The Winter Children

by Lulu Taylor

  She tried to cope, but the guilt and pain were too much. She couldn’t tell anyone what she was suffering. Her law work was impossible to complete: words swam in front of her eyes, blurry in the constant tears she angrily tried to brush away. Facts couldn’t stick in a brain that pounded with thoughts of rage and despair. She started to fail and there was nothing she could do about it.

  The school warned her. She was told to pull her socks up. But she lay on her bed in her shared flat, away from the other girls, night after night in the dark, tormented by her grief. Then she did them all a favour and left without being formally asked to go. She got a job as a temporary secretary in a big corporation and then, her bosses impressed by her ability to spell words like ‘satellite’ and ‘supersede’, she was made a permanent PA to one of the executives.

  A few months later she met Walt, and he began, slowly, to heal her. She put all the pain behind her. She erased the memory. Or so she thought. And when she came back into Dan’s orbit, she let him pretend nothing had happened. She never mentioned the letter or that awful hour in the clinic, when they’d sucked out the little living symbol of Dan’s fleeting love.

  She let him go on lying and pretending, and treating her as though she had never really mattered.

  Francesca looks at Dan across the table. ‘Why didn’t you come to the clinic that day, when I had the abortion?’ she asks.

  That’s the pain. I understand now. She thinks of the little skeleton with its tokens of love, and the careful burial, even if it was under a swimming pool. What happened to my baby? No funeral, no acknowledgement. Thrown away, ignored and forgotten.

  Dan says nothing. He frowns, as though wracking his brain to remember.

  ‘You got my letter, didn’t you?’ A flame of hope sparks to life – that he never got the letter, and it was a misunderstanding. Then, perhaps, she could forgive him.

  ‘Yes.’ He says it slowly, his voice heavy with regret as he stares at the tabletop. ‘I got it. I was a coward. I didn’t come to you.’ He looks up at her again. ‘I let you go through with it, and I let you allow me to forget it. Because you never once reproached me for it. You never said a word. You stayed true and loved me just the same.’

  ‘I loved you,’ she says, her voice wobbly again. ‘But I couldn’t forget it, even though I tried.’

  Dan stands up. ‘It was wrong to let you donate your eggs. I see that now. In a weird way, when you made your offer, I felt as though I was making it up to you somehow. Letting you have the chance to meet the baby we never had. But as soon as Olivia was pregnant, I knew it was a mistake. I hadn’t thought it through. I should have let her choose an anonymous donor like she wanted. I suppose you let me get away with things, Cheska. I thought I could get away with this too.’

  He looks at her, his gaze candid. For a moment, he is her Dan again – the one from the garden, the one who made love to her for a few heady weeks one summer, and then broke her heart. He says, ‘I’m sorry. For all the pain I caused you. I never wanted to hurt you but somehow I did. I’m sorry about the baby and how callous I was. I never spoke about it to you and I should have. I let you marry Walt without ever telling you that I was sad about the baby too.’

  ‘Really?’ She is amazed. It never occurred to her that he might have mourned the child as well.

  Dan nods his head. ‘Yes. I mean it.’ He smiles weakly. ‘I did care about you, Cheska. I just couldn’t love you in the way you wanted.’

  She gives a little half-laugh. ‘What a mess.’ She shakes her head. ‘And now we have two actual children together. What are we going to do about that?’

  Dan walks over to her, pulls her up from her seat and takes her in his arms. She sighs as he wraps her in his embrace, and rests her head against him. Not so long ago, she yearned for this kind of contact with Dan. Now it feels like a resolution. The truth is out. He has acknowledged everything. She feels validated.

  Dan presses his mouth down towards her ear and says softly, ‘You won’t tell Olivia, will you? It will stay our secret. Won’t it?’

  She pulls away from him, looking up into his face, and sees the look there that she knows so well. It’s complacency. Complete belief in his power over her.

  He thinks I’ll do what he wants. Nothing has changed.

  ‘Oh no,’ she says. ‘You have to tell Olivia. She has to know.’

