Five Unforgivable Things

by Vivien Brown

  I hadn’t really thought before, about how quickly they would come. The next baby, a boy, was out and screaming before I’d even lowered my head and taken another breath. ‘Oliver,’ I said, plucking the top boy’s name from the list we had finally agreed upon. This was it. It was really happening. The names were coming off the list and attaching themselves to babies. Real babies. And I was a mother at last!

  ‘Smaller,’ said the voice from somewhere out of sight. ‘Two pounds, twelve, but in good shape. Wriggling like a fish. He’s a little fighter, this one!’

  There was a longer gap this time, and I was aware of a lot of hurried movement that I couldn’t feel and couldn’t properly see, footsteps retreating away from me, whispers, then too much silence, and no pronouncement at all. ‘What’s happening? Is it a boy or a girl?’ I tried to lift my head. Nobody spoke. Not even Dan.

  And then, ‘Another girl,’ the doctor said, handing the last baby back to some unseen body behind him, his face impassive, professional, leaning over me, doing his job, getting ready to sew me up. But I couldn’t name this one. I couldn’t. My head, and my heart, were still back there, just moments earlier, with baby number three. There was an order to be followed here. one, two, three … Where was baby number three? What was it? Why had nobody told me? Its sex, weight …

  ‘Two pounds, ten ounces.’

  No. Wait! They were talking about baby number four, weren’t they? Something was wrong here. There had to be something badly wrong with my third baby. But why weren’t they doing something about it? Rushing about, shouting, slapping it like they do on TV, making it cry …

  I looked up into Dan’s face and suddenly I knew. I had delivered four babies, but one of them was already dead.

  ***

  It was my fault, of course. Pushing Dan into this thing. Trying to make so many babies, all at once. Expecting them to survive, against all the advice, all the odds. Thinking I was some kind of superwoman, superwomb, supermum. I didn’t listen; not properly. Didn’t want to. Not to the doctor, to Dan, to reason. I was reckless, blinkered, obstinate.

  I forgot we were supposed to be a couple, supposed to decide things together.

  It was the second spur of the moment decision I had made, the second truly unforgivable thing I had done, to our marriage, to our life. And, again, just like on our wedding day, when I had stood at the church door and decided to walk, babyless, up the aisle, I did it without talking to him, without even trying to hear what he thought, what he felt, without thinking beyond the here and now. And look where it took us. All of us.

  This was the worst, most unimaginably, hopelessly sad day of my life. And it was all my own fault. On the unforgivable scale it was two – nil to me. If only I’d known then that Dan would soon be evening the score.

  NUMBER THREE

  Chapter 26

  Natalie, 2017

  Natalie couldn’t believe it. Her dad, the precious dad, who she saw so little of these days but who still meant so much to her, was letting her down. How could he do this? And why? He must have known how hurtful it would be, telling her he couldn’t give her away, and that he might not even be able to make it to the wedding at all. And he hadn’t even had the courage to come and see her in person. Just a phone call at work, as she was about to eat her lunchtime sandwich. A call full of apologies and awkward silences, but lacking in any real explanations.

  She felt Jenny’s arms encircling her and turned around, burying her face in the soft front of what, even at this close range, looked suspiciously like her sister’s bridesmaid dress, sobbing hard and spilling out the whole sorry story.

  ‘How could he, Jen? There are only a few weeks to go, and now he tells me. Now!’

  ‘He must have his reasons, Nat. He loves you. He’d want to be there, more than anything. Any father would.’

  ‘You think so?’ Natalie lifted her head, sniffed hard and wiped her sleeve across her eyes. ‘Then why won’t he do it, then? Make the effort, for my wedding. For me. It has to be some woman, I bet. Some jealous new girlfriend, who doesn’t want him being too close to his family.’

  ‘Is that what he said?’

  Natalie sniffed, rubbing her sleeve over her blotchy face. ‘No.’

  ‘Then you’re just being silly. Dad would never let some woman keep him away from you. From any of us. Especially on such an important day. No, there has to be more to it.’

