by C J Morrow
I put the plate on the worktop and turned back to the table, picking up the placemats as the tears streamed down my face. I wasted time lining them up, ensuring they were piled neatly. I didn’t want Mum to see me crying. I took a deep breath to calm myself.
Who was I kidding?
Her arms were around me and she was hugging me and the whole sorry story came tumbling out.
‘You didn’t know before you married him?’ Mum’s tone suggested that it wasn’t really a question, more confirmation of what she suspected. She hugged me tighter, trying to console me.
‘No.’
‘Most people discuss having a family before they marry, otherwise…’ She never finished the sentence. ‘I suppose you were too young to even think about it.’
‘I suppose so.’
She pulled back and frowned.
‘How does he know?’
‘He’s been tested.’
‘Yes. But why?’
What was she getting at? I shrugged.
‘I mean,’ she said, ‘you only get tested if you’re trying for a baby and can’t get pregnant. You know, to find out if it’s the man or the woman.’
‘Oh Mum, you always try to twist it.’ I glanced up at the clock. ‘I need to go, I have to pick up Robin. That wasn’t strictly true, I had another half hour until I needed to leave, I just didn’t want to face Mum’s questions. Or my own.
She had a valid point though, didn’t she?
I parked around the corner from the house Robin was tutoring in – he didn’t like me to hover outside – and waited. During that extra half hour, I had plenty of opportunity to think. It had never occurred to me that testing wasn’t the norm. I had just accepted what Robin said. Why wouldn’t I? But now, now, Mum had sown a seed of doubt in my mind I began to wonder.
When Robin came around the corner, he was already smiling as he walked but when he saw me his smile broadened. He jumped into the car and leaned across and kissed me on the lips.
‘Good evening?’ I asked.
‘Very. They want me to tutor their son next term.’
‘Good.’
‘Extra money, every penny helps.’ He pulled on his seat belt and looked pointedly at the steering wheel.
I started the car.
‘We don’t really need the extra money, do we. I mean we do okay. Don’t we?’
‘Course,’ he said, his lips pursing as he turned his head away from me.
Ever since our marriage Robin had handled all the finances, even though I was supposed to be the financial whizz; I was a chartered accountant, after all. Initially, I didn’t mind. In fact, I was quite happy with the arrangement initially, because, as Mum had pointed out frequently, I was a child then.
‘It just keeps things tidy,’ Robin had said, whenever I queried it. He also liked to handle the post, always making sure that he got to it first, no matter when it came through the door. He would sift through the letters, pick out any addressed to me and hand them over with a smile. The rest went into his study. ‘Bills,’ he would say. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’
So, I let him. It suited me that he looked after everything. He looked after me. Anyway, I spent all day looking at numbers, pound signs floated across my eyes in my sleep especially when we were doing an audit, so I was happy with our arrangement. Occasionally, if I asked, he would update me on our financial position. But, as he often said we had everything we wanted and needed, so I let it go.
When we got home, and before he disappeared into his study, I caught him.
‘Robin, you know your infertility . . .’
I watched him flinch. ‘Yeah.’
‘How do you know?’
He turned an astonished look on me. He almost laughed in my face.
‘How do I know what?’
‘That you’re infertile?’
‘I was tested.’
‘Why?’
He narrowed his eyes at me but didn’t answer.
‘Why were you tested?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He pushed past me, went into his study and slammed the door behind him.
I sat down in the lounge and waited. I didn’t put the television on, or any lights, I just sat there.
Waiting.
Twenty minutes later I heard his study door open. He came across the hall and flicked the light on.
‘You’re sitting in the dark.’ His voice was light, his dark mood gone. He dropped down next to me on the sofa and took my hand. ‘Sorry I snapped. It’s just so…well you know. Upsetting. I had mumps. As an adult. It can leave a grown man infertile, so I was tested.’
‘I’m your wife, you could have told me that.’
‘I know, I should have. I’m sorry. Shall I make us a pot of tea?’
