by Cathy Glass
Aisha stayed where she was and stared the length of the room, uncertain and afraid. His broad shoulders were hunched forwards forming a canopy over the baby, the way some nursing mothers sat when feeding. Mark was smiling, smiling down at Sarah, who was awake but not crying. Aisha saw that he had the tip of his little finger in her mouth acting as a dummy.
Then he looked up, straight into her eyes. ‘Your mother phoned,’ he said. ‘I told her you were resting and would call her back later.’ His voice was normal, his expression was normal too, but Aisha found no relief in this. Fear and confusion gripped her. How could he sit there like nothing had happened? It was impossible, all of it, she didn’t understand at all. Then he spoke again: ‘Baby’s hungry. Shall I make up a bottle? It must be well past her feed time.’ Couldn’t he see her swollen face or blood-matted hair? He must, so why didn’t he say something? Didn’t he know what had happened, what he had done?
Aisha stayed where she was and stared at him, not knowing what to say or where to begin. His denial placed it so far out of reach there was no starting point, no opening; she felt at his mercy.
‘I’m feeding her,’ she said at last, her voice far-off and unreal.
Mark smiled down again at Sarah. ‘Yes, of course, I know. But I bought the formula in case you were too tired, or didn’t have enough milk. It can happen to nursing mothers sometimes, particularly in the evening.’
She continued to stare at the two of them, together on the sofa, father and daughter, and searched in vain for the right words – a place to begin. Was he still expecting her to go and leave Sarah with him? Was that why he’d really bought the formula – so he could feed her after she’d left?
Aisha threw out her arms in despair. ‘Mark!’ she cried. ‘What is it? What’s happened? What are you doing?’
He looked up, his eyes widening in surprise, as though he hadn’t the least idea what she was talking about. She could almost have believed him except for the pain in her head.
‘Tell me!’ she tried again, fighting back the tears. ‘It must be bad to make you behave like that. Mark! You hit me, don’t you remember?’
He flinched, recoiled, as though she had just spoken the unspeakable, but there was no sign of guilt or remorse. There was nothing beyond profound astonishment.
‘What, Mark? What?’ Her voice faded in defeat and his silence crackled in defiance.
He looked down again at Sarah, drew her closer, as though shielding her, protecting her and making her an ally – the two of them against her. Then slowly, without looking up, in a flat emotionless voice he said, ‘You have destroyed me, Aisha. You have taken everything and left me with nothing. I’m finished.’ His resignation and the inevitability added to her terror.
She fought to control her breathing as a rushing noise filled her ears. She mustn’t pass out again, she had to stay in control. There was no telling what would happen if she collapsed now. She gulped in air. ‘How, Mark? How have I destroyed you? Tell me. I’ve just come out of hospital with our baby. I haven’t had time to do anything. How?’
He moved one hand to cup Sarah’s head in his palm, and with the other, gently stroked her hair. ‘I don’t mean now,’ he said evenly. ‘Before. I realize it’s not all your fault. I was blind, I wanted you so much. But to tell me while you were in hospital. That was cruel. Unforgivable. How could you treat your husband like that, Aisha? How?’
She stared around, trying to make sense of his words, to put reason where there was none. ‘Tell you? Tell you what, Mark?’
She heard her voice high and panic-stricken. ‘I haven’t done anything. I don’t understand.’
A tear escaped and ran down her cheek, stinging the grazed flesh on her cheekbone. Mark looked up, stared straight ahead, and for a moment she thought she saw the start of tears in his eyes too.
‘That your use for me is over,’ he said. ‘That now you have what you wanted, I’m no longer needed. That you have thrown me away like a spent cartridge. Gone. History.’
Aisha heard the words and tried to make sense of what he’d said, but it made no sense at all. She searched the crevices of her mind, rummaged for a clue – something that would give her a lead. Had she made some chance remark that could have been misinterpreted and led to this? But no, there was nothing, she’d hardly said anything since arriving home. And at the hospital everything had been perfect.
