As Imogen lay curled up on the sofa, she poked at Mila with her toes. “’Ey, don’t be sayin’ tha’,” she said with a softness that she was unaccustomed to. “Remember when Finn an’ I broke up the first time, an’ I had my overdose? Or when Finn had his accident, an’ he forgot who I even was? Think of all the times things got completely fucked up between me an’ your brother. All the times I made you hate me.” Imogen broke off to smile cheekily at her best friend, amused at the remembrance that there was ever a time they weren’t completely fond of each other.

“I loved Finn long before I even realised it. We’ve had more ups an’ downs than a rollercoaster, bu’ I never let myself give up hope tha’ we’d make it in the end. I jus’ knew in my heart tha’ I wanted him an’ no one else, an’ I wasn’t gonna give up until I had wha’ I wanted. Tha’s wha’ hope is, innit? It’s wha’ keeps ya goin’. An’ now look—I’ve got so much more than I even imagined. So I don’t wanna hear you even thinkin’ about givin’ up. Tha’ ain’t tha Mila Nolan I know.”

Imogen lay sprawled across her bed, staring up at the patterns on the ceiling; patterns that distorted themselves through the tears that swam in her eyes. One blink, and they began to course down her face. She restlessly turned onto her side, now facing the photograph that sat proudly on her bedside table. The photo depicted herself, holding her newborn daughter in her arms; gazing down at baby Violet with as much pride in her eyes that could possibly be displayed. It seemed almost unimaginable that, in just eight months, she'd be able to recreate that moment.

Christmas Day. Imogen had no idea how she'd be able get through the inevitable heartache that would ensue with the knowledge that she was missing her child's second Christmas. The thought of Louise being the mother figure in Violet's life; the one to kiss her goodnight on Christmas Eve, and help her open all her presents the following morning; was enough to drive Imogen to drink. Well, not quite enough. Even in the state of despair she was in that day, she knew how much of a terrible idea that would be. So, instead, she turned to the second most effective drug she could think of. Finn. It was wonderful. Why had they waited so long to give in to their desire? She had missed his touch, and the sensation of his lips on hers. That feeling, of their bodies pressed together, created such unrivalled bliss that, whenever even the mere remembrance struck her, Imogen couldn't help but smile.

She wiped her eyes gently and sat up slowly, with her eyes still fixed on the photograph beside her. She examined her own countenance. One of her closest friends had been killed a matter of hours earlier, and its effect was evident in the redness that surrounded Imogen's eyes. Yet, in spite of that fact, they glittered with hope and adoration. Hope for the future, and adoration for the small bundle of joy that she cradled closely to her chest.

There's nothing to be scared of, Imogen thought to herself. You can do it again. And you'll do it right this time.

Not half an hour later, Imogen stood outside Marcos' house and knocked impatiently on the door. If Finn wasn't in, she'd wait. She couldn't turn away from this; nor did she want to. She didn't feel entirely ready for another child, but she knew there was no other man in the world she'd rather have for its father than Finn.

The door opened, and, with him stood right in front of her, Imogen's confidence faltered. In fact, it almost deserted her completely. But she forced herself forward, and cupped his face with her trembling hands. "Finn," she spoke, her voice hoarse and laced with uncertainty. "Can I come in? It's important." She'd stepped inside the house before even completing her request, and she gazed around to make sure nobody was within earshot. She had no idea how many people lived with Marcos now, and she didn't particularly delight in the thought of having an audience. The brunette took hold of Finn's hand and dragged him into the nearest room with an open door. She closed it behind them and gestured for him to sit down. Imogen herself felt far too edgy to do anything of the sort; instead opting to stand in a solitary corner of the room, somehow terrified of Finn's reaction.

On her journey to the house, Imogen had considered a thousand possible introductions to the subject. She had settled on none. There was no point in any preamble, she knew. She just had to tell him. "Finn, at Christmas... Ya got me pregnant."

@hopelesswxnderers

“It’s not as simple as tha’, though, is it? D'ya know, I can’t remember the last time I had a trouble-free Christmas. An’ I’m not even gonna be spendin’ this one wi’ my baby, which is all I want. Or the person I want. Why’s everythin’ jus’ so shit, Lyds? Please tell me you’ve got some good news.”

“I only want ta hug you.”

It had seemed a crazy idea when Imogen first mentioned it; something that had popped into her mind, prompted by the fact that she found herself married to her best friend, with a small child, yet still living in an apartment rented by her ex. Many a day she would wake up in the morning half-expecting a letter on the doormat to tell her they were going to be evicted, but so far Stephen had been generous enough not to go to that extreme. It was a cosy place to live, but Imogen knew that she couldn’t rely on Stephen’s leniency forever—plus, they would need much more space as Harry grew older, and she wanted an extra bedroom for Violet in the eventuality that she would begin staying with them. For those reasons, Imogen had suggested to her new husband that they start looking for a proper house of their own. She hadn’t expected Finn to be on board with the idea. “I s’pose ya right,” she replied, twisting her wedding ring around on her finger. “I’ve never lived in a place of my own before, not properly. I don’t even know where to start. Do we have to go to the bank first, or do we look at estate agents? An’ are ya now startin’ ta wish ya’d married someone smarter?”

Imogen had given birth to their son only a few days earlier and the new family of three were due to leave the hospital that afternoon. Taking a short break from packing her things to sit on the bed, one arm cradling her newborn and the other wrapped around Finn’s waist as he sat beside her, Imogen was alarmed to hear her boyfriend’s words. She tore her gaze away from her baby’s beautiful sleeping face to look, with some concern, at Finn after he spoke. She reached out to place her hand against his cheek, narrowed eyes fixated on him. “Wh-- Nothin’s gonna happen, Finn,” she whispered. “Look at him, he’s perfect. Don’t talk like tha’.”

@hopelesswxnderers