The Perfect Mother (ARC) Read online

  is making me feel worse! I wish I’d never told you now.’

  ‘Aw chick, I’m sorry. Come here.’ Rising, Dympna

  dodged the pizza box. ‘I’m just looking out for you.

  Whatever you want, I’ll back you all the way.’

  I closed my eyes as I succumbed to another hug. My

  shoulders dropping, I relaxed in her embrace. She smelt

  of peach-scented body spray and happier times. I made

  up my mind to protect our friendship.

  ‘Ugh, you’ve got sauce in your hair,’ she grimaced,

  releasing me from her grip. ‘You shouldn’t be eating that

  rubbish any more. I’ll make us some scrambled eggs.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I murmured, my stomach still tied up in

  knots.

  She gave me a sad smile before walking through the

  door. I heard her head thunk against the wood as she

  leaned against it on the other side. She needed time to

  process things, too. Sitting back on my bed, I opened my

  laptop and scrolled through the adoption site. The other

  applicants seemed so glam compared to me. Ex-models

  and well-educated women with good jobs looking for the

  best price for their unborn child. Was I strong enough

  to compete? My life had been turned on its head. I had

  to try, for the sake of the baby. It deserved the perfect

  mother – which certainly wasn’t me.

  7

  CHAPTER TWO

  Sheridan

  Celeb Goss Magazine

  By Alex Santana

  October 2018

  INSECURE SHERIDAN’S BABY

  ULTIMATUM

  Being married to Daniel Watson is every

  hot-blooded woman’s dream, and judg-

  ing by the couple’s Instagram photos, you’d

  be forgiven for thinking his wife, blonde

  bombshell Sheridan Sinclair, forty-four, feels

  the same. But the celebrity couple’s relation-

  ship isn’t as picture-perfect as it seems.

  An insider tells Celeb Goss that they are find-

  ing things tough: ‘Things came to a head

  between Daniel and Sheridan last month.

  She’s been feeling insecure about her age,

  and it doesn’t help that pretty young women

  flock around Daniel everywhere they go.’ It

  seems that the New York actress has con-

  sidered cosmetic surgery. ‘She’s been having

  Botox and lip-fillers since she was thirty, but

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  The Perfect Mother

  she stepped things up and told Daniel she

  wanted a facelift. Daniel was totally against

  it, saying she was beautiful the way she was,

  but it has caused a rift.’

  But fans need not despair just yet. Last

  week the pair gave separate interviews and

  reaffirmed their commitment to each other.

  Speaking on Good Morning America, Daniel,

  thirty-eight, defended the couple’s marriage,

  which was put to the test when he spent

  eight months filming in his home county of

  Oxfordshire, England. ‘Sheridan and I are as

  solid as ever, and I hope to take some time

  out to spend with my family soon.’

  Sheridan has been keeping busy in his

  absence. Since the birth of their only son,

  Leo, four, her Instagram following has gone

  through the roof. Her wholesome family

  photos have attracted millions of followers,

  nicknamed the ‘Sheridanis’. But rumour has

  it that Sheridan longs for a little girl. When

  asked if they were going to try for another

  baby, Daniel said: ‘It’s not off the cards.’

  Sheridan Sinclair first hit television screens

  at the tender age of six in the long-running

  TV series It Takes All Sorts, and has starred

  in many Hollywood blockbusters over the

  years. However, inside sources say that since

  hitting her forties, offers of work have been

  drying up. The same cannot be said for her

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  Caroline Mitchell

  husband, who came to acting later in life and

  is in high demand. Is it really Sheridan’s age

  that is bothering her, or her husband’s flour-

  ishing career? Hollywood can’t get enough

  of this hunky Brit. If Sheridan wants to tie

  him down to family life, it seems she will

  have a fight on her hands.

  ‘Have you read this?’ Sheridan slammed down the maga-

  zine on the glossy kitchen counter. ‘Is that what people

  think of me now? That I’m some dried-up old prune

  trying to keep her claws in her “hunky Brit”?’

  Daniel lowered his espresso and picked up the maga-

  zine. ‘ Celeb Goss? Really? Why do you read this rubbish?’

  ‘That woman…’ she said, her features grim. ‘ That

  woman has done untold harm to this family. Why aren’t

  you stopping her?’

  Daniel, returned his gaze to the manuscript he’d been

  reading seconds before. He was wearing a designer suit

  and tie, his clothes tailor-made for his broad frame. He

  was due for an engagement with a producer later that

  morning. The fact that he was not meeting Sheridan’s

  gaze told her that he was not taking her outburst seriously.

  ‘What do you want me to do, take a hit out on her?’ He

  smiled at the prospect. ‘We’re not the Mafia. It’ll take

  time for the legal action to go through.’

  ‘Can’t they put a gagging order on her or something?

  We fired her weeks ago.’

  ‘And that’s an old quote. A rehash of the story they

  printed when she blabbed to the press. Relax. It’ll settle.’

