by Nikki Smith
‘Do you think we should stop to make sure she’s OK?’ I ask.
‘There’s no point. We’re almost there now,’ he says.
I’ve read about the statistics for cot death. Four babies a week. I wonder if you can get a monitor for the car, like the one we have at home next to her Moses basket. Last night I’d watched the small green dots light up in time with her breathing and had made a plan of what I’d do if they’d stopped, working out how long it would take for an ambulance to arrive or whether it would be quicker to get her to hospital in our car. I’d drawn up an emergency list on the notes app on my phone of the essentials I’d need to take with us if it happened. Best to be prepared. Just in case.
We sit in silence as Jack reverses into an empty space in the supermarket and pulls on the handbrake.
‘Are you getting out then?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I don’t want to. Tilly will be safer in here with me. People will breathe all over her if we take her inside. There’s too many germs in there.’
‘But you said you wanted to bring her?’ He hesitates before pulling his keys out of the ignition.
‘I did, but I hadn’t thought about the possibility of her getting ill.’
He doesn’t reply and slams the driver’s door as he gets out. Tilly stirs briefly but settles back to sleep. I watch as he walks across the car park towards the entrance before I switch the radio on, not loud enough to disturb her. I close my eyes as I listen to the murmurs I can hear alongside the music in my head. I can tell Jack’s irritated. It doesn’t take much to make him fly off the handle at the moment. I think the lack of sleep last night is getting to him.
I’m jolted out of my doze as the car door opens. I’d only shut my eyes for a few seconds. I sit up with a start and look behind me. Tilly’s fine, she’s still dozing. I need to be more vigilant. What if someone had opened the door, taken her out? I dig my nails into my palms as Jack looks at me.
‘You don’t have to wake up,’ he says. ‘You rest and I’ll drive home.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say as I get out and walk round to the driver’s side. ‘I want to.’ I don’t trust him not to go as fast as he did on the way here. He doesn’t mean to take risks, but he doesn’t realise how vulnerable she is. It’s my job to protect her. To keep her safe.
His mouth is in a tight line as he gets in beside me and clicks the seat belt into place. I pull out of the car park hoping she stays asleep on the journey home. I like it when she’s asleep. I start talking in the hope it’ll wake me up a bit.
‘Stop!’ Jack bellows and hits his hand on the dashboard. ‘Jesus, Ali. It was red. Didn’t you see it?’
I look across at him, confused. ‘See what?’
‘The traffic light! You went straight through it. You could’ve killed us. How could you not see it?’
‘I didn’t …’
‘Pull over.’ He’s yelling.
‘Don’t shout at me.’
‘Pull over, Ali. I’ll drive. I knew you shouldn’t be behind the wheel.’
I indicate and stop the car next to the kerb.
‘You’re overreacting,’ I mutter, my face hot. I can’t bring myself to look at him. I don’t even remember seeing the traffic light. Or what colour it was. There’s a moment of silence until I glance across at him. He’s still looking at me, concern now showing in his eyes rather than terror. I could have killed Tilly. Or Jack. Or all of us. A few cars accelerate as they drive past us and I shrink down in my seat, hoping they didn’t see what happened.
‘You’re lucky it’s not busier.’ He fumbles to undo his seat belt. Tilly’s still fast asleep.
I get out, my legs trembling and he steps into the driver’s side; his cheeks flushed.
We drive home in silence.
He turns to me as we walk through the door of the flat.
‘You need to sleep,’ he says. ‘No arguments. I’ll wake you if Tilly needs you.’
I don’t try to contradict him. There’s no point in having a row. I walk off into the bedroom, draw the curtains and lie down. Half an hour later, I hear him coming down the hall. He peers through the dim light to look at me. I lie motionless under the duvet and shut my eyes. Satisfied, he tiptoes out again, pulling the door shut behind him. Wide awake, I pick up my notebook from where I’ve set it down on my bedside table and continue writing. Words flow onto the page as the noises in my head gather together into something coherent. Now I understand. They want to start a conversation.
