by Ruth Heald
I hear a sound from the kitchen. Did I imagine it?
I stand stock-still, trying to listen above the noise of Olivia screaming in my arms.
I’m sure I can hear something.
Footsteps.
Someone is in my house.
‘Hello?’
The door of the living room opens.
I just about manage to hold back my scream as Ruth appears, smiling.
My pulse is still racing as I force a smile. My fear turns slowly to annoyance. I thought I’d made myself clear I didn’t want her letting herself in.
I think about changing the locks. But I know this would be a step too far. This isn’t my house.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, Ruth is beside me in the living room. I’m not sure I have the energy to confront her. I haven’t slept for more than two hours in a row since Olivia was born.
‘Hello, love.’ She leans towards me to kiss me on the cheek, and I have to stop myself recoiling. Then she puts her face right up close to Olivia’s and coos. I tense. Olivia whimpers.
Ruth frowns at my half-drunk mug of tea on the coffee table, and I realise it has veered slightly off the mat. She picks it up, alongside a plate with the last remnants of my breakfast toast.
‘There’s no need to clear up,’ I say, finding my voice at last, shifting Olivia from one arm to the other and reaching to take them from her hands. I still feel shaky.
‘It’s no bother,’ she says, striding off into the kitchen. I hear the tap running and the washing up being done.
I sink onto the sofa, defeated. But there’s only a few moments of respite before she returns.
She sits herself beside me and hands me a fresh cup of tea, pulling a mat across the coffee table so it’s right in front of me. I put Olivia back in her chair, hyperaware of the danger of the hot drink.
Ruth looks at the picture of the Vietnamese motorcyclist on the wall and frowns.
‘I’m not sure that really goes there,’ she says.
‘I wanted to brighten up the cottage a bit.’
‘I suppose it’s an acquired taste. How did you put it up? I hope you didn’t just use a picture hook? We’ll have to repaint before we sell in that case.’
‘Sell?’ I can’t hide the shock from my voice. It will take Matt and me a while to save up to buy our own place, and Ruth had given the impression we could stay as long as we needed.
‘Well yes, we’ll have to sell it eventually, of course. You can’t expect to live rent-free forever in someone else’s house.’
‘No, I wasn’t expecting that.’ Confusion ripples through me. She’d offered. We’d moved away from our friends and the city because she’d made it sound like we’d be able to live here until we saved up a deposit. I feel a bit queasy.
‘Where are the china elephants?’ she asks.
I’ve moved them from the mantelpiece. I’m planning to put up photos of Matt and me and Olivia in their place. I want the cottage to feel like a family home. Our home.
‘I put them in the cupboard. I didn’t want to risk them falling on Olivia.’
She frowns. ‘You’d have to be pretty clumsy for that to happen.’
‘Do you want them in your house?’ I offer.
‘Oh no. I don’t want the clutter. But you must look after them. They’re part of the family.’
I nod. I’m part of the family too, but perhaps not as important as the china elephants.
Olivia starts to grumble. I sip my tea, feeling uncomfortable, and wonder how long my mother-in-law is planning to stay.
‘Aren’t you going to see to her?’ Ruth asks.
I go over and pick Olivia up. ‘She’s like this all the time,’ I say, as I try to comfort her. It sounds like an excuse.
‘Matt said you were finding it hard,’ Ruth says, and leans in closer. ‘It’s difficult looking after a little one. Sometimes my two really made me lose my temper.’
What has Matt told her?
I try to hide the anger that bubbles up inside me. It’s none of Ruth’s business how I’m coping.
‘I’m fine.’
‘I wanted to come round to see if you’d read the paper.’
‘The paper?’
‘Yes, the local paper. There’s a story in it about a mother who burned her baby.’ She pulls the newspaper triumphantly out of her bag.
‘Look,’ she says, holding it out to me.
The article fills the front page. An accident with a pan of boiling water. A baby scarred for life. I feel the familiar fear rising up inside me. That fear that I will take my eyes off Olivia for one second and something awful will happen.