  He rose from his chair and smoothed down a loose

  strand of Sheridan’s hair. It was still damp from the

  shower she’d taken after her morning workout. Her

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  The Perfect Mother

  personal trainer had left her feeling energised, ready to

  face the day.

  Daniel’s touch had an instant calming effect and as

  he rested his palm against her cheek, she felt the stress

  melt away. She rose on the balls of her feet to kiss him,

  grateful to still feel a spark there. She wanted to part her silk dressing gown and take him to bed. But his meeting was an important one, and her hair stylist was due to

  arrive soon. She could wait for now. Isabella, the nanny,

  was taking Leo to school and Sheridan had scheduled in

  a few minutes alone with Daniel before he left.

  ‘Have you found a baby yet?’ Daniel said, taking half

  a step back.

  ‘Are you sure it’s what you want? It’s not too late to

  back out.’

  ‘You’re a great mother. Leo will love having a sibling.’

  Sheridan frowned. He had not answered her question.

  ‘If the press finds out…’ she traced her finger over his

  chest, imagining alternate futures for them both.

  ‘They won’t. We’ve been stung once. It’ll never happen

  again.’ Daniel’s voice was deep and filled with conviction.

  ‘I have found a potential donor,’ she said, a smile rising to her lips. ‘Her name is Rosalind Foley. She’s from

  Ireland. I thought it would be nice, given your mom’s

  background.’ Daniel’s mother was Irish an
d had passed

  away just last year. ‘If we have a girl, we could name the

  baby after her. The press would lap it up.’

  ‘That’s a lovely thought.’ Daniel sat back down, raised

  his cup for another sip.

  ‘She’s living in Dublin, twenty-four years old. She’s

  estranged from her family, so we don’t have them to worry

  about. Nobody knows about the baby apart from her.’

  ‘Sounds promising.’

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  Caroline Mitchell

  Sheridan nodded, her smile growing. ‘She doesn’t

  drink, smoke or take drugs. A good Irish Catholic girl.

  But this is what drew me to her straight away. Look.’

  Lifting her mobile phone from the kitchen counter,

  Sheridan brought up Roz’s profile. Roz was sitting on a

  park bench and smiling, looking slightly embarrassed as

  she held her camera aloft. ‘Apologies for the selfie,’ she

  said. ‘But nobody else knows I’m doing this, and that’s

  how I want it to stay.’

  ‘She looks nice. Why didn’t she get a termination?’

  Daniel asked, his interest aroused. Roz looked appeared

  remarkably like Sheridan in the early days. Her blue eyes

  seemed to see right through you, but her most striking

  feature was her white-blonde hair.

  ‘She’s a practising Catholic,’ Sheridan continued. ‘They

  don’t believe in abortion.’

  ‘If she were a practising Catholic, she wouldn’t have

  got pregnant in the first place,’ Daniel grinned, his dimples enough to melt any woman’s heart. ‘Who’s the father?’

  Images of a little girl with blonde hair floated in

  Sheridan’s vision. Leo looked just like Daniel. If she had

  a daughter to focus on, it would put an end to the ru-

  mours for good.

  ‘There is no father,’ Sheridan said, then raised her

  hand before Daniel could come back with another quip.

  ‘I mean, it was a one-off. A young army man, so he must

  be reasonably fit. He doesn’t know about the pregnancy.’

  Sheridan paused for breath as nervous excitement took

  hold. The palms of her hands felt sweaty and she dried

  them as she smoothed down her dressing gown. ‘What

  do you think? Will I make contact?’

  ‘Best you do, before someone beats you to it. Hopefully

  it’s a girl.’

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  The Perfect Mother

  They had already discussed the issue. A blood test

  could determine gender as early as eight weeks into the

  pregnancy. It would be easy to get Miracle-Moms to send

  the results directly to them.

  ‘Do you think she’ll go for it?’ Sheridan said. ‘I have

  a good feeling about this. She’s young, healthy, clean-

  living. Artistic, too.’ She scrolled through some of Roz’s

  portraits, which were remarkably lifelike.

  ‘If you tell her what we’re offering, she’ll bite your

  hand off.’

  ‘She does say she’d like to travel one day.’

  ‘Well, there you are. If she’s carrying a girl, we can

  bring her over, run a few more tests, check her back-

  ground. How many weeks is she gone?’

  ‘Eight,’ Sheridan replied. ‘Which means I could be a

  mom in just over six months’ time.’

  Daniel had insisted from the start that she pass the

  baby off as her own. When you had as much money as

  they did, it could be arranged in the blink of an eye.

  Would Roz be happy with such an agreement? It had

  cost them over $10,000 to register as prospective parents

  with the adoption website, but it had been worth it to

  preserve their anonymity, and it had excellent security

  measures in place. According to the site, their names

  were Julie and Glenn. Their real details would be re-

  vealed much further down the line, when non-disclosure

  agreements had been signed. Sheridan had made a huge

  mistake in trusting her former maid, Rachel. It would

  never happen again. Women would be queuing round

  the block to have Daniel’s baby if their true identities

  were revealed. That was why she could not use a sur-

  rogate. She couldn’t bear for another woman to carry

  his child.