  ‘So, why not just tell me? I’d rather know his reasons than be left trying to guess them. It’s me. I just know it is. He doesn’t want me to get married at all. He thinks I’m still a child, that because of my disability I can’t cope with everyday things that normal people do, like moving out, making a home, going on a plane. Let alone having sex …’

  ‘Too much information for any dad to have to think about!’

  ‘Okay, that’s true, but it still bothers him that I even go out to work without someone driving me from door to door and holding an umbrella over my head when it rains. He still wants me all wrapped up in cotton wool. Doesn’t he know how hard I’ve battled to be normal, Jen?’

  ‘You are normal, you daft thing!’

  ‘Well he obviously doesn’t think so. So, it’s either that, or he feels too embarrassed, having to escort a chair down the aisle. I bet it will be different when it’s Beth’s turn. Or yours. All long dresses with trains, striding down the aisle side by side in time to some march or other, him dancing with the bride at the reception …’

  ‘Nat! Don’t be ridiculous. You are not a chair. You are a person who just happens to need a chair to get along. And who says he can’t dance with you? He looks past the chair, at the real you. Just like Phil does. Like we all do. It’s not important. Sometimes, do you know, I forget you even have a chair …’

  ‘Ah, but he can’t. He can never forget, can he? Because it was him who put me in it.’

  ‘It was an accident, though, wasn’t it, Nat?’ Jenny sounded shocked. ‘Surely you’ve forgiven him by now?’

  ‘I hardly remember it, Jen. It’s so long ago and I was so young. Forgiveness doesn’t really come into it. It is what it is. Was what it was. In the past. Done. Unchangeable. But Mum hasn’t forgiven him, has she? Ever.’

  ‘She’s never forgiven herself, Nat. There’s a difference.’

  ‘But she’s coming to my wedding, isn’t she? You all are. And he isn’t. I think you’ll find that’s the difference that actually matters. And why are you wearing that dress anyway?’

  ‘Because I love it and I wanted to see myself in it again, that’s all. Look, I will take care of it, honest I will.’ Jenny pulled out a kitchen chair and sat on it, carefully smoothing down the front of the dress. ‘So, what now? Are you just going to leave things like this? Or would you like me to go round and talk to Dad? Find out what’s really going on?’

  ‘Who says he’ll tell you any more than he’s told me?’

  ‘Because face to face is very different to down a phone line, Nat. And I can tell when he’s hiding something, or when he’s lying. Always could.’

  ‘I don’t know if I even want him to come now. If he can’t be bothered, then neither can I. Maybe I’ll just ask someone else to give me away.’

  ‘Like Mum asked Gran, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, but that was because she didn’t have a dad. He was already dead by then, so she didn’t have a lot of choice. And the truth is that our dad might as well be dead too, for all the use he is to us …’

  ‘You don’t mean that, Nat. You know you don’t. It’s just the shock talking. He’s always been a great dad, to all of us. Always done his best. And I’ll sort this out – whatever it is. I promise I will. Now, come on, wipe your eyes. Have you eaten yet?’

  Natalie shook her head. ‘There’s a soggy tear-stained cheese-and-pickle sarnie still sat on my desk at work. Someone’s probably nicked it by now. Or thrown it out for the birds.’

  ‘Okay, forget that, then. I’ll make you some lunch before you go back. If you think you’re skiving off for
the afternoon when the rest of us have to work, and just because of a few tears, then you’re very much mistaken. And, by the way, you do have another choice, don’t you? You could ask Ollie to give you away. But first, let me have a try with Dad, eh? And if he hasn’t got something utterly compelling to say in his own defence, then …’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I haven’t quite decided yet, but he won’t like it, I know that much. I’m on your side here, Nat. Now, do you want mustard on this ham or not?’

  ‘Yes, please. But take the dress off first. I don’t want you getting food all over it. Not until after the ceremony, anyway!’

  ***

  Phil was waiting for Natalie on the pavement outside her office when she came out at five o’clock.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you!’ She smiled up into his eyes as he leant down to kiss her, one cold hand flat against each of her cheeks. ‘God, you’re freezing. What have you been doing? Juggling bags of frozen peas?’

