by A J McDine
I reach for my phone. ‘I should call Matt. Tell him what’s happened.’
‘There’s no point worrying him for nothing,’ Roz says. ‘Wait until you know how things stand.’
She’s right. There’s nothing Matt can do, especially as he and a few others were heading out for a curry tonight to celebrate someone’s impending wedding. He’ll have had a couple of beers by now and won’t be able to drive. And if he gets the train home his car will be stuck in Brighton. I’ll phone him once I’m home.
‘Sophie?’ says a softly-spoken Irish woman wearing a blue tunic edged with white piping and a stethoscope around her neck. Her name badge informs us she is Siobhan Byrne and she is a senior midwife with the East Kent Hospitals University NHS Foundation Trust. She smiles at Roz. ‘Are you the baby’s -?’
‘No, she’s a friend,’ I say. ‘My husband works away.’
‘Ah so. That’ll teach me to assume. If you’d like to follow me.’
We traipse through the waiting room into a small side ward. Siobhan pulls back the curtains and pats the couch. ‘You sit yourself there, my lovely, and tell me what happened.’
My throat throbs as I recount the fall yet again.
‘Any blood? Any pain in your abdomen?’
‘No.’ I touch my forehead. ‘Just my head.’
‘Good. That should rule out a placental abruption. We’ll have a look to make sure. But we’ll listen to baby’s heartbeat first, shall we?’
I roll up my top and peel down my jeans and she squirts a generous amount of gel onto my belly. She looks at me, holding the probe of the Sonicaid mid-air, and says, ‘Remember to breathe please, Sophie.’
I hadn’t even realised I’d been holding my breath.
Siobhan runs the probe over my bump, pressing here and there. Silence. My skin crawls with dread. She frowns, lifts the probe up and taps the end. Still no sound.
‘Sorry. This one’s been playing up. I’ll try another.’
My hands are balled into fists at my sides. Roz is chewing a fingernail. The tension in the room is unbearable. Siobhan disappears, returning seconds later with another monitor.
‘Right, we’ll try again, shall we?’
I bite my bottom lip and will the monitor to work. And then… thumpthumpthump. The baby’s heartbeat sounds loud and strong and alive.
‘Thank God,’ I mumble. Roz squeezes my hand. Siobhan, still holding the probe in place, beams at us both.
‘That’s one healthy baby. We’ll do an ultrasound to check the placenta’s OK and then I’d say you’re fine to go home.’
She dims the lights, wheels over the ultrasound machine and angles the screen so we can see the grainy black and white picture.
‘I never know which bit is which,’ I admit, as she runs the larger probe over my bump.
Siobhan points at the screen. ‘There’s the head, and the knees, and the -’
‘Balls!’ cries Roz. ‘Looks like you were right. You’re having a boy!’
She must notice my sharp intake of breath because she says, ‘Oh no, I forgot! You didn’t want to find out, did you?’
I shake my head. ‘We were going to wait until the baby was born.’
She claps her hand to her mouth. ‘What an idiot. Hashtag awkward. Sorry, Soph. I was just so relieved it - he - was alright.’
‘It’s OK, you didn’t mean to. And you’re right. The important thing is that the baby’s OK.’ I turn to Siobhan. ‘He is OK, isn’t he?’
She wipes the gel off my stomach. ‘I’d say he’s absolutely fine. Babies are pretty resilient in utero. He’s got all that amniotic fluid to keep him cushioned and your strong uterus muscles to protect him. And your placenta looks fine, too. My advice is to go home and get some rest. And,’ she waggles her index finger at me, ‘don’t fall over again.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Now
Roz is reluctant to leave but I convince her I’ll be fine.
‘I’d rather be on my own,’ I admit.
Hurt clouds her eyes and I feel a stab of guilt. I touch her arm. ‘I’m so glad you were here when it happened.’
‘If I hadn’t been here you wouldn’t have fallen in the first place,’ she says in a terse voice.
