The Flight of Cornelia Blackwood

by Susan Elliot Wright

  ‘But why? Why would you—’

  ‘I was desperate, Leah. David and I had been trying to get pregnant when he died, and . . . Oh, I wasn’t thinking straight, but the idea of having a child to soak up some of the love I had left, love I’d never be able to give David . . .’ Her eyes glitter with tears and she brings her hand up to her mouth. ‘Sorry. God, I sound so mushy.’

  My own eyes are brimming. I shake my head. ‘No, not at all. I . . . I can understand that. I know what it is to long for a child. To have all that love and . . .’ I can’t continue.

  Cassie reaches across the table and lays a hand on my arm. ‘So we have that in common, too. Were you trying to get pregnant when your husband died?’

  I try to swallow, but my throat has closed up and there’s a roaring in my ears. Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. The surface of the wine in my glass shivers, like wind blowing across a lake, and I realise my hand is trembling. ‘No. We . . . we lost . . . I had a miscarriage first, and then . . . and then . . . a little boy, but he wasn’t . . . he didn’t . . . he didn’t live.’

  Cassie scrapes back her chair and is at my side, her arm around my shoulders. ‘Oh God, Leah, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’

  I’m crying now, real, full-on sobbing. I’ve definitely had too much to drink, and the tears keep coming. Not being able to cry was horrible, but right now it feels like I can’t stop. The memory of that day is still sharp and clear.

  Everyone in the delivery suite was very kind. Dr Winter, on the verge of tears herself, kept her voice crisp and professional as she asked if we wanted to see Thomas as soon as he was born. It hadn’t occurred to me that I wouldn’t, but Adrian had reservations. ‘Will it be upsetting?’ he asked, running his hand through his hair. ‘I mean . . . will he look . . .’

  ‘Some skin changes can occur after a baby dies in utero, but we think Thomas’s heart stopped within the last twenty-four hours, so in his case, these should be minimal.’

  ‘I want to see him,’ I cut in. ‘I’ve been carrying him inside me all this time. I’ve been talking to him. How could you think I wouldn’t want to see him?’

  Labour seemed to go on for ever. They gave me an injection that made me feel separated from myself, and at first I didn’t realise that the whimpering I could hear was me. There was no other sound in the delivery room, so I could hear what was happening in the room next to ours. ‘Sorry,’ our midwife, Sally, said. ‘We were hoping you’d be on your own up here tonight, but it’s suddenly gone mad.’

  The voices in the next room were encouraging and excited, and then came the high, outraged cry of a newborn, followed by an explosion of joy. Shut up, I wanted to scream at the wall. Please, please, shut up. Sally carried on bustling around, doing her best to drown out the happiness next door.

  Listening to all that joy only intensified the horrible silence around me, and as I started to push, Sally was the only one who spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘That’s the way,’ she said. I could feel her awkwardness and distress, and I wondered if this was the first time she’d delivered a stillborn. ‘Good girl. Nearly there now.’

  When another violent contraction gripped me, I pushed so hard I let out a prolonged grunt.

  ‘That’s the head. One more push now,’ and almost before she’d finished speaking, I felt him slither out. I caught a glimpse of him as they whisked him away, the blueish colour, the spots of blood. On television, babies often looked like this when they were born, and for the briefest of moments, I thought maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe the heartbeat we heard on the monitor hadn’t been mine, like they said, but Thomas’s, steady and strong, undetectable because it was beating in rhythm with my own. But then I remembered that rigid, unmoving image on the screen.

  The room was still silent but for the faint rustling of sterile packs and the odd clink of metal instruments as they prepared to stitch me up. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and when I opened them, Sally was standing next to me with Thomas, wrapped in a white blanket. For the first time, I felt a flicker of apprehension. But then Sally leaned over and put him in my arms. ‘I am so sorry for your loss,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘He’s beautiful. Six pounds, two ounces.’

  He looked just like Adrian – thick, dark hair, long, curled eyelashes. He even had that same little whorl of hair at the crown. His skin was pale and greyish, but apart from that he looked completely normal. As I kissed his forehead, I registered the strangeness of his cold skin. There was nothing repugnant about him at all, and I was filled with love as I gazed at him. He would always be my beautiful firstborn, my precious, longed-for baby, even though he wasn’t born alive.

