She was fractious as I zipped her into her red snowsuit and tucked her inside the pram, but as soon as we were outside in the fresh air, she stopped crying, and as I pushed the pram along the road towards the park, she lay there, eyes wide open and looking up at the sky and the trees overhead. After a while, the movement of the pram lulled her to sleep, and I started to relax as I walked, but then I noticed that, even though Harriet was quiet for once, it seemed that everyone we passed was looking at me, as if they knew I was incompetent.
When we got to the park, the mothers pushing their children on the swings turned towards me as I passed, and I could feel their disapproving stares. After about five minutes I swung the pram around, suddenly feeling the need to be back at home with the doors closed so no one could see me. I started to walk faster. I turned into our road, where wheelie bins lined the kerbside waiting for collection. A huge crow swooped down in front of me to peck at a black bin bag that had already been torn open and was spilling rubbish into the gutter, then another joined it. They were searching for food, probably to take back to their babies. I thought again about that poor little crow I hit before Christmas. As I passed the birds, they stopped their foraging and turned their heads to look at me. There were another three crows on the telephone wire, I noticed. They were all looking at me, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
THEN
We were getting ready to go out – we planned to pop in on both dads, then do a bit of shopping on the way back. Adrian was just strapping Harriet into the car when she suddenly turned red in the face and noisily filled her nappy. ‘Typical,’ he laughed.
I lifted her out while he picked up the car seat and carried it into the kitchen. The greenish poo had come out of both sides of her nappy and she was absolutely covered.
‘It’s all over the car seat, too.’ Adrian said. ‘Have we got a scrubbing brush anywhere?’
‘Cupboard under the sink.’
I held Harriet’s ankles and gently lifted her so I could wipe her bottom, but the poo had gone right up her back. I pulled wipe after wipe from the pack and tried to clean her, but it seemed never-ending.
‘Shall I use bleach?’ Adrian called across the room. ‘Or just some washing-up liquid?’
I sighed. ‘I don’t know. How bad is it?’
‘There’s not a lot, I suppose. Will it stain?’
‘How should I bloody know?’ I didn’t mean to snap, but I just wanted him to deal with it. ‘Try scrubbing it with washing-up liquid and see what happens.’
Finally, after God knows how many wipes, Harriet was clean. I placed a fresh nappy under her bottom. ‘Do you think I should put some cream on her? She’s not sore now, but if she’s got diarrhoea . . .’
‘I think that’s done the trick,’ Adrian said as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘It’ll take a while to dry out, though. I’ll text them both and tell them we’ll have to leave it until tomorrow. I’d better go and do the shopping myself, hadn’t I?’
Neither of us liked supermarket shopping, but it flashed through my mind that if I were to go, at least I’d be on my own for a while. Then I had a darker, more frightening thought, that if I were to leave this house without Harriet, I might just float away, with no control over what was happening and no idea how to get back to my baby.
‘Leah? I said, are you okay?’ Adrian was standing right next to me.
‘What? Yes, why?’ I still had my hand on Harriet’s tummy.
‘You looked a bit, I don’t know, vacant.’
‘Sorry. I was just trying to decide whether to put some cream on her. What do you think?’
‘Won’t do any harm, will it?’ Just like that. He made the decision. Why couldn’t I think like that?
‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ Adrian leaned over and kissed me. ‘I’ve got the list, but text me if you think of anything else.’
I heard the front door open and close as I smothered Harriet’s bottom with Sudocrem. She was starting to grizzle now, because the whole process was taking so long. I fastened the nappy and kissed her tummy, then I slipped on a clean vest and did up the poppers underneath. I was just about to feed her arms into a clean lemon-yellow babygro when her legs went rigid and more poo exploded out of her nappy, covering everything. With tears streaming down my face, I bit my lip and started all over again.
Harriet had been sleeping soundly for over an hour. She’d gone down easily tonight, but I was still tossing and turning and my brain wouldn’t switch off. There was a cacophony in my head – parts of songs, a jumble of conversations, all running at the same time. It was as though someone had left three or four radios on different stations, all playing simultaneously. I was still awake when she started to make snuffling sounds just after four. I gave her a breastfeed and then a couple of ounces of formula and she settled again, but still I couldn’t sleep. I finally started to doze as it was beginning to get light, but soon I was aware of Harriet’s cries, which seemed to be coming from a long way away. Adrian stirred, so I put my hand on his arm and shook him gently. ‘Adrian? I’ve barely slept. Could you do her feed?’