THEN
Jack – Day Three
I press the button on the intercom as it buzzes to let Lisa in and wait for her to walk up the corridor, holding the mug of untouched cold tea I took Ali earlier. Guilt slops around in my stomach like the liquid in the cup. I should have told her everything a year ago.
‘Morning, Jack. It’s lovely out there today. How was your night?’ Lisa asks.
‘Fine.’ I lie. My father’s smile had appeared every time I shut my eyes. At five o’clock, I hadn’t been able to stand it any longer and had got up. The conversation I’d had with him got out of bed with me as well, attaching itself round my waist like a belt that had been fastened too tightly. It squeezes my stomach every now and again, just to make sure I haven’t forgotten about it.
‘Are they in the bedroom? Is it OK for me to go through?’ Lisa asks.
I nod and she disappears up the hallway. I take the mug into the kitchen, pour away the cold drink and put the kettle on. I hope Ali’s less tired today. I think she’d managed to get more sleep last night. At least Tilly hadn’t cried so much.
I log onto my computer and open an email from the bank. It confirms what I thought: the balance in our savings
account isn’t nearly enough to pay my father what he wants, and they won’t lend me the difference as my credit score is too low. I’m searching through loan companies online when Lisa walks back into the kitchen.
‘Your wife and daughter are both doing really well,’ she says.
I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak in case she detects my cynicism. Ali clearly hasn’t told her she’d jumped a red light yesterday.
‘She told me she managed to get about five hours’ sleep last night, which is great. Perhaps you could encourage her to go for a walk to get some fresh air? And make sure she eats some lunch? You’re lucky with the flat being on the ground floor, you can sit out on your patio when the weather’s like this.’
‘Sure,’ I say. I’ve got stuff in the fridge to make that prawn salad she really likes.
‘And there isn’t anything you want to ask?’ she says, staring at me.
I glance at the door, wondering if our conversation can be heard in the bedroom. I have got questions, but I don’t want Ali to hear me. Are all new mothers reluctant to let anyone else hold their baby? Do they all want to spend so much time in their bedroom? I don’t want Lisa to think I’m questioning Ali’s decisions. Or her behaviour. Harry had said it took a while for them to adjust when Josh had first come home. And I’m not in a position to judge. I shake my head and Lisa lets herself out.
As I’m walking to the bedroom I hear whispering, which stops as soon as I open the door. Ali smiles at me, wrinkling her nose.
‘She needs a change,’ she says.
‘I’ll do it.’
I don’t give her an opportunity to refuse. I pick Tilly up and carry her through to the bathroom and lie her on her changing mat. My fingers fumble with the poppers on her Babygro as I undo them awkwardly. She starts to cry. Ali’s standing behind me, watching everything I’m doing. I take a deep breath and clean Tilly with the wet wipes, discarding the dirty ones into a plastic bag. I unfold a clean nappy, carefully avoiding the stump of her umbilical cord and once it’s in place, fasten her Babygro back up, my fingers
slippery.
I wonder if my father ever did this with me. I can’t imagine him changing a nappy. That had been the kind of job he’d left to my mother. I wonder if we’d bonded better from the start, wheth
er he’d have seen me as more than just a rival for my mother’s attention.
Ali holds out her arms for Tilly.
‘I’ll take her for a bit,’ I say.
‘It’s fine, honestly,’ she says, scooping Tilly out of my grasp.
‘I’m … I’m only trying … to help.’ Her dismissal and my thoughts about my father make me stumble over the words. I wonder if she’s deliberately trying to hurt me. If she is, I probably deserve it.
I walk away into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Swallowing a mouthful doesn’t get rid of the rejection that tastes bitter in my mouth.