  ‘Look,’ I said to Adrian, turning Thomas towards him. ‘Isn’t he exquisite?’

  Adrian touched Thomas’s cheek with his finger, too moved to speak.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  NOW

  Cassie holds me with both arms and rocks me like a child. My head rests against her chest and I can smell a fabric softener that makes me think of the sea. The last person who held me like this – apart from Adrian – was one of the nurses on the unit. With the help of a few deep breaths, I manage to control myself so that my sobs turn to shaky sighs.

  ‘My sister’s little girl was stillborn,’ Cassie murmurs after a while. ‘It was almost ten years ago, and she says she’s never really got over it, even though she has two other kids now. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a child.’ Cassie gives me a gentle hug, then steps back to examine my face. ‘Are you all right?’ she asks softly. ‘Is it something you’d like to talk about? Or would you rather not?’

  I shake my head and blow my nose. ‘No. Thank you, but no, I don’t think . . . not yet, anyway. But thanks for asking, and sorry for blubbing all over you. I don’t know what came over me.’

  ‘Come on, surely we know each other well enough by now? Sometimes you just need a bloody good cry.’ Cassie opens the fridge and takes out the wine. ‘Get this down your neck.’ She fills my glass again, almost to the brim.

  ‘No, I can’t,’ I say. ‘I’ve got the car. And I’ve totally brought the evening down now anyway.’

  ‘Nonsense. We’re friends, aren’t we? And if you can’t talk to me about stuff like that, well . . .’

  I nod. ‘Thanks, Cass.’

  ‘But listen, you’re already over the limit, and you’re in no state to drive. Stay here. That sofa’s quite comfortable, and I’ve got plenty of spare bedding. I usually put guests in Ollie’s room, but if you don’t mind roughing it.’

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ It’s tempting to stay and abandon myself to the wine, but the surge of grief and the ferocity with which my tears forced their way out has shaken me. Not to mention the fact that I was on the verge of telling her far too much. If I were to start talking about Thomas, who knows what would pour out. And I’m not sure I can trust myself to remember to refer to Adrian as Clive. I don’t know how much I’ve had to drink, but I know I’m not thinking straight. What would Cass think if she found out now that I was married to Adrian? A tremor passes though me. God, what a mess I’ve got myself into. And how have I managed to get drunk on such a small amount of wine? When I scroll back through the last few hours, I realise that I’ve barely eaten anything since the toast I made at about half nine this morning. That’s when I remember the kitten. ‘Spider,’ I say aloud. ‘I almost forgot about the kitten.’

  ‘Oh, shit – me too! What a shame. Tell you what, why don’t you get a taxi, then at least you can stay for one more. I’m cleaning tomorrow, aren’t I, so I could drive you back to pick your car up when I finish. Go on, stay and have another drink.’

  ‘Oh, all right then. Just one.’ I take the precaution of ordering a taxi to pick me up in half an hour.

  Cassie tops us both up and we clink glasses. ‘Cheers,’ I take a swallow and wait a beat or two. ‘Before I started blubbing all over you, you were telling me about when you got pregnant with Ollie. Did the dad not stick around?’ />
  ‘I didn’t tell him. Like I said, it wasn’t a relationship or anything. I wanted a baby, not a partner.’ Cassie swirls her wine in her glass.

  I bite my lip to stop myself from blurting out the hundred questions that are bubbling around in my head. Instead I sit back in my chair. ‘So,’ I speak slowly. I want to sound casual but I need to choose my words carefully. ‘Are you saying he . . . he doesn’t even know Ollie exists?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, he knows now. I didn’t want him to, but he found out by accident.’

  How? What happened? When? ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yeah. You see, Oliver looks very much like him. More than I’d realised. We bumped into him one day and as soon as he saw Ollie, he guessed.’

  ‘Really? He must be the image of him, then.’

  ‘Yep. Carbon copy.’

  ‘Wow. That must have been weird. Was this recently? What happened?’