  His expression changes. First it’s incredulous, then panic sets into his eyes. ‘What? I can’t tell her, you know that.’

  ‘You have to tell her everything. She needs to know what happened between us, and about the baby. And about the eggs. You can’t let her go on believing a lie.’

  This is his test, she knows that. It’s all very well to say the right things, to acknowledge the past and apologise, but it’s worth nothing if it’s merely a ruse to keep everything just the way it was.

  Dan pulls away from her, outrage on his face. ‘What are you talking about, Cheska? You know I can’t do that! Are you fucking crazy? You know very well she’ll never forgive me. I did a terrible thing, I know that, and I should never have done it. It was idiotic. It was stupid. In all sorts of ways. But I can’t tell her. It’s bad enough that I never told her we were lovers. But it’s a thousand times worse than that. You know it would destroy her.’

  ‘Not knowing the truth could destroy her too. Don’t you know how easy it is to ruin a life when someone loves you? Look what you did to me. And it nearly happened to me all over again with the twins.’ She shakes her head. She’s sorry for him, but it’s clear what the right thing is. ‘You can’t let lies poison your life. If you tell her, explain why you did it, she might forgive you. It will be much worse if she finds out from someone else.’

  Dan’s expression changes again. Now it’s hard, the blue eyes icy, the mouth twisted. He stares at her with menace. ‘And who might tell her? Who else knows?’ He takes a step towards her. ‘Only you, Cheska. You’re the only one. Would you tell her?’

  She sees that he has clenched his fists. ‘Are you threatening me, Dan?’ she asks, wonder in her voice. She has always suspected he is capable of more than she ever wanted to acknowledge. Is he about to show her exactly what? ‘You can’t get away with it, you must know that. I’m not your underling, to be ordered about or punished.’

  ‘Just tell me.’ His knuckles are white, his teeth clenched. ‘Because if that’s what you intend to do, I’m going to fucking stop you, understand?’

  A rush of courage goes through her. So it’s come to this. He’s tried every other form of manipulation and now he is going to resort to threats or worse. She stares at him with scorn. ‘What did I ever see in you? Why did I waste my life dreaming about you? I must have been a fool. I’m sorry, Dan, but you can’t change facts, even by force. Olivia needs to know that I donated those eggs. She needs to know that those children are ours – yours and mine – and if you don’t tell her, I will.’

  The back door swings open suddenly and standing there is Olivia, her face a picture of pain and fury.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she whispers in a broken voice. ‘Oh my God.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Francesca and Dan stare at her, guilt all over their faces. Olivia can tell that they are trying to work out how much she has heard.

  I’ve heard enough.

  Sick horror courses through her. On the train home, she was anxious and worried, unable to understand why. Well, now she knows. There was nobody to meet her at the station, and she was afraid that something was seriously wrong. The taxi driver brought her back, evidently aware of her agitation and desire to be home as soon as possible. But as she came through the gate, she heard the voices floating through the open window, and caught the sharp exclamation, ‘Are you fucking crazy?’

  She stopped short as though an invisible wall had appeared in her path, her breath frozen in her chest. As she stood there on the path, she heard them talking: Dan saying that he and Cheska had been lovers. Cheska saying she, Olivia, needed to know; Dan resisting. S
he walked silently towards the door, hardly realising she was moving. Then came words that made the bottom drop out of her world.

  Olivia needs to know that I donated those eggs. She needs to know that those children are ours – yours and mine – and if you don’t tell her, I will.

  A sick feeling in her stomach makes her want to throw up, and for a moment she thinks she’s going to fall to her knees and puke by the back door, but outrage and fury are stronger. She throws open the door. ‘Oh my God.’ Her voice is full of a treacherous wobble. ‘Oh my God.’

  She stares at them, the guilty two with their dirty, monstrous secret. She is shaking now as the implications start to sink in. Are they really saying that Bea and Stan, her darlings, are . . . Francesca’s children?

  She looks at Dan. She doesn’t care about Francesca now – she is dead to her. That is over, she knows that for certain. All she wants is to be out of her poisonous, evil presence. Claire was right all along. But Dan. Her Dan.

