by Claire Allan
‘When?’ I ask her.
Divorce hasn’t even been mentioned. It’s not on my radar. Not yet, anyway. I don’t understand. I know my mother likes to be organised, but this is moving too quickly, even for her.
‘Well that’s the thing,’ Kate says. ‘I was talking to him yesterday, but he said it was a fortnight ago that your mother spoke to him. That he’d meant to get back to her sooner but had been really busy. I didn’t think there were any problems with you and Martin that long ago. Didn’t you tell me, that first note arrived last week?’
‘It did,’ I say. ‘Your customer must be mistaken.’ That’s the only logical explanation, after all.
‘Maybe,’ she says, but she doesn’t look convinced. ‘If I see him again, I’ll ask him if he remembers exactly when. Would that help?’
I nod but there’s a sinking feeling right in the pit of my stomach and I start to feel shaky. None of this makes sense.
‘And how are things with Martin?’ she asks. ‘Is it a matter of divorce lawyers at dawn?’
I shake my head. Then shrug. ‘I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway,’ I explain, telling her how things were left yesterday. That yes, things are very bad, but I wasn’t ready to make any big decisions. Not yet. There was so much to consider.
‘You’ve not had a chance to talk to him, just the two of you,’ she says. ‘Do you think that might be useful?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Do you want to call him while you’re here? Away from your mum’s listening ear.’
‘I lost my phone. I think I might have left it in Derry. I mean, I was sure I had it with me …’
‘You can use a landline, you know,’ Kate says softly.
‘I’m not sure my mother would approve,’ I say without really thinking, until Kate tilts her head to one side and gives me a sympathetic look.
‘Eli, I’ve no doubt that your mum loves you and that her intentions are from a good place, but I’m not sure she should stand in the way of you trying to sort out your marriage, especially if you still want to sort out your marriage, and I sense you do.’
I can’t speak. I’m trying to process everything. Her forever baby. The divorce lawyer. Her clinginess. How she’s been on edge all day, and last night, too. She’s been snapping and it’s not like her.
‘Call him,’ she says. ‘Call him from here. I’ll bring you the phone. I’ll go and watch Toy Story with Liam. I’m not saying your mother’s a bad person, Eli, but you need to decide what you want to do for your marriage and your baby and yourself.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Eli
I tap Martin’s number into Kate’s phone, my heart thumping in my chest. Kate has done what she said she’d do and has left me with my mug of tea, now tepid, in the comfort of her kitchen, sneaking a call to my husband while wondering what the hell is really happening in my life just now.
Kate’s words echo in my head as I dial. I remind myself a three-year-old isn’t the most reliable witness in the world, but between that and how my mother had spoken at the bakery, and this divorce solicitor talk, none of this is painting a pretty picture.
I wait until I hear the ringing tone on the other end. As soon as I do, I’m overwhelmed by a desire to hear his voice.
‘Hello?’ he answers, sounding confused.
Of course he is. He won’t know the number calling him.
‘Martin,’ I say, my voice cracking as I do.
‘Eli? Eli, is that you? I’ve been trying to call you. Your phone keeps going straight to your answer service. I thought maybe you’d blocked me. After that last message …’
‘What? I’ve not blocked you,’ I say. ‘I’ve lost my phone. That’s why I’m calling, to see if I left it in Derry. In the house.’
There’s a pause. ‘No. No … sure, were you not in Belfast when you messaged me last night?’
‘I didn’t message you,’ I say, feeling more confused than ever. ‘You must be mistaken. But look, Martin, I’m at a friend’s house and I don’t have long, so please, just let me say this. I just … we need to talk. Be honest with each other. I’m so sorry that I went behind your back to find out the sex of the baby. I needed to know but I didn’t want to ruin it for you. It was wrong of me. I was going to keep it a surprise for you. I know I should’ve spoken to you more about it. I realise I’ve not been myself. I’ve been pushing you away. It’s no wonder you—’
‘I never cheated on you,’ Martin says, and I hear the pain in his voice. ‘Not now, not ever. Certainly not with Rachel. I can’t prove it. It’s driving me mad that I can’t prove it, but I’m being honest with you. Someone is messing with us, Eli. Someone wants to hurt us. Split us up. I don’t know who or why but they’re winning, aren’t they?’
