After Ever After

by Rowan Coleman

  Dora hugs me briefly, careful not to press her linen shirt against the wet silk of my top.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell her.

  ‘Okay.’ Camille looks exasperated. ‘I’ll call you tonight, okay?’ She kisses me quickly.

  ‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ I repeat as I gather up my belongings. ‘Just hormones and fatigue and all that. I’m fine. Really.’ I race for the doorway.

  Just as I reach the exit a burst of laughter sounds from the women I’ve left behind. I know they aren’t laughing at me, but even so I feel like the little girl stuck in the middle of a circle of crowing children all those years ago after Mum was killed. Only this time Dora isn’t here to beat them all up for me.

  Chapter Four

  I look at my surroundings and guess that I am about a five-minute walk from Fergus’s office. I know that I could go home now, holding my bag across one breast and my hand over the other, and try to pretend it has all gone swimmingly, or I could call him and rely on him to make me feel better like he always does.

  I fumble for my mobile phone, grateful that lunchtime is over and that the streets are largely deserted.

  ‘Fergus Kelly, please,’ I say, barely holding on to my composure. As I listen to the ring tone, I pray that it will be him who picks up and not his PA, Tiffany.

  ‘Fergus Kelly?’

  Thank God. ‘It’s me,’ I manage to squeak.

  ‘Kitty? What’s up? Where are you? Has something happened?’

  I gulp for air, angry with myself for wanting to cry but unable to stop it.

  ‘Um, I’m on Appold Street and it’s nothing really, but, well, I … I … can I come and see you just for a minute?’ I clutch the phone like a last straw.

  ‘Oh baby, course you can. You walk down to my offices and I’ll come and meet you, all right?’

  ‘All right,’ I say, and five minutes later everything is all right again. Fergus puts his arms around me and rests his chin on my head before tipping my chin back and kissing me until I feel a slight and familiar movement in his trousers. I push him away, smiling, and raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Are you pleased to see me, then?’ I manage to joke, even if I am slightly aggravated that even when I am patently in such a state the only thing he can think about is sex.

  ‘I can’t help it, darling, you always turn me on.’ He takes my hand and begins walking slightly awkwardly, making me smile. ‘Come on, tell me all about it.’

  When we walk into his office a few minutes later I do feel better, but embarrassed.

  ‘I can’t believe I freaked out like that,’ I say under my voice, nodding at the obliviously pert Tiffany who isn’t the fluffy blonde her name suggests, rather a sleek brunette with razor-sharp hips. She returns my greeting with a studied lack of interest, and I can feel her eyes burrowing into my back as Fergus closes the door on us.

  I swallow the jealous question that is sitting heavily on my tongue like a fat toad and press on with the conversation. ‘I mean, you know, there are all these women and, except Camille, they’re all fucked-up big time and yet they’re all poised and perfect and there I am red as a beetroot with sodding breast milk all down my front.’

  I catch Fergus grinning at me.

  ‘It’s not funny!’ I say, smiling. But he shakes his head, and runs his fingers through his blue-black hair.

  ‘Yeah, it is. And anyway, just imagine them licking the toilet floor in desperation ’cos they’ve dropped a couple of granules of coke. At least what you are going through is natural, and it will get better, and you have Ella and me. They have to deal with their problems all their life.’

  I nod, sighing heavily.

  ‘Mind you,’ Fergus continues, ‘you’ll have a rebellious daughter on your hands pretty much for ever.’

  I smile, thinking of Ella’s latest assertion of independence, which involves happily kicking me in the chest every time I try to dress and change her.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ I say, with a smile. Suddenly an image of the new Dora pops into my head. ‘She seems all right, though. Good, even,’ I say out of context, but Fergus picks up my thread with his usual intuitive ease.

  ‘Yeah, I thought so,’ he says.

  I look at him. ‘Did you? When?’

  He stares at me blankly for a moment and then his face clears.

  ‘Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you? I ran into her the other day – she’s working round here, PA for some CEO, isn’t it? I didn’t recognise her at first, what with the hair and all.’ He makes a vague gesture around his head and shrugs. ‘She looks good.’ He smiles and I fight down yet more irrational jealousy. I know that Fergus forgets his own head on a daily basis, let alone chance encounters with one of my friends. I know that there is no other reason why he wouldn’t tell me about it, and probably Dora just thought it was too boring to mention too.