‘Maybe, maybe not. But you’ve been a superstar, driving me to Ashford, waiting with me at the hospital. Being there when I needed you. You’re such a good friend to me.’
She appears mollified. ‘Promise you’ll phone if you’re worried? Day or night. I’ll be straight over,’ she says.
‘I promise.’
‘And do me a favour and call in sick tomorrow, OK?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Which means you won’t.’
‘Probably not,’ I agree.
We share a smile. She picks up her bags, presses her key fob and an echoing click from her car’s central locking system sounds a few doors down. She holds her fist to her ear, her thumb and little finger outstretched. ‘Remember, phone me if there’s anything wrong with the baby, OK?’
It’s only once her red tail lights have disappeared that I feel able to let go. Tears slide down my face as I close and double bolt the front door and retreat to the sitting room. The house is in darkness but I can’t be bothered to switch on any lights. Today’s been so draining I’m as empty as a husk, leached of emotion. I should be ecstatic, overjoyed the baby is safe. On one level I am, but mainly I’m just numb, and so bloody weary I could sleep for a week.
I curl up on the sofa and weep until the tears run dry. And then I remember with horror that I still haven’t spoken to Matt. I check the time on my phone. It’s almost ten. He should be home by now. I take the phone into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water and blow my nose on a square of kitchen roll. The last thing I want to do is break down in tears while I’m talking to him, so I take a deep drink, clear my throat a few times and test my cried-out, swollen vocal chords, ‘There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’ My voice sounds nasally, as if I have a heavy cold. But I can pass that off as hay fever. ‘You don’t need to come home. We’re both fine. I just thought you’d want to know.’
As I pick up my phone I’m reminded of something else. I now know the sex of our baby. Matt was adamant he didn’t want to find out. So was I, but it’s not Roz’s fault she forgot. What do I do? Tell him we’re having a boy and ruin the surprise, or don’t tell him and pretend I don’t know either? What if he meets Roz between now and the birth and she blurts it out? If Matt knew I’d kept such a big secret from him he’d be devastated. Perhaps I should tell him, even though he’ll be gutted to find out. I go round and round in circles for another few minutes, then have an idea. I won’t tell him tonight, but that doesn’t mean I won’t tell him at all. Instead I’ll pick the right moment when he’s home this weekend. If I explain that finding out is down to Roz, not me, he’ll understand, of course he will. And deep down he’ll be over the moon. After all, doesn’t every new dad want a son and heir as their firstborn?
My mind made up, I call him but his phone goes straight to answerphone. I hang up, not wanting to leave a long, garbled message. He’ll ring when he sees my missed call. But I also dash out a text as insurance.
Hey baby, hope you had a fun night. Give me a ring when you’re in? x
Another wave of exhaustion washes over me and I stifle a yawn as I send a second text.
If it’s before eleven anyway. Otherwise I’ll spk to you tomorrow xx
I potter about in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher and wiping down surfaces, keeping one eye on my phone all the while. The screen stays blank. Matt always phones or texts me straight back. Not hearing from him is unusual and I double check the phone’s not on airplane mode. It isn’t.
At a quarter to eleven I try phoning a second time but again it goes straight to answerphone. This time I do leave him a brief message to call me. He doesn’t. By five past eleven I admit defeat and head upstairs. I take an age unpacking my overnight bag and getting ready for bed a
nd when I crawl under the duvet it’s gone half past. And there’s still no message from Matt.
Worry is gnawing at my insides. Where is he? What if something’s happened? The Fates might be feeling vindictive today, saving the life of our unborn son while ending the life of his father. I’m being melodramatic, I know, but I’ve felt their cruel hand before. He might have been knocked down by a drunk driver or robbed and beaten up by a gang of feral kids or…
‘Get a grip, Sophie,’ I mutter through clenched teeth. I grab my phone and ping off a text to Greg, the bank’s assistant manager and Matt’s closest friend in Brighton.
Hi Greg, sorry for the late text but I can’t get hold of Matt. Are you still with him?
