by Ruth Heald
As I half-dozed under the stars, I felt the most secure I’d ever felt in my life. I was loved and I was in love. I wished the moment could extend backwards and forwards into my past and my future. I wanted the feeling to cocoon me forever.
In my dreamy daze, I nodded off and Matt woke me with gentle kisses on my neck. I sat up slowly and marvelled at how still the lake was as it reflected the stars.
When I turned, he was on one knee holding out a ring.
In that moment I felt everything was possible. My future flashed before me. A white dress. A wedding in a country house. My career taking off. My byline on the front page of a national newspaper. Matt waiting at home for me with a glass of wine when I’d had a busy day at work. Then later, a baby. The perfect family. The perfect career.
I’ve had both. The perfect family and the perfect career. I have the husband and the baby I so desperately wanted and I’ve won prizes for my journalism. But the stress of the city wore me down. And now, even though I have Olivia, somehow it’s still not enough. I force aside the thought. Today I only want to focus on enjoying the fresh air with my husband. Nothing feels better than the wind in my face and my hand in his.
We spend another hour in the deer park and as we walk, Matt tells me about his plans for the surgery. I don’t have much to say about my days with Olivia, so I let him talk. His deep, lilting voice carries on the wind and surrounds me like a lullaby. I am safe with Matt. He’s always there for me. At the very worst times in my life he’s been my protector. I don’t want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t been there. He supported me when I felt like I couldn’t go on any more, that I didn’t deserve to live. I was broken. He picked me up and helped me put myself back together.
We pause by a wooded area and Matt wraps his arms around me, Olivia between us. He kisses me deeply and I remember all the longing I felt for him the day he proposed. His lips are on mine and I catch the scent of his aftershave. I can’t remember the last time we had sex. We’ve been too busy. His arms travel down my sides, stroking my breasts as he kisses my neck. He can’t quite get the angle right, Olivia’s small body between us preventing a proper embrace.
I remember whole afternoons spent in bed when we first got together. I want that again. Matt and I need to reconnect, to feel part of each other again.
‘Let’s go home,’ I whisper in his ear. ‘We can put Olivia to bed, and enjoy ourselves, just the two of us.’
Matt grins at me, and we walk hand in hand, back to the car.
I’m ready. I’m going to leave the house. As soon as my husband comes home, I’m going to open the door and step out into the air. A bubble of anxiety rises in me. It’s been so long since I’ve been outside, that I’m not sure if I’m even brave enough any more. But I must go to my appointment.
Thick, pale foundation masks the bruises on my face, but there are still hints of them underneath; my cheek a shade darker under the eye. I’ve made the rest of my face up to match with eyeshadow and thick eyeliner to distract. I don’t look like myself. But maybe that’s a good thing.
My husband will be home soon to look after our daughter, while I go to my consultation with the psychiatrist at the hospital. I walk around the house once more to check everything. I run my hand over the mantelpiece like I’ve seen him do. No dust. I check the kitchen surfaces. No stray crumbs. I straighten the tea towel hanging from the oven.
In the living room, I move my daughter along the sofa and straighten the cushions behind her. She’s watching TV, staring intently at the flickering screen.
The theme tune for Postman Pat tells me it’s time to leave.
I feel a hot flush of disappointment. Why isn’t he here?
Perhaps he’s not coming.
I hear the click of a key in the lock. He’s home. Of course he is. Like he said he would be. I knew I could rely on him.
I prepare a smile to greet him, and reach up to kiss his cheek.
He takes a step back, wincing away from me.
‘What do you look like?’ His voice is quiet, disbelieving.
I struggle to find the words. I can’t tell him I need to hide his bruises, although he must know. I need to sound casual, as if this is an everyday thing, as if I haven’t spent hours in front of the mirror blending foundations to find the best cover for my canvas of injuries.
‘I wanted to put on some make-up for a change,’ I say. ‘Make an effort.’
His bright blue eyes stare through me. I fell in love with his intensity. Before I really knew him, I thought his passion was something to admire. But now I know that there is only a fine line between passion and anger, and I am his outlet for both.
My words are powerless against his pure rage. I have learnt to stay silent until he speaks.
‘An effort for your psychiatrist,’ he says, his voice increasing in volume with each syllable. ‘An effort for your psychiatrist, and not for me?’
I close my eyes as I wait for the inevitable consequence of my mistake. His hands are on my neck. Gentle at first. He likes to feel my muscles tense under his fingers. I start to count in my head as I wait. It’s the only way to control the fear. To stop myself from whimpering.
Suddenly his fingers grip so hard I can’t breathe and he pushes me with all his strength against the wall. The crack of my head against the plaster is a physical release. I collapse and sink to the floor as I hear him walk away. It’s over now.
I’m not going to see my psychiatrist. I’m not going anywhere.
I don’t know why I ever imagined anything different.
Four
Matt is quiet on the car journey home, staring intently at the road ahead. I gaze out of the window, watching the terraced houses pass by, remembering my mother. I wish she was still here. Sometimes my need for her is almost a physical craving. I want her to hold me, to comfort me when things are going wrong.
