‘Sorry, I meant . . .’ I paused to help Harriet latch on again and to give myself time to think. ‘I meant that it was watching the crows that made me think, you know, about the fresh air and the trees and everything.’
He shot me a look and I braced myself for another question, but at that moment the oven timer pinged and he turned his attention back to the pizza.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
NOW
As I drive home from Cassie’s, I try to find the positive side of what they’ve told me. Luke isn’t a bad man. He plainly doesn’t like me, but maybe that’s because he wants Cassie to himself. They clearly love each other, and he does seem to care about Ollie. It’ll be a good thing, I tell myself. Ollie needs a male role model. And he’ll see more of his grandparents, of course. Cornwall is beautiful and unspoilt, and he’ll be growing up near the seaside. He’ll have lovely fresh air and he can learn about nature and . . . and . . . the pluses peter out. Cornwall. Yes, I can go and visit, but how often, realistically? It takes hours and hours to drive there – seven or eight, I think. Adrian and I once ruled out a weekend there because it was too far to go for a couple of days. What would he think about them stealing his child away from me like this? I press my foot down harder on the accelerator, realising at the same time that I’m not that far from where he had the crash. It occurs to me that I could just duck out of all this right now. I could find something, maybe a tree, maybe a wall, and I could line up the car, flatten my foot to the floor and drive myself to oblivion. For a few seconds, maybe longer, that is exactly what I intend to do. My heart thuds so hard it almost hurts; adrenaline is zipping around my body, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel as the landscape flashes past. No trees, no walls, nothing solid enough. It is only when I see another car in the distance that the madness of what I’m doing shakes me back to my senses. The car is solid enough to smash me to pieces, but I must not hurt anyone else, not again. I take my foot off the accelerator and slow to a reasonable speed, and I try to focus my thoughts more clearly so I can make a plan. There’s got to be something I can do. What, though? Something, something. I’m drumming my hand on the steering wheel. Oh, for God’s sake, Leah, get a grip on yourself.
I arrive home in what seems like no time at all. Apart from that scary moment when I considered lining myself up with that other car, I’ve barely registered the drive. Without taking my coat off, I throw my bag down in the hall and go into the kitchen. Spider rubs himself around my legs and miaows at me aggressively until I’ve opened a bag of moist salmon chunks and squeezed it into his bowl. He eats, purring loudly, and I wonder where he’d have gone and who would have fed him if I hadn’t come home. Still in my coat, I pour a large glass of wine and drink half of it down quickly. How long would he wait for me before going out of the cat flap and finding somewhere else to live?
Go with them. It jumps into my head. Move to Cornwall. Why not? I don’t need to live in this big house, and I’ve been told often enough that it would sell quickly in such a desirable area, and for a good price. I could find something lovely in Cornwall – a little cottage on the coast, perhaps, not too near to Cassie and Luke but near enough to babysit now and again. I could probably get some teaching work, enough to keep me ticking over. A fresh start. A tingly sensation runs through me at the thought. Maybe I should have done this before, got out of this house, started again somewhere completely new. I top up my glass and take it through into the study.
Boscastle, they said. I type in Boscastle and ten miles around. There are plenty of nice properties I could afford. I click on a few, look around the rooms, the gardens, how close they are to the sea, how near to schools – I’d have to be near enough to pick Ollie up if necessary.