  The lies.

  The evil fucking plot he cooked up.

  She shakes her head and says in a voice of almost preternatural calm, ‘Why? Why did you do it?’

  His face is full of horror and she can read the despair in his eyes. ‘Please, Olivia, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ It comes out in a wondering tone, as though she’s never heard this strange word ‘sorry’ before and has no idea what it means. ‘Sorry?’ she repeats through gritted teeth, her voice rising. By the way he flinches when she looks at him, she knows her anger must be awful to behold. ‘You’re fucking sorry?’ She picks up the bag she is carrying that contains the socks she bought and throws it at him. It’s not heavy enough to travel far and drops at his feet. ‘What the hell have you done, Dan? What have you done?’ She points in the direction of the television room from where the sound of cartoon mania floats. ‘Are you honestly telling me that our babies are from eggs donated by Francesca?’ Her gaze flicks on Francesca, who hasn’t moved but stands frozen by the table. A horrible realisation comes over her. She remembers again the Dark Night of the Donor and then Dan’s volteface, and it all makes sense. ‘Oh, I see. You went crying to Cheska, and she offered you her eggs so you’d know what to expect when I pushed your fucking children out of my body!’ She shudders. ‘How did you swing it? No, wait, let me guess. She went out to the clinic first, to donate her eggs, and then you took me out to receive them. Or was she there the whole time we were? Was she in the next room, having them harvested while I waited next door with my legs apart?’ She laughs brutally. ‘Oh, that’s a good one! That’s really good.’

  The other two watch her, Francesca’s expression growing grief-stricken, and Dan’s still frozen with horror as he hears her unravel all the plots and schemes he has concealed from her.

  ‘Well?’ she demands. ‘Are you going to tell me?’

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ Dan says weakly.

  ‘You can do better than that!’ she jeers. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a playwright? I’m expecting some good dialogue now. A speech explaining to me exactly why this isn’t the most appalling mess. Why you thought it was a good idea to deceive me in the most fundamental way possible. Dan . . .’ She walks towards him and he cowers a little as she nears him. ‘And you two used to sleep together, did you? You let me bear your ex-lover’s children?’ She gestures towards Francesca. ‘You lied to me about you and her. You never told me what happened between you. Do you think I would have let her into my life, into my home if I’d known? Do you think I’d ever have left her alone with my children? Are you mad?’ She’s close to him now, shouting. ‘You’ve ruined everything, you stupid bastard! It didn’t have to be like this! And now we’re living in her fucking house!’ A manic energy possesses her. ‘Well, that’s over right now.’

  She turns and runs out of the kitchen, heading upstairs to the children’s room. She grabs a bag from Stan’s wardrobe and starts stuffing it with his things, mentally racing through what they need: clothes, pyjamas, nappies, coats, shoes, hats, blankets, toys . . .

  Dan is there in the doorway. ‘What are you doing?’

  She casts him a glance. He is pale and trembling. She has never seen him like this before. He’s afraid. He’s powerless. ‘I’m packing up. We’re leaving.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ He sounds meek and docile. Not like the strong, commanding Dan she has always known, with his confidence and his good looks and his charm.

  ‘We? I don’t know where you’re going, but the children and I are leaving.’

  ‘What?’ He looks baffled. ‘Without me?’

  ‘Yes, without you!’ She stops packing the bag and stares at him, feeling the first ache of the avalanche of pain she knows is coming. Anger is easier right now. ‘What do you expect? Can’t you see what you’ve done? How can we come back from these lies? You’ve deceived me. I’m your wife.’ She is speechless suddenly, a bitter blockage in her throat. She turns back to the bag.

  ‘Are you leaving me?’ he asks miserably.

  ‘Of course I am,’ she says briefly. ‘You can stay here with your darling Cheska for all I care.’

  ‘She’s going,’ he says. ‘I called Walt yesterday. He’s coming to get her.’

  ‘Then you’ll be here all on your fucking own, won’t you?’ she snaps. ‘Plenty of quiet to get that bloody play written!’

