by Matt Shaw
I couldn’t help but to burst into tears.
Tears of joy?
Tears of sadness?
“Congratulations,” she said, again in a quiet tone. “It’s a boy.”
“He’s beautiful,” I said.
She passed the infant into my arms, with guidance, “Support the head.”
Lying on the bed, my knees still up, the tiny little boy in my tired arms.... I felt like the proudest, happiest mother on the planet - despite the circumstances.
My boy.
My adorable, little boy.
I turned to mum, “Thank you.”
She simply smiled in response.
Everything felt okay.
Everything felt fine.
Weirdly, despite what was downstairs, everything felt good.
“I’m sorry,” I told mum, “I’m sorry for everything.”
“So am I,” she replied - tears in her eyes. “So am I....”
I looked back to my little boy. I was so sure I didn’t want a child.... I was too young to be a mother.... too young to let go of my own childhood.... I never imagined it would feel like this.... holding my own little baby. If only I had known this all those months ago.... if only.... everything would be different.
Darren would be there, by my side, a beaming smile on his face... the proud father he always wanted to be. Mum and dad would come into the room; the first visitors - mum carrying a bunch of flowers and dad with a massive teddy-bear under his arm. Me, lying on a hospital bed - fresh sheets and a reassuring smell of disinfectant in the air.
Everything would be nice.
Back to reality. Mum smiling at me and looking on, adoringly, at my baby - patiently waiting for her turn to hold him again. The bed sheets tainted with afterbirth and god knows what else.... a musty smell of death in lingering in the room.
Everything’s different.
“And I’m sorry to you,” I whispered to my son with a gentle kiss on his tiny little forehead. I looked to mum, “He’s so small....”
“You’ll be surprised at how fast they grow.”
“What’s going to happen to us, mum?” I asked nervously.
She held her hands out towards my baby and I reluctantly let her have a hold of him. We’ve both lost a lot for this baby. It was only fair I let her have a hold too.
“We’ll put this little one down in the cot and change your bedding,” she said - looking, the whole time, at my son. “And then, in the morning - when we’re all rested... we’ll talk.”
“Everything’s going to be okay?”
“Yes, I think so...”
She too kissed my son on the head. He simply replied with a funny little contented gurgle sort of noise.
I’m not sure how everything will be okay.
A lot has been said.
Even more has been done.
I’m not sure how we can put things right.
To look at the situation and see a logical way where we all get away with it is hard but I feel better knowing mum wants the same. I feel better she thinks everything is going to be okay too.
After all, she wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t think so.
She would have given it to me straight.
It’s amazing how, bringing a small life into the world.... it’s amazing how that can change everything. A tiny life can make people reassess their feelings and put aside their differences.
I laughed at myself.
Even in my head that sounded cheesy.
“Let’s let him rest,” said mum, “and get you cleaned up....”
Mum stood up and walked out of the room, with my son.
“Come and see what I’ve done,” she said.
Carefully I stood up.
So sore.
I followed mum into another bedroom, next to the one I was staying in. It’s been so long since I’ve seen outside of the room, I almost forgot what it looked like.
She flicked a light switch, in the second room, illuminating it. There, against the wall, was a little cot.
“Only got it put up earlier today,” she said, laying my son down into it. “Good timing,” she continued.
We both stood over the crib, looking down at the newborn baby.
“Have you thought of a name yet?” she asked.
“No.”
I didn’t want him. The last thing on my mind was a name for him. But now I’ve seen him.... now I’ve held him.... I’ll have to think of one.
I turned towards the bed, “Is that for me?”
“No, that’s my bed - yours is in the next room....”
She meant the one I had been in for the last few months.
“I thought I could spend the night with him?” I said.
“You can but I think it’s best if you try and get a good night’s sleep tonight. I’ll look after him tonight, make sure there aren’t any problems..... then, tomorrow, we’ll sort something so you can have him with you... How’s that?”
Reluctantly I nodded.
I wanted to be with my son but I was tired. So, so tired. One night will be okay. Besides, the night is nearly over now.... soon be morning time and I get to be with him again.
“You can go through to the bathroom and clean yourself up, if you want.... I’ll change the sheets in your bedroom.”
“Thank you,” I said. I’m tired but I’ll be grateful for the wash. “I’m going to have a quick bath...”
“Shower.”
“What?”
“You can’t take a bath for a few weeks - risk of infection.”
“Oh, right.... okay....”
Maybe mum should have given me books of pregnancy whilst I was in the bedroom. Certainly would have been more beneficial than the daytime television which I had for company.
Mum didn’t even look up, as I walked from the room, just kept staring at my son. I wonder if she’ll get any sleep tonight....
5.
“Thank you,” I said to mum as I walked into my bedroom.
