The Missing O

Out of all the people I worked with, Britt seemed to be the person that I had most in common with. We listened to a lot of the same bands and read a lot of the same magazines (if you exclude the more girly glossies such as Elle and Grazia). However, despite this, I couldn’t help but get the impression that my work colleague found me boring.

“So,” I said to him one day, whilst the rest of the girls had gone out to lunch, no doubt to catch up on the latest gossip. “How’s everything with that band deal?”

Recently, Britt and Laura had been assigned to work with a young and rising band from the local music scene, doing things such as helping with the cover design of their new album, and a few editing jobs on some of their recent photo shoots. I hadn’t had a look in on any of the progress yet, but then it didn’t really interest me any more than any of the other work we dealt with here. We got a lot of musicians signing work with us.

He shrugged from his corner, spinning on his chair to make an effort to engage in the conversation with me. At least he had manners.

“You know,” he said tiredly, “Same old, same old.”

“Another bunch of divas?” I tried laughing, easing the atmosphere. It wouldn’t hurt making some sort of alliance with Britt, after all, he was the only person here that was tolerable. He was someone you didn’t have to grit your teeth or bite your tongue with. He seemed difficult to get to know though.

He didn’t share my life or even force a smile. “They’re not bad. You know, a bit picky, but at least they know what they want.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I couldn’t think of anything less lame to say, so, after that, I spun back around in my chair, pretending to type on the Mac. I wish sometimes that I could do that with the typewriter, and fill in awkward silences with the comforting sound of keys tapping. I soon shook away all thought of the café.

“They’re not a bad band,” Britt offered, and I looked sideways, seeing that he too had returned to his work. The light from the monitor was reflected back into the lenses of his glasses, and he rubbed one of his tattooed hands over his stubbly neck. “Bring Me The Horizon, I think they’re called. You should maybe check them out.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nodded. “I’ll copy you their CD sometime. If you want.”

Britt turned, and to my astonishment, gave a small smile. I smiled back, looking down at a few sheets of data that I was supposed to be updating.

“Sure, that’d be cool. Thanks.”

We looked at each other for a moment, just the tick-tock-tick-tock of the over-sized, train station-esc clock that hung on the painted brick wall accompanying us.

The whole of the office had this urban chic design to it, exposed beams and stained wood floorboards, abstract and editorial art hanging up in decorative and zany photo-frames, as well as a whole wall filled with work that we had all done here, as well as thank you’s from our more ‘well-established’ clients. The whole thing was about show, from the skirting boards to the light fixtures. Not that I minded much, it was a change from the home-decorated apartment.

The peace that had gathered in the office between Britt and I soon dispersed, and the busy rush and cluttered feeling soon filled the room.

“We’re back!” Claire sing-songed, clattering through the door, the rest of the girls in toe. Britt and I rolled our eyes and shared a smirk before spinning back to our screens.

“Katie!” I smiled, bringing the child into my arms and then letting her down gently, slipping her into the white and yellow high-chair, where her plastic plate awaited her. “Food time!”

Charlie laughed, shaking her head as she poured herself and I a glass of orange juice and setting them by our own meals. I stuck my tongue out at her, and Kaitlyn giggled in joy.

I loved moments like this, where the three of us were happy together, our worries having dispersed into the carpets, the rugs and curtains, like an odour that you had covered with air-freshener; it smelled sweet as lime-grass for now, but soon it would wear off. But, at this moment in time, I was willing to ignore everything else and just enjoy this dinner.

Kaitlyn eyed up her mashed up carrots and broccoli for a while, and like any other child, didn’t seem too pleased being faced with eating them. However, she picked up her little plastic spoon with her tiny hands, and spooned some of the steak and stew into her rose-bud mouth.

“Yummy?” Charlie cooed at her daughter, and Kaitlyn smiled, dropping some of the gravy down her chin.

“Yum, yum, yum!” Kaitlyn babbled, waving her spoon in her hand, smiling at the two of us.

I grinned, looking at the little girl. I leant forward, sweeping her curly hair behind her ear, and stroking her cheek for just a second. Her skin was so soft, and she always smelt sweet, like talcum powder and moisturiser.