  ‘Not exactly. But I hear you’ve had a bit of an upset, so I thought I might treat you to a little something. Now, hold your hands out and close your eyes …’

  ‘Aaah!’ Something cold landed in her hands and she quickly opened her eyes. It was a choc ice. ‘Phil?’

  ‘Well, I know you like ice cream, and it makes a change from flowers! Go on, open it and get it down you before it melts.’

  ‘I think it already has.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s just gone a bit soft, that’s all. But make any more fuss and I won’t be buying you any more. Ever!’

  She laughed. ‘No, no. I’m not complaining. I love ice cream. I just wasn’t expecting any today, that’s all.’ She peeled back the corner of the wrapper and sucked at the gooey chocolate. ‘Yum, it’s lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘Here, let me push …’

  ‘Phil, you don’t have to do that. I’m not incapable. I can push myself.’

  ‘With your hands full of choc ice? I think not. And, besides, I like to push. You can be too independent for your own good, you know. You have to let me take care of you sometimes. It’s what husbands do.’

  ‘Most husbands just take their turn at the washing up or the supermarket run. They don’t have wheelchairs to push.’

  ‘Maybe not, but then I’m not most husbands, am I? And there are advantages. A chair comes in really handy to hang the shopping bags on, doesn’t it? And when you’ve had a few too many to drink, at least you’re already safely sitting down and I won’t have to be grabbing at your arm to stop you wobbling off your high heels into the gutter!’

  ‘I never have too many to drink!’

  ‘Then maybe it’s time you did. Come on, when you’ve guzzled that choc ice I’m taking you straight to the White Lion.’

  ‘Jenny’s put you up to this, hasn’t she? Always the peacemaker.’

  ‘She may have mentioned a little problem with your dad, yes. Which you may, or may not, want to talk about. Up to you. But don’t make it sound like Jenny’s forced me into something I didn’t want to do. An early dinner, a bottle of vino, and the company of my beautiful fiancée. What more could a man want?’

  ‘Football on the telly?’

  ‘Well, there is that, of course. But that’s where eating early comes in, you see. Still plenty of time to get home for the match.’

  She would have taken a swipe at him if he hadn’t been right behind her and annoyingly out of reach. ‘How’s it going, at the house? Have they finished the stair lift yet?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about any of that. It’s all in hand, and by the time we get back from honeymoon, it will be done. I promise.’

  ‘About that …’

  ‘Nat, you can ask as many times as you like and I’m still not going to tell you. I want to surprise you.’ He swivelled the chair around and backed into the pub, nudging the door with his hip like a seasoned professional.

  ‘But what do I pack? And how about getting currency and checking the passports? I’m assuming we need them, and we’re not just going to Skegness!’

  ‘All taken care of. Now, stop worrying and park yourself somewhere over there near the fire while I get us a drink. And that’s another plus point for your faithful old chair. You never have to wait for a seat, do you? No matter how busy the place is. Not when you’ve got your own with you!’

  ‘You make me sound like a snail, carrying my own little shell house with me everywhere I go!’

  ‘Exactly! But I bet even the best snail residences don’t have their own stair lifts. So, never forget how lucky you are. White wine okay?’

  Natalie wiped her chocolatey hands on a tissue and pulled her chair up to a small table in the corner, nicely tucked away, but from which she could still watch the world go by. Or watch Phil at the bar, anyway, shoving his wallet back into his trousers pocket and juggling a bottle and two glasses as he weaved his way back between the tables to find her. He was so handsome, so special, just so damned nice. She was indeed lucky, and she had no intention of forgetting it.

  ‘Here. Nicely chilled, and I thought I’d get sparkling, for a change. Time we started to celebrate.’

  ‘Celebrate what?’

  ‘Being almost married. Our last days of freedom, and still smiling, despite all the planning, and the stress of it all.’

  ‘I suppose. If it wasn’t for Dad putting a dampener on things.’