  ‘Last summer. You know I meet my sister for lunch once a month?’

  ‘Yes, I think you told me – did you say she lives in Leeds?’

  She nods. ‘We usually go for pizza because it’s not too expensive and they’re very kid-friendly. So, she was already there with her two, and as I pushed the buggy over to her table, I saw this bloke do a sort of double take. It was Adrian. He was with three other men – some sort of work meeting, I think. I could tell he recognised me because he half-smiled, but he didn’t say anything and then I saw them pay the bill and leave, so I thought that was that. But then a few minutes later, he came back in because he’d left his sunglasses on the table – deliberately, I think. This time, he came over. He was all smiles and he said hello and how are you, as if he was an old friend. I could see it register on my sister’s face as soon as she saw him. And when he looked at Ollie, it was like, well, it was obvious he knew. He said hello, and asked him what his name was.’

  She stops and I can see her focusing on the memory.

  ‘For a minute he seemed to be mesmerised by Ollie, and I thought he was never going to leave. But then he straightened up and started chatting, you know, really casual, asking me if I still had the shop, and if I was living in the same place – I didn’t think anything of it at the time, so I said yes, I was still living here, but that I’d had to close the shop.’ She pauses. ‘God, I miss my little business.’

  I know she wants me to ask about the florist’s but I’m longing to hear the rest of the story. ‘So, did he—’

  ‘I don’t know what made me think I could carry on running the shop. I had this mad idea that I could get a part-time assistant to help with the customers and the deliveries, and I’d make the wreaths and arrangements while the baby slept. Ha!’

  For the first time I see a flash of, not resentment, exactly, more like disappointment, cross her face. She takes a big gulp of her wine. ‘Then he said goodbye, and it was only as he was walking away that he said he’d be in touch.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing. He sort of tossed it over his shoulder on his way out. I think he knew I’d say no. He hadn’t asked for my number or anything.’ She picks up the wine bottle, holds it up to the light and frowns, then tips a bit more into each glass. ‘About a week later, I’m sitting in the garden watching Ollie splashing about in the paddling pool, and I see a car pull up opposite. I knew it would be him, somehow. I just knew it, like a sort of sixth sense. Do you ever get that?’

  Her speech is slurred now. She’s in full flow and I probably don’t need to prompt any more, but I don’t want her to go off the point. ‘Sometimes. Weird, isn’t it? So what did he say, then? When he turned up?’

  ‘I told him I didn’t want anything from him – after all, I’d deliberately got myself pregnant, and I’d managed perfectly well up until then. But he seemed genuinely keen to have some sort of relationship with Oliver. Said he wouldn’t interfere with our lives, but that he wanted to contribute something – he had quite a good job, I think, so he wasn’t broke. But I couldn’t make a decision just like that, and with Ollie running around and wanting ice lollies and drinks and stuff, it was all too much to deal with, so I said I’d think about it. Ollie and I were going to Cornwall to see my mum and dad in a few days, so I agreed he could come again in a couple of weeks to talk about it properly.’ She sways slightly as she looks at me. ‘All my instincts were saying no, stick to your guns, you know? Anyway, three days after that, a present turns up for Ollie with a nice little note, and I start to think, well, maybe it would be nice for him to have his dad in his life, as long as it doesn’t affect anything I want to do in the future, like if I wanted to move or anything.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of moving, are you?’

  ‘Not now, but I’m not going to stay in this house for ever, am I?’ She shrugs. ‘But it’s irrelevant, because after all that, he never turned up and I haven’t heard from him since.’

  I try to find my voice. ‘Did you try calling him?’

  ‘No, never took his number – he was married, remember? Although I’d have needed it eventually, if he was going to be in Ollie’s life. Maybe that’s why he didn’t show up; maybe he saw that it wouldn’t have worked. He’d have had to tell his wife, wouldn’t he? Assuming she was still alive. I never asked.’ She picks up her glass and finishes her wine in two swallows. ‘Ah, well.’

  I don’t say anything for a few moments. This isn’t what I expected. Not that I know what I expected. ‘So . . . does Ollie know this bloke was his dad?’ I realise I’ve used the past tense, but Cassie doesn’t notice.