I don’t have to wait long for a reply.
Sorry, Soph, he didn’t come out in the end. Claimed he had a headache, the pussy! Everything OK?
Everything’s fine. Sorry to trouble you. I expect he’s turned his phone off. Don’t worry, it’ll keep till the morning. Thanks anyway.
No worries. I’ll give him the heads up you need to speak to him tomorrow. You take care of yourself, OK?
I send a smiley emoji back, even though smiling is the last thing I feel like doing. Where was Matt tonight, if he wasn’t with his mates at the Indian? I don’t think he’s had a headache in all the years we’ve been together. He’s one of those lucky people who’s never ill. And he loves having a beer with the boys.
For a second I consider calling his landlady, Moira. But she’s getting on for seventy and will have long retired to bed. Instead I send one last text to my husband.
I’m worried about you. Call me NOW!!
He doesn’t.
My phone finally pings at half past six in the morning. I grab it and squint at the screen.
Sorry babe, only just seen your messages. You awake?
I rub my eyes and sit up.
Yes.
Seconds later the phone rings.
‘Hello, Mrs Saunders. How are you this fine morning?’
‘I’m alright. But never mind me,’ I say carefully. ‘How’s the head?’
He laughs. ‘You know me so well. Truth is, I probably shouldn’t have had that last pint. That lot are a bad influence.’
According to Greg he stayed at home last night with a headache, yet here he is telling me he was out on the piss and the only thing he’s nursing is a hangover.
‘Soph, are you still there?’
‘Yes. So, you had a bit too much to drink, did you?’
‘Just a bit.’
‘But it was a good night?’
‘Yeah, we had a right laugh. Greg was on top form.’
‘Good,’ I say, although nothing about this conversation is good. Truth is, I shouldn’t have had that last pint, he said. But I’m not sure who’s telling the truth right now.
‘What did you have to eat?’ I try to inject some warmth into my voice. I don’t want him to think I’m suspicious, not until I’ve thought this through.
‘Lamb dhansak. It was delicious. Pity our poor customers this morning, though. I must reek of garlic.’
Too many details. Everyone knows that if you’re going to lie you keep it simple.
‘Sorry I didn’t pick up your texts,’ he continues, ‘my phone died halfway through the evening and I was out for the count last night. Is everything OK?’
‘It is now. But it wasn’t last night. I had a fall. I had to go to A&E to check the baby was OK. And when I phoned to tell you what happened you weren’t there!’
‘Oh Christ, I’m sorry. Is everything alright?’
‘The baby’s fine.’
‘Thank God for that.’ The relief in his voice is undeniable. ‘And you, are you OK?’
‘I’ve been better. I was so worried I’d lost the baby. And then when I couldn’t get hold of you -’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says again.
‘Luckily Roz was here. She drove me to hospital. I don’t know what I’d have done otherwise. What if there had been something wrong? What if the baby had come early? You can’t just disappear off grid like that.’
‘I didn’t disappear. I was with Greg and the boys. We were at the Indian Village.’
‘I need to know I can contact you. I can’t do this on my own!’ I know my voice is rising but I don’t care.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says a third time.
Sorry for what? Where was he last night?
‘Look, I know it’s not ideal, but you’re the one who wanted me to take this job, remember. I was quite happy to…’ He obviously decides not to go there because he exhales loudly and says instead, ‘The main thing is you’re both OK, isn’t it?’
So many resentments, simmering under the surface. Ill feelings left unsaid. I take a deep breath make myself smile. ‘Of course it is.’
‘You and the baby are the most important things in my life, you do know that, don’t you? I would do anything, anything to protect you both.’
There’s an intensity to his voice I’ve never heard before. Despite my anger I feel a need to reassure him.
‘I know you would. We’re fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?’
‘OK. I’ll try to knock off a bit early. I’ll give you a ring when I leave. I love you, Soph.’
I end the call.
‘I love you, too,’ I whisper into the void.
