by Claire Allan
I feel a cold sweat break out again at the back of my neck, my legs weak. I need out of here before I faint again. I just want to go now. To get to Martin, or Kate, or anyone who’ll keep her from me.
I’d dialled Martin’s number before my mother had shouted at me. I hadn’t hit the cancel button, but I don’t know if it’s connected. I don’t even know if he has his mobile switched on. If he can hear our conversation or if any or all of it is being recorded on his voicemail while he sleeps.
I reach my hand across to lift the phone, to see if he’s there or to try to hit the redial button. But just as I lift it, my mother’s in front of me, her eyes blazing, her voice fierce, her hand raised. I close my eyes, awaiting the impact of the palm of her hand on my face, but the crash comes to my right.
I open my eyes to see the phone is on the floor, the handset smashed. But just in case, just on the off-chance that it hasn’t blocked my access to the outside world, I watch as my mother pulls the phone lead from the socket.
‘I told you, Eliana, I’m not letting you leave. I can’t let you leave.’
‘You can’t stop me!’ I shout as I turn and pull at the door again, the futility of my actions not deterring me from trying. I need out.
I feel her hand on my shoulder and I do my best to shrug her off.
‘Don’t touch me!’ I shout, turning to try to push her away from me.
The blow to the side of my head comes as a surprise. I haven’t time to turn properly to focus on her before I feel a weight crash into the left side of my skull, dull and heavy. I hear a crack, a buzzing, a noise without noise. I see her face as I fall. I can see fear in her eyes. She knows she’s hurt me.
She has hurt me.
Confusion washes over me, along with the pain and along with the blackness. The darkness. A distant voice mutters something about just doing what’s good for me. She’s sorry. She’s so sorry.
I reach one hand out to the wall, to try to steady myself, stop the fall, but I’m already on my knees. My other hand is on my stomach. My baby. Hang in there, baby. My daughter. I have to protect my baby. This baby I’d struggled to bond with. This child who I’d even resented at times. I can’t let anything happen to her. Mummy bears have to protect their baby bears.
Then there’s blackness.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Angela
I have just minutes to decide what to do. I hadn’t meant to hit Eli so hard. I hadn’t really meant to hit her at all, but she was pulling at the door and screaming like a woman possessed and I didn’t want the neighbours to hear. To wake and realise something was badly wrong. Not until I’d had a chance to make it better.
And I was sure I could make it better. Only now, in the hall, with my daughter unconscious on the floor beside me, the base of the lamp I’d hit her with stained with her blood, her hand draped protectively over her stomach, I’m not sure I can make it better any more. Oh, Eli, why did you make me do it?
I drop to my knees, almost too afraid to get close to her. But I know I have to find out if she’s breathing. Jesus, if she isn’t breathing, what will I do? Will I be able to get the baby out of her before her blood stops circulating completely? Will I lose them both? The baby’s too young anyway. Too small. Like Noah.
Thoughts of him swim before my eyes. How small he was. Those tiny hands, translucent skin, fingernails that were microscopic. Maybe it was always meant to come to this. From that day, things had been set in motion. I stole Eli from her family, and now it’s just karma in action that I’ll lose her, and her child, and have to live with it.
I’ll have to bury yet another baby.
But maybe it isn’t too late. I hold my face to Eli’s, try to hear or feel for breath. It’s hard. My own heart is beating so furiously that it drowns out every other noise in the world. I’m shaking so violently I don’t know if it’s her breath I can hear or if it’s just my own hyperventilation.
‘I’m so sorry, Eli. I’m so, so sorry. But you wouldn’t listen. Get better and you can listen and I can make it up to you. Live, Eli, please …’ I beg, and I’m almost sure I feel the faint wisp of her breath on my face.
I put my fingers to her wrist, feel for a pulse. Panic when I find nothing then almost weep with relief when I locate it. Weak but there. She’s with me. I touch my hand to her head, pull it away sticky with her blood.
