The Forgotten Wife

by Emma Robinson

  38

  Shelley

  Every time her mum came to visit from Kent – where she now lived with a lovely man who she’d met online not long after Shelley’s wedding – she would insist on going to the supermarket so that she could return home satisfied that Shelley had cupboards full of ‘proper’ food. Other than that, Shelley had been living on ready meals or takeaways or not bothering with dinner at all. Greg had always been the chef. He would pore over recipe books and make a list of ingredients for her to add to the shopping list.

  ‘They’ve changed it around since I was last here.’ Mum had been like this since she’d picked her up this morning. Keeping up a steady patter of conversation, not letting it slip into anything dangerous or upsetting. It had been like this between them since the funeral when Shelley had told her – in no uncertain terms – that she didn’t want to talk about Greg’s death.

  Now her mother just asked how she was and she would say she was fine and then they’d keep to safe topics like her mother’s neighbours or what they’d seen on TV. ‘I think you’re right. I haven’t been in here either.’

  Her mother frowned. ‘You have been eating though? I’ve put another lot of dinners in the freezer for you. I can always make some more.’

  That was the other topic of conversation. She had become obsessed with making sure that Shelley was eating. As if she would get through this awful period in her life as long as she was getting daily servings of fresh fruit and vegetables. Every visit, her mum would also turn up with ten or twelve individual portions of homemade lasagne and bolognese and macaroni cheese. It was the one-person portions which Shelley found most depressing.

  The last lot of dinners were still in the freezer; the previous delivery in landfill somewhere by now. Somehow, she never remembered to get them out in the morning to defrost. ‘Yes, I’ve been eating well, Mum,’ she lied.

  They pushed their trolleys out of the fresh veg section and towards the fridges.

  Her mum scrutinised the range of sausages: picking them up, reading the ingredients, putting them down again. ‘Have you seen much of those new neighbours you mentioned?’

  ‘Yes, actually. I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Lara.’ Shelley paused. ‘She’s helped me to sort out that box room.’

  Shelley’s mum froze then turned her head to look at her. She had been there the day that Shelley had torn everything that reminded her of Greg from each room and thrown it in there. That had been one of the dark days. One of the days after she had stopped taking the medication. ‘I see. That’s good?’

  It was a question, and Shelley felt bad that her mum was trying so hard to be tactful. How had they got to this point? ‘Yes. It’s done me good. She’s introduced me to the joys of decluttering. There’s a book. Make Way for Joy.’

  ‘A book?’ Now her mother had turned and stood in front of her. ‘Who’s Joy?’

  Shelley laughed. ‘I’ll show you when we get back. Come on, get your sausages and let’s move on.’ Slowly, she pushed her trolley forwards to carry on with their shopping. Once her mother was following, she glanced back at her. ‘And I went to the Garden of Remembrance.’

  ‘What?’ Her mother stopped still in the middle of the aisle. ‘And you’re telling me this here? When?’

  Her mum had tried to suggest a couple of times that she might like to visit the place where Greg had been laid to rest. Shelley had practically bitten her head off. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘I am pleased!’ She lowered her voice and pushed her trolley closer to Shelley’s. ‘I’d just rather talk to you about it when we’re sitting down. Not next to five shelves of bacon.’

  It was a fair request. ‘Okay, then. Shall we put the trolleys back for now and go to the café?’

  * * *

  Tea was the go-to for everyone in times of trouble. Every visitor Shelley had had in the days after Greg’s death had insisted on making one for her. Most of them had been left to go cold, but they did have the benefit of giving her something to do when faced with the same conversation on a loop. Yes, it was very sudden. No, I don’t need anything, thank you. Yes, he was a very good man.

  Shelley insisted on queuing for the tea while her mum found a seat. In front of her was a young mother with a baby in one of those papoose carriers. She must have been very young: tiny fingers curled around the fabric, eyes closed, mouth twitching as if it was suckling. Would this be easier with a baby to love? Or more difficult? A familiar feeling rose in her chest and she looked away. Then stopped. In order to heal, you have to feel. She looked at the baby again and thought of Dee. And Dee’s baby. The child she’d never met.