‘Yeah, course.’ He sounded sleepy as he sat up, pausing for a second or two before getting out of bed. He yawned and stretched, and then I heard him whispering to Harriet. ‘Come on, baby girl, let’s go and get you some milk, shall we? Let your poor mummy get some sleep.’ And then I heard the bedroom door open and close softly. The birds were starting to sing, the sound dominated by the crows in the tree right outside the window. I was sure there were more of them each day. For God’s sake, I thought, just go away and let me get some sleep. My head and limbs felt heavy, and somehow I managed to tune out the racket outside and doze off again.
I dreamed I was in the woods, pushing Harriet in her pram. In the dream, it was a beautiful day, shafts of sunlight filtering through the trees making big patches of light on the ground, like spotlights. I could smell pine trees, damp, leafy earth and the sweet wet grass, as if it had just rained. I was singing to Harriet as we walked, and I smiled at the wood sounds – bird-song, a woodpecker hammering away and the deep cawing of the crows. It began to get dark quickly, reminding me of the eclipse when I was at uni, when we all stood outside to watch as the sun hid behind the moon, silencing the birds and chilling the afternoon air. It grew colder in the dream, too, but the bird sounds got louder, especially the crows.
In the newly darkened wood, the trees twisted into ugly, shadowy giants and the sound of crows tore into my head. Then I realised I wasn’t holding onto the pram any more. But despite the noise and my missing baby, I felt strangely at peace.
Soon the light started to flood back, spilling down through the trees and pooling on the forest floor. Then I saw a big, dark patch in front of me. It was moving. A writhing black mass of crows, all clustering around something, diving in and out, worrying at it until one by one they began to fly off, still cawing loudly. And there in the clearing, standing alone and surrounded by an ocean of bluebells, was Harriet’s red corduroy pram.
Still unconcerned, I wandered over and looked in. It wasn’t Harriet, it was Thomas, but he was in pieces. At first, I couldn’t see any blood, and it was just that he was broken. His head, arms and legs had come apart from his body, like a doll, and I couldn’t work out how to put him back together. But then the crows started cawing again and flapping their wings around me and I realised they had torn him apart. I managed to beat them away, and when I looked back in the pram, the broken baby’s face was Harriet’s, and she was looking up at me, pleading with me to mend her and make everything right. I was crying and the crows were getting louder and then Harriet started to cry. That was what woke me, of course. Harriet really was crying.
As I stumbled out of bed, I could hear the crows. In reality, I mean. Not in the dream. I picked Harriet up, breathing in her sweet baby scent and holding her warm, silky head against my cheek. I lifted the edge of the curtain. Adrian’s car had gone and it was completely light. There they were again, in the tree outside the window
. I could see four, no, five of them. Then another one swooped down from the tall beech and came to rest in the plane tree with the others. Six of them. I held Harriet a little tighter as my heart thumped against my ribcage. It was only a dream, I told myself, but a cold draught from the window chilled me and I shivered as it occurred to me that I was looking at a ‘murder of crows’. I reminded myself that there were a number of other collective nouns for crows: a horde, a hover, a muster, a parcel, a parliament. Yes, I decided – this could definitely be a parliament of crows. I could see seven of them now, and they looked like they were in charge, like they made all the rules. They reminded me of judges wearing black gowns.
To start with they just sat there, not making any sound apart from the odd caw, but then I pulled the curtain aside so I could close the window, and as soon as they saw me, they went berserk, cawing frantically at me, heads thrust forward, black beaks screaming open. I pulled the window shut and closed the curtains again as quickly as I could, and with both arms protecting Harriet, I hurried downstairs and moved from room to room, checking that all the windows and doors were locked.
CHAPTER FORTY
NOW
I wake early on New Year’s Day after a broken night of disturbing dreams. Maybe it’s that sense of new beginnings that is always tied up with apprehension – the sense that whatever might go right this year, there’s plenty that can go wrong.