  ‘Oh right,’ I say flatly. ‘Well, she does.’ I pull myself together. If the delectable Tiffany isn’t going to make me break my resolution not to test Fergus on his fidelity, then Dora certainly isn’t.

  I push back my shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, you must be busy, I’ll get off. Have you got any, you know, tissues or something?’ I stare glumly at my shirt and hug my aching breasts.

  ‘Don’t worry about leaving. We’re in a bit of a lull and I was planning on leaving early anyway.’ Fergus goes to the hook on his door and brings out a clean shirt still in its dry-cleaning plastic. ‘It’s a bit quiet today and I want to spend a bit more time with my girls before it hots up again next week.’ He hands me the shirt. ‘Here, you can change into this.’

  He opens the office door a crack.

  ‘Tiff, the wife’s just getting changed and then I’m off. Can you redirect all calls to the mobile? Cheers.’

  He shuts the door and leans against it as I unbutton my shirt.

  ‘There’s always a bright side,’ he says and I avoid his eye. ‘A striptease from the missus.’

  I drop my shirt on the back of his chair, conscious of my engorged breasts straining against the demure white lace of my nursing bra. Fergus’s eyes are riveted.

  ‘You are gorgeous,’ he says with quiet concentration. I smile awkwardly and attempt to dissipate the tension in the room.

  ‘This is soaked through too,’ I say, feeling the material of my bra.

  ‘Well, take it off for a bit then.’ Fergus walks over to me, his eyes travelling the length of my body. Standing close to me he runs the back of his forefinger over the swell of one breast.

  ‘Fergus!’ I whisper, trying to appear scandalised instead of a nervous wreck. I let him reach behind and unhook my bra, lifting it off my shoulders and catching the weight of my breast in each hand. To stop this now would be too big a rejection.

  I look at the door.

  ‘Don’t worry, no one will come in,’ he says. ‘God, they’re so heavy.’ He pushes me against his desk and sits on the chair putting his mouth to one nipple.

  ‘Let me taste them,’ he whispers before he suckles.

  ‘Fergus I …’ I’m certain that what he’s doing isn’t right, but before I can finish my sentence I am stopped by the juddering pleasure his attention gives me. He lifts his face away and smiles.

  ‘You taste sweet,’ he says, and he returns his attention to the other breast. Gradually his kisses travel up to my mouth and I feel him unbutton my trousers.

  ‘Fergus!’ I whisper a faint protest as I realise that he plans on going all the way.

  ‘Sorry, darling, I can’t stop now,’ he mumbles and he pulls my knickers and jeans down to my knees and turns me to face the window. I briefly wonder if the rows of grey-tinted glass windows opposite can see in here before I feel him push his way into me. I am surprised, surprised that it doesn’t hurt the way I expect it to and surprised that it feels so good, so good in fact that I quickly stop analysing the sensation of his movement and start to enjoy it. It’s over quickly and afterwards both of us are sticky, hot and satisfied.

  He holds me close in the curve
of his body for a second and cradles my breast for a moment longer before turning me back to face him and kissing me deeply.

  ‘My God, we need to do that more often,’ he says, with heartfelt conviction. ‘You are the sexiest woman on earth.’

  I laugh and try to push him away. ‘I know, I want to do it and everything it’s just that I’m so tired and …’

  Fergus presses his fingers to my lips. ‘I’m not criticising you. I know that having a baby makes everything different. I know it and I wouldn’t change it for the world. I’m just saying that making love to you as often as we used to is something I miss.’ He drops a kiss on my forehead and reaches for a box of tissues from his desk, taking some and handing me the box.

  We dress in silence, exchanging glances and smiles, giggling sometimes like a couple of kids. If I had known that this would happen up here I would never have come to his office, but I’m glad that it did happen and I am relieved that we have rediscovered the sense of intimacy that seemed to be lost before it could become old and comfortable.

  Finally, when we are halfway presentable, Fergus puts his arm over my shoulder and kisses my temple.

  ‘I love you, Kits. Our lives might have changed for ever and ever, but I’ll always love you, no matter what. Don’t forget that.’

