Until You're Mine

by Samantha Hayes

  Tired doesn’t sum up how he looks right now, Lorraine thought with a stab of sympathy. She felt as if her family was crumbling around her.

  ‘Oh, and she’s moving in with Matt’s parents until she and Matt find jobs and a place of their own.’

  ‘She’s winding you up. It’s just a strop.’

  ‘I think she’s pretty serious about this, actually.’ Lorraine knew when her daughter was dishing out empty threats. This was different.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because she obviously loathes us. Or rather, she loathes me. And from what she said, I know she’s sleeping with Matt.’

  ‘Fucking hell,’ he said. ‘Have you tried to talk sense into her?’

  The kitchen door suddenly opened and Grace came in carrying the tray. She had eaten her meal. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said brightly as if nothing had happened. She put the plate into the dishwasher.

  Adam stared at Grace, apparently unable to speak.

  ‘I know what you’re talking about,’ she said, standing straight and tall. Lorraine could tell she’d been crying though she’d done a good job of disguising it.

  ‘Love . . .’ Lorraine trailed off. Love, what? Love, we wish you were being more sensible? Love, we wish you could be more like your sister? Love, we wish you were eleven again?

  ‘What, Mum?’

  ‘Dad and I, we were just discussing . . . talking about, you know, about you getting married. About you leaving home.’

  ‘I’m really serious,’ she said, ‘in case you were thinking it would all blow over.’ She flashed the engagement ring at her father. ‘It won’t.’

  Adam and Lorraine each recoiled in their own way. Lorraine internally, her heart shifting and shrinking within its maternal cage, and Adam with his shoulders hunched, his fists clenching and unclenching. None of this was what they’d planned for their daughter.

  Finally, Adam slammed a hand down on the table, making his glass jump. He rose, towering above his daughter. Grace stepped back.

  ‘Like hell it won’t!’ he roared.

  Grace fled the room.

  With a sigh and a resentful last look at Adam, who had just made things worse, Lorraine followed her.

  Upstairs, she sat beside Grace, who had climbed into bed fully clothed. She stroked her back, her hair, her shoulders, wondering how she could even contemplate chucking away her life like this. It took immense willpower to whisper stuff about everything being OK, that they’d make it work somehow, that she wasn’t really angry. And while doing that she must have fallen asleep, because when she woke, when she prised one eye open and then the other, she was curled into the question mark of her daughter’s body and it was already light outside.

  16

  TODAY’S THE DAY I lose my husband.

  I roll over, hoping that by not opening my eyes, by not fully waking up, it might not actually happen. I don’t want him to go. I love him. I want us to be a whole family. Soon we will be five. Adrenalin churns my stomach at the thought of it happening while he’s away.

  It’s one of the most important Naval exercises of the year, my darling.

  But it’s the Mediterranean.

  He wasn’t even allowed to tell me the operation’s codename. Just that it was in the Med. Somewhere. For up to two months. A pang of envy had torn through me. To me, the Med was a place of sun, bikinis, romantic dinners and dancing until after midnight. For James, it was many long weeks of being locked aboard a sub with a hundred crew, six-hour watches and a bunk shared with missiles, breathing machine-made air.

  I hoist myself upright. My feet feel around for my slippers. Finally, tying my robe around my bulk, I pad through to our room to find the bed empty. He’s already up and has to leave at ten sharp. He couldn’t tell me how long he’d be away exactly, but it’d be in the region of six to eight weeks. I knew he saw the pain set deep inside my eyes.

  ‘When you come back, she’ll be here.’ I’m standing in the kitchen doorway, rubbing my tummy, trying to sound upbeat. He’s biting into toast, glancing at The Times spread out on the worktop, coffee in one hand. He looks up. ‘I told work I’d be in late. I want to see you off.’

  ‘Darling,’ he says, and comes over to greet me. His body feels warm and strong as if it’s somehow preparing for the long days and nights at sea. He won’t see the sun or the moon. He won’t know the moment when I first hold our daughter or when she snuffles into my neck, hungry for a feed. He won’t hear her first cry. ‘I did try to warn you,’ he says tenderly but also half joking. ‘About marrying a sailor.’ He senses my despair.