  She thinks suddenly of the children, downstairs in the television room on their own, with just Francesca there, and gasps. Dropping the bag, she pushes Dan out of the way and runs past him, down the stairs and along the hall. She bursts into the sitting room, and there they are: Stan and Bea, each nestled under one of Francesca’s arms.

  ‘Let them go!’ cries Olivia in a terrible voice, full of strength and fury. She feels able to lift Francesca up and toss her against the wall. She feels she could crush her with her fingertips, she is so strong and fierce.

  Francesca looks afraid but she tightens her arms around the children. ‘Please . . . let me say goodbye. I only want to say goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t touch them.’ In a flash she is there, wrenching Bea from Francesca’s grip. Bea is saying, ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ but as she senses the aggression in the air, she starts to cry. Stan wails too in sympathy. Olivia reaches for him.

  ‘Don’t upset them,’ pleads Francesca. ‘Here – take them. They’re yours.’

  Olivia nestles both children to her chest, their bodies awkward against hers. They press into her, crying loudly. ‘Never, never touch these children again. They are mine, do you understand?’ Her eyes are flashing and she is mighty, a mighty goddess who will destroy anyone who threatens her children. ‘They’re mine and you can’t have them!’

  Francesca drops her gaze to the floor, then says, ‘I’m so sorry, Olivia. I wanted him to tell you. I feel . . . more terrible than you can know.’ She covers her face with her hands.

  Olivia has no pity for her. She was part of this lie. This filthy scheme. They both were. She turns and pushes back past Dan, who is now in the doorway, and takes the children upstairs back to their room. She puts them in their cots, where they howl until they forget why they were upset and start to play with their toys. Olivia continues to pack their things, until she has two bags stuffed with necessaries.

  She looks at them, satisfied. For now, she is only going to think about the practicalities of getting herself and the children away from this place. She’ll think about the rest later, when there’s time. Dan stands, a pale shadow of himself, in the hall outside, unable to be far from her. She bumps into him as she comes out. She closes the nursery door behind her and says warningly, ‘You’re not to go in. You can’t touch them. Understand? You’ve forfeited your rights for the time being. We’ll sort out what they are later.’

  ‘I can’t lose you and them!’ he cries in a broken voice. ‘I can’t take it.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before you decided to perpetrate your fraud. Because, make no mistake, that’s what it is. Fraud.’ She strides past him to thei
r room to pack her own things, leaving the bedroom door open so that she can hear if he attempts to go in to the twins. As she packs, she is able to think dispassionately about the shift in power, and the way she is now the one in charge, and Dan, so often dominant, can only obey her.

  Or perhaps he is even now downstairs with Francesca, cooking up some other plot.

  Let him. Olivia’s love for him feels dead and cold. He’s killed it. She finishes her packing, although she’s bound to have forgotten something, and heads back towards the nursery.

  I have the children. That’s what is good in all of this. I still have them.

  When they are all ready, she brings the twins downstairs. Dan is there alone. She puts the twins on the play mat. ‘You can say goodbye to them now,’ she says coolly, ‘while I pack the car.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asks. His voice is thick with tears and his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I get there.’ She leaves them with Dan. The massive sadness that is pooling inside her threatens for a moment to break free, but she manages to keep it contained. If she can just stay icy and calm until they are somewhere safe, she’ll be all right.

  When the bags are stowed in the boot, she heads back to the house then stops with a gasp. A form emerges from the twilight of the garden and she realises it’s the gardener, William.

  ‘It’s you,’ she says, with a puff of relief.

  ‘Are you going?’ he asks, looking past her to the car.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s all rather sudden. My husband will be here, though. I don’t know for how long.’

  ‘And the children, going with you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She goes to pass him. ‘So now, if you don’t mind . . .’

  ‘It’s for the best,’ he says. ‘The children. It’s no place for them. Not here. Too many ghosts. Too much empty space. Take them somewhere else.’

  ‘I’m going to. Well, goodbye. And thank you.’ She smiles.