‘Yeah.’ I shrugged and watched as he left the room, his step as light as his voice.
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
And that’s what I said to Mum the next time I saw her. She didn’t comment. At all. Just lifted her head in a half nod and talked about something else. And I let her.
That all seems so trivial now, after everything that’s happened. Mum will never be able to bump into an old friend in a supermarket with her own grandchild in tow. I will never make her a granny. And now, neither will Mads.
When Emma comes in to do my physiotherapy, I ask her about my injuries. She’s puzzled by my questions.
‘You’re healing really well now. Nothing to worry about. Even that eye is starting to respond.’
‘What about my stomach, my pelvis?’ I can’t bring myself to say reproductive organs.
She fetches a folder and flicks through it.
‘No. No injuries there. Don’t worry, everything’s fine. Normal childbirth and all that.’ She laughs as she pats my hand reassuringly before encouraging me off the bed and into full mobility training, in a gym, no less.
I thank her for the reassurance; she isn’t to know that I will never experience childbirth.
After she’s finished with me and returned me to my room, I’m exhausted and sit in the chair dozing off and enjoying the peace and quiet.
I jolt awake. My heart is pounding in my chest.
The dream has returned; my car spinning out of control.
I’m remembering more detail now. I was hanging from the car ceiling, suspended by my seatbelt; the pain in my chest was excruciating. The belt was released and I was pulled out, seconds before the car caught fire.
I didn’t see the face of the person pulling me out. It was a man, he was strong, it must have been Robin. I’ll ask him when he comes in.
I take a deep breath and calm myself. It’s over. It’s finished. I’m okay. I’m almost afraid to doze again but I’m so tired. I try, without success, to keep my eyes open.
‘Wear the black coat I bought you. You never wear it,’ Robin’s voice was insistent.
‘It doesn’t fit. Anyway, we’ve decided that black isn’t appropriate.’ We were getting ready for Mads’s funeral.
‘You’ve got a bright blue dress on, you should at least wear a black coat. She deserves that much respect.’
I looked at him, he wore a black suit I didn’t know he had. Had he gone out and bought it especially? I couldn’t be bothered to ask. Nothing mattered anymore. His white shirt looked new too, as did the narrow black tie.
‘Wear it. Show some respect.’ He pulled the coat out of the wardrobe and flung it at me.
‘No.’ I turned away and started down the stairs.
‘Don’t do this, Juliette. Not today of all days.’ He followed me down the stairs, the coat in his hand.
I didn’t reply but put my head around the lounge door to check the time. We were running late. We needed to leave.
Back in the hall I searched the coat rack for my coat, my every day, maroon coat. I couldn’t find it. I turned to face Robin. He held out the black coat, spreading it so I could easily put it on.
Oh, what was the point? What did it matter? We w
ere running late. I put my arms in the sleeves and Robin spun me around and did the buttons up.
‘You need to lose a few pounds.’ He kissed me on the lips, a proper kiss, as the coat strained across my chest. He looked sad, and tired, yet in his black suit, he looked like an Armani model, albeit a mature one.
I drove my car to the crematorium. Mum and Dad had wanted us to go in the funeral car with them, but Robin had said he wouldn’t come. Said such cars made a sad situation worse. I didn’t have the energy to argue.
I’m not really asleep, just in that halfway state. My eyes are closed. My head lolls against the chair wing. Robin’s voice speaks soothingly in my ear.
‘How are you today?’
‘Fine,’ I say, half asleep.
‘Cool. I can’t stay long, just popped over in my lunch break.’
‘Good. Thanks. Robin,’ I pause, I have to ask. ‘Why were you so determined I should wear the black coat to Mads’s funeral?’
I can almost hear his brain ticking over. What’s that phrase? The silence is deafening.
‘Black for a funeral,’ he finally manages.
Is that really the best he can do? Does it even matter anymore?
‘Robin, what caused our crash. How did I flip us over? Over and over?’