For twenty minutes or so, as I sit there sipping my wine and scrolling down the list, I kid myself that I might actually do this, sell up here and move to Cornwall to be near my stepson. That’s what he is, I remind myself. My husband’s child. But by the time I’ve almost emptied my glass, I know it’s not an option. Not only is this house my only connection with my own babies, but how would Cassie and Luke react? I’m not so deluded that I don’t know it would look odd. What if I told them the truth, explained why I care for Ollie so much? Would Cassie understand? She knows what it’s like to long for a baby, after all, and she lost a husband she loved. But I can’t think how I’d even start that conversation. I top up my glass again and I try a few opening lines in my head, but what becomes clear is that I have been a total bloody idiot, spinning such a complicated web of lies that I’ve trapped myself completely. If only I’d told Cass the truth right at the start. She’d have been wary, obviously, and it might have taken a while, but it’s possible she’d have come to trust me eventually. As it is, I’ve basically lied through my teeth for nine months and now I don’t know what to do; I don’t know how to get out of the mess I’ve got myself into. Adrian was always the first person I’d ask if I was struggling with how to deal with a difficult situation – he always had an idea for a tactful and sensitive approach. The irony is cruel. I finish my wine and drink another glass, or maybe I have another two, I’m not sure. But by half past eight I’m properly drunk. I crawl into bed, clutching the teddy bear Ollie cuddles when he stays here. Harriet’s teddy.
At ten past one, I wake with the threat of a hangover. I take a couple of paracetamol, drink a full glass of water and then drift off again. I sleep fitfully for a while, then I sit bolt upright, suddenly wide awake. It’s a memory that’s woken me, as harshly as a loud alarm or a thump on the shoulder. That day a few weeks before Christmas, when I had Ollie overnight so Cass and Luke could go Christmas shopping. We were all in the sitting room where Ollie and I had been looking through the books, and we’d had that discussion about names being shortened. I can see Luke’s face, a crease in his forehead as he concentrated when he thought about my name; the way he kept repeating it, Cornelia; how he kept saying how unusual it was. I’m out of bed and downstairs in seconds. Come on, I murmur. Why is this bloody internet connection so slow? I haven’t googled my name since I first came home from the unit. Adrian was cross with me for doing that – he said we’d never be able to move on if I was going to dwell on the trash they’d written about me. Now I hold my breath as I wait for it to load. First, I type in Leah Blackwood. There’s a Dr Leah Blackwood in Brisbane. I scroll down the first three pages, and the only other Leah Blackwood that comes up is a teenager who lives in Sweden. I keep scrolling until it moves on to a Leah Blakewood. Then I go back to the home page, and with shaky fingers type in Cornelia Blackwood. And there they are, the headlines from when it happened.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
THEN
When Harriet woke just after two, Adrian sat up and swung his legs round to the floor, throwing back the duvet and sending a cold draught over my bare shoulders. Normally I’d have been mildly irritated by the way he did this with no thought as to how it might disturb me. But the new me was calm; the new me knew what to do. I put my hand on his arm, noticing the warmth of his skin. ‘It’s okay, you go back to sleep. I’ll do it.’
‘No, it’s all right. I’m awake now.’ He yawned and rubbed his eyes. ‘Or I will be in a minute.’
‘Really, it’s fine. Go back to sleep.’
Another yawn. ‘Are you sure?’ He waited for me to nod. ‘All right then, I can’t say the idea of going back to sleep doesn’t appeal.’ He reached for my hand as I started to get out of bed. ‘Wake me if she won’t go down. My first meeting’s not until ten thirty, so I don’t have to be up until eight. No point in us both being knackered.’ He flopped back onto the pillow, pulling the covers up around his shoulders.
‘Come on, sweetheart,’ I whispered as I lifted Harriet out of her little nest. I grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around her, then went down to the kitchen to make up a bottle of formula. She grizzled as I moved around the kitchen, but quietened down as soon as we started climbing the stairs, probably because she knew her food was coming. She took th
e bottle the same way she always did, guzzling it as if she was starving, but even after she’d finished, she still wouldn’t settle, and soon started to cry again. I tried pacing up and down, patting her back, gently jiggling her in my arms. I tried singing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’, but nothing would soothe her. Maybe it was time we went out.
I put her snowsuit on over her babygro and tucked her into the sling, then I put my big coat on over us both and slipped my bare feet into my boots. The cold air hit me as soon as I opened the back door. It was crisp and sharp, and I knew immediately that this was what Harriet needed because she stopped crying as soon as we stepped outside. I was halfway to the gate when I realised that walking in the woods was a stupid idea – the paths were difficult to negotiate even in daylight, but with nothing but the weak light from a pale quarter moon, all those gnarled and twisted tree roots lurking in the ground would make them treacherous.