We push the pram along the pavement in the muggy summer heat. It needs a storm to clear the air, but it’s still more pleasant than being cooped up in the flat. Tilly stares at the stripy zebra Ali’s fixed to the hood which twirls and swings as we walk. I’m not sure she can actually see it, but Ali insists newborns can distinguish black and white. I put my arm round her shoulders. She doesn’t push me away. Her hair falls over my bare skin and I shiver. Before we’d had Tilly, I’d have pulled her towards me, kissed her perhaps, but now there’s a tightness between us that holds me back and I keep walking straight ahead.
‘I think she’s putting on weight,’ Ali says. ‘She seems heavier than she was in hospital. And I think we should have her christened.’
I pause. This isn’t something we’ve discussed.
‘Ali, I think we should—’
She interrupts. ‘And we need to get her name registered. I’m not sure where we have to go to, but I think there’s something about it in those pamphlets that I was given. Em said she’d pop over tomorrow. Do you know if Harry’s coming as well? We’ll have to get some food if they are.’
‘I don’t think they’re going to expect anything to—’
‘We can grab something on the way back from the park,’ she says. She seems like a different person today, perhaps we’re starting to get into a routine. She’s talking more. A lot more. I can barely get a word in.
We stroll across the small car park and along the path that leads to the entrance gate of the local park. I hold it open whilst Ali pushes the pram over a couple of bumps and sits down on a bench shaded by some tall lime trees. A short distance away, children scramble over a wooden pirate ship and throw themselves down a slide in a playground surrounded by a low fence. The grass in front of us is covered in a patchwork quilt of picnic rugs.
‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask her. ‘I’ll get us something from the café.’
She nods as she brushes some tree pollen off her skirt and the hood of Tilly’s pram.
‘I’ll have an Earl Grey tea.’ She adjusts the stripy toy.
‘OK. I won’t be a minute.’ I walk off down the narrow path across the grass, kicking a football back to its owner as it lands in front of me.
The café is busy; a long queue of customers stands waiting to be served in front of the small counter. By the time I’ve ordered, I’m desperate to be back outside in the fresh air. I pay the teenage cashier, who is bathed in a sheen of sweat, and carry the paper cups carefully as they’ve run out
of lids.
Ali’s sitting with one hand on Tilly’s pram. She’s talking to a woman I don’t recognise. I screw up my eyes against the glare of the sun as I struggle to keep the hot tea from spilling over the side of the cup onto my foot. By the time I reach her, she’s lifted Tilly out of the pram. I go to hand her the cup before I realise that she’s crying.
‘What is it?’ I put my arm on her shoulder. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘That woman.’ She pulls at the front of my T-shirt, her eyes wide.
‘What? What happened?’ I say. I look at the back of the figure who is rapidly walking away.
‘She told me I was an awful mother. That I don’t deserve to have Tilly.’ Her voice is shaky.
I glance at the woman again and then back at my wife, in disbelief that anyone could be so rude.
‘Stay here,’ I say.
I put the cups on the ground by the bench and run along the footpath, trying to avoid tripping over buggies and legs of toddlers. I tap the woman on the shoulder and she turns around.
‘Excuse me,’ I say, out of breath. ‘I believe you just spoke to my wife.’
She looks confused but smiles when she sees me pointing at Ali. ‘Oh, yes. The lady with the baby. So cute.’
I’m confused. There’s an uncomfortable pause whilst she waits for an explanation.
I clear my throat. ‘Can I ask what you said to her?’ The words sound ridiculous as soon as they’re out of my mouth.
She frowns. ‘Just that her baby was really sweet. She’s still so tiny. Why?’
‘I … I just needed to check …something. Thank you.’
She walks off, leaving me standing in the middle of the path, flushed with embarrassment. I look at the other families on the grass who are eating their sandwiches and packets of crisps and feel more alone than I did before we had a child.
‘Are you sure you heard her properly?’ I ask Ali as I help her put Tilly back in the pram.
‘Are you saying I’m lying?’ She pulls away from me.
‘No …’ I choose my words carefully. ‘I just wonder if there was a misunderstanding.’