  Sometimes I wish he’d give it all up, retire, abandon ship. It’s not as if we’re hard up. Not in the least. Even without his Naval career, James already has money. ‘Too much to even talk about,’ he once said in a silly hushed voice when I asked just how wealthy he was. ‘I leave such matters to my accountant.’ So why does he spend so many hours of shore leave holed up in his study poring over paperwork? When I suggested he get a better accountant, he was defensive. ‘The Jersey firm has taken care of the family’s affairs for decades. It’s old money. Things like that don’t change.’

  When he refers to ‘family affairs’ and ‘old money’, he means the Sheehans. He inherited the lot from his first wife, Elizabeth, when she died. Early on in our relationship, I remember her brothers coming to see James, having lengthy meetings behind closed doors. Once, there was shouting. I didn’t want to pry but that’s part of the reason I’ve kept working, so I’m not spending a dead woman’s money. It wouldn’t feel right. I think James feels the same about his Navy career.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asks while pouring me one anyway. He hands it to me and I perch on a stool. ‘I want you to name her without me,’ James says solemnly. ‘I trust you. Get the boys to help you decide.’

  Even though we’ve discussed suitable names many times, we’ve not settled on anything. I said we’d need to see her before we could choose, but then James broke the news that he would be away for the birth.

  I smile at the thought of the boys naming their sister. Already I can hear rumblings upstairs as Zoe prepares them for school. I love them dearly and will treat them all the same but can’t help thinking that this new baby, my baby, will feel slightly different. She’ll really belong to James and me; truly be a sign of our love, our commitment to each other. I can’t wait to bring her into our family. I just hope the twins will love her as much as I already do.

  I stand up and go to the fridge but trip on the way. I grab the wall. ‘Oh, she’s kicking!’ I think my stumble must have woken her. ‘Quick, feel.’ James comes over and I guide his hand to the spot. ‘There.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I felt her. Perhaps she’s saying good-bye to me.’ James grins, delighted with whatever it is he feels against his palm.

  The twins come bowling into the kitchen looking clean and fresh in their white shirts and grey pullovers. If I’m honest, Zoe has been an absolute boon to the running of the household and I almost feel ashamed at my early wariness of her. I admit that I’m actually looking forward to having a female companion while James is away.

  ‘Lads!’ James says, bending at the knees and curling an arm round each son. ‘You know what day it is today?’

  ‘Yup,’ Noah says morosely. ‘It’s Daddy-going-away day. It’s pooey.’

  Oscar hangs his head and emits hiccupy sobs. James tightens his hug and I’m simultaneously jealous and proud of the male three-way bond.

  ‘Who’d have thought,’ he once told me – New Year’s Eve, in fact, when we’d both had too much to drink – ‘who’d have ever thought that my boys would be mostly cared for by someone who isn’t me or Elizabeth?’ He regaled me with tales of him and his first wife, how they’d had the big dream – the house in the country, four kids, dogs, ponies – and how it had been stripped from them in six short months from diagnosis to death. James told me that Elizabeth had made him promise to choose a new mother for the boys carefully. It was some consolation to me, I suppose, as I tried to
swan happily around the cocktail party in my new red dress. James apologised in the morning.

  ‘Hey, silly billies, I’ll be back before you know it, and guess what?’

  ‘What?’ they chant in unison.

  ‘You’re going to have a very special surprise to show me, aren’t you?’

  At this, the boys straighten and seem happy. They glance up at me, and Noah says, ‘A new baby sister.’

  They’ve had it all explained to them. I think they have a pretty good understanding of the situation. They don’t remember Elizabeth, though James and I make a point of including her in conversation when appropriate. It’s hard but necessary. She is their mother. I am trying to be.

  ‘But I want the baby now,’ Oscar says in a whiny voice.

  All this time, Zoe has been clattering plates and toast and cereal and fruit onto the table. She deposits Marmite and strawberry jam, milk and a carton of juice in the centre and then fishes out a mug and helps herself to coffee. I suddenly feel very lucky, and the anticipation of holding my baby makes me quiver with excitement, although I try not to think about the pain and angst of getting to that point, of coming back home, settling her in, and, eventually, going back to work. After everything I’ve been through, it all seems so impossible, so far-fetched.