  ‘What would you like, love?’ The woman behind the counter broke into her thoughts.

  Shelley could barely get the words out. ‘Two teas, please.’

  By the time she had the teas on a tray and had paid, she’d regained control of her throat. Her mum was sitting in the far corner, probably to give them maximum privacy. Shelley slid the tray onto the table.

  Her mother picked up one of the sachets of sugar and shook it before tearing it open. ‘So, then?’

  ‘So, I went to the garden and I sat on a bench and I… I spoke to Greg. I told him how I felt. It didn’t feel as weird as it sounds. I might go again.’

  Her mother stirred her drink, watching the spoon as she did so. She looked like she was choosing her words carefully. ‘And did it help?’

  Did it help? Help with what? The anger? The guilt? The loss? ‘I don’t know. But it made me face a few things. I’ve been re-evaluating some things lately.’ She watched as her mother tapped the spoon on the side of her cup. Once. Twice. ‘Mum, were you disappointed in me?’

  Her mother nearly dropped the spoon in her surprise. ‘Whatever gave you that idea? Of course not. How could I be disappointed in you?’

  She had been considering this for the last couple of days. ‘When I didn’t stay at university. I know how proud you were when I got the place.’

  Her mum smiled. ‘Of course I was proud. No one in my family had ever been to university. I particularly enjoyed telling my Aunt Pat. Perfect revenge for eighteen years of “single mother” comments, that was.’ Her mum laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but she’d just made Shelley feel worse.

  ‘But then I didn’t stay. Were you very disappointed?’

  ‘No. Not disappointed. I only wanted you to be happy. I was confused a bit, I guess. You had set your heart on that course, and when you decided to give it up, I was a little worried that you might regret it.’

  ‘But you never said anything!’

  ‘You were so happy with Greg, I thought that was more important. It wasn’t down to me to decide what you did with your life. That was always your choice.’

  It had been her choice. She couldn’t blame anyone else. Greg hadn’t told her to leave – she’d just missed him so much. And university had felt so lonely. No Dee. No Greg. It had been too scary.

  Now her mum looked nervous. ‘Should I have persuaded you to stay? Are you regretting it now?’

  Did she regret it? No. How could she regret the years she’d had with Greg? If she’d stayed at university, they might not have made it. Long-distance relationships weren’t known to be easy.

  Dee had always been full of stories when she’d come home during the holidays. Big nights out, student productions she’d got involved with, interesting people she’d met. But Shelley hadn’t been envious; she’d been happy with her local travel course and then the job. ‘No, Mum. I’m not regretting it. Just wondering, that’s all.’

  ‘Is that what you’ve been talking to your new friend Lara about? I’m not prying, I’m just glad you’ve got someone to talk to. Since the funeral, I’ve been so worried about you.’

  ‘I’m okay, Mum. You don’t need to worry.’

  Her mum shook her head. ‘I could see you were bottling it all up. You’ve been like that since you were a small child. If you hurt yourself, you wouldn’t cry. I used to say to
you, “Let it all out,” but you wouldn’t.’

  ‘I think I was still in shock, to be honest. It all felt a little bit surreal.’

  ‘And now?’

  Shelley tried to smile. ‘Still pretty surreal, but I’m dealing with it better. I think. Trying not to bottle it all up.’

  ‘Well, I’m pleased about that.’ Her mum paused. Looked at her. ‘I haven’t told you before now, but I spoke to Dione at the funeral.’

  It took Shelley a few moments to realise who her mum was talking about. It had been so long since she’d heard someone use Dee’s full name. ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘She was trying to speak with you but there seemed to be a constant flow of people. She said that she hadn’t seen much of you or Greg in the weeks before he… before it happened.’