‘Claire!’ Matt prods me and I glance over at him.
‘What?’
‘Olivia’s upset. Can you comfort her?’
I guiltily turn around and see Olivia has tears running down her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t realise…’
Matt glances over at me. ‘She’s been crying for five minutes.’
I must have blocked the sounds out. She cries so often.
I turn around in my chair awkwardly and wave a toy in front of her face. She calms slightly and follows the toy with her eyes.
When we’re ten minutes from home, Matt tells me that he needs to go to the surgery to get some work done. Disappointed tears prick my eyes. I had imagined us curling up on the sofa in front of a romantic comedy, his arms wrapped around me.
‘Really?’
‘I’m sorry. I need to do some paperwork and try and identify new clients. I’m having a few teething problems. But things should settle down soon.’
‘It would be nice if you were home a bit more. It’s hard looking after Olivia on my own.’ I’ve hardly seen him since we moved. He always working at the surgery.
He sighs. ‘I will be soon, I promise. It’s just the setting up that takes the time.’
‘You could do some of the paperwork at home. Then you’d see more of Olivia.’
‘You don’t need me,’ he says, distractedly.
‘I do,’ I confess quietly. ‘Sometimes I feel like I’m still struggling to connect with her.’
‘I thought it would be easier for you here,’ Matt says, concerned. ‘Away from the city.’
‘I don’t know, Matt. I just don’t feel right. It’s like I’m not cut out to be a mum.’
‘You’re a great mum.’
He always does this. When he doesn’t want to do something, or doesn’t have time, he tells me how good I am at it.
‘I don’t think so, Matt.’
‘I’ll help out more. I promise. I just need to put my all into the practice until I’ve gained some loyal customers. I’d expected to have a few more clients on the books by now.’
&
nbsp; ‘But you’re from around here. People already know who you are.’ I’d imagined it would be easy for him to find customers here in the village where he grew up.
Matt’s silent for a moment, thinking. ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ he says. ‘People know me too well. They remember me as a child, then a teenager. They remember my past.’
‘Your past? What do you mean?’
Matt never talks about the past, and I’d assumed that was because there wasn’t much to say about a happy, carefree childhood.
‘Oh, just the usual teenage things,’ he says. ‘I think it will take a bit of time, that’s all. It will take me a while to build a reputation and find new customers.’
‘OK,’ I reply, feeling concerned. We’re relying on his income to save for a house deposit.
In the back seat, Olivia starts to cry once more, not stopping until we arrive back at the cottage.
* * *
At home, Matt takes Olivia upstairs to change her nappy, while I search around for the candle I lit for my mother before I left the house this morning. It isn’t on the kitchen worktop where I left it. Matt must have moved it. I find it shoved into one of the drawers. I feel a flicker of irritation as I pull it out. Then I light it and breathe deeply through my nose, absorbing the scent and letting the memory of my mother wash over me.
Matt interrupts my thoughts as he hurries in and places Olivia in my arms.
‘Have you seen the box I left in the study?’ he asks, agitated.
‘Which one?’
‘The delivery. It came yesterday.’
‘No.’
‘I need to take it to the surgery.’
‘Sorry, I haven’t seen it.’
‘I’ll have another look for it.’
I hear his feet beating against the stairs, then pacing from room to room.
I hold Olivia close to me. I try to imagine my mother beside me, helping me with my baby. She would have loved being a grandmother. But she never got the chance.
As I rock my daughter, I stare out into the darkness. With the lights on in the kitchen, all I can see is my own reflection. A slightly overweight mother, holding a baby. She looks like a stranger. Behind the reflection, a shadow flits across the garden. A fox? Or a person? I’m aware that I’m backlit by the kitchen lights, exposed. I can’t see out easily, but anyone can see in.
I shiver at the thought of someone out there, silently watching.
It’s just my imagination, I tell myself as I turn on the kettle. Even so, I’d feel more comfortable if there was a blind over the window, and I could shut out the outside world. I must buy one.
I start to wipe the kitchen surfaces, but they’re spotless. I’m sure there were a few stray pieces of cereal lingering after breakfast. Our dirty bowls have moved from beside the sink and are now drying in the washing up rack.
I know Matt and I didn’t clear up.
Ruth must have let herself into the house while we were out. She’s tidied up and moved my mother’s candle. I frown. I don’t like the thought of her being here alone, rifling through my belongings. If she behaves like that, we’ll never really be able to relax here, or make the space our own. I’m going to have to speak to her and ask her to respect our privacy.
Matt reappears back downstairs, an open box in his hands.
‘Did you open this?’ he asks.
‘No, I haven’t touched it.’
‘Right,’ he says distractedly.
‘Do you think it could have been your mother?’
‘No. Why would she do that?’
‘I think she’s been in the house while we were out. The washing up’s been done.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t do it?’
‘I didn’t. Did you?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Look, I’ve really got to go. There’s so much paperwork to do. Can we deal with this later?’
‘OK,’ I reply reluctantly.