‘They think the mother was negligent,’ Ruth says, hammering the message home. She looks round the room disapprovingly at the scattered baby toys and teethers. ‘It just shows, you can never be too careful.’
I know she’s warning me, telling me I must tidy up or it will be my fault if something awful happens. I feel overwhelmed. I’m so exhausted. Looking after Olivia takes every waking second.
I pass Olivia over to Ruth and bend over, rapidly picking the toys off the floor and placing them in a pile in the corner of the room. There’s nowhere else to put them. All the cupboards are full.
Ruth hands Olivia back to me as soon as I sit back down. She returns the paper to her bag and changes the subject. ‘It must be hard with Matt out at work all the time,’ she says, her eyes suddenly kind.
‘A little,’ I reply, unsure of her intentions.
‘You know he only employed Sarah because he’s a kind man.’
‘Sarah?’
I remember how insistent Ruth was that Matt offer Sarah a job.
‘I thought maybe that’s what was bothering you.’
‘Why would that bother me?’ She must think I’m jealous. Any excuse to believe I’m not coping.
‘A lot of people would be bothered by their husband employing his ex-girlfriend. But not you, clearly.’ She laughs and reaches out to touch my shoulder. ‘I’m lucky to have such a well-adjusted daughter-in-law.’
I feel my shoulders tense as reality hits me. Matt hasn’t been home before 9 p.m. since we moved. He’s been spending all his time working. With his ex.
He’s misled me. He never told me that he and Sarah had history. My stomach knots round itself. I thought I could trust him. Why is he keeping things from me?
Ruth is staring at me intently and I realise she knows I wasn’t aware. She wants a reaction. That’s the reason she’s come to see me.
‘Why would it worry me?’ I say, trying to sound casual.
‘Oh, you’re a brave woman,’ Ruth laughs. ‘Of course, it shouldn’t worry you. Matt’s such a loyal partner. But I know how easy it is to get paranoid. He’s a good-looking man.’
‘Matt loves me,’ I say, but my voice sounds hesitant.
‘I’m so glad you feel like that, dear,’ Ruth says. ‘I just wanted to check you were all right with it.’
I frown. Why did Ruth invite Sarah round for Sunday lunch with us and then insist she take a job with Matt?
‘It doesn’t worry me,’ I say. ‘I’m sure she’s a good employee.’ But Matt hasn’t mentioned her at all. I have no idea what goes on when he goes to work. Is it suspicious that he never talks about her? He spends all day with her. Surely there must be something to report.
Ruth sees right through me. ‘Matt’s never been good at communication,’ she says. ‘There are lots of things he probably hasn’t mentioned to you.’
I desperately want to ask her what she means, but I’m determined not to rise to the bait.
She scans my face as I try not to react. Then she laughs. ‘You know, there are probably things he hasn’t even told me. He’s always been secretive.’
I get the feeling that she’s testing me, seeing how far she can push me. I stay silent as she searches my face, and then she seems to tire of her game.
‘Well, I just came round to check you were all right,’ she says. She kisses
Olivia on the cheek. ‘I’ve got tennis in half an hour so I’d better be off. Unless you need me, of course?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I’ve watered the plant in the kitchen for you. It looked a bit dry.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And this place could really do with a hoover. It’s filthy.’
‘Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb.’ I sing loudly and tunelessly over Olivia’s screams as I grate the cheese on top of the lasagne. I just need to get it in the oven and then I’ll give her my undivided attention.
I close the oven door and glance at my watch. Half an hour later than I intended to put it in, but not too bad. Matt will just have to wait a little while for his dinner. He should be back any minute.
My phone beeps.
Sorry. I’ll be another hour. Got to wrap up the accounts. Can’t wait to see you later.
I sigh. Why can’t he just come home? I’m with Olivia all day, every day. I just want him to take her off my hands for an hour.
I wonder if Sarah is working late too.
My stomach knots into a ball of doubt. I’ve got no way of knowing what he’s doing. I just have to trust him. And I do trust him. But why didn’t he mention that Sarah was an ex?
