Yesterday's Sun

by Amanda Brooke

  As she reached out to stroke the sleeping baby’s cheek with a trembling finger, Libby’s eyes fluttered open and Holly gasped. “Hello, sweetheart, did I wake you?” she soothed.

  Joy was replaced by pure panic as Libby’s lips trembled and Holly thought she was about to wail. She hadn’t considered the possibility that the baby might actually be frightened of her. Holly’s maternal instincts were fragile and she didn’t think she could comfort a crying baby, not even Libby.

  Fortunately, Holly wasn’t put to the test as the anxiety in Libby’s face softened and the look of fear was replaced by a smile. Libby rolled onto her tummy and started pulling herself up toward Holly. “Wow, you’ve grown,” gasped Holly in amazement, although her confidence was still dented and she wasn’t at all sure what to do next.

  Libby was by this time kneeling up against the bars of the crib, but then she leaned back to pick up a ragdoll that had been lying next to her. She looked up expectantly at Holly, waiting to be picked up. “Mmm, nnn,” she babbled loudly and excitedly.

  Still in a panic and now worried that Libby might wake Tom, Holly turned to the window and tugged desperately at the blinds. As moonlight seeped through the yawning window, the task became easier until at last, the bright face of the moon was revealed, surrounded by a million twinkling stars. Libby was still babbling impatiently behind her. “Well, the plan’s going well so far,” Holly whispered, her voice trembling. She was relieved to see the moonbeams lighting up the nursery and desperately hoped that the reflection of light from the moon would give her the strength of presence to do what she had failed to do in her previous visits.

  She turned back to Libby and took a long, deep breath. The anticipation growing inside her was almost too much to bear. She had longed to hold Libby, to the point of obsession, and this could be the moment that dream came true, to feel Libby in her arms for the first and the last time.

  When Holly reached out to Libby, the baby lifted her arms toward her mother, her hands clasping and unclasping in excitement. Holly felt the softness of Libby’s pajamas, felt the warmth of her body as she carefully placed her hands beneath her baby’s arms. Holly paused, preparing herself for the joy of lifting her up or the frustration of lifting nothing but despair. Libby looked up expectantly into Holly’s eyes and the fragile connection that had formed between them took on a new strength that Holly believed could never be broken, should never be broken. As Holly’s heart lifted, so did Libby, straight into her mother’s arms.

  “Oh my sweet, sweet, Libby,” cried Holly, holding her against her thundering heart. She kissed the top of Libby’s head, her cheeks, her nose, her neck. Libby wriggled with excitement and grabbed at Holly’s hair. “Mmmm, mmm,” she said, hitting Holly in the face with her ragdoll.

  “What is that?” asked Holly, trying to pull the soft toy from Libby’s grasp but Libby held on tight and grumbled disapprovingly at her mother.

  “OK, you keep hold of it,” apologized Holly. She could feel the full moon looking over her shoulder and she sensed it smiling down at her. In this moment at least, Holly was thankful that the moondial had given her this gift. She wished it could last forever.

  Holly was only barely aware that she had been rocking Libby from side to side and as Libby yawned, she rested her head softly on Holly’s shoulder. Slowly and gently, Libby was falling back to sleep and her eyes started to flicker while her fingers played rhythmically with the folds of her ragdoll. It was a strange toy, thought Holly. It had a soft ball head with a floppy hat and a square piece of soft cloth hanging down from its neck to form the doll’s body. It had probably once been cream but now looked a worn shade of gray.

  Holly continued rocking Libby long after she had fallen asleep. This was going to be the last time she held her daughter and, although she had thought about what she had to say to her, when the moment came, Holly struggled to find the words. There really was only one thing that she wanted to say.

  “I love you, Libby,” Holly told her daughter, leaning down to place her lips on Libby’s sweaty forehead. She didn’t want to speak again and was tempted to leave her lips hovering on Libby’s skin, silencing the confession that burned in her heart, but she had to speak the words, if only to punish herself.

  “I’m sorry,” she started as a sob escaped. “I never realized before just how much I could love you, and I wish we had more time together. I wish I could get to be your mum properly. I wish life were fair. You don’t know how hard this decision is for me.” Holly bit her lip to stifle the sobs that were painfully caught in her throat. “I wanted to be a good mum, but I’m not. I’m sorry, Libby. I’m so sorry. You deserve a better mum than me, but I have to do this. For me, for your daddy.”

  Her arms were starting to ache but Holly was determined to hold on to Libby for as long as she could. It was only when a muffled sob came from the room next door that Holly’s thoughts were drawn away from her sleeping daughter. The sound of Tom’s voice in the next room was too much to ignore and Holly’s heart wrenched as she reluctantly returned Libby to her crib. She knew that she needed to see Tom to remind herself why she was willing to erase Libby from this world. Holly stroked Libby’s face one last time. “I will always, always love you,” she promised as she finally let the tears flow down her cheeks. Libby sighed and softly snored in blissful ignorance.