‘I don’t remember. Let’s not churn it up again. Sometimes we just have to accept that things are the way they are.’
Not that again.
‘Do we?’
‘You’re going to be okay, that’s all that really matters.’
‘Robin, was it you who pulled me out of the car?’
‘Yes. Of course. I have to go.’ He gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and the door closes behind him.
He’s gone.
And I don’t care.
I’m slumped back in the chair again when Mum and Sally arrive. They’re later than usual; they’re also giggly. I open my eye to see flushed faces and smiles.
‘Lunchtime drink?’ I say, without thinking.
‘Is it that obvious?’ Sally asks, as Mum hushes her.
‘It was hours ago, and only the one. Actually, we’ve been shopping.’
‘Have fun?’
‘Yes. I bought you a few new things, you are so thin now, your clothes are hanging off you.’
I look down at my top and leggings. Mum’s right, the last time I wore these leggings they were strained across my thighs. It was just after Christmas though, so I was at my heaviest. Robin had made a nasty comment about my immense arse.
‘I’ve brought you chocolates,’ Sally whispers. ‘Thought it might make a change from healthy foods.’ She giggles and lays a double-layer box of Thornton’s on my lap. I feel myself start to salivate. ‘Go on, open them now.’
I don’t need telling twice and we’re soon tucking into the top layer. I choose first – soft centres, Mum likes toffees and Sally likes nutty ones. Which means there’s no waste.
‘Robin wouldn’t like me eating these,’ I say, forgetting it’s Mum I’m talking to.
‘No, he wouldn’t. But he’s not here, so you enjoy them.’ Mum leans over and takes another for herself. ‘We cleared it with the nurses.’
Sally laughs. ‘I think what cleared it with the nurses was giving them a box too. Just to say thank you.’
‘Thank you. Yes. I should do that when I leave.’ They’ve been amazing, and they have the patience of saints. ‘Show me these clothes then.’
Mum lifts the carrier bags from the floor and starts to pull out tops and leggings, a lovely linen cardigan, and a new pair of jeans. There’s underwear too.
‘Size eight,’ Sally says. ‘But you’ll soon grow out of them.’
‘But for now, they won’t bag around you or fall down.’ Mum holds the jeans up against me, nodding her approval.
‘We’ll have a few more shopping trips when you’re better. Lots of new clothes and things.’ Sally says, a grin spreading across her flushed face. I’m wondering if they only had the one drink.
‘I’ve got a wardrobe full of small stuff at home.’ I force a little laugh. ‘The clothes are all great. Thank you.’ I feel tearful. Everyone is being so kind. So helpful. I sniff to hold it in.
‘What have you been doing today?’ Mum’s picked up on my distress and is diverting the conversation.
‘Walking. A lot. And some of it without sticks. I’ve been to the mini-gym today too. And look.’ I concentrate hard and manage to open my left eye. Suddenly, I’m seeing in binocular vision, and using my left eye seems to be improving my vision. I put my hand over my right eye and everything is crystal clear. I let my left eye close, which it does with minimum effort on my part and peer through my right eye only; Mum’s face is a little blurry. ‘I think I might need glasses.’ Robin will not like that. I hope I can wear contacts when I’m better.
‘Worry about that later. But that’s wonderful, you’ll soon be back to normal. There’s hardly any swelling now.’
‘But glasses,’ I say, making a face.
‘Nothing wrong with glasses.’ Sally and Mum both wear glasses.
‘Yes, but you’re…’ I’m about to say old, but manage to change it to ‘older.’
They don’t care. They just laugh. This is the happiest and most relaxed I’ve seen Mum in years. Not that I’m advocating alcohol as a solution to our present problems.
Nothing is going to bring Mads back. Maybe if we could all understand what happened to her, we might be able to rebuild our lives.
‘Mum, have you seen anything of Mads’s friend, Chloe?’
Mum’s face drops. I wish I hadn’t let my thoughts escape through my mouth.
‘Not since the funeral. Poor girl.’