Locking down the timeline is proving to be the trickiest element of the whole project. There are inherent risks involved if I implement my plan too early. Risks beyond my control, no matter how exhaustive my preparations. Act too late, however, and I would jeopardise everything. Nature will have taken its course.
Trouble is, I’m an impulsive person. I act before I think. I’m passionate and spontaneous, prone to grand gestures and over-the-top reactions.
But I can’t afford to be spontaneous, not this time.
This time I must be measured, cautious, methodical and meticulous.
Softly, softly, catchee monkey.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Now
It’s as cold as a grave in the cellar at Cam and there are goosebumps on my bare arm as I reach for a couple of hand forks and a pair of secateurs. The overhead light flickers and I shiver. I’ve never liked it down here. It’s as though the ghosts of the ill-fated Holborough family are lurking in the dark corners and cobwebby crevasses, waiting to come out and haunt the place when we leave for the day. I wish we had a purpose-built shed to store all our tools, but there isn’t the money or the space, so for now we have no choice but to use this subterranean cavern.
I tuck the tools under my left arm, grip the handrail with my right and begin climbing. When I’m almost halfway the steps are thrown into shadow as something blocks the rectangle of sunlight at the top. My heart skips a beat and I stare up. Geoff was once trapped down here when the wind blew the door closed and the latch clicked shut. That can’t happen anymore - he swapped the latch for a mortice lock, so you can only lock the door if you have a key - but the knowledge doesn’t stop my pulse from racing.
‘Hello?’ I call.
There’s a moment’s silence, then Angela’s reedy voice echoes down the stone steps.
‘Sophie, I need a word.’
Great. Three days have passed since the induction day and thanks to Angela’s never-ending schedule of networking events and business lunches I have managed to avoid her. I know Martin’s meltdown needs recording, as much for his own interests as Cam’s, but I could do without the aggro today.
I glance up at her. ‘I just need to -’
‘Now,’ she barks, spinning on her heels and marching off. Once again the steps are bathed in light. I dawdle up as slowly as possible, putting off the inevitable bollocking as long as I can.
When I eventually trail into the office Angela is sitting at her desk with the incident log book open in front of her. She picks up a pen and taps it on a glass paperweight, as if she’s calling a courthouse to order. Perhaps that’s what this is, a kangaroo court.
‘Shut the door behind you, please.’
I know the chair positioned in front of her desk is meant for me, but I can’t resist the opportunity to wind her up so, once I’ve closed the door, I head over to my own desk. She narrows her eyes but says nothing. Round one to me.
She points her pen at the blank page in front of her and launches her attack. ‘Can you please explain why you haven’t logged Monday’s incident with Martin?’
‘It’s on my radar. I just haven’t got around to it yet.’
Angela sketches quote marks in the air. ‘On your radar isn’t good enough. You know as well as I do that all incidents need to be logged as soon as they happen.’
‘I know, but -’
‘There’s always a but with you, isn’t there?’ She regards me, her lips pursed. ‘Issues like this need to be flagged up to the board of trustees as soon as possible so they can decide what action, if any, needs to be taken.’
‘Action?’
‘I’ve spoken to Geoff at length but perhaps you’d like to give me your account of what happened?’
‘Martin’s behaviour has become increasingly erratic over the last few weeks. His mum says he’s taking his meds but he’s having problems sleeping. Rosie told me the other day he was talking to himself, so I think he might be hearing voices again.’
‘And yet, knowing all this, you asked him to speak at the recruitment evening?’
My neck flushes with anger. ‘I didn’t know until afterwards that he hadn’t been sleeping. Or about the hallucinations.’
‘But you know anxiety can be a trigger for Martin.’
I rub a thumb over the scar on the underside of my right forearm. ‘I do.’
Angela slams her pen on the desk in frustration. ‘So why put unnecessary pressure on him?’
‘He was nervous, I know, but Maureen said he was proud to have done it. Don’t you think society continually sets limits for people like Martin when, actually, they can achieve far more than we ever give them credit for?’