  ‘Come on, Oscar and Noah,’ Zoe chimes. ‘Hurry up and eat your breakfast or we’ll be late.’

  The morning rush continues in much the same way as usual, except that when the boys have brushed their teeth, collected up the packed lunches Zoe has made and slipped on their shoes and coats, it all gets rather sad again.

  ‘Bye, Daddy,’ Oscar sobs. ‘Be careful under the water.’ I’m reminded of his aquarium fears and realise that they probably stem from what he knows of his father’s Naval antics. I doubt there was anyone really lurking in his room.

  ‘Bye, Dad,’ Noah chants. He likes to use ‘Dad’ against Oscar’s ‘Daddy’. It makes him feel more grown-up. ‘Have fun with the fishies.’ He grins and pulls a half-eaten packet of fruit pastilles from his coat pocket. His face lights up.

  ‘No way, José,’ I say, and take the sweets from him. He pulls a face.

  ‘You keep this place ship-shape until I come home, understand, boys? Look after . . . look after Mummy.’

  He doesn’t know how wonderful it makes me feel to be called Mummy.

  ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’ James gives a sharp salute and pulls each of the boys’ hoods up. ‘It’s cold out. Can’t be too careful,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Now off you go or you’ll be late.’ I know how hard this is for him. His little boys stare up at him, pale-faced and expectant. James leans down and plants a kiss on each of their cheeks. ‘Love you both,’ he says, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

  ‘Love you too, Daddy,’ they sing back, then they leave the house, one each side of Zoe as she calls out a friendly good-bye and good luck to James. The door shuts.

  ‘That was awful,’ I say.

  James wipes his hands down his face. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘So sorry I’m not going to be here for the most important day of our lives. I hate myself for it.’

  He told me he’d been there at the twins’ birth. He’d watched the surgeon slice into his wife’s belly and remove them – Oscar first, who came out wriggling, lavender-coloured, and screaming. Noah followed minutes later but was initially lifeless and a dull grey colour. He was given oxygen and rubbed vigorously but had to be taken to the Special Care Unit. Elizabeth blamed herself – a Caesarean had been the only option due to her health. The poor woman knew she would never see her babies grow up. But by the next morning she was allowed to hold them both. Healthy, but small. Perfect, and theirs.

  ‘Look, James, I won’t hear any more about this. I honestly think I’ll go mad if you don’t stop feeling so guilty. I’m a grown woman. I can cope. And I have Zoe.’ I smile. I want him to know that everything will be fine while he’s away. ‘When you come back, your new daughter and I will be waiting at the window for you. I’ll keep the home fires burning.’ I laugh. It’s a nervous laugh that smacks of fear.

  James nods and heads for his study. ‘A few things to clear up. I’m all packed. I’ll give you a shout when I’m leaving.’

  My cue, I think, to give him space before he leaves. He’s already told me he’s going to lock the study while he’s away. It’s something he’s never done before, but he’s told me where he’ll hide the key. I don’t imagine Zoe will be very interested in what’s in there, but I go along with James’s need for security.

  I go back upstairs and lock myself in the shower room. This precaution is automatic, not a conscious thought, as with James and his study. I’d be mortified if anyone walked in on me while I was naked and saw me like this. I can’t say I currently like the look of my body. I strip everything off and stare at myself in the mirror. I turn on the shower as hot as I can tolerate, and let it drench me. I stare down at the ceramic tray and convince myself that everything is fine, there is no blood, I am not miscarrying. I’ve promised myself that will never happen again. Nervous, fearful of the past, I breathe a sigh of relief as the water continues to run clear. When I shampoo my hair, it turns milky and frothy between my toes.

  An hour and a half later, dressed in a navy tunic top with a black roll-neck sweater underneath, stretch-waisted work trousers and sensible loafers, my hair blow-dried, a little make-up, and I’m ready to face the looming separation.