‘Mark,’ she said in despair, ‘I don’t know. What have I said?’
‘It’s not what you said. It’s what you did, as you damn well know.’ His voice was rising again, losing its control. Aisha stayed very still, not daring to move or speak for fear of inviting another attack. ‘Had you told me to my face,’ he said, ‘I might have been able to bear it. But leaving it out like that … I admit I lost it. Who wouldn’t?’ Suddenly his expression changed from anger to humiliation and defeat. ‘It’s still over there,’ he said. ‘I found it as you intended.’
Aisha slowly drew her eyes from him and followed his gaze across the lounge to the pine coffee table in the centre of the room. They had bought the table together before they were married and now treasured it as their first and, so far, only joint purchase. The unread newspapers were stacked at one end of the table, and next to them was an onyx elephant one of her relatives had sent from India. Beside that was the fruit bowl, two apples inside it, and lying next to the fruit bowl was her library book. She stared at the contents of the table, then up again at him, still unable to understand.
‘The book,’ he said. ‘I read it last night. I assume that was your intention. But what a cruel way to do it, Aisha. Why not just tell me?’
She lowered her eyes again, and then, uncomprehending, walked across the room and to the coffee table. Sarah gave a little cry and Aisha looked over as Mark returned his finger to her mouth. She stooped to the table and slowly picked up the book. She stared at its plastic jacket, grimy from regular borrowing. It was a popular novel, an easy read. She thought she might have enjoyed it in hospital when she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything more serious, but in the rush of leaving she’d forgotten to take it with her. The picture on the front showed a woman holding a baby and it was entitled Lisa’s Baby.
‘You remember?’ he was saying. ‘You remember now, don’t you? Read the blurb on the back if you need reminding, which I’m sure you don’t.’
Mechanically, she turned over the book and scanned the half a dozen lines on the back. Lisa, a thirty-something career woman, realizes her biological time clock is running out. Not wanting to miss her chance of motherhood, she joins a dating agency, where she works through a long list of men until she finds what she’s looking for: James Case has the exact characteristics she desires in her child. She conceives, then leaves James, her use for him over. ‘A satirical look at our times,’ one critic said. ‘Very droll, with a neat twist at the end,’ though what this twist was had been left unstated, and Aisha didn’t know because she’d only read the first page.
She stared at the print, then up again at Mark. ‘You surely don’t believe …’ she began, and stopped. ‘You don’t really think …’ she tried again, but the words failed her, for clearly he did.
‘I was beside myself,’ he said. ‘Coming home from the hospital last night and finding it there like that. I know I shouldn’t have reacted as I did just now, but I’m gutted. I vested everything in our relationship, Aisha, now I’m left with nothing. I should have known, I suppose. I should have known it was too good to be true.’
He stopped and suddenly stood. Aisha started, and instinctively took a step back. Tucking the blanket around Sarah, Mark came towards her, arms outstretched, and placed Sarah in her arms.
‘Despite what I said, I know she should stay with you. You’re her mother. I must be the one to go. All I ask is that you let me see her sometimes. I won’t make any fuss, I promise.’ His eyes welled, his body hunched in defeat and then he turned and walked towards the hall.
Fear and relief gripped Aisha in equal
parts and rendered her immobile. Relief, that there was a reason for what had happened and it was tangible and could therefore be explained; and fear, that Mark was going, going to leave her anyway. Suddenly she came to. ‘Mark!’ she cried, flying after him. ‘Mark, stop!’
He continued up to the front door, then stopped, his back towards her, his shoulders slumped forwards. ‘No, don’t prolong it, Aisha,’ he said without looking at her. ‘Don’t make it any more difficult than it already is. Please, Aisha.’ His hand went to the doorknob and he began turning it, ready to leave. ‘When I’ve found somewhere to stay, I’ll contact you for access. Take care, and look after Sarah. I love you both. I always will.’ He opened the door.
‘No! No! Please don’t go,’ she cried. ‘It’s a mistake! A misunderstanding. I never intended you to read it. Believe me, please, Mark!’