  Why was it so difficult to talk about death? Everyone spoke in euphemisms. She hadn’t lost her husband; he hadn’t passed. He had died, but no one wanted to say the word. Maybe that was why it was so difficult for her to get her head around it. ‘Yes, we had a, er, a disagreement. It was complicated.’

  Her mother patted her hand. ‘All I know is, you two were inseparable as youngsters. Way before you met her brother.’

  Something occurred to Shelley that she’d never considered before. ‘Mum, did you like Greg?’

  ‘Oh, Shelley. What an awful thing to say. Of course I liked him.’

  ‘It’s just, I’ve been thinking a lot lately and I’m seeing things a little differently. Was I a bad daughter?’

  ‘A bad daughter? Of course not! What gave you that idea?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t visit enough or take you out enough or something. Did I change when I met Greg?’

  ‘Everyone changes when they settle down. It’s natural. It’s not like I expected to see as much of you once you were a married woman.’

  ‘How did I change?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Shelley. What’s this all about? You’re not all right, are you?’

  ‘It’s nothing like that, Mum, honestly. It’s just, the argument with Dee – she said that I changed after I met Greg. That I wasn’t me anymore. Do you think that’s true?’

  Her mother looked decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Like I said, everyone changes a bit when they get married. It’s inevitable.’

  ‘Mum.’

  Her mother sighed. ‘Maybe. A little. You started to dress differently. None of your crazy clothes you wore when you were travelling with Dee, your funny tie-dye stuff. And you started wearing shoes that you used to call ‘too grown up’. Actually, that’s what it was. You just kind of grew up overnight. Became more sophisticated. Your clothes, the restaurants you went to. Everything.’

  Shelley almost winced at a sudden memory of refusing to use the local Chinese restaurant – which she and her mother had ordered takeaway from for years – because it wasn’t ‘authentic’. That had been one of Greg’s favourite words at the time, and she had also adopted it. She felt a pang of guilt. Maybe none of this was Greg’s fault.

  She had changed. Dee had been right about that. But Greg hadn’t asked her to. She’d done it on her own. So, who was she now?

  39

  Lara

  At every midwife appointment, listening to the baby’s heartbeat was Lara’s favourite part: the galloping horse sound reassured her that everything was okay. On one of her many trawls online, she’d found out about an app for her phone which would let her listen to it at home, and she had persuaded a reluctant Matt that this would help. He was reluctant because their midwife had cautioned against it. ‘If the baby is in the wrong position or you hold it at the wrong angle, you won’t be able to detect the heartbeat and then you’re going to make yourself feel worse.’ Lara had persisted. She wouldn’t listen every day. Just when she needed to. And so far, it had helped. Until today.

  The whooshing underwater sound was coming through the speaker clearly, but there was no galloping. She wasn’t concerned, she just needed to move it around until she found the baby’s heart. She moved lower. Nothing. To the right. Nothing. Left. Nothing. ‘Come on, baby,’ she whispered. ‘Where are you?’

  As she moved the phone around her belly, her own heartbeat was pulsing loudly in her ears. She tried to talk her anxiety down. There’s nothing to worry about. Stay calm. You’ll find it in a minute.

  But she didn’t. Her brain started to race ahead. Had she felt the baby move today? Yes. This morning in bed, she had lain there for twenty minutes with her hand on her stomach, enjoying the fluttering movements. But that was four hours ago. Anything could have happened.

  She called her midwife. Voicemail. Matt was in Liverpool today. No point calling him and stressing him out. Shelley? She’d had a text from Shelley last night with an email screenshot of her interview date next week. She’d also mentioned that her mother was staying over and wasn’t leaving until lunchtime; it wouldn’t be fair to interrupt their time together. They’d see each other this afternoon anyway when they went to Guildford to find Shelley an interview suit. Lara had promised Matt faithfully that she would rest all day today in preparation. This wasn’t resting: it was panic.

  Another check with the Doppler and still nothing. She had to do something. She didn’t feel ill so she should have been able to drive to the hospital, but she felt too trembly to get behind the wheel. She called a cab.