I remembered the day she was born; it seemed so long ago, yet felt like just yesterday. I couldn’t even explain it, but whenever I thought about it, it brought a small lump to my throat.

Charlotte and I had been living in this small apartment for nearly seven months when she had gone into labour, at 3am. I had been sleeping, though tossing and turning through most of the night; something had made me feel uneasy when I had gone to bed that evening.

It felt like I had just dozed off when my door cracked open, the light from the living room waking me. My eyes hadn’t even adjusted when Charlie started crying, clasping at her swollen stomach.

“Morgan,” she stuttered, falling into my arms as I ripped off my duvet and ran to her. “Morgan, I think I pissed myself.”

I had laughed, right then and there, a burst of laughter that was so uncontrollable it came out more as a snort. Charlie had snatched herself away from me, still clutching at herself.

“Go ahead!” she yelled, tears still falling. “Laugh! Laugh at the whale! Fuck sake, Morgan. I can’t even control my bladder anymore, I feel so pathetic!”

I took her into my arms again, holding and stroking her hair. “I’m sorry, Sweetie,” I hushed, rocking her. “Do you want me to run you a bath or some-”

Before I could finish my sentence, Charlie had fallen to her knee’s, a scream ripping straight through her throat and shaking my focus. I don’t think I even moved for about half a minute, my legs wobbling below me and my head seeming to be knocked around my shoulders. My best friend, my pregnant best friend, had just collapsed from my arms, and I knew straight away that she hadn’t wet herself. She was in bloody labour.

“Shit!” I picked my friend up from the floor, supporting her under her arms, “Okay, Charles, I want you to breathe for me okay?”

“What?!” she cried, worry slapped straight across her flushed cheeks. “What the hell?!”

Even as I started up my neglected car - it took four tries, both my nerves and the cranky engine being the cause - she didn’t believe that she was going to actually have the baby. Being pregnant had never been so real as it was then.

I told her to go through the breathing that we had learned in Lamaze class, but neither of us could seem to remember and even thought it was me telling her to calm down, to think clearly, to not freak out, the whole drive to the hospital was a nerve-wrecking blur.

When we were at the hospital, everything seemed out of control, a whirlwind full of headaches and crying and screeching - from both Charlie and myself. As much as we had thought we were prepared for this, the hours of planning and reading parenting books, nothing could have made us ready for this. We just weren’t ready; too young, too naive, and too damned poor.

The thing I remember the most before Kaitlyn was born was Charlie gripping my hand, it felt as if it had been trapped in a vice, and asking me, begging me not to go away.

“Promise me you’ll stay with me,” she sobbed, her voice hitching and hiccupping, “Don’t leave me alone, please!”

“I’m right here, Charles,” I cried, running along side her in the bed as she was rushed to the delivery room. “I’m right here.”

“Am I going to be okay?” she asked before another contraction hit, her crippling my hand even more as she writhed in agony. “I’m s-so scared!”

“It’ll all work out, Charles.”

She smiled, only for a millisecond, “It always does, doesn’t it?”

I kissed the back of her hand, “Just as long as I’m around.”

Three hours, twenty-four minutes later, baby Kaitlyn was born, and my whole life started again. Nothing after that point would ever be the same again. Charlie and I, we had a whole new set of obstacles now, and just like everything else we had triumphed through so far, we’d go at this, head first, guns blazing, and it’d work out. It always did, didn’t it?

Charlie’s parents hadn’t been there during the birth, or after, or when we took Kaitlyn home for the first time. They weren’t there when the birth certificate was signed, or at the christening. Kaitlyn, as of yet, didn’t have grandparents, and even more than the disownment, this hurt Charlie.

We tried calling, sent letters, even went to the house. Every time we were left with no reply, and as the months passed, Charlie had given up trying. I, however hadn’t, and had still written to Mr and Mrs Evans every few weeks, giving updates of Kaitlyn, even sending photos. I hoped that one day they could look passed all this and be a part of Kaitlyn’s life. Maybe by showing how their granddaughter was growing, blossoming and changing every single day, they might take the first step to rebuild a relationship with their family. But I could only hope.