by Darren Wills
At that point, in this sterile soulless room, I felt a warm breeze from the past. “Everything was just so great for Laura and me. We even had a holiday planned.”
“What happened, Dominic? And how did you get that bruise? Did Laura do that?”
“I think I need to tell you everything.”
Birthwrong –
Around 35 Years Ago
“This is horrible. When’s it gonna end?”
“Soon? Very soon.”
Life was like this. Grey frowning clouds, floating with intent, bringing a depression northward above the rooftops of the drearily dismal row of tired terraced houses. This was to be another of those miserable and forgettable October afternoons. Grey was the colour, but it could and probably would darken further. The gloom was going to become blacker and wetter.
Below all this, at the top of the long winding street that was Thorpe Rise, were three teenagers with skateboards. Concentrating fiercely, they lined up their boards for their next death-defying journey down the twisting tarmac, a route that was deceptively menacing with its two blind turns, with the main road waiting at the end of their descent. At the very end, they would turn at the right time. Too soon and that would make someone the butt of a derogatory comment. Too late, and the evening news headline might feature a tragic teenager and a speeding car.
Three houses down from the top of the road, in a dingy upstairs room, a drama was unfolding. “I can’t take anymore. I want it to stop.” Judy Lawrence was in some difficulty, but it would be over soon. In her mid-twenties, but looking much older, Judy had this afternoon lost her customary eager-to-please smile, and her current situation now complemented the shabby environment in which she lived, where a couple of Neil Diamond framed photos on the downstairs wall would do little to distract any visitor from the squalor, neglect and general untidiness that dominated the house.
Smiling Judy, the neighbours called her to her face. Behind her back, they weren’t quite so complimentary.
This afternoon she wasn’t smiling. Her mouth was rigid and downturned with her suffering, and her utterances were high in pitch and volume. As the skateboarders roared past her house with all that teenage confidence, Judy was screaming out her woes for them to hear. In the sordid damp little box she called her bedroom, with its portable TV set resting on the cheap chipboard chest of drawers that stood between a grubby pair of blue and white floral curtains behind it, she writhed and grimaced on her grubby grey bedsheet. She formed a stark contrast of red face and unhealthily pale body, where all that sex, drugs and alcohol had come at a price.
Beads of sweat had gathered in every crevice, whilst her dyed black hair now formed an unpleasant moist spread around her head.
Looming above her, Lillian Stewart, with her blonde hair tied back neatly, was dressed practically for the occasion, sporting a white apron over a red jumper and Levi’s as she spectated and supported simultaneously, as if she had been studying midwifery for the past fifteen years, not just the past month.
Judy moved her head from side to side. “Help me. Somebody please help me.” The pains had gone on for about seven hours now and Judy was now clearly experiencing something towards the extreme end of that spectrum.
In complete contrast, Lillian was totally focused and seemed in control as she tried to mop the younger woman’s brow. It was clear that she had both purpose and knowledge. She’d read all the books, had talked to a couple of experienced people, one being a retired midwife. “Come on. You’re doing fine. Keep pushing…Soon be over.”
“But it hurts so much. It’s killing me.”
“It’s not, Judy. Really, it’s not. You’re doing so well. We’re nearly there. Just push when you sense it’s right.” Reassuring words and a supportive mopping of the brow were meaningless and ineffective. There was no man to hold the younger woman’s hand, so she had nobody to scream at other than herself, the air around her, and this makeshift midwife.
“Never again. Not for anything. Not for all the money in the world.”
“Never again. Just this time.”
The baby made its desperate exit. As the cord was cut, an immediate smile was closely followed by Lillian’s loud voice towards the open door, the sound roaring down Judy’s staircase. “George! George!” She wrapped the baby in a white cotton sheet. With the infant in her arms, she disappeared from the room. “It’s a girl!”
In the downstairs room, sitting on an old wooden chair, George was a traditional man who had hit on a modern idea. George Alfred Stewart, similar in age to Lillian, ascended the stairs excitedly, entering the bedroom with an uncertain, uncomfortable look on his face and a collection of purposeful thoughts in his head. He was a fish out of water here. As far as he was concerned, this was one appalling shithole. Yet, being here today was a necessary evil and he was determined to get away from this place as soon as was possible.
Lilian, re-entering the bedroom ahead of her husband, was now holding the infant in her arms and cradling it like a new mother should. George put his arm around both of them, as if he was making a statement about protection. With Judy all bleary and semi-conscious, the older woman had a blissful smile on her face. All the mother could and would do was watch.
In her bleary-eyed state, staring at the ceiling, Judy was at best semi-conscious. Eventually, however, she managed to speak. “It’s best if you go now.” She attempted to make her voice stronger and tried to inject more firmness as she said, “I’ll be all right.”
“OK then,” Lillian said. She looked at her husband uncomfortably then back at the sweat-lined brow of the mother not-to-be. “The painkillers are here.” She indicated a packet in front of the portable TV. “If the pain continues, take two every hour.”