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  Caroline Mitchell

  ‘Let’s do it,’ she said, beaming at the thought. ‘I’ll put

  something together now.’

  But as Sheridan turned away, her smile faded, and

  a tightness grew in her chest. There was much more to

  all this beneath the surface, but neither of them had said

  the words aloud. She thought of Roz, a country girl who

  came across as young and naive. Was she gullible enough

  to fall for the story that Sheridan was about to spin?

  14

  CHAPTER THREE

  Roz

  ‘Yous aren’t gonna throw up on me now, are you, girls?’

  As I opened the back door of the taxi, I flashed the

  driver a reassuring smile. ‘I’ve not been drinking.’ I fol-

  lowed his gaze to Dympna, whose breath carried the

  tang of alcopops mingled with cheese and onion crisps.

  I could have ordered an Uber, no questions asked. But

  I had my baby to think of and I felt safer in the back of

  a licensed cab.

  ‘Hop in,’ the driver sighed, after I gave him my address.

  ‘But there’s an €80 fine if you puke on the back seats.’

  ‘Best we vom on the floor then,’ Dympna giggled,

  her words mercifully muted by Johnny Cash on the car

  radio, singing a tune about a ring of fire.

  I slid into the back seat, pushing a giggling Dympna

  ahead of me before the driver could change his mind.

  My tights were laddered where I’d caught them with my

  nail, and my hair was frizzy from the rain. We looked a

  right pair. Dympna snorted as she tried to find a home

  for her seat belt, mumbling something about putting it

  in the wrong hole.

  ‘Shh,’ I warned. ‘My head’s banging.’ The beat of

  the nightclub speakers still drummed in my ears; the

  smell of sweat lingered on my skin from my moves on

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  Caroline Mitchell

  the dancefloor. It was just a headache, though, not the

  after-effects of alcohol. Our nights out weren’t the same

  now I was the sober one, and I was beginning to feel like

  Dympna’s mother. Still, it was sweet of her to make time

  for me, now she was all loved up. I kept one eye on the

  cab fare, aghast to discover what little money I had left

  in my Hello Kitty purse.

  ‘Sorry, can you drop us off around here?’ I leaned for-

  ward to ask the taxi driver. ‘I’ve only got five euros left.’

  But he was nicer than I gave him credit for, and

  he took us right to the door. People in Dublin were

  like that. Some wouldn’t give you the time of day, but

  there were still decent souls around who looked after

  their own.

  I helped my friend up the narrow stairway to our

  tiny two-bedroom flat. ‘Uhhh … make the room stop

  spinning, will you?’ Cushions tumbled to the floor as

  Dympna sprawled herself dramatically across the sofa.

>   ‘This is all your fault.’

  ‘My fault?’ I queried, pouring a glass of water from

  the kitchen tap and kicking off my shoes. ‘How do you

  work that one out?’

  Our flat comprised of an open living room-cum-kitchen

  diner, two cramped bedrooms and a bathroom with a leaky

  shower in which you could not swing a cat.

  ‘I was drinking for two!’ Dympna giggled. ‘One for

  me and one for you.’

  ‘Here,’ I thrust the water into her hand.

  ‘I don’t want water, I want curried chips. Be a love

  and pop next door…’

  ‘I will in my backside! I just spent my last five euros

  on the cab. Now drink. Then off to bed.’ Morning sick-

  ness had not hit me too hard, but my sense of smell had

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  The Perfect Mother

  taken on superhero proportions. The thought of walking

  into the greasy caff downstairs made my stomach churn.

  ‘Where’s my phone?’ Dympna slurped her water. ‘I

  wanna ring Shheamus and tell him how much I luurve

  him.’

  I rolled my eyes. Seamus would hardly appreciate such

  slurred declarations of love. Normally on our nights out

  I would be equally hammered and collapse in a giggling

  heap on the floor. Being the sensible one was no fun at

  all. I undid my earrings and hair clips, dropping them into an unused ornamental ash tray so they wouldn’t get lost.

  After finally getting my flatmate to bed, I went to

  the loo for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

  Already, the baby was making itself known as pregnancy

  hormones sent my kidneys into overdrive. A fresh pang of

  fear struck as I washed my hands in the sink. There was

  no backing out now. In a few months my stomach would

  be huge, my pregnancy plain for all to see. The father

  would guess the baby was his. What sort of life would the

  poor mite have, being born into such drama? At school,

  I felt the stigma of coming from what the nuns called a

  ‘broken home’. Single-parent families were accepted now,

  but I could have done with someone pointing that out

  to the bold Sister Agatha in the convent school where I

  spent my teens. I shuddered as the tap water turned cold.

  The boiler was playing up again.

  * * *

  After warming some milk in the microwave, I took a

  seat at the wobbly piece of furniture we optimistically

  referred to as a kitchen table. Beneath one of the legs was a folded-up beer mat - Dympna’s idea of DIY. Opening