Spilt Milk

CopyrightHarperNorthWindmill Green24 Mount StreetManchester M2 3NXA division ofHarperCollinsPublishers1 London Bridge StreetLondon SE1 9GFwww.harpercollins.co.ukFirst published by HarperNorth in 20231 EDITIONCopyright © Amy Beashel 2023Cover design by Emma Rogers © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2023Cover Photograph © ShutterstockAmy Beashel asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this workThis novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.A catalogue record for this book is available from the British LibraryAll rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/greenSource ISBN: 9780008526436Ebook Edition © March 2023 ISBN: 9780008526443Version 2023-01-25 Note to ReadersThis ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings: Change of font size and line heightChange of background and font coloursChange of fontChange justificationText to speechPage numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008526436 DedicationDollyBabar and I have a longstanding joke that I’m obsessed with books about women finding their own self-worth. Truth is, the obsession stands in real life too. Especially when that woman, or girl, is you.And so this one, my darling, is – and was always – for you.Because I want your opinions to be respected, your choices to be honoured, and your relationships to be equal.And because I love you.I love you.I love you.(No buts.) ContentsCoverTitle PageCopyrightNote to ReadersDedicationSunday 31st MarchChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourMonday 1st AprilChapter FiveChapter SixMonday 8th AprilChapter SevenTuesday 9th AprilChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenThursday 11th AprilChapter ElevenFriday 12th AprilChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneSaturday 13th AprilChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeSunday 14th AprilChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-FiveChapter Twenty-SixChapter Twenty-SevenMonday 15th AprilChapter Twenty-EightChapter Twenty-NineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-OneTuesday 16th AprilChapter Thirty-TwoChapter Thirty-ThreeWednesday 17th AprilChapter Thirty-FourChapter Thirty-FiveChapter Thirty-SixChapter Thirty-SevenChapter Thirty-EightChapter Thirty-NineChapter FortyChapter Forty-OneChapter Forty-TwoChapter Forty-ThreeChapter Forty-FourThursday 18th AprilChapter Forty-FiveSaturday 20th AprilChapter Forty-SixChapter Forty-SevenChapter Forty-EightTuesday 23rd AprilChapter Forty-NineMayChapter FiftyChapter Fifty-OneChapter Fifty-TwoChapter Fifty-ThreeChapter Fifty-FourChapter Fifty-FiveJuneChapter Fifty-SixChapter Fifty-SevenChapter Fifty-EightJulyChapter Fifty-NineChapter SixtyChapter Sixty-OneChapter Sixty-TwoChapter Sixty-ThreeChapter Sixty-FourChapter Sixty-FiveChapter Sixty-SixEarly SeptemberChapter Sixty-SevenChapter Sixty-EightAcknowledgementsAbout the Publisher AFTER I love you, Mabel, honestly I do, but …Your hands, your lovely hands. We have a picture of one of them, your tiny new-born fingers gripping on to my thumb. There’s nothing original in its composition. I’ve seen enough versions of that photo with different babies, different mothers. The kind of mothers who don’t come with a “but”.Craig told us he couldn’t stop looking at the picture when he was at work. It was one of those first evenings after his week’s paternity leave, and he’d appeared home around six, scooping you from your Moses basket and saying, in this sing-song voice I’d not heard before, how much he’d missed you. He risked glancing up from your eyes for just a second, ‘You too, Bea.’I joked about being his after-thought. And when he kissed me then, with those lips of his that were more gentle, or less reaching, or something BEFORE Sunday 31st March Chapter OneIt’s gone nine when I wake, playing chicken with my wrecked pelvic floor as I roll on to my tummy to reach for my book, not risking the loo in case you or Craig hear me and come running, come needing, come breaking the almost but not quite silence that comes with earplugs on this Mother’s Day morning.Craig had swept you from your cot at just gone six with the promise of pancakes. ‘A Daddy special,’ he’d whispered, swiftly changing key into ‘the runaway train came down the track and she blew.’ You joined in with the woo-oo-oos as he carried you down the stairs, closing the door to the kitchen, to the noise, to the hands, to the constant stream of it so I might turn back into the pillow and sleep sleep sleep.I can’t hold it though. I have to go, allowing myself