  I smile back at him as I remember how much I love him.

  Sunlight streams in through the train window as we travel home and, as I close my eyes, the speeding shadows it casts through the track-side trees flicker and dance through my lids.

  I lean my head on Fergus’s shoulder and smile as I feel the warmth of his lips brush my forehead. This is what it was all about. This is why I married him, because he and only he has ever been able to banish the dark shadows and the bad dreams. Only Fergus has filled the spaces that I didn’t even know were empty. One thing I’ve realised today is that I’m not that madcap Kitty that I used to be, and so what? After all, that Kitty spent most of her nights wishing she could be like me, wishing that her life could be turned inside out. And now it has and mostly it’s wonderful – lonely sometimes and different and scary, but wonderful. I just have to try harder to make it work, that’s all. I just have to try harder.

  ‘Berkhamsted, this is Berkhamsted.’

  The automated train announcement breaks me from my reverie. Knowing that we have only a few moments more before the chaos of our lives drives its invisible wedge between us again, I take his hand and kiss it.

  ‘I love you so much,’ I tell him. ‘Spending time alone like this is just what we need. We should arrange for your mum to have Ella regularly. I’m sure she’d love it and, well, I’m sure Ella’d get used to her eventually …’

  Fergus digs me in the ribs with his elbow before standing and hauling me to my feet.

  ‘That’s a great idea, I’m really glad you thought of it.’

  As we emerge from the station into the warm evening air, for the first time in months I feel peaceful and I feel myself.

  As we reach the front door, Fergus stops me and leans forward to kiss me one last time before we dive back into the mayhem of a partially renovated house and young baby. I am lifting my mouth to meet his when Ella’s scream rips into the closing space between us and tears me out of Fergus’s arms, hurtling me towards the locked door. Her cries reach a frantic crescendo as I fumble to fit the key into the lock.

  ‘Kitty, calm down! She’s probably just overtired or something.’ Fergus takes the key from my trembling fingers and opens the door. I race into the living room and find a strange man taking my daughter’s temperature, while Georgina and Mr Crawley look on.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I demand, reaching for my daughter. Ella sees me and stretches her arms out to me, bucking to be free and literally screaming. I have never seen her so upset, her eyes so wide, her small face such a picture of fear and pain. I take her in my arms and she buries her hot and wet face into my neck, her whole body shaking with hiccupping sobs.

  ‘Its okay, darling,’ I say, clutching her, even though I have no idea if it really is. ‘It’s okay.’ I look at Georgina, feeling furious with her already.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I state the question with a cold anger that has risen suddenly through me to chill the warm evening air.

  Georgina flicks her hair off her shoulder and visibly bristles.

  ‘Well,’ she points at Ella. ‘She started screaming and wouldn’t stop. I rocked her and so on,’ she gestured, as if she was talking about trying to start a car. ‘And then I noticed that she was very hot.’ She stared at Mr Crawley. ‘He said to give her some paracetamol and see what happened but what I want to know is who is this man to be telling me to how to look after my own granddaughter and …’ She turns to Fergus but I stop her in her tracks.

  ‘What’s wrong with her!’ I cut across her and address the man I presume is a doctor, gastric flu, measles, meningitis and worse all galloping through my mind. This is my first baby – she only has to cough and I’m certain she’s on the brink of death. I’ve never seen her like this before.

  ‘Not too much, actually,’ the doctor tells me, his voice deliberately calm. ‘She’s teething. It’s very common for a baby to get a temperature at this stage, and in fact the dose of Calpol we gave her twenty minutes ago has done the trick.’ He nods at Mr Crawley. ‘Her temperature’s come down and I think the worst thing wrong with her at the moment is that she’s missed her mummy.’ His tone is kind but I feel his absent criticism keenly.

  I press my cheek to hers, rock her, until gradually her sobs quieten to intermittent shudders and gulps and she hangs on to two ropes of my hair, one in each fist, for dear life.

  ‘Are you quite sure?’ I quiz the doctor, thinking of the tales of misdiagnosis I’ve heard of.

