sniff. Brodie is right beside me again, his arm around my shoulder. “How could she do this to him?”

“I don’t know, love. She must have her reasons. I can’t work out what they are. Not when you see him.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s mine—ours—now.”