A little voice repeats in my head. Someone wants to hurt us. Someone wants to split us up.
Someone.
I say nothing. I can’t speak.
‘You do believe me, don’t you?’ he says.
‘I want to …’ I tell him, and I do.
But I don’t even want to contemplate the alternative. My mother’s face flashes before me. I feel sick.
‘I’ve got to go, Martin. I can’t talk. I’m sorry,’ I say and hang up, not waiting to hear his response.
Someone is lying. My husband. My mother. Or both of them. I’m starting to feel as if I’m losing my mind.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Eli
I’m on edge after talking to Martin. Kate joins me again in the kitchen and I tell her how bereft Martin sounded.
‘He’s so insistent that he hasn’t cheated. Either’s he’s a brilliant liar or …’
‘Is there anything about him, in the years that you’ve known him, which has led you to think he’s a brilliant liar?’
Despite the seriousness of the question, I laugh. No. Martin Hughes isn’t a good liar. He’s never been able to keep secrets, either. Martin Hughes has always been an open book to me. I can always tell. It’s the way he can’t keep eye contact. His voice goes a little funny. He blushes – his high colour roaring against his ginger hair.
I tell her no. Until last week, I’d never doubted him at all. I’d believed in him entirely.
‘And can you think of anyone who’d hold a grudge? Or even have anything to gain by the pair of you splitting up.’
My mind keeps coming back to the same person. One person who’d gain what she wanted – having me back in Belfast. Having her grandchild under her roof. But surely not? My mother is many things, but could she be as calculating as that? She’s always been overprotective, clingy even. I think of how she’s been pretty much stuck to me like glue all week. Of her reaction at the hospice when I told her she couldn’t come into the meeting. I’d tried to be gentle, but really I wanted to ask her whether she genuinely thought it would look professional of me to drag my mum along.
But then again, she’d been so scared when that rock came through the window. Could she have faked that fear? Had tried to reassure me when the first few notes came in. Had been in my corner all of my life. Could she really be behind it all?
I don’t speak. I don’t want to say it out loud.
‘I wish I had the answer for you, Eli,’ Kate says. ‘You don’t need all the worry right now. Being pregnant is tough enough without adding this kind of thing into the mix. You poor thing.’
Her eyes are so filled with real concern that I find myself crying, again, before making my excuses to leave. I need some time to myself before I go back to Mum’s.
She hugs me at the door and tells me that she’s here for me whenever I need to talk. I’m incredibly grateful.
‘Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse, you know, talking about your mum, but given everything … Well, I couldn’t in good conscience not tell you,’ she says. ‘But … well, just take care.’
I take the long way home, drive out of the city towards the Lough Shore Park at Jordanstown, where I sit and watch the ferry sail into Belfast Harbour. I
can’t help but hear the desperation in my husband’s voice over and over again. Despite everything, my gut tells me to believe him. No doubt my mother will tell me I’m being soft. Being scared even. Because it’s easier to believe him and go back to my comfortable life, have our baby and not have to start all over again.
But if he was telling the truth, then I couldn’t just walk away. We’d been so happy.
I rest my arms on the steering wheel and put my head on my arms, my tummy digging into the wheel, the baby jabbing me to show her discomfort. I whisper words of comfort to her.
‘I know, baby, but believe me. Stay in there. Things are much less complicated in there.’
I replay the rest of my conversation with Martin as I drive home.
Did he say he’d got a message from me? I didn’t send one – I know that with 100 per cent clarity and only one person could have. Only one other person knows my passcode.
If my mother could do that behind my back, what else could she be capable of?