  ‘Yes, she’s got no other symptoms, except sensitivity around the mouth and general clinginess. No rashes, nice soft tummy, no glands up. I have a feeling that her temperature will settle down now, but if not, give her another dose of paracetamol in four hours, and if she develops any other symptoms let me know and I’ll come out immediately.’

  He smiles to himself, an ‘overprotective mother’ smile, I’m sure, and begins to gather his belongings. I am torn between wanting to cry with gratitude, kill Fergus’s mother and die of the overwhelming guilt I have felt since I took my baby back in my arms. I had forgotten her, she’d needed me and I hadn’t been here. I hadn’t even really missed her until the moment that I’d heard her cry. Fergus squeezes my shoulder and kisses the top of Ella’s head.

  ‘Poor little darling, aren’t you?’ He says to one of us or maybe both. ‘Thanks for coming out, Doctor, I’ll show you out.’ He leads the doctor out into the hallway.

  ‘Shhhh, shhhh, my baby,’ I whisper to her. At last her breathing has grown even and she watches Georgina with soulful wet eyes from the safe haven of my arms.

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ I ask Georgina, incredulous. She looks uncomfortable and defiant.

  ‘Because I didn’t want to worry you. I wanted you to have a break. I suspected it was nothing to worry about,’ she lies. ‘Anyway, I thought you might have called in here or come home a bit earlier,’ she tells me haughtily. I glare at her.

  ‘To be fair, Mrs Kelly did suggest calling you but we both decided it would be a shame to spoil your day out,’ Mr Crawley says awkwardly. ‘And I had a feeling that really it was nothing.’

  I smile, knowing how very unfair it is of me to be angry not with him but only with Georgina.

  ‘I know you meant well, but she’s my baby. I always want to know, even if there’s nothing wrong. She’s mine.’

  I turn back to Georgina.

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ I say quietly. ‘Ella needs some peace.’ Fergus re-enters the room, a diplomatic smile already in place.

  ‘Well, he seems like a nice chap, never had him before. He was saying, darling, that we should get her registered there permanently. I told him you’d be taking her for her jabs but …’

  ‘F
ergus, I was just telling your mum I thought she’d better go,’ I say over his attempt to pretend there isn’t an atmosphere as thick as soup in the room.

  ‘But I …’ She turns to her son. ‘Fergus, I was only trying to help. I just wanted her to have a nice time. I did what I thought was best. If she had been ill the doctor was here, and I didn’t see the point of worrying …’

  Fergus puts his arm around her shoulders and guides her into the hallway.

  ‘I know, I know …’ he’s saying, and I am furious at him for being so understanding. I sit in a chair and without thinking of Mr Crawley’s presence I reach under Fergus’s shirt, unhook my bra and put Ella to my breast.

  ‘I do think she was trying to be helpful,’ Mr Crawley says at last. ‘It’s just that she’s not very good at showing it, and she’s a bit of a panicker. She wasn’t to know that I’ve had four kids of my own and six grandchildren. She thinks I’m just the builder.’

  As she suckles, Ella’s hand releases my hair and grabs her own ear. It occurs to me that after all Mr Crawley really is just the builder, but for some reason I feel more comfortable with him than I do with my own mother-in-law.

  ‘I know, I know. It’s just that I’d have wanted to know. Now I feel like I’ve abandoned her, and worse, I feel like she feels like I abandoned her. The Book says that babies remember these things, you know … Mind you, The Book says it’s okay to leave them screaming their heads off until they finally pass out in misery, so The Book’s talking out of its arse, frankly.’

  Mr Crawley smiles and crouches briefly by my chair.

  ‘Of course you feel like that, that’s how she’s designed to make you feel. You’re her mother.’ He raises himself up, his knees creaking. ‘Not as young as I used to be. Well, I’ll be off now; I’ve a very nice bottle of wine chilling in the fridge and a date with Radio Three. Puccini night.’

  I smile at him. ‘You and Mrs Crawley settling in for a romantic night in, then?’

  ‘Oh well, you could say that. Mrs Crawley died nine years ago. Breast cancer. But I always think of her when I hear that aria from Madam Butterfly …’ He looks wistfully into space for a moment. ‘But I keep myself busy, that’s the main thing. Right then, I’ll see you in the morning.’ He shuts the door behind him and I can hear Fergus’s voice as he questions him on the progress of the building work.