‘Never mind,’ I told Harriet, ‘we’ll take the pram instead.’ I went back into the house, moving quickly so she didn’t start crying again, and as soon as I’d got her tucked into her pram, I opened the front door so she could smell the night air. I flicked the switch on the wall and the lamp at the end of the drive came on. Not many of the roads around here had street lighting, so I grabbed a torch from the hall cupboard, just in case, then I closed the door quietly behind me and we set off into the night. It wasn’t as dark as I expected, because a few of the drives were well-lit and there were several lamps on in people’s gardens. No one around here seemed to worry about their electricity bill – or the environment – and with golden light spilling over the silvery grass and frost-dusted holly bushes, it all looked very pretty. It was quiet inside my head for a change, so all I could hear was the sound of my own footsteps and the brush of the night air against my ears as I moved through it. We were a long way from the main road here, so even if there were any cars passing at this hour, we wouldn’t be able to hear them. There was almost complete silence. Harriet was wide awake, mesmerised by the night. As I walked further away from the house, I was aware of a lightness in my step; I felt as if we were surging forward, my daughter and me, cutting effortlessly through the hushed darkness.
Soon, Harriet was fast asleep. But I didn’t want to go back yet, because I was enjoying the beauty of the navy-blue sky, the frosty trees silhouetted against it and the almost-silence, punctured occasionally by the hooting of a distant owl. I was enjoying the solitude, too – we hadn’t seen a single other human being the whole time, and I had this amazing feeling of . . . it was hard to describe . . . significance. I knew that Harriet was part of it, too. It was as though all those long, sleepless nights where she cried and cried had made me stronger. In fact, the exhaustion I’d felt just before we came out had faded away and right now, at this precise moment, I felt full of energy, acutely and magnificently powerful.
I wasn’t sure how long we’d been out because I wasn’t paying attention to the time, only to this amazing feeling of lightness and freedom. To think I used to be nervous about going out after dark! I kept walking, striding forward, aware of the smile on my face. I didn’t even notice the route I was taking as I pondered this new way of feeling, but I must have walked in a circle because the next turning was our road. Harriet was still sleeping soundly and I could have carried on walking with her all night, but as we were so close to the house now, I thought we might as well go back.
As soon as I saw the lights on in almost every window, I remembered Adrian. It was quite a shock to realise that, while we’d been out, I hadn’t thought about him at all. I’d completely forgotten his existence. How odd. How very, very odd.
We were only halfway up the drive when the front door swung open and Adrian appeared, phone in hand, wearing trainers and a jumper over his pyjamas. ‘Leah! Thank God. What’s happened? Are you okay?’ He came hurrying down the drive and reached out towards the pram. ‘Is she all right?’
‘She’s fine,’ I said, in what I hoped was a calm, reassuring tone. ‘Everything’s completely fine.’
He looked at me strangely as he unclipped the carrycot from the pram base. ‘But where were you? Why on earth would you . . .’ But then he shook his head. ‘It’s bloody freezing out here. Let’s get her inside.’ He carried her in while I collapsed the wheels. ‘Leave that,’ he snapped. ‘Christ, Leah. Just come inside before you get pneumonia.’
I shrugged and followed him in. ‘She’s absolutely fine,’ I said as he peered in at Harriet and fiddled with her blankets. ‘Leave her. She’s sleeping. I just thought she needed some fresh air, that’s all.’
‘Fresh air?’ His hand shot up and sliced through his already ruffled hair. ‘For fuck’s sake. It’s half past three in the bloody morning.’ I noticed the catch in his voice, an emotional break in the anger.
‘Is it? Sorry, I’m not wearing a watch. And I forgot to take my phone.’
‘I know you forgot to take your bloody phone.’ He held up his own and shook it at me. ‘I tried calling you. I’ve been worried sick.’