George expanded suddenly, becoming a couple of inches taller. He positioned himself purposefully, facing Judy at the foot of the bed and staring down at her like a headmaster viewing a disobedient pupil “If you see a doctor at all, should you need to see one, remember your promise. Forget everything, especially us. Lay it on as thick as you need to. Claim amnesia. You’ve been paid enough.”
Lillian interjected, turning her head away from the infant. “We will send you the rest in a month’s time, so say nothing to anyone.”
Judy made a dismissive gesture with her right arm in the direction of the door. “Yes. Just go. Please go.”
George and Lilian left the inadequate attempt at a maternity ward with that precious cargo in Lilian’s arms and they descended the stairs with the stealth of thieves.
In the top drawer of the chipboard chest of drawers was an envelope full of much-welcomed currency. George and Lilian had been more than reasonable in this department. As the front door closed loudly and Judy’s offspring went out into the world early.
Judy clutched her stomach. “Oh my God.” Her eyes were wide with pain. “No… No… Lillian! Lillian!”
She reached for the phone on her bedside table.
Sunshine Days
“What time is it?” I was bleary-eyed and barely conscious.
“Seven-o’clock.”
“I’m getting up.” That would be some achievement in my state of grogginess.
She was already dressed and putting on make-up as I rose myself from my slumber.
“I pulled open the curtains. What a lovely day.”
“I know, babe. It’s going to be hot today.”
I panned the houses and gardens in our cul-de-sac, enjoying their sparkling uniformity and the colourful neatness of the gardens. “There are worse places to wake up to.”
“Of course there are.”
“Do you know what? I think I’m going to plant some different flowers for next year. Create more colour, more variety. What do you think?”
When I turned around there was only me in the bedroom. She’d gone.
The phone rang.
Three minutes later, I was sti
ll very much alive and on the phone looking out of the window of our spare room, my favourite part of the house, noticing how my car could do with a wash. This was the upstairs room that housed my extensive CD collection, where a willing carpenter had erected an elaborate set of wall-to-wall shelves, and where I hid all my secret purchases. Well, I reckoned being addicted to music was small potatoes compared to drugs and alcohol, although my wife would disagree, hence the secrecy.
“Anyway, that sounds ok. That’s a long agenda though. I didn’t want to go home tonight anyway…Don’t worry about it. In fact, you can return the favour by washing my car. I’m just noticing that it’s needing some soap and water…Of course I’m joking.”
Next to a large glass vase in front of me was our wedding photograph. I picked it up to look more closely at it. What a day that had been. I never failed to enjoy that photograph, remembering how cool I had felt, how sexy Laura had looked and how fab the wedding had been. In the photograph, Filey Beach stretched out behind us like the pleasant passing of time.
As I came downstairs, I hesitated at the sound of a kettle being put down with slightly more force than usual. Laura must have heard the phone call. I took a breath as I swung round into the kitchen dining area with an attempt at joie de vive through a big warm smile and a cry of, “Morning, babe. Lovely day.”
The steam from the kettle was rising towards the ceiling. Laura had her back to me.
I walked over to her and kissed her on the side of the neck. “Morning,” I said. She had on that dark blue suit that she had bought in Meadowhall Shopping Centre a couple of weeks ago, looking very professional.
Without turning to face me, she asked, “Who was that on the phone?” There was an attempt at normality in the way she said it, as if she wasn’t really all that bothered. Beneath that, however, I knew there was an underlying anxiety.
“Oh, just Tom from work, about the meeting tonight. Nothing much.”
“It didn’t sound like you were talking to Tom.”
“It was Tom. Do you want me to pass the phone to you next time, so you can say hello?”
“Don’t be clever. You’ve no right to be clever.”
“But it’s in the past. What you’re troubled by is a distant memory.”
“To you, maybe.”
“And to you.” I knew I always said the wrong thing, that the right words never came out, and today was no exception.
“Not for a long time,” she said. “If it had been the other way around, if I had done what you did, how would you be feeling this morning?”
“Pretty terrible.”
“Well now you know how I feel.
“It’s a closed book. No need for you to worry. Not ever.” I had gently turned her face to mine so she could look into my eyes and see that I was telling the truth. “That was just some stupidity that ended. A mad moment. Should never have happened. It will never happen again.”
She pushed my hand away. There was pain in her face still. “I don’t want to know. What I mean is…well, I don’t know what I mean.” She took a seat at the kitchen table.
I knew what she meant. “Just remember, we have a lovely home, a really good set-up, enough money to have a good life together.”
“I want more than a cosy cul-de-sac and money, Dom. A nice house doesn’t do it for me. I want a man I can rely on at all times.”
“I know, and it’s not just the material things for me, either. We’re good together.”
She looked up. “I guess I know how things are now. I want to forgive you, but I can never forget. Don’t ever expect me to forget.”
“I won’t. Neither will I.”
“I’m trying to get over it. It’s just that you have no right expecting me to. It comes back, like a deep ache, if you know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“I want to trust you.”
“I understand. Of course I do. I want you to trust me.”
“It takes time.”
Something else came into my mind as I finished making myself a cup of tea. “Did you wake up in the night again?” I asked, taking a seat opposite her.