He straightened, and letting go of the door, turned, his eyes again narrowed in accusation. ‘No? What were you going to do then? Sneak off while I was at work?’
‘No, I didn’t mean … I never intended … I love you. I need you. I’ll die if you go.’ Her fear at being deserted overrode that of another physical assault, and she went right up to him and took hold of his arm. ‘Please, Mark, please. Listen. Let me explain. I didn’t mean any of it, honestly. I haven’t even read the book. It’s a dreadful, dreadful misunderstanding.’
He stared at her, a mixture of distrust and cynicism in his eyes. ‘What are you trying to say? That your plan wasn’t to leave me now you have the baby? Come off it. Give me some credit. I’m not that daft.’
‘It’s true, Mark,’ she cried in desperation. ‘How could I? I love you. It’s just a story. Thousands of people have read it. It’s not about us. You must believe me. Please, Mark, please.’ Tears were streaming down her face and she was shaking uncontrollably. Her head throbbed and her legs trembled. ‘Come inside and talk. You’ll see it’s a mistake. Really, I promise.’
He hesitated, and in that hesitation she saw the first sign of doubt, a small opening, a window in his previous unshakeable conviction of her guilt.
‘Please,’ she beseeched again, willing to beg if necessary. ‘Please, don’t go. I need you, Mark. So does Sarah. Please. I’m not the woman in the book. I wanted you first, then the baby followed. I want a proper family!’
His gaze went slowly from her to Sarah, then back again, as though he was struggling with what she was saying. His brow furrowed. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t leave that book for me to find? That you didn’t marry me just to have a baby?’
‘I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Oh, Mark, no.’ She buried her fingers in the material of his dressing gown, clinging to his arm and imploring him. ‘Mark, you must believe me. I want us to be together. Always. Our baby is part of that. The product of our love, you said that Mark, please, it’s true.’
His face began to crumple, slowly registering disbelief, and his arm slumped. ‘Aisha, have I really got it wrong?’ he slowly said. ‘Have I made a dreadful mistake? Tell me, please tell me. I need to hear it.’
‘Yes, yes, you have, Mark. Really. It’s just a story. It’s not us. How could it be? I wouldn’t do that. I love you too much. Oh, Mark, please, come here.’
As he finally accepted what she was saying, he appeared for the first time to see the damage to her face. With an agonized moan, he clasped her to him, and burying his head in her hair, cried like a baby. ‘Oh, my little love. What have I done? I’ve never hit anyone before. Now I’ve hurt the person who means more to me than life itself. I’m so sorry, Aisha, I’m so scared. Forgive me, I beg you. Don’t make me go. I’ll do anything if you let me stay, I promise.’
His body shook and his chest heaved as his sobs racked the air. It was an anguish so deep and harrowing that it made her almost as fearful as his previous anger. She held Sarah out to one side as she hugged and comforted him.
‘It’s all right,’ she soothed. ‘You’re not leaving, neither of us is. We’re going to be together always. We’re one. All those months of planning and waiting for the baby have taken their toll. I understand. I know it’s not you. Mark, please don’t cry. Of course I forgive you. Please, Mark, I love you.’
Chapter Fourteen
Sarah settled easily in her cot that night, surrounded by a mountain of soft toys and with the night light on low. The nursery and everything in it had suddenly found its purpose now Sarah had arrived, as though on the stroke of midnight a fairy had waved her magic wand and brought it all to life.
Mark and Aisha stood side by side gazing down at her, mesmerized and reluctant to draw themselves away. Sarah was so peaceful and serene in sleep that it was a humbling experience for them, and the indisputable evidence of their love, which they so badly needed.
‘Come on,’ Mark said at last, slipping his arm around Aisha’s waist. ‘You look exhausted. I’ll do the night-time feed.’
She leant against him. ‘I’ll be all right after a few hours’ sleep. She shouldn’t wake again until two.’
‘All right. But for goodness’ sake wake me if you need help. Don’t martyr on all alone.’