  It’s a comfort knowing that Zoe will be fetching the boys from school, allowing me to throw myself into an afternoon of work and distraction. There’ll be a lot to catch up on. I make myself promise not to think about my husband until I’m tucked up in bed later. Then I will imagine him preparing the submarine, catching up with his associates, swapping family stories and photographs, focusing on his tasks, setting out to sea, sinking deeper and deeper until no one knows where they are. HMS Advance will be nothing but a ripple on the surface.

  We kiss. We hold each other. James bobs down and allows his lips to linger on my belly.

  ‘Did you feel?’ I say.

  ‘No,’ he says sadly.

  ‘It was a deep kick,’ I tell him. ‘She wants to get out.’

  Another kiss, a hug, and he is gone. It’s the way we’ve always done it.

  I hear Zoe clattering about in the kitchen.

  ‘That’s that then,’ I say, allowing my hands to flop at my sides. ‘James has gone.’

  ‘Tea?’ she says. She tilts her head and her lips roll inwards in sympathy. She puts the kettle on.

  ‘A quick one.’ I must get off soon. I have so much to do.

  ‘How come you haven’t gone on maternity leave already?’ she asks.

  I laugh, glad to be distracted from the hole in my heart. ‘The department’s always overstretched. I’m healthy, coping fine, so there’s no reason not to work up until my due date.’ I’ve already sketched out my job as a social worker to her, but I’m not sure she entirely understands. ‘Besides, it’ll give me more time to get to know my baby after she arrives. I don’t want to rush back.’

  ‘I understand,’ Zoe says. She stares at my tummy but looks away when she sees me notice.

  ‘I know. I’m a house, right? Not even semi-detached any more. I’m a full-blown stately home.’ I laugh, and we sit down together at the kitchen table. I have to pull out a chair whereas Zoe can slip easily between the table and the bench that’s against the wall. ‘I can vaguely recall being your size once.’ She’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, which rides up as she sits down. She wraps her fingers around her mug. ‘Aren’t you freezing?’ I ask, suddenly feeling like her mother even though our ages wouldn’t allow that.

  It’s her turn to laugh now, making her look like a mischievous pixie. Her eyes sparkle. ‘No, I’m fine. And don’t worry, the boys took their coats to school.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound—’

  ‘I like it that you care.’ Zoe’s head lowers. The crown of her head radiates with darker hai
r showing through the blonde.

  ‘Still finding things hard?’ I’m referring to the break-up she mentioned.

  Silence.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ she confesses.

  ‘At least there aren’t any kids involved.’

  Her head whips up and her eyes harden to cold steel. Her knuckles whiten as she grips the mug. ‘No,’ she says slowly, painfully. ‘At least there aren’t any children.’

  ‘Zoe,’ I say rather pathetically. I lean across and give her a hug, feeling the little leap of her ribs as a sob leaves her body. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise . . .’

  I know that look – the look of an empty woman. The look of need, desire, and the craving to nurture. The look of an unfulfilled mother. God knows I’ve seen it in the mirror enough times.

  ‘I’m just really glad you’re here,’ I tell her honestly. It’s the best I can do for now. I squeeze her hand.

  ‘I have to go out,’ she says finally, and dashes to the hall.

  A moment later the front door bangs and I am all alone in the house.

  17

  LORRAINE WATCHED AS the forensic photographer straddled a patch of blood shaped something like Australia. She snapped on the plastic shoe covers and stepped reluctantly into the room. Adam followed her. He hadn’t said a word yet. He didn’t need to. His face showed enough disgust and despair for him to remain silent.

  They’d received the call and immediately left what they were doing, arriving at the scene moments after the pregnant girl, barely alive, had been taken to hospital. She was clinging on to life, they’d been told, and it was touch and go. Her abdomen had been cut open but they’d not had news of the baby.

  Lorraine glanced around. The ghost of the woman seemed to hang in the air, screaming out the fear and panic that was evident from the grotesque mess left behind. If it hadn’t been for her friend arriving, making the emergency call, she’d be dead by now. Adam and Lorraine cautiously assessed the scene as if even the tiniest breath would destroy a key piece of evidence. Like last time, it just made no sense.