‘You’ll be okay, pet. I’ll make sure you’re okay.’
I turn around and look for the phone to call for help, forgetting that I smashed it off the wall only minutes before. I wail with despair when I see it on the floor.
‘I’ll get help,’ I say to her. ‘I’ll get help. Don’t worry, my darling. Don’t worry, my sweet child. I’m here. Mummy’s here.’
I rock over her, desperate to go and get help but not wanting to leave her at the same time. She needs me, you see. Her whole life, she’d never really known just how much she needs me, but she does. Just like I need her.
I rock back on my heels and pull myself to standing, running to the kitchen and grabbing some tea towels from the corner cupboard. I run one of them under a cool tap, just to dampen it, and then I run back to her, gently sliding a towel under her head and pressing another on her head wound.
‘Stay with me,’ I whisper again.
I know I should get help, but it dawns on me what that’ll mean. Grief overwhelms me as I realise I’ll never be able to make her understand. I’ll be arrested. Everything will come out. What Peter knows … There’ll be no coming back from it.
I realise I can’t let that happen. No matter the price.
I wasn’t with her when she came into this world. Maybe it’s my job to be with her as she leaves …
To hold her. To nurse her. To care for her. To keep her comfortable – just like she does for her patients. Hadn’t she helped Mrs Doherty have a more peaceful death in the end? This can be the same. I can stop Eli from being hurt any further – from learning the truth about me. About us. From ever knowing the dichotomy of joy and pain that comes with being a parent. She won’t have to leave me then, you see. Not ever. And her child will never leave her, or me … We can just be together. All three of us.
And Noah, too.
And all those other lost souls.
I feel every muscle in my body relax. There’s a peace that comes with making a decision.
I think of the boxes of sedatives I have in the kitchen. I could be asleep soon. We could be asleep soon.
Sure that I’m doing the right thing, I kneel over my daughter and kiss her forehead. Closing my eyes, I’m back in that moment. When we first arrived in Scotland. When I could breathe out. When I held her in my arms in front of the small window in the room that would be our world and I’d kissed her, revelling in the feel of my lips against the soft, warm skin of her forehead. How I loved her then more than anything I could ever love. How I promised in that moment that I’d also be her mother and that I’d never let anyone break our bond.
‘I love you, Eliana Johnston,’ I whisper. ‘I love you with every breath in my body.’
I stroke her hair, watch as her skin pales in front of me, and then I pull myself to standing again. I walk to the kitchen, find the tablets where Eli has left them on the worktop.
I take an old pint glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, then I walk back to the hall, where I can see my daughter’s blood seeping through the tea towel. I change it for a clean towel, sit down beside her and, one by one, take the tablets in front of me while I tell her over and over again how I love her. How she was and is my miracle. My rainbow after the storm. How I know I’m flawed and messed up and how I didn’t get everything right but that every action has been borne out of pure love. She’s my sunshine. My starlight. The love of my life. The apple of my eye.
Then I lie down on the floor beside her and rest my hand on hers, on the hand that rests on her swollen tummy. I feel my eyes flutter closed as I’m pulled from this world …
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Eli
Something is just out of my grasp. Everything is blurred. Light. Colour. Noise. Voices. It’s all a blur. None of it makes sense. The world around me comes to me in colours. Bright white. Green. Yellow. Blurring into each other. Blue, bright. Warm hands on me.
I try to reach out. Try to move. Blue again. Yellow. Green. Bright white. Then the pain hits in screaming shards of red and purple until I pray for the blackness again. Just let me go. Just let me be. Sensations, pressure, throbbing, scratches, something on my face and I can’t breathe. I can think of nothing but the pain. The pain and my baby.
I try to scream, ‘Take care of my baby. Save my baby. Don’t worry about me. My baby.’
My baby.
My words won’t come. My voice remains pathetically silent. My eyes won’t open. I can’t get through the pain to scream. Nothing works. My stupid body. Nothing makes sense. There are voices but I don’t know what they were saying. It’s just noise.