  She nods. ‘I’ve been up front about it, but I don’t think Ollie remembers much about him – they only met twice, and Ollie wasn’t even two and a half at the time. But I didn’t want him starting school thinking he hasn’t got a dad. He seems to accept it, but he’s still only little, isn’t he?’ She looks at me, clearly struggling to focus. ‘I think I’m a bit pissed.’ Then she giggles. ‘I’ve been talking about myself non-stop.’ She leans towards me. ‘Right, missus. Tell me about you.’

  Before I can say any more, my phone rings and a text appears to tell me the taxi is outside.

  It all goes round and round in my head. The pain of Adrian’s infidelity tangled up with the relief that he hadn’t fallen in love with someone else, that I hadn’t driven him to a long-term affair. And that those first years before – and maybe even these last few years – weren’t a sham; that we were soulmates, just as I always believed. But the bottom line is, he became a father without telling me. Of course I understand why he didn’t tell me, but that doesn’t change the fact that he made another woman his child’s mother. It isn’t fair, isn’t fair, isn’t fair.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THEN

  I was loading the dishwasher when Adrian came into the kitchen. I looked up, surprised. He usually went straight into the study after dinner to deal with emails and work on whatever paper he was delivering next. He’d told me about this one, but I hadn’t taken it in.

  ‘Let’s go for a drink,’ he said.

  ‘A drink?’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘A drink. In a pub. It’s ages since we’ve had a night out.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve got marking to do.’

  ‘I thought you finished that last night?’

  ‘Almost, but I’ve still got a few more.’

  ‘But you’re not teaching again until Wednesday, and you’ve got the whole weekend.’

  I hesitated. We used to go out once a week, either for a drink or, when I was pregnant, to have a meal or see a film. ‘I don’t really feel like it, to be honest.’

  ‘Oh, go on.’ He stood behind me and put his arms around my waist. ‘It’ll do us both good.’

  ‘But what if someone in the pub asks—’

  ‘We don’t have to go to the Crown. We could try the Fox and Hounds. Or the Black Horse? Or if you don’t mind a bit of a walk, we could—’

  I shrugged him off so I could finish loading the dishwasher. ‘No, I don’t think so. Maybe
another night.’

  He sighed and turned as if to go, but then he turned back. ‘Leah, it’s been over six months now. I know it’s hard, but we have to start learning how to carry on with our lives. I get that it still hurts – it hurts me too, you know.’

  ‘I know. I wasn’t suggesting it doesn’t.’

  ‘Then come for a drink with me. Please.’

  ‘Oh. So you’re going anyway, are you? Whether I come or not?’ I said it like a challenge, as though I was trying to start a row. Why was I doing this? Why, when I needed him close to me, was I pushing him away?

  He looked steadily at me for a moment then lifted his chin and said, ‘Do you know what? Yes, I am. I would really, really like you to come with me, but yes, I am going out for a drink.’

  We stared at each other for a minute and then he looked away. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘See you later.’ He pulled the kitchen door closed behind him.

  What the hell was I doing? I ran across the room and opened the door. ‘Wait! I’m sorry. I’ll come.’

  He didn’t say anything. He still looked, not angry, exactly, but borderline. I couldn’t bear what was happening to us; I needed to pull this back, make it right again. I made myself smile. ‘If I’m still allowed?’

  I saw something like relief in his eyes. His expression softened. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ll have one drink and then see if we want to stay longer, okay?’

  This time I smiled properly. ‘Okay.’

  It was almost eleven when we got home. Adrian automatically put the kettle on. ‘Tea?’

  I still had the rich, spicy taste of red wine in my mouth, and I didn’t want to lose it just yet because it reminded me of happy times – Christmas, birthdays, celebrations. I shook my head. ‘No thanks. I’m not really in the mood for tea.’

  He turned the kettle off again. ‘Neither am I. It’s just force of habit. Sod it, let’s have another drink.’ He took a bottle of red from the wine rack, then stopped and looked at me. ‘Is this okay? Or did you want an early night?’