“Of course. Just like the other nights. It’s becoming regular as clockwork.”
“The same thing?”
“Yes. Another black vision. If this carries on, I’m going to have to see someone about it.”
Selfishly, I felt the blessing of a good night’s sleep at having been unaffected by my wife’s nocturnal disturbances. “I knew nothing about it. Perhaps you should have woken me up. Your problem is my problem, babe.” I sat opposite her.
“No. I let you sleep off the Jack Daniels. Perhaps I should drink some of that tonight. It might help. Although maybe not as much as you had.”
I smiled, if only to reassure her, whilst at the same time as thinking how sexy she looked in that outfit, clinging seductively to her size ten figure. She always looked so classy and elegant. “Well, I’m getting better. I only had two drinks last night. It’s not like the old days.”
Laura looked into my eyes mockingly. “Two drinks? They were half-pint glasses. I had a sip and could barely taste the coke.”
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
“Am I? Well perhaps a little. It’s just not good for you. Why don’t you just have a drink at weekends, like me?”
“I will do. From now on.”
“How many times have I heard that?”
“Well this time I mean it.” Reassuringly, I took hold of her hand. “Babe, we’re good.”
“Well, I hope so. I think so.”
“Anyway, tell me about your nightmare. Was it about you again?”
“God, yes. Totally. It was awful. I was going down this long black tunnel.”
“What tunnel?”
“Well I think it was a tunnel. Actually, it might have been a corridor. Anyway, there was a tall shadowy figure at the end. It zoomed in like in a film.”
“Perhaps you should write it down while you remember it. That’s the trouble with dreams. They get forgotten really easily.”
“Hard to forget this one. Very disturbing and dark. The shadow was like in a horror film, you know the type. Where an identity is hidden until the last moment. Anyway, it was suddenly revealed, and guess what? Yet again, just like in the other dreams, the demon was me.”
“I don’t get it. Why is it always you? In mine it’s usually somebody from the past or an ex. If I’m lucky, it’s Mum or Dad, like they’re keeping in touch or something.”
Laura leaned her head sympathetically. “Bless you. In mine, I’m the bad guy, the one who’s going to do bad things.”
“Well, you can be a bit bitchy at times.”
“Are you kidding?”
“I did say a bit. Usually sweet, but sometimes a pain.”
“Bitchy? Pain? Me?” Dramatically, she gave me an exaggerated expression of denial. Well, I’m being superbitchy in these nightmares. Last night I had a twisted evil expression on my face. It was contorted. Like I was so angry and wanting to hurt someone. When have I ever looked like that? I’m holding a knife blade up vertically in front of my face. Like this.” She demonstrated with a kitchen knife. “Where do I get an idea like that? Can you imagine me being like that?”
“No, babe. Not ever. Perhaps it’s just some phase you’re going through. The dreams, I mean.”
“Well obviously, Sherlock. I just don’t want any more. These are not nice. I want dreams about holidays and excitement, not these nightmares. They’re very scary.” She touched my hand. “They frighten me, Dom.”
“Why do you have them?”
“No idea, unless it’s punishment for marrying you.”
“Rubbish. I just don’t get it. Having horrible dreams is pretty common I know, but for you to be the villain of your nightmare – well, I’ve never heard of that. I’m always the hero i
n mine.”
“That’s you all over. Sir Galahad.”
I laughed. “You aren’t going to go nuts on me, I hope? Do I need to hide these knives?”
Shaking her head, she said “No, and you can carry on sleeping with both eyes closed.” She stood up. “While I remember, I picked up some brochures for us to look through.” Laura went through to the other room and came back carrying some travel brochures, a beaming grin on her face. Holidays always had this effect on her. Clearly, she was motivated now by the blissful memories of Italy at Easter, and only two nights ago we had discussed spending a week away at October, half-term. “We could have looked through them last night. I’ve got to go to work soon.”
“I forgot. Turkey looks good, babe. There again, we could always revisit Sorrento.”
“Sorrento was fab, but there are too many places we haven’t seen.”
“Turkey, then?”
I shook my head, thinking of the recent news reports on television and things I had read in newspapers in the last few weeks. “We’re not going there, the way things are right now. It’s bang next to Syria and Iraq – too risky.”
“Well, we could do Greece again then. We loved it last time.”
I wasn’t bothered about Greece, if the truth was to be known. The flight was a longer one than to Spain or Portugal, and I never enjoyed being up in the air. “Why don’t we do a sporty holiday this autumn, for a change?”
She looked horrified. “You what? That sounds like a right drag.”
“But you love sports when you bother to play them,” I said. “We could do golf, riding, tennis, anything. Help you keep your sylph-like figure.”
“Thanks, but not on holiday, Dom. We do enough here. What I fancy is two weeks on a beach. Just two weeks with sand and a swimming pool.”
“So, a sporty holiday is out then? Somebody at work did recommend one in Spain to me.”
“Listen, honey, and listen good.” Her eyes widened, and her hands gripped mine as she leaned towards me. “In our two weeks of holiday I don’t want to do anything more energetic than sex.”