I stand under the shower and turn the temperature up so the hot water can ease the pain in my back. I wonder what I’d be doing now if I’d never found that email? And if Adrian hadn’t died, I wonder how long it would have been before he told me about Ollie? I’ve been thinking about it a lot. At first I imagined him visiting Ollie in secret and then coming back to me and this big, childless house. But the more I think about it, the more certain I am that he wouldn’t have kept it from me for long. He couldn’t have. Maybe he was still coming to terms with it himself, or maybe he was waiting until he thought I was strong enough to take it. Whatever the reason, I’m convinced he would have wanted me to know. We could have shared parenting with Cassie, had Ollie over here regularly – every other weekend, perhaps, and maybe half of the school holidays. I imagine a beach, Adrian helping Ollie build sandcastles; me teaching him to swim; the three of us eating ice creams with flakes stuck in the top. How wonderful it would be to be on holiday with my husband and my stepson. There’s definitely more of Adrian in Ollie than there is of Cass. He has Cass’s skin tone – fair, slightly freckled – but that’s about it. I look at my own reflection as I apply mascara. My eyes are the same as Adrian’s and Ollie’s: so dark they’re almost black. Harriet’s eyes were blue, but they were just starting to darken. She’d be a year older than Ollie is now, and when I look at him, I can’t help but imagine what she’d look like.
I paint a little colour on my lips and force myself to smile. It’ll be a nice day, and I’ll get to see Ollie open his presents. I wish I could shake this gloomy feeling. I’ve bought Cassie some Neal’s Yard goodies in a little wooden chest, and a voucher for a spa day. At the last minute I dashed out and bought one of those coffee-and-chocolates gift sets for Luke. The spa day is for two, and when I bought it, I’d hoped Cassie might ask me to go with her, but it seems unlikely now, so I write To Cassie and Luke on the envelope. Then I go into the study for some paper, cut out a small rectangle and write, Gift Voucher in large letters in the middle. Then underneath, This voucher can be exchanged for one day’s babysitting (can be extended to overnight on request) with love, Leah. I slip it into the envelope with the spa voucher.
As I follow Cassie in, Luke comes out of the kitchen with a half-full glass of white wine in his hand. ‘Happy New Year.’ He kisses my cheek. ‘What can I get you to drink, Leah? There’s red or white, and there’s some fizz open. Or do you fancy a G&T?’
He looks relaxed, very much the host, and I wonder vaguely if he’s been staying here over the whole Christmas period.
‘White wine, please.’ I follow them into the kitchen, assuming I’ll chat to Cass while she’s cooking, but Luke takes the wine from the fridge and steers me back into the living room. Ollie is sitting on the sofa watching television with his thumb in his mouth. ‘Telly off, please, Olls,’ Luke says. But Ollie is too engrossed to hear him, so Luke reaches down and picks up the remote control, points it at the TV and switches it off. ‘Just until after lunch.’ Ollie’s face falls and his bottom lip plumps forward as if he’s about to cry. I’m about to protest on his behalf, but then Cass comes in with her wine and sits down next to him. ‘Shall we do presents before lunch?’ she says, and Ollie cheers up immediately.
I notice Cassie and Luke exchanging glances as Ollie unwraps his gifts. ‘I bought the art kit ages ago,’ I explain, ‘and I totally forgot I had it, so I went out and bought the Lego as well. But then I spotted the remote-control car on a special deal and I couldn’t resist it.’ I laugh. ‘So you got lucky this year, Ollie.’
Ollie is gratifyingly pleased with his presents and says an enthusiastic thank you after each one without even being reminded. After he’s opened them, I notice Cassie whispering in his ear, and the next moment he’s handing me a little box wrapped in gold paper. ‘It’s from me and Mummy and a little bit from Luke.’ He grins as I give him a big thank you hug.
I open the box to reveal a silver bracelet made of tiny ivy leaves linked together on a delicate chain. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, genuinely thrilled. I thank them again as I fasten it around my wrist.
‘Leah, I got millions of presents in my stocking.’ Ollie takes my hand. ‘They’re from Father Christmas. Do you want to see?’