‘They were still friends then?’
‘What do you mean? They were best friends.’
‘They hadn’t fallen out, or anything?’ I don’t want to accuse Chloe of being a bully, but, if there are any signs that Mum has noticed, it would help.
‘No. They were best of friends. Just that morning, Chloe called for Madeleine for school. They were giggling like…’ her voice trails away, ‘schoolgirls.’ Mum’s face is pale now, gone are her flushed cheeks, her own giggly smile.
Robin was convinced that Chloe was the bully; but Mum would know if that were the case, surely. The mood in the room is now sombre; I’ve done that, I’ve spoiled our fun.
‘Why don’t we get you into some of these clothes,’ Sally says, pulling the jeans and a top out.
I allow them to dress me, it’s a good diversion from my mood-killing questions about Chloe. In the end, the jeans are deemed too complicated for me to manage on my own. I might be using the bathroom unaided, but fiddly zips and buttons are still beyond me. I pull on a pair of navy leggings instead; they make my newly slim legs look amazing. Robin’s going to love these.
‘You look fabulous. And you’ll soon fill out.’ Sally runs her hands over my shoulders, smoothing the deep pink top down. She stands up. ‘Anyone fancy a cup of tea? I’m going to go down to the café and get myself one. I can bring some back. They come in paper cups, but quite passable.’
‘Yes, please,’ Mum and I say at the same time, then smile.
After Sally has gone we sit in silence. I practise opening and closing my left eye, my right eye, then both together. It’s getting easier. Mum stares off into the distance. I could kick myself for spoiling the mood. I never learn. Robin always says that I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Mum. Robin always says I’m insensitive.’
Mum flinches at the mention of Robin, but reaches over and takes my hand. ‘Don’t worry. Things can only get better.’
I’m about to question that but think better of it so I offer a brief smile instead.
‘Still no sign of my period,’ I say, changing the subject. ‘So that’s good. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost so much weight. Maybe when I put weight on it’ll return. Can’t say I’m missing it.’ I witter away then notice Mum’s face.
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She’s staring at me, her eyes wide, her mouth forming a small O.
‘What’s wrong?’ She’s worrying me again.
‘Dad said we should wait. I don’t think we can.’ She sighs.
‘Wait for what? What’s wrong?’ Now I’m worried. I was right all along, there is something wrong with me. They’ve all been lying. Everyone, even Emma. They’re all in on it.
‘I know you’ve always wanted a family,’ Mum starts but I’m already crying before she can say anymore.
Yes, I have always wanted a family. Yes, I know that Robin cannot father children. Yes, I know that he won’t adopt. But, I always hoped and prayed that he might change his mind about some sort of infertility treatment, especially that one where you can find a male donor. I’ve fantasised that sometime in the not too distant future a baby of my own would be a possibility. Now Mum is about to tell me that will never happen.
I can hear the long cry coming from my mouth, it’s drowning out a lot of her words, but Mum manages to finish what she wanted to say when I stop to draw breath.
‘You’re pregnant,’ she says.
I stop breathing.
Then gasp.
‘What did you just say?’
‘You’re expecting a baby. You’re about six or seven weeks pregnant now.’
‘But, I, we…’ I don’t know what to say. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. Your dad said to wait until you went home, but I’ve wanted to tell you for days.’
‘It’s definite. There’s no mistake?’ How can this be true? It’s a miracle.
Mum picks her handbag up from the floor, opens it, looks inside then pulls out an envelope. She hands it to me.
Inside the envelope are baby scans. My name is clear on the photos. It’s a struggle to make any sense of the pictures, just white blobs on a grey background.
‘They did them when you were still in the coma. That’s the baby there. See.’
‘Yeah. I think so.’ I wouldn’t be able to tell if Mum wasn’t pointing it out.
‘Congratulations.’ Mum stands and hugs me. ‘I’m so thrilled for you. We’ve got to make sure you get well and look after yourself. It’s not just you now.’