I don’t want to go home, but I know I have to. As I park outside her house, I see her curtains twitch. I tense up immediately. My mother. My champion. Could she really be trying to destroy my marriage?
It’s unthinkable. When I push open the front door, I find her in the hall, where she just happens to be ‘dusting the hall table’.
‘It’s a bit late for housework, isn’t it?’ I ask.
‘Well, it’s a bit late to be coming home as well, Eliana. I didn’t think you’d be so long. I’ve been worried sick – you would’ve thought you and that Kate one would have more consideration for how I might be feeling.’
Her expression is sharp, flint-like. She’s wringing the duster through her hands, twisting it tightly.
‘I didn’t realise I was on a curfew,’ I say.
‘It’s manners to let someone know when you’ll be back. You can’t just go gallivanting around the place, especially not in your condition.’
‘I’ve done a lot of things in my condition, as have countless women, Mother. And we’re all just fine.’
‘Yes, but you’ve extra complications. Your sickness, and you’re under severe emotional stress. You could’ve been doing anything.’
My shoulders tense further. ‘Like what, Mum? Seriously? Doing anything? What did you think I might be doing? Dancing Swan Lake? Bungee jumping? Or do you mean you thought I might be topping myself and my baby with me? Do you seriously believe I’d hurt my baby?’ I can hardly believe she’s asking.
‘Well, you’ve already admitted that you’re struggling to bond. God knows what you might do. Would you prefer I didn’t give a thought to that poor baby? God knows she’ll have a tough enough start. A daddy who’s a cheat and a mum who doesn’t give two stuffs about her.’
My jaw drops. I can feel a surge of anger, and something else, hurt maybe, build up inside of me. I have to stop myself from picking something up and throwing it across the room. How dare she! How dare she twist my struggle to bond and make it into something so horrible! That I don’t ‘give two stuffs’ about my baby? I may be struggling, but in this moment my mothering instincts are in full flow. I love this baby. I know whatever happens, I’ll care for this baby. I’ll protect this baby. With every breath in my body.
How dare she!
‘It’s only because I love you that I say such things,’ she says, her voice contrite.
Is it possible she realises she went too far?
‘You don’t realise how hard this is for me, too. It’s not just about you, Eli. You don’t realise what you’re putting me through!’ she says, her voice breaking.
If this was any other occasion, if I wasn’t feeling so attacked, so vulnerable, so unsure of who or what to believe, I’d bend myself over backwards to console her and make her feel better, but she doesn’t just get to pull the ‘poor me’ routine after saying what she did and expect me to forgive and forget. Not this time.
As for her tears, I’m not sure any more that they aren’t anything more than her own form of manipulation. Thinking of it, it’s one of her signature moves. Lay on the guilt. Lay on the tears. Make it about her and everything she does for me.
‘You’re all I have, Eliana.’
‘I’ve dedicated my whole life to you, Eliana.’
‘If you loved me, Eliana.’
I need to get away from her before I say or do anything I regret. I push past her and start on my way up the stairs.
‘Since all this is so hard for you, Mother, I’ll go in the morning. Go and stay with Kate maybe. Or go home to my husband and our mutual shoddy parenting of our unborn baby.’
‘That’s not what I meant …’ she says, her eyes wide.
Is it panic? Is it anger? Right now, I don’t know and I don’t care.
‘I’m going to bed, Mum. I think we’ve said enough for tonight.’
For good measure, I even slam my bedroom door, my ire only rising further when I notice the lock I put on when I was eighteen is no longer there. If it had been, I’d have pulled it across to ensure she couldn’t get under my skin for the rest of the night.
Instead, I throw myself down on my bed, as much as being seven months pregnant will allow me to, and I scream into my pillow.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Angela
The slam of the bedroom door shocks me. I’ve gone too far. I lost my cool and what I said to Eliana was unforgivable.