He kisses me on the cheek as he slips his shoes on, the box under one arm.
The door bangs shut behind him and I’m left alone with Olivia.
I don’t know what to do with myself. My baby is quiet for once, staring placidly at the ceiling. Thoughts of my own mother flood my mind. I can’t bear to be alone.
I remember the present I’ve been meaning to give to Ruth as a thank you for letting us stay in Pamela’s house. It’s just a token really. A framed photo of me, Matt and Olivia with Ruth and Jack. I see it as the first of many family photos, symbolising our new start.
I pick up the carefully wrapped gift, bundle Olivia into her snowsuit and go to the back door. I could do with some company and it would be nice to get to know Ruth and Jack a bit better.
When I knock on the back door of their house there’s no answer. I can see the lights are on and hear the faint rumble of the television. I shift from one foot to the other, shivering in the cold.
Then I knock again.
‘Hello?’ I shout.
No answer. My brain starts to fill with worry. I found my own mother slumped in front of the television, her body already cold, a daytime breakfast show chattering obliviously in the background.
I knock again.
Then I pick up my phone. My finger hovers over Matt’s number, undecided. There’s probably nothing wrong. But what if there is? I would regret my inaction forever.
Just then, I hear a gentle plodding and Jack appears at the door. He opens it a fraction.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi,’ I say.
I expect him to open the door wider, but he doesn’t. Olivia whimpers.
He looks at me expectantly.
I hold up the present in my hands. ‘I just wanted to drop this off. It’s a gift for Ruth. Well, for both of you really,’ I say with a smile.
‘OK,’ he replies, opening the door slowly, and letting me into the warm house.
He lumbers back towards the corridor and I follow.
At the kitchen door he turns, and looks at me with raised eyebrows.
‘Your shoes,’ he says.
I notice my footprint on the kitchen floor and look down, embarrassed.
‘Sorry. I must have got a bit muddy.’
I struggle to take off my shoes as I balance Olivia, and Jack watches silently.
Then he leads me into the living room.
‘It’s Claire,’ he announces to Ruth, and she promptly stands and smiles. She looks immaculate as always, in a blue cashmere jumper, colour-coordinated with her earrings. As she looks me up and down, I remember I haven’t changed out of my jeans since sitting on the ground by my mother’s grave.
‘Claire! And Olivia. How lovely.’
The television is off now and when Jack reaches for the control, Ruth snatches it out of his hands.
‘We have company,’ she says firmly. ‘Claire, do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please.’
Ruth and I go to the kitchen and she puts on the kettle.
‘We don’t usually have visitors at this hour,’ she says. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’ I can tell from her voice and forced smile that she’s far from pleased. It’s only 6 p.m.
‘I can come back another day. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
‘It’s no bother, dear.’
In the awkward silence that follows I hold out the present towards her, almost thrusting it into her hands.
‘This is for you,’ I say. ‘From me and Matt. To say thank you for letting us live in your mother’s house.’
She eyes the present warily. ‘Should I open it now?’ She almost looks as if she doesn’t want it.
‘You could do. You don’t have to though. I mean, I could come back another day?’ I’m uncertain now. Olivia is heavy and I want to sit down, but I don’t feel welcome. The kettle has boiled, but Ruth doesn’t seem to have noticed.
When she seats herself at the table, I take that as an invitation to sit down opposite her. She opens the present and studies the photo.
‘It’s lovely,
’ she says finally. ‘What a nice thought. Thank you.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘I suppose we’re your only family, really, aren’t we?’
I’m taken aback. ‘Well, my father’s still alive…’
‘But in South Africa?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it’s nice to have you closer. It must be hard for you without your mother.’
‘It is.’ I nod, feeling too uncomfortable to confide in Ruth.
‘I know the feeling. It’s been hard losing my own mother. I can’t imagine it happening when I was younger. It must have been awful.’
She reaches her hand across the table and touches mine.
‘I’m sorry about Pamela,’ I say. ‘She was always kind to me and Matt.’ I wonder if I should broach the subject of clearing out her things.
‘It’s so hard to throw away memories,’ Ruth says, as if she’s read my mind.
‘I know.’ I remember going through my own mother’s meagre possessions before the council took back the flat. They’d given me a month. It had already been reallocated to another family.
‘I can help you if you like,’ I suggest. I don’t want her to keep coming into the house when we’re out, sifting through my belongings.
‘I’d prefer to do it on my own.’
I sigh, remembering how she’d stuffed my mother’s candle in a drawer. ‘Of course. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t let yourself in when we’re out.’
She bristles. ‘It is my house, Claire.’
We reach an uncomfortable silence.
‘I’d better go,’ I say. ‘I need to get Olivia ready for bed.’
‘OK,’ she replies, looking at me intently. ‘By the way, I’m not sure whether Matt mentioned this to you, but you’re both invited round to lunch on Sunday. One o’clock sharp.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’ I’d been planning to spend the weekend trying to unpack what I could, but lunch will be a welcome break.
‘I’ll expect you at one then.’
I start to slip on my shoes to leave, but Ruth frowns.