And fear.
And then blackness again.
*
I’m alive. I can breathe. I can see the colours again but they’ve started to come into focus now. My head hurts. I try to reach up to touch it but my hands won’t respond. Not yet. My eyes flicker open, the bright colours hurting them. I fight the urge to close them again. Try to move my hand. I’m sure my fingers are wiggling. If I could just talk …
Noises come into sharp focus. Footsteps. People talking. The beeping of machines …
A hospital. I’m in a hospital. Something bad has happened. I feel tears spring to my eyes even though I can’t remember what it is that’s actually happened. All I know is that my head hurts and my hands aren’t moving as they should. I want to speak. My mouth is so dry. My lips cracked. I can hear voices but they aren’t beside me.
I feel a hand take mine. I can feel the warmth and pressure of another person’s hand. I try to turn my head to see who it is.
‘Mum?’ I mutter, but it’s Martin who I see looking down at me.
His face is strained with worry. Dark circles. Scratchy face. He hasn’t shaved. His eyes are streaked with red.
‘Are you back, Eli?’ he asks, blinking back tears.
I see one fall, feel it land on my face. Mingle with my own.
‘Martin?’ I say.
My voice is weak but it’s there. I’m coming back bit by bit.
‘I’m here, darling. I’m here. And you’re going to be okay,’ he says, his voice breaking.
I can’t remember, can’t touch the memory of what’s happened … But in a flash of consciousness, I remember my baby. Oh God, my baby. I try to move my hand to my tummy, but my arms are so leaden.
‘The baby?’ I mutter to Martin.
‘She’s fine. She’s a fighter and she’s doing really well.’
She’s here? I couldn’t hold on to her. I start to cry. She’s too young. Too small. This isn’t right. This isn’t how it was meant to happen.
‘What happened? Where’s Mum? What happened?’ I scream, feeling myself growing more and more hysterical.
I see Martin shake his head and pull away. ‘I can’t …’ he says as he sobs.
I see Kate come into view. Feel her take my hand in hers. Oh God … it’s starting to come back to me. My mother. What she did. What she did to us. To me. To my baby. To my daughter. To Martin, my beloved Martin. Do they know? Is she here?
They need to keep her away from me. I don’t want her near me. I feel panic surge through me. I try to pull myself to sitting.
‘You need to try to stay calm,’ Kate says. ‘The main thing is you’re safe.’
But the pain grows with my panic. I hear a doctor approach and maybe a nurse and they talk, but all I can hear is Kate telling me it’ll be okay. I’m safe now. I feel my eyes flicker closed again as I fall back into the darkness.
*
I open my eyes again and it’s different. It’s dark. The voices are still here but they’re hushed now. I can still hear the beep of the machines. Can feel the warmth of a hand on mine. I move, my fingers responding. Martin’s voice.
‘You’re awake.’
‘I think so,’ I say.
My mouth is still so dry. I ask for water, let Martin hold a cup and straw to me so I can sip it. The slightest movement of my head causes more pain, but I’m able to reach my hand to my head. It’s bandaged. The memory of the impact of something. My mother. My baby. My brain tries to piece it all together. I put my hand to my stomach again, look to Martin.
‘Is she still okay?’
Martin nods. ‘The doctors say she’s doing really well. Really well. They’re going to reduce her oxygen tomorrow, see how she tolerates it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I mutter. I hurt our baby. I’ve failed to keep her safe. I took my mother at her word and believed everything she told me. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault, Eli,’ Martin says. His voice sounds so sincere. ‘You did everything right. And you’re here. You’re both here, and that’s all that matters to me. All that matters full stop.’
‘Mum?’ It’s the only word I can mutter.
He takes a deep breath. ‘She’s alive,’ he says. ‘Under police guard.’
I sag with relief. She can’t get to me now. She can’t get to us.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
He looks pained, but I need him to fill in the puzzle pieces for me.