  Tom’s room was in complete darkness and it took a while for Holly’s eyes to adjust to the light. She could hear Tom before she could see him. He was moaning and calling out her name, writhing between sheets that rustled in the darkness like dead leaves tumbling across a graveyard. In a fit of rage, Tom threw back the duvet and sat up in bed. Holly could just about make out his silhouette as he sat on the side of the bed, leaning over with his head in his hands.

  “Holly,” he whispered, reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp.

  The yellow light revealed a room that felt alien to her, a room that bore little resemblance to the bedroom she had left earlier to go in search of the full moon. The only part of the room that seemed to have escaped the chaos was Holly’s dressing table, which, with the exception of a thick layer of dust, looked identical to the one she knew.

  It wasn’t the room that drew Holly’s attention but Tom. He had picked up a notepad from his bedside table and was now furiously writing. Holly crept over to sit next to him on the bed and her whole body shuddered as she realized that Tom was writing her a letter.

  My beautiful Holly, I can’t bear this anymore. I miss you so much but I need to know why this is happening. I need to know why you didn’t stay with me. Why couldn’t you hold on? You didn’t even get to hold Libby. If you had just held her, just once, you wouldn’t have left. You wouldn’t have given up on us.

  Tom paused, his pen pushing down into the pages of his notebook. The pen seemed to tremble under the pressure of his repressed fury. Holly was shocked. She had never seen him consumed by so much anger, especially directed at her. Holly watched, frozen in fear as he began to write again.

  It’s my fault. I was the one who wanted kids, not you. You didn’t want to be a mum and I pushed you into it. I didn’t believe you when you said you couldn’t do it. I forced you into it and it killed you. I killed you.

  Tom’s whole body was shaking now. The sobs that escaped him were gut-wrenching and Holly stood up to leave. She knew she couldn’t reach him; she couldn’t tell him it was going to be all right. But she couldn’t stay, either, and witness the anger and frustration that was eating away at him, anger that he was now directing at himself. It was too much to bear, but even as Holly took a step back, she couldn’t take her eyes from the notepad that was slowly revealing the depths of Tom’s despair.

  I thought I had it all planned. I thought I could be the perfect family man, take on a job that I loathe just so we could all be together, and look what happened. I’ve lost everything. I sit in front of the camera and the suit feels like a straitjacket—and so it should, because I don’t know who I am anymore. I put on this dam
ned mask at work and then I come back here and I put on another mask. Why can’t I go back right now and change everything? I miss you so much, Holly! I just miss you so damned much it hurts, and I can’t live with the pain.

  When Tom stopped writing, he looked so lost. Holly couldn’t run away. Tom needed her and, whether he could sense her or not, she had to try. She stepped toward him again, determined to kneel down next to him and hold him in her arms. She needed to tell him it was going to be all right, whether he could hear her or not, whether he could feel her or not.

  As she was about to step toward him, she heard Libby begin to cry, demanding attention. Holly was turning toward the nursery when she heard Tom call out Libby’s name behind her, telling her he was coming. He stood up, and as Holly remained frozen to the spot, Tom walked right through her.

  Holly gasped in surprise, as did Tom. “Holly?” he asked, as he, too, stood in shocked paralysis. But then Libby’s cries, now growing in intensity, shook him out of his trance and he stumbled out of the room.

  Holly’s body was shaking uncontrollably. At the moment that Tom walked through her, she had felt his raw pain, his rage, and his desperation. Holly feared for Tom and for Libby, too. She didn’t know how Tom could survive such pain. Taking deep breaths, Holly did her best to calm the worst of her tremors. Beyond the thump of her heart pounding in her ears, beyond the baby’s cries, which were slowly subsiding, Holly heard another sound. The ticking of a clock as it counted down the last moments of her vision.

  Holly moved fast, following Tom’s trail and arriving in the nursery to see him standing with his back to her, looking out of the window and comforting Libby as she nestled against his neck. He may be an emotional wreck, thought Holly, but he’s still a good dad.

  “Daddy’s here,” he was telling Libby in the softest, gentlest whisper. The rage that had consumed him had been spent and there was nothing left. His voice sounded devoid of strength, even of life. “I just can’t do this,” he said.

  Holly could see Tom’s gaunt face reflected in the window. He was looking up to the heavens but then his gaze fell to a point right in front of him, a point on the windowpane where Holly’s face, lit up by moonbeams, was reflected against the darkness of the night. Their eyes locked and Holly watched Tom’s eyes open in shock.

  As the dancing moonbeams washed away her surroundings, Holly sensed rather than saw Tom turn toward her, and then he was gone and Libby was lost to her forever.

  11

  It took Holly days to recover from her vision. She hadn’t just seen Tom in abject misery; she had actually felt his pain as he had walked through her. Her body ached with his grief every time she thought about that moment. She could easily have spent the following week in bed, but she wouldn’t rest. She dared not allow herself too much time to think. Fortunately, there was too much work to do anyway.

  When Holly turned up for work at the tea shop, Jocelyn was shocked to hear that she had used the moondial. She was eager for Holly to tell her all about it but, given that they were in a public place, Holly was spared any in-depth discussion and relayed only the basic facts. She wasn’t quite ready to talk about it; there was simply too much to take in. In one short hour, Holly had had both the most exhilarating and the most harrowing experiences of her entire life. Holding Libby made her heart leap every time she thought about it, but then there was the memory of Tom. Thankfully Jocelyn didn’t push her, but when the weekend arrived and they met up for Sunday brunch, Jocelyn was more than ready for a full and frank discussion and was quick to ask the question that Holly knew had been eating away at her.