I feel a wall of resentment rising inside me, and tears sting my eyes. I try to put Sarah out of my mind. I can’t let Ruth’s words get to me.
I shouldn’t be annoyed with Matt for working late. When Matt and I first met I worked day and night, while Matt was often home, preparing dinner in the evenings. But our roles have reversed. I’m at home all day with Olivia, and Matt is always out working. It feels like his life is continuing, while mine remains stuck in a relentless cycle of nappies and breastfeeding.
I know I’m being unreasonable. I think of all the meals that Matt used to cook that I often thoughtlessly missed because I was still in the office, rushing round to meet deadlines and submit my copy to the editor. He’d always understood. Why can’t I?
But I just want him to come home. I thought he would put Olivia to bed, rock her to sleep, then wrap his big arms around me. I’ve been looking forward to that all day.
I pick up my phone, my finger hovering over Matt’s number. I shouldn’t ring him. He’s under so much pressure already. The practice has to make money, otherwise we’ll never be able to buy our own place. And I don’t want to be needy and dependent, the wife at home waiting anxiously for the husband to return.
But motherhood has changed me. Here I am with the baby I’d longed for, dependent on Matt coming home to feel human again.
Olivia is still screaming and I pick her up and rock her. I should bath her and put her to bed, but it all seems too much. I want to scream myself. I lift her and carry her up the stairs, holding her under one arm while I turn on the bath taps. I pace up and down the upstairs landing as I rock her back and forth.
By the time I’ve got Olivia ready for bed, put her down and waited for her screams to silence, I’m exhausted. Matt should be home by now. This time I do text him. I’m angry. I can’t help myself. I look at Olivia asleep and think how peaceful she looks, so still, almost like a doll. I think about lying down on the bed next to the cot, getting a bit of sleep, when I remember the lasagne. It’s been in the oven too long. It’ll be burnt by now.
As I’m turning the temperature down on the oven, I hear Matt’s key in the lock. I look at my watch. He’s been half an hour longer than he said he would be.
I hear him come through the door and go upstairs to the toilet. He hasn’t even said hello.
‘Olivia looks peaceful,’ he says as he comes into the kitchen. He tries to kiss me on the cheek, but I turn away.
‘She’s been screaming all day,’ I reply. ‘And your mother came over unannounced. Let herself in the kitchen door, without even knocking.’
‘I’ll speak to her.’ Matt tries to wrap his arms around me, but I’m too angry to accept his embrace.
‘You told her I wasn’t coping,’ I say accusingly. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘I didn’t say that, Claire. All I said was that it was difficult for you with me working all day. And that it made it harder because the house was full of stuff. I was trying to get her to start clearing out.’
I sigh. He’s made it sound like it’s only me that wants the house sorted. Because I’m not coping.
‘I wish you hadn’t asked like that. And anyway, she says she’s going to sell it once it’s been cleared.’
‘She doesn’t mean it.’
He always brushes away my concerns.
‘Let’s just eat,’ I say. I turn to the oven and open it. I see the charred cheese on top of the lasagne. I’ll have to scrape that off. ‘It’s been ready ages, it’s burnt.’
‘Thank you,’ Matt says. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I just got caught up with work.’
‘Was Sarah there?’ I blurt it out without thinking.
‘Well, yes she was. She wanted to help out.’
‘Right,’ I say, putting the lasagne dish on the kitchen surface with a clatter. ‘Your mother told me she’s your ex.’ I hate the way my voice sounds, shaky and on the verge of tears. But I can’t hold back.
‘Yes. From a long time ago. We were teenagers.’ He sighs and leans heavily against the counter.
‘Why didn’t you mention it?’ I scrape the black bits off the top of the lasagne with a sharp knife and cut two helpings for me and Matt. I’m not even sure if I’m hungry any more.
‘I didn’t think to say anything. It was Mum who wanted me to employ her.’