She looked up at him. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’
Aisha adjusted Sarah’s blanket one last time, then allowed herself to be led from the nursery and into their bedroom. She sighed when she saw her suitcase still unpacked on the bed; she’d forgotten all about it. ‘I suppose I’d better unpack first,’ she said and yawned.
‘No, leave it. Take out what you need and I’ll see to the rest first thing in the morning.’
Relieved that for once their usual orderliness could be overlooked, Aisha opened the case and took out her washbag and nightdress, then began dragging the case off the bed.
‘No,’ Mark said, springing to her side. ‘No lifting, Aisha, you must take care. You’re number one now.’
‘You sound just like Tony,’ she smiled. ‘He was so kind and helpful, although he didn’t stop talking. He told me all about his family and wife, and how you’d sent her flowers after her operation. Only, it was odd, he was convinced you had been with the company four years. I said it was more like eight. That’s right, isn’t it?’
Mark frowned. ‘No. Where did you get that idea from?’
She shrugged. ‘I thought that’s what you said?’ He shook his head. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter.’
She went into the bathroom and closed the door. At the sink she turned on the hot tap and waited for the water to run warm, while avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She’d already sponged the blood from her hair and cleaned up her face earlier, so there was no point in looking again and dwelling on it. After all, it was only a graze to her cheek and a small cut to her bottom lip, it would heal in a couple of days. ‘We don’t make mountains out of molehills,’ her mother used to say to her as a child when she’d come in blubbering from a fall in the garden and had wanted lots of sympathy. It was Mark who needed the help now – to forgive himself and move on. He was beside himself with guilt and self-recrimination and had been apologizing all evening.
Aisha quickly showered, then dressed into a clean nightdress and tucked the breast pads into her bra. She was beginning to feel like a dairy cow with all the milk slopping around; no sooner were her breasts empty from one feed than they began to refill, then leak. Irene, the nurse at the hospital, had said it was perfectly normal, and that the problem arose when mothers didn’t make enough milk. That wasn’t going to be her worry for sure, she thought, and the formula Mark had bought would certainly go to waste.
‘All right?’ Mark asked attentively as she returned to the bedroom.
‘Yes, I can’t wait to get into my own bed.’
She sat on the edge of the bed and unwound her plait, while Mark took his turn in the bathroom. Aisha gave her hair a quick brush rather than the fifty strokes she usually gave it, and then eased back the covers and climbed in. She felt the soft down of the duvet mould luxuriously around her; a blissful contrast to the starched sheets of the hospital, which had cr
inkled like wrapping paper each time she’d turned over. She heard the rush of water as the tank in the loft refilled and Mark showered, then it stopped, and he returned to the bedroom, naked.
Aisha instinctively looked away. She doubted she would ever feel as comfortable about nakedness as he did, although she was getting better. She didn’t immediately grab her clothes when he caught her dressing, or cover herself when he walked in on her in the bath or shower. When they’d been on their honeymoon, Aisha had explained that in her family they never walked around undressed as her parents considered it improper. Mark had laughed, but kindly, and had told her not to worry, then added he found her coyness quite endearing – a turn-on, he said.
Now Mark took a pair of clean boxer shorts from the drawer, pulled them on and slipped into bed beside her. He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her; she saw the pain reappear in his eyes. She knew he was about to apologize again, as he had being doing all evening: tell her how ashamed he was, that he didn’t know what had come over him, then ask if she could truly forgive him, for he was so dreadfully, dreadfully sorry.
Aisha didn’t want to hear it anymore: she knew his reaction had been completely out of character, and had probably been brought on by all the anxiety surrounding the conception and birth of Sarah, and possibly also because of the way he had been treated by women in the past. Aisha knew that they had to put it behind them now, there was too much at stake and they had so much to be grateful for with Sarah. Mark opened his mouth to speak, but she laid a finger lightly across his lips. ‘It’s all right,’ she said softly. ‘I know. I forgive you, forget it now, please.’