  * * *

  The cab driver was very nice but she could really have done without his jokes about towels and hot water. Eventually, her terse replies got through and he left her to her own thoughts. She stared blindly out of the window. Please, God, don’t let this be happening again.

  Should she call Matt and let him know what was happening? There was no point until she knew something: he was hours away. No point putting him through it if she didn’t have to. Oh God, she hoped she was worrying for no reason. This was their last chance. If it happened again, there was no way Matt would want to try for another baby. No way he would let her put them both through this again. One last time and then we have to accept it. He had made her promise.

  The maternity ward entrance was achingly familiar. She blocked out the happy couple carrying a baby in a car seat to their car and made straight for the ultrasound department.

  She must have looked terrified because – though it was totally against protocol – the receptionist managed to get her in front of a midwife. She prayed in her head as the gel squeaked onto her stomach and then…

  It was there. The heartbeat. Thank God.

  A warmth washed over her from head to toe as the midwife smiled. ‘All okay. Heartbeat is lovely and strong.’

  Lara burst into tears. ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you so much.’

  After a brief lecture from the midwife about home use of Doppler apps, Lara called a taxi and returned home. This time she did as she’d promised Matt and went to bed for a nap before she knocked for Shelley.

  * * *

  Waiting until they were a good fifteen minutes into their journey before she told Shelley about the events of the morning was intentional; that way she was less likely to turn around and take her back home for a rest.

  However, Shelley was still concerned even after they arrived in the High Street. ‘Are you sure you should be here?’

  ‘I’m fine. The baby is fine. Matt isn’t due back until late this evening, and if I sit at home, I’ll end up using the damn heartbeat app again.’ It was becoming an addiction – an unhealthy addiction if the stress of this afternoon was replicated.

  Shelley didn’t look convinced. ‘Okay. But we’ll take it slowly. And if you feel anything, you have to tell me. Deal?’

  Lara felt more foolish than anything else. Today had been a whole lot of fuss over nothing. ‘Deal. Now, where do you want to go?’

  They were stood outside a café. Shelley peered down the row of shops to their right. ‘I don’t really mind. Where’s good? Where did you go to buy your work clothes?’

  It had been a while since Lara had bought any new clothes. Apart from t
he maternity ones she’d picked up in the charity shop. ‘All different places. House of Fraser has a lot of choice. Shall we start there?’

  Shelley gave her a thumbs up. ‘Perfect. But we’ll walk slowly. There’s no huge rush.’

  Lara gave her a mock salute. ‘Right. No more worrying about each other. We should be enjoying ourselves. When was the last time you bought yourself some new clothes?’

  ‘Probably the dress for Greg’s funeral.’

  Lara put her hand to her head. She’d put her foot in it again. ‘Oh, crikey, Shelley. Sorry.’

  Shelley shook her head and smiled. ‘Don’t be silly. Strictly speaking, my mum bought that one, anyway. Actually, she bought three and brought them home for me to try on. At that stage, I couldn’t have cared less if she’d made me a dress from bin bags, but she insisted that it would be easier to deal with the day if I felt comfortable and suitably dressed.’

  ‘There you go then.’ It must be a good sign that Shelley was starting to talk about Greg and what happened more freely in everyday conversation. ‘A new outfit can make a difference. We just need to find one that screams, “Give me that job!”’

  House of Fraser’s women’s department was huge. As soon as they got there, Shelley began to flick through summer dresses, holding them away from the rail with both hands to appraise them. They looked nice enough but were definitely not what she should have been looking for, so Lara kept walking until Shelley’s voice called her back. ‘What do you think of this one?’

  Lara turned and saw Shelley holding up a yellow floral dress from Coast. ‘It’s nice. I mean, it’s pretty and I’m sure it would look great on you, but if someone came to me for an interview and they were wearing a flowery dress, I wouldn’t think efficient and proactive. Your clothes say a lot about you. You need to make this work for you. Come with me. Let’s look at the office wear over there. If you don’t like it, we can come back here.’