Things are bad when I can’t get her onside by crying. Not that my tears are fake. Not this time. They’re real. I’m so scared. I feel like I’ve been playing this game for so long and I’m growing tired just when I need to be at my sharpest.
I know a part of her believes Martin. Probably a big part of her. He’s always been good to her. Why would he betray her now? It’s not in his nature.
But I thought, you see, if I presented her with enough ‘evidence’, she’d believe the worst of him. And that she’d be strong enough to walk away.
I know I’m being selfish, but I’ve the right to be. I’ve put my daughter at the centre of my world for thirty-three years now and I’m just supposed to give that up? I’m supposed to say: ‘There you go, make your own way. Never worry about your poor mother, all alone in Belfast.’
The truth is I’m scared to be alone. I don’t know how to be alone; and as soon as this baby’s born my alone status will be confirmed. I know how it goes. I see it happen with my friends and their daughters who’ve moved away. Once a husband and a baby come along, they’re too busy going to Music with Mummy classes, or birthday parties, or group excursions to the zoo, or family holidays to bother with those trips back home that used to mean so much.
I’d given up everything for Eli. I didn’t regret it for a second, but I’d always assumed that I’d get to play the role of a doting granny as some sort of reward.
If only Martin hadn’t insisted on opening his business in Derry.
If only I’d stayed in Scotland and never come back to this stupid country in the first place.
I’ve been the author of my own undoing.
Those emails have only confirmed that. Soon, someone else will make a claim on Eli and I won’t be able to do anything about it.
What I’ve done, I’ve done out of love for her. But I’m not sure she’ll see that. Not at first, anyway. Maybe she will when she’s a mother herself and feels that bond.
But until that point I have to continue to do everything I can to stick to the original plan. Even if she fights it. She has to realise that sometimes tough love is necessary. Sometimes a parent has to be harsh to get the message across.
Until now, it’s been easier than I thought it would be. It didn’t take much effort to persuade someone, for a small fee, to hand-deliver the first note to the hospice. A niece of an acquaintance. Studying in Derry. I told her it was a thank-you note, a gift voucher. That I was nervous it’d go missing in the post and as she was heading that way anyway, it’d be lovely of her to drop it in for me. I put a fiver in her hand, ‘enough for
a pint’, as a thank you.
It was just glorious timing that Martin’d had to go to London on business just as it arrived. It meant I could move forwards with my plan faster.
Of course, I felt guilty when I saw how hysterical she was at the smashed window. It’d been tricky to time it all right. To make sure the rock was thrown through the window, that I was able to get in as quickly as possible and trigger the alarm.
My guilt hadn’t been enough to stop me gleaning some pleasure from knowing my daughter was getting more suspicious of Martin. I could almost see the wedge between them growing.
Taking the picture in their bedroom to stage it as if someone had broken into their home was a stroke of genius, if I say so myself.
Sending another letter – keeping the pressure on – was just, I suppose, an insurance policy.
And I know I still have another trick up my sleeve or, to be more accurate, in my pocket.
Okay, things are tougher now. But it was never going to be easy all the time. But I can still save this. First, I need to try to get Eli back on side. Even just a little. I’ll bring her a peace offering. A cup of tea. Laced with a sedative, of course. In case she really gets the notion to go elsewhere.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Louise
There was one aspect of leaving that I knew I’d never be able to get over.
Starting again meant walking away from the cemetery. From where I sat most mornings and hugged the blanket we’d wrapped our baby boy in. I’d tried to imagine what it would feel like to have my child, now healthy and growing, in my arms, instead of this horrific nothingness.
It’s strange how empty arms can feel heavier than those that are full.
I reminded myself that every day that he wasn’t there. In the ground. Not really. The baby who’d kicked and wriggled and turned somersaults in my stomach. That life energy, the one that had got us so close to becoming parents, couldn’t possibly be in the ground. His grave was just a focal point for us. A place I could go to to cry. But he was always with me. Always. I carried the other losses, too, of course. But his was the cruellest of all.