  ‘He must have his reasons.’

  ‘Yes, he can’t be bothered.’

  ‘I think that’s very harsh of you, Nat. And it’s unlikely to be true. No, Jenny says she’ll have a word with him, so let’s not jump the gun, eh? It’ll all work out in the end. And there’s always Ollie, if your dad doesn’t come good. Nothing to panic about. Now, let’s forget all that for this evening.’ He picked up the menu. ‘So, what do you fancy?’

  ‘You.’ She picked up his hand and kissed it. ‘Of course!’

  Chapter 27

  Kate, 1988

  The first days slipped by as if I was in a dream. The babies were slow to feed, and they cried a lot, but the nurses helped with all of that. All three of them were doing well. Small and surprisingly healthy, with their perfect little faces, and their soft wiggly little hands hardly any bigger than Dan’s thumb, and the very beginnings of dark brown hair, just like mine, already starting to appear like a faint shadow on the top of their wrinkly pink heads. But they were not yet ready to go home. I was sore and exhausted and still in shock, and I would have preferred not to go home either.

  It hurt where they’d cut me, even to sit up, and I was given a long list of things I wasn’t supposed to do, at least until the stitches came out, but some of them for weeks afterwards. Like pushing a hoover about. As if that was high on my agenda.

  I was encouraged to pump my milk out, to keep it flowing, for when they were able to come off the tubes. And when they did, it was a nightmare. Day and night, seemingly non-stop, like a production line. Small stomachs only able to hold small amounts. Me trying and failing, always failing. And with two breasts and three babies, the maths didn’t quite add up anyway, so there seemed always to be one who was yelling for food I wasn’t able to give. And it hurt too, having tiny mouths latched on to me, one after the other, almost permanently, sucking away until I was so sore I bled.

  Despite a lot of cajoling from the staff, I quickly realised I couldn’t keep it up. Bottles meant the load could be shared. Bottles worked. For me, they did, anyway. And for the babies, who didn’t seem to care who gave them their milk so long as they got it, and fast.

  We settled into a kind of haphazard routine in those early days, finding a way of managing this strange new existence the best we could, with Dan rushing backwards and forwards between home and work and hospital, Mum popping in at least once a day, and me in desperate need of sleep but thrown in at the deep end and battling rapidly through a crash course in how to be a mum.

  None of us said very much about the baby we had lost, although Dan and I had both held her, wrapped up tightly in a blanket, and
kissed her, and cried over her, and named her. Rosie Jane Campbell. Someone took photos and made an imprint of her feet, and put it all into a memory box, to be kept, put away somewhere, looked at later, when we were ready.

  ‘At least she won’t be alone,’ I said to Dan, reluctantly handing her back to a nurse who looked almost as upset as we were. ‘She’ll be with Baby Bump now, won’t she? On a cloud somewhere, watching over us. Our two lost children, looking after each other …’

  ‘Maybe.’ He swallowed back a sob and turned his face away, and that was it. It was just too hard to say anything else, to speak about her, to each other, to anyone.

  Although I knew she was gone, somehow she stayed with me. A part of me I could never let go. She stayed in my head, in my thoughts, her sweet little face white and still, haunting my dreams, and I couldn’t believe she would ever go away.

  I couldn’t stay in hospital indefinitely, so they sent me home, to a house with four Moses baskets and two twin prams and a horrible deathly silence that should have given me the chance to sleep at last but only served to remind me that my babies weren’t with me, and that one never would be.

  We went together to the register office, coming away with four birth certificates and one death certificate, all dated the same day. Dan clutched at my hand as a couple, just married, burst out through the doors and into the sunshine, cameras clicking and confetti flying in the wind, and we scurried away with our heads down. I don’t think I had ever felt so utterly numb.

  ***

  Post-natal depression they’d call it now. Probably would have called it that back then too, if I’d ever been to a doctor and confessed to it. But what would have been the point? I had lost a child, but I still had the others to look after. There was nothing anyone could do. To me, it was just grief. And, as far as I know, there’s no cure for that.