The first thing I noticed were the sheets were clean. Fresh. White. Comfortable looking. The second thing I noticed was that the restraints had been removed from the bed - tossed into the corner of the room.
The restraints hadn’t been used for a long time now but, even so, it was nice to see she had taken them off the bed completely. It made the room look that little bit closer to normal.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in the next room - just give me a shout,” said mum as she walked from the room, carrying the dirty bedding with her.
Unlike previous times she left the room - this time she left the door wide open. No shutting of the door.... no familiar noise of the lock being slid across.... Just an open doorway.
“Good night,” I offered.
“Good night,” she replied from down the hallway.
I carefully went over to the bed and sat down.
“Everything’s good,” I reassured myself.
If it wasn’t.... if there was a problem.... mum wouldn’t have left the door open. The fact she’s done that, and tossed the restraints to one side... everything is going to be okay.
I felt a wave of relief rush through me, followed by a rush of excitement. The worry I feel for what has happened is still there but, it’s a little quieter now. Now I feel more optimistic to what the future will bring.
Just need to find a way to keep the past in the past and live for the future.
Live for my son.
He never needs to know of any of this.
I swing my feet onto the bed and lie back.
The bed feels more comfortable than usual.
As I lay here, a million thoughts crossing through my mind - I know sleep isn’t far away and, for the first time in as long as I can remember - I’m actually looking forward to what the morning will bring.
EPILOGUE
I opened my eyes. My sleep disturbed by a baby crying.
A baby....
My son.
I’m a mother now.
My baby i
s crying.
I looked up and jumped when I saw mum standing in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said as she walked towards me, carrying a tray out in front of her. “I thought you’d be hungry.”
For once, I do feel hungry.
Starving in fact.
“Thank you,” I said as she put the tray down, across my lap.
Two pieces of toast and some marmalade.
I wish it was a full english.
“He’s crying....”
“He’s okay,” said mum. “Just hungry... his milk is warming up as we speak...”
“I’d like to feed him,” I said.
I’ve given it a lot of thought, since last night and.... I want to be the best mum I could ever be. With the help, of course, of his grandmother. We don’t need anyone else, just the three of us.... we could be the best family ever. Even if it means staying in this house - away from people who might find out what I’d done to dad.
I feel more guilty about that, this morning, too. All along he was just trying to stop me from making a massive mistake. I see that now. Clearly. Sure, the way in which he did it was seriously fucked up but - he did it - he made me have this baby and I’m grateful for that.
And....
* * * * *
The blade of the knife pierced the side of her throat with ease. The same knife she killed Bryan with, she didn’t even see it coming. A look of shock in her dying eyes as blood gargles from her mouth and spills from her throat.... her hand dropped the piece of toast it had only just picked up and reaches up for the blade.
I stood up and backed away from her as she pulled the knife from the side of her neck causing a spray of blood to spill across the floor, staining the floor. That’ll be a nightmare to get up.
She dropped the knife on the floor as more blood pumps from her neck... she’s really going for it. I’ve never seen so much blood.
Funny gargles from her throat nearly drown out the sound of the baby crying in the next room. I wonder, does he know what’s happening in here? I hope not.
A few more seconds pass and she finally crashed to the floor in a twisted, bloody heap; the knife by the side of her fresh corpse. I know she’s dead. People don’t survive that, a blade slicing straight through the jugular. Even so, I take a few steps forward and kick the blade across the other side of the room.
I need to take care of the baby first but, as the day goes on - she’ll join the Bryan and Darren downstairs, in the cellar.
The baby....
My son.
I walked through to the main bedroom and leant forward into the crib, picking up the tiny little boy....
Peter.
The name Bryan and I had chosen, originally, for our own son.
I’ll call him Peter.
I held him closely, “It’s okay, mummy’s got you....” I whispered before humming the lullaby Mockingbird. It takes a bit of time but his crying softens a little....
“Let’s go and get mummy’s little Angel some milk.”
I carried him from the bedroom, down the stairs, down the hallway, past the cellar doorway and into the kitchen where the milk was sitting, having been prepared whilst I was getting the toast for Jessica.
A quick squirt of the milk, onto my wrist, revealed it was cool enough to feed Peter who didn’t hesitate in drinking it....
“Oh, hungry little fella aren’t you...” I said.
As he continued to drink the milk, I surveyed the room... boards of wood, piled in the corner, next to rolls of wallpaper and wallpaper paste. It’s going to be a long afternoon whilst Peter naps.... get Jessica down the stairs and into the cellar, board the door up and wallpaper over the wood... make it as though the door never existed. Bury the secret in my little, country-side family home....
Still, no need to think about that at the moment.... just enjoy the time I have with my son. They grow up all too quickly and I don’t want to miss a thing with him.
Peter.
Mummy’s little Angel.
~ END
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