‘I called the police,’ he says. ‘I heard your call, heard everything – well, up to the point where there was a loud crash … Then I didn’t know. But I could hear how scared you were, Eli. It almost killed me. I was an hour and a half away and I couldn’t get to you. I didn’t know what I’d find when I got to you. What the police would find.
‘They found you on the floor. Your head … she fractured your skull, Eli. She left you for dead. You were bleeding and your pulse was weak. They didn’t know if you’d make it. If the baby would make it.
‘They had to operate and I just had to sit and wait and I couldn’t make any sense of it. Not knowing, Eli, if I’d lost everything. You had swelling on your brain. The baby was in distress and they had no choice but to deliver. You’ve been unconscious for three days, Eli. Our girl is three days old.’
I blink back tears. See the pain in his face but also the love. And I wonder how I ever doubted him. How my mother had made me doubt this man who’s never shown me anything but love. What has he been through these last three days? These last few weeks.
Will I ever be able to get him to forgive me?
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ I say, using what little strength I have to squeeze his hand.
‘Please. You don’t need to say sorry. She … she was so devious. So manipulative.’
‘Didn’t she call for help?’ I ask him. ‘Where was she when the police arrived?’
I see something shift in his expression. He moves in his seat and rubs my hand gently. I feel my heart start to beat faster.
‘They found her unconscious,’ he says. ‘She’d taken an overdose, Eli. Rather than get you help – you and our daughter help – she took an overdose and lay down beside you to die.’
I feel my stomach turn. She’d have let us all die? All of us? For what? Because she didn’t want me to have a life of my own? Because she was jealous of Martin and me? Because she wanted our baby for herself?
‘She’s a very sick and troubled woman, Eli,’ Martin says, cutting through my thoughts. ‘But she’ll recover. Physically at least. Try not worry about her now. Let’s just focus on us. And our little girl. She’s so tiny. So beautiful. Do you want to see a picture? I have one on my phone.’
I didn’t expect that the first time I’d see my child it would be on the screen of a phone.
Nor, if I’m honest, did I expect to fall absolutely, passionately and wholeheartedly in love with her the first time I saw her. But I do. I feel a connection with her so deep and so primal that I can feel my heart swell and my body physically ache to hold her.
And in that mo
ment, I know that I’ll never, ever be able to understand why my mother did what she did.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Angela
I can’t so much as move without someone watching me. If I go to the bathroom, the door has to be left open. If I move to the chair by my hospital bed, someone’ll come in and check that I’m behaving. They’ll be able to move me soon. To a secure ward.
The madhouse, I suppose.
None of them understand that I’m far from mad. I’m just a mother who loves her child. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. Of course I hadn’t. And I hadn’t left her. I’d cared for her until I couldn’t any more.
There was no one as shocked, surprised or upset as I was to wake up in hospital – my throat raw from having my stomach pumped. Tubes and wires going in and out. My wrist aching from the handcuff that attached me to the hospital bed.
A hospital gown. My free hand had gone to my neck to find my crucifix, but it was gone. Could be used as a weapon to hurt myself or others, they said. How cruel of them to take my comfort from me.
I wept then. Because I don’t want to be here any more. I should’ve been gone. With Eli and the baby. With Noah. With the others. Those who’d never had a chance. Could they not have just let me go to be with them?
I tried asking the nurses about Eli. I wanted them to let me know where she was. I felt a palpable fear that Martin would bury her in Derry. So far away from me. Too far away.
After a day and a half, someone let slip she was still alive. My grandchild was alive. But they wouldn’t tell me any more. No matter how much I pleaded. And when I became angry and irate, they sedated me. Let me slip away for a while.
Now, the police have come to see me. To ask me about what I’ve done. Martin has filled them in, it appears, on all the details. I have the good grace to blush as a ruddy-faced officer with red hair that sticks up in every direction imaginable asks me again and again about what’s happened. He throws phrases at me: perverting the course of justice, wasting police time, breaking and entering, harassment, attempted murder.