‘I didn’t misunderstand anything. Some woman just had a go at me and now you’re sticking up for her. How d’you think that makes me feel, Jack?’ A couple sitting nearby stare as she raises her voice. ‘Let’s go. I don’t want to stay here.’ She picks up the cup of tea that I’ve just bought and pours it on the grass.
I glance back at the couple, who smile at me in sympathy. I remember those looks. I’d seen them a lot when I was younger whenever we’d been on a family outing. My father hadn’t cared who’d been listening when he’d raged, as long as it wasn’t anyone we knew. Amongst his friends he’d behaved like a perfect husband. My mother hadn’t had any friends of her own. They were all his. Recruited to bolster his ego until her identity had been absorbed into his and the person she once was had been slowly eradicated.
We walk home in silence, the pram wheels juddering along the pavement as she speeds up. I don’t understand what’s just happened. A nagging voice at the back of my head tells me I don’t believe Ali’s version of events, but I don’t want her to think I don’t trust her. What I’ve lied about is so much worse. I need to make her realise she can rely on me to be the father Tilly deserves. That we can get through this without anyone else’s help.
She’s walking in the middle of the pavement and there’s not enough room for me to fit next to her without getting precariously close to the edge of the kerb. The pram wheel catches on a bump in the pavement and she shoves it roughly to get it to move forwards. I open my mouth to tell her to be careful, but stop myself. I can see Tilly’s face under the hood and step forward to grab the handle of the pram to bring it to a halt.
‘Please, Ali. Don’t be cross.’
She turns towards me, her knuckles white. ‘Don’t tell me what to feel. I know you don’t believe me.’ She has tears in her eyes.
‘It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just … I don’t know what to say.’ At the moment it seems every word has sharp edges which we use to cut into each other. I put my hand over hers on the pram and she stares at me, as if she’s searching for something.
‘There’s something you don’t …’ she says, in barely a whisper.
‘What?’ I ask.
She can’t seem to find what she’s looking for and the moment passes. She looks away. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she replies. ‘Can we go home?’
I move my hand to let go of the pram and she walks off.
My mum comes over in the afternoon and I swallow the lump in my throat as I put Tilly into her arms for the first time.
‘How are you finding it so far?’ she asks Ali.
‘There’s so many things that I’m not sure about,’ she replies. ‘I was thinking about them all last night. I’m not sure if she’s supposed to have so man
y layers on. I’m not sure when I’m supposed to feed her. I don’t know if I should be winding her more. I don’t understand when—’
My mum glances at me and I can see the familiar crease in her forehead appear. ‘Don’t worry so much, love,’ she says. ‘She looks fine to me.’
‘But you’re not an expert, are you?’ Ali retorts.
‘Ali!’ I say.
She looks at my mum, embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t
mean …’
‘It’s fine … really. I can remember what it’s like.’ My mum smiles at her. She hates any kind of confrontation.
There’s an awkward silence. I’m worried about Ali, but if I say anything to anyone, she’d consider it a betrayal. I think my wife is imagining things. She’d be furious. I wasn’t there, I keep reminding myself. I didn’t actually hear what that woman said. I know I should tell Lisa. I don’t think my wife is sleeping. She might be able to recommend something to help. Maybe I could say something to my mum. Maybe all new mothers are like this. Maybe my mum was. I try to ignore the small voice inside me that tells me it’s why my dad ended up behaving like he did. That her behaviour meant he got fed up of teetering on the edge of a precipice, trying not to say the wrong thing that would tip them both over the edge. What if I turn out like him? The person I least want to be? I won’t say anything about Ali yet. It’s still early days. We just need to get ourselves into a proper routine.
When I come to bed, Ali’s sitting up, writing something in what looks like a baby book.
‘Can I see?’ I ask.
She raises her head and snaps the pages shut. ‘Not at the moment, no. You can look when it’s finished. I’m going to sleep.’ She puts it on her bedside table and closes her
eyes.
I stare at her lying on the pillow beside me.
‘What?’ she asks as she opens her eyes briefly to see me staring at her eyebrows and runs a finger over the sparse line of hairs.