I stand up to follow him, but then Luke says, ‘Stay here, please, Ollie. Lunch’ll be ready in a minute.’
‘It’s okay.’ Cass checks the time on her phone. ‘It’ll be about another ten minutes or so.’
Does Luke look a bit put out, or am I imagining it?
‘Come on, Leah.’ Ollie pulls me towards the door.
‘Okay, okay, I’m coming.’ I laugh.
‘Don’t let him bully you,’ Cass says. ‘Ollie, you can show Leah your new stuff quickly, then you need to come down and get your hands washed ready to eat, okay?’
Ollie nods, and carries on pulling me towards the stairs. Up in his bedroom, he proudly shows me the rest of his present haul. He’s still excited about having been to see Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs on Boxing Day, and he tells me how he went onstage at the end with some other children and sang a song with Snow White herself. But when, eyes shining at the memory, he tells me how Luke took him up on the moors to watch Santa’s sleigh flying over the rooftops, I have to turn away to hide my miserable jealousy. The table is laid with a red cloth, napkins and sparkling glasses. There are even candles, despite the winter sun pouring in through the window. I feel a tiny fizz of pleasure at the trouble she’s gone to.
‘Lunch isn’t very Christmassy.’ Cassie sets a large earthenware dish of lasagne in the centre of the table, then a bowl of salad leaves. ‘But it’s something I know we all like.’
‘Looks lovely.’ I take my seat next to Ollie. Cassie serves while Luke opens a bottle of red. ‘So,’ I say as we start eating, ‘how was your Christmas?’
We chat about how much work the Christmas meal is, and how turkey is overrated and expensive if you buy free range. Cassie says they might go for capon next year, because Luke knows someone who rears them.
Next year. Looks like he’s here to stay, then. I’d sort of guessed that, but this confirms it. To think that I once hoped that Cass, Ollie and I might live in the same house.
‘So, how was your Christmas?’ Cassie asks.
‘Surprisingly nice, actually.’ I tell them about my day with Paul and Helen, how Chris and Judy and the boys came up for the afternoon and how we ate loads of chocolate and played Cluedo and Pictionary and even a couple of rounds of charades. At one point, when the boys were playing on the Xbox and we were all sitting round eating Christmas cake and drinking Baileys, it oc
curred to me that I hadn’t thought about Adrian, or about Thomas or Harriet, or even about Ollie, for a good two or three hours. It was only much later when I let myself back into the house and looked at that ridiculously overdecorated tree with my presents for Ollie underneath it that the good feelings started to wear off.
After we’ve eaten, Olliie goes into the living room to watch one of his new DVDs. There’s an awkward silence, and I sense something is about to happen.
‘Thing is, Leah,’ Cassie says, not quite meeting my eye. ‘We . . . Luke and I . . . we have some news.’
‘Oh yes?’ I try to make my voice sound upbeat, but all I achieve is a squeak. Don’t be pregnant, I think. Please, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.
‘We’ve decided to move in together. Permanently.’ Cassie glances at Luke, who takes her hand. I notice the little squeeze he gives it, as though he’s reassuring her.
I take a sip of my wine. Moving in together. My stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch as I realise this is a turning point, that it’s going to affect me and, more importantly, that it’s going to affect Ollie. They’re both looking at me, waiting for a reaction.
‘Well,’ I say, ‘that makes sense, I suppose. Two can live more cheaply than one, and all that. Have you told Ollie?’
‘Of course we have,’ Cassie says. ‘It’s partly for his benefit, to be honest. I don’t really want him to grow up in a single-parent family.’
‘But that was what you intended when you got pregnant with him, wasn’t it?’
The words are out before I can stop them. Cass and Luke both look shocked at my bluntness, and I feel a bit shocked myself. ‘I’m sorry, that sounded rude.’ I reach for my wine and take a big mouthful. ‘I didn’t mean to be so . . . so blunt. It’s just that . . .’ I think quickly. ‘I was so impressed when you told me how determined you were to have a baby, and I remember thinking how brave that was, to choose to do it alone.’
The Flight of Cornelia Blackwood Page 20