‘I’m sorry. I should have left a note, but I wanted to get her outside quickly so her crying didn’t disturb you.’
‘Oh, come on. You make it sound like I’m some tyrant, shouting at you to keep the baby quiet.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘I offered to get up with her earlier, but you insisted.’ His voice was softer now. ‘Want some tea to warm you up?’
I wasn’t cold, but I said yes please, because I could see he’d feel better if he had something to do.
He put the two mugs of tea on the table and pulled out a chair, then ran his hand through his hair again. ‘Look, I’m sorry I shouted, but you must understand how worried I was.’
‘There was no need to worry – I was just getting her to sleep.’
‘But don’t you realise how . . .’ He looked exasperated. ‘How fucking weird it is to be taking the baby out in the middle of the night without telling me?’ He was raising his voice again. ‘Did it not occur to you that I’d worry? Especially given how you’ve been?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Exhausted, tearful, snappy, confused – I know it’s all supposed to be normal in a new mother, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore it.’
I knew what was coming next.
‘Have you made an appointment at the surgery yet?’
I sighed. ‘And say what? I’ve got a new baby and I’m tired? I get a bit tearful and snappy when I’m sleep-deprived? She’s going to say yes, you and every other new mother who ever lived.’
‘Look, I’m not having a go at you. It’s just . . . well, like I said before, I think you might be depressed. It’s not uncommon, is it?’
‘I’m not depressed. I don’t even feel sad. The reverse, in fact.’
‘Really?’ He looked up, his face brightening slightly. ‘Well, that’s good to hear. I’ve been so happy these last few weeks, and I thought you would be, too, but you don’t smile any more.’ He sighed and looked at me with those glittery eyes I used to love so much. ‘I think I’ve been a bit naive. I assumed that everything would be wonderful the moment she was born, but I can see that was unrealistic, especially after all we’ve been through. And you’ve copped for most of the work, haven’t you? I try to do what I can when I’m home, but I know it’s not enough. It’s been killing me to see you looking so . . .’
‘Yes, well, I’m okay now.’ Such an understatement. I wished I could tell him how elated I felt now I knew how to look after Harriet properly. But if I tried to explain, I’d have to tell him about the crows, and how they were helping me. And then he’d think I was crazy.
He reached over and took my hand. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling happier now, I really am. I know it’s hard for you being here with her on your own. In fact, I was thinking, maybe we could get someone in to help? Not a nanny, necessarily, but perhaps—’
‘No, I don’t want anyone else here.’ I knew I sounded defensive, but the last thing I wanted was someone like that, one of those health visitor k
now-it-all type women watching me, telling me what I should be doing. I knew what to do now.
‘All right, all right, but keep it in mind as an option. Just if things get difficult again – if you’re on your knees from lack of sleep, if she’s crying too much and you can’t settle her.’ He gave a half-laugh. ‘After all, you don’t want to have to wheel the pram through the streets in the middle of the night too often, do you?’
I was about to tell him she needed to be outside more, that she’d weaken and fade away if I kept her inside where she couldn’t see the trees and the sky and the sun and the moon, but before I could open my mouth he said, ‘I still think it wouldn’t hurt to have a chat with the doctor. Just so that, I don’t know . . . so they can keep . . .’ He shrugged, and I could see he’d failed to find a good argument. ‘I don’t know, I’d feel happier knowing you’d talked to them, that’s all.’
‘I talked to the health visitor,’ I lied. ‘When I went to the drop-in centre.’
‘That was a couple of weeks ago, though.’
‘I went again today.’ And then I took a chance. ‘I told you.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘I did. When you were making dinner.’
And then he had to concede, because he knew he didn’t always listen.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
NOW
I sit staring at the screen, unable to move. They know. Cassie and Luke; they know what I did. Luke must have googled my full name, seen all these stories.
. . . speaking outside the couple’s £400,000 home, Blackwood’s husband Clive, 43, also a university lecturer, insisted his wife was a loving mother and vowed to stand by her.
The Flight of Cornelia Blackwood Page 23