  “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Jocelyn asked. She wore a frown on her face that revealed a maze of weary wrinkles as she stirred her cup of tea, looking deep into its swirling depths as if the cup would give the answer to her question and not Holly. They were sitting in Holly’s kitchen, surrounded by the soothing smell of freshly made muffins that Jocelyn had brought with her.

  Holly rubbed the back of her neck, still shaking off that Sunday-morning doziness. Sunday was the one day in the week she allowed herself to sleep in, getting up just in time to get dressed and brew the first pot of tea ready for Jocelyn’s arrival. Despite sleeping in, Holly was as tired as she had been all week. She had been sleeping fitfully ever since her date with the moondial.

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind,” Holly assured her.

  “It’s just that when you talk about Libby you don’t sound like you’re ready to give her up.”

  Holly sighed. “I think if I’d stayed in the nursery and hadn’t seen Tom, then I might feel differently. You’re right. I don’t feel ready to give her up, but I have to remember what else I saw in my vision and I know what I have to do. I didn’t simply see Tom being torn apart by grief; I actually felt his suffering, too. I can’t put him through that. I don’t have a choice. I have to give Libby up. I know that.”

  “Have you made your appointment at the doctor’s yet?” Jocelyn asked.

  “Yes, it’s in a couple of weeks,” Holly told her. “I was half expecting to be told you’d already made it for me.”

  Jocelyn made a poor attempt at a smile. “I know how the moondial works, that’s all. I’m afraid it won’t make it easy for you to avoid conceiving Libby.”

  “I’ll have the injection. I promise. And after that, there will be no more Libby. No more chances to see her, to watch her grow. Oh, I wish you could have seen her, Jocelyn. She had already grown so much. She could sit up by herself and she was babbling. I think she could be talking soon.” Holly was stumbling over her words, her voice catching with emotion. And then she froze as she realized what she had said. Jocelyn reached over the table and squeezed Holly’s hand.

  “Afterwards …” continued Holly, still struggling to find her words. “After Libby’s gone, do you think that will be it? Is Libby the only price I have to pay? Do you think I’ll be able to have other children?” Holly had pushed the question to one side for too long. She wasn’t sure how long she could carry on without knowing the answer.

  Jocelyn still had hold of her hand and squeezed it fiercely. “I wish I could answer that for you, but I can’t. At least, I can’t be certain,” Jocelyn replied reluctantly.

  “Not certain, but you do have an idea?” pushed Holly.

  Jocelyn paused, unsure how or even whether to continue. “If my theory’s right about universal balance, then I hate to say it but you were only ever destined to have one child.”

  “So I’ll never become a mother. Tom will never be a father, not if he stays with me, anyway,” Holly said flatly. “So much for perfect order in the world. Is it too much to ask for there to be a future where the three of us could be together? Me, Tom, and Libby, a proper family.”

  “I said there has to be balance, not that it has to be fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all, but please don’t take my word for it. It’s only a theory. When the time is right, you need to use the moondial again, if only once more. Just to find out the answer for yourself.”

  Holly shook her head. “I don’t want to even think about that. I hate that I have to live my life based on what the moondial shows me. I’m absolutely terrified when I think what might be in store for me once I’ve given up Libby just to save my own wretched life.”

  Holly was now losing the feeling in her hand as Jocelyn’s grip didn’t loosen. “Please don’t take any chances,” Jocelyn told her firmly.

  Holly felt the tears trickle down her face before she could stop them, each teardrop invariably following the path of the first no matter how much she wiped at her wet cheeks.

  Life carried on as normal, or at least as normal as life was for Holly these days. She carried on helping out at the tea shop but spent most of her time in the studio working on Mrs. Bronson’s sculpture. She now had her own experience of being a mother to draw on and it was her beautiful and precious Libby who inspired her work. Although she wouldn’t be allowed to give life to her daughter, she could at least im
mortalize her in the sculpture.

  Holly had started wearing the same fleece she’d had on when she had held Libby in her arms, just so she could feel that connection with her daughter as she worked. She had convinced herself that she could still detect the faintest of baby smells where Libby had rested her head on her shoulder and fallen asleep.

  It had taken many sleepless nights to come to terms with the promise she’d made to Jocelyn and to herself. She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t just sacrificing her daughter’s life for her own, but for Tom’s, too. Yet the bond that had been created between herself and Libby haunted her and seemed to be growing as the child form in the sculpture took shape. And as the bond grew, so did the guilt. At her lowest moments, in the middle of the night when she felt alone and isolated, Holly would pull no punches and accuse herself of destroying her daughter’s life for the sake of her own. The only escape from those self-destructive thoughts came as sunlight filtered through the bedroom window to chase away the night’s shadows. Holly would recall Tom’s gaunt eyes staring back at her in the reflection of the window and she would strengthen her resolve. She would do what she had to do, but Libby would always be a part of her, no matter what.