‘So you’re at work together all day, late into the night, and I just stay here cooking and looking after our baby, being the perfect little housewife, putting your dinner on the table?’
Even as I say this, I know that it isn’t true. The kitchen looks like a bomb has hit it. There are utensils and dirty plates everywhere. The surfaces are spattered with sauce. I am far from the perfect housewife.
Matt sighs. ‘Let’s not talk about it now. We’re both tired.’
‘I’m the one that’s tired, Matt. I’m the one that gets up three times in the night to feed Olivia, while you sleep.’
‘And you’re the one who wanted a baby.’
He says it so quietly that I think I must have misheard him.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Let’s just eat.’
Shock reels through me. ‘I was the one who wanted a baby? But you did too!’ I want to throw the lasagne at him, to hurt him. Make him understand how hard this is for me.
‘I suppose I did. But it was something you just suddenly set your heart on. When we were dating we both said we didn’t want to be tied down. We had our jobs, we had enough money, loads of holidays. Don’t you remember?’
I know this is true. When Matt and I met, my career was more important to me than anything and I loved the life we built for ourselves.
But over time, my priorities changed.
‘When we discussed children, you said you wanted them too.’
‘I said that if that would make you happy, then I wanted what you wanted. I… I just wanted you to be happy. You were so sad, Claire, after what happened. And you seemed to think that a child was the answer, that a baby would fix everything.’
There’s some truth in what he says, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to even think about it. I’m angry that he’s saying this now, when it’s too late.
‘Are you saying you didn’t want our daughter?’ I fight back with the words I know will hurt him.
‘You know I’m not saying that. You’re being irrational.’ His voice is louder now. ‘You decided you wanted a child and I went along with it.’
‘You went along with it?’ Now I’m furious, the pulse in my forehead throbbing so loudly, I can hardly think straight. I remember how hard we tried for a baby. The unexplained infertility. The trips back and forth to the doctors. The baby I lost. The medical investigations to work out what might be wrong with us. I had though
t Matt was just as determined as me to make it work.
He sighs. ‘You know I didn’t mean that. I’m tired. Let’s just eat.’
I slam the plate of burnt, tepid lasagne down in front of him. Sauce and cheese splashes up onto his shirt and he glares at me angrily as he rises suddenly from his seat and turns to face me.
‘Claire!’
His face is up close to mine and anger radiates from him. For a second, I think he might hit me. I turn and run from the room, tears streaming down my face.
They are watching me. The car has been parked opposite our driveway for an hour now, in the only spot with a direct view of our house, through the gap in the trees. In that hour the driver hasn’t moved from the front seat. I’ve checked every ten minutes.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m imagining things, if the car is really empty, the owner visiting one of the other houses. The driver is just a shadow, so still that they’re hardly there at all. But then bright sunlight reflects off the screen of their phone and I know they’re real, their face turned towards the house, watching. Who are they? They must be able to see me too, looking out.
I can’t concentrate with them outside. My body is tense with fear, on edge at what might come next. What do they want?
I can’t let anything disrupt our lives here.
I’ve got used to the way things are, confined to the house. I’ve learnt to make the best of it, keeping myself occupied. I’ve learnt to tiptoe around my husband when he’s home, navigating my way carefully round his rage. We exist in a strange equilibrium, an unlikely dance of avoidance and togetherness. He is aggressive, I am passive. He is hard, I am soft. Yin and yang, the sun and the moon. It works somehow.
But it’s a delicate balance. And now someone is watching, threatening the life we’ve built. I remember how angry my husband was the other day, when he suggested I was having an affair. Has he sent someone to spy on me?
I shiver, afraid, although there is nothing for him to find out. No affair. No friends. No life.
I don’t exist any more. Not in any real sense. I benefit from the trappings of my husband’s success: the huge house, my four by four parked in the driveway, my top of the range phone. But I don’t own the house. I never drive my expensive car. And I don’t have any friends to call. I don’t even have social media any more. My husband made me delete my accounts. There’s no trace of me. No pictures. Nothing.
