by Ruth Heald
Eight
Despite my argument with Matt last night, I feel refreshed in the morning. Olivia only woke up once in the night and so I have some energy. After Matt’s left for work, I start the clear-out of the house in earnest. I’m sick of tripping over Pamela’s things. I don’t care what Matt and his mother think. Matt’s hardly ever here. I’m the one who has to be in the cottage, all day, every day.
Without a car, I can’t remove any larger items so I put them in the garden instead. I tackle the bulky mobility aids first. After an hour, there’s a collection of plastic walkers and wooden walking sticks lined up neatly next to the pond.
A part of me wants to throw the equipment into the water and watch it sink beneath the murky surface. But I don’t like to go too close to the edge. I’m afraid I’ll lose my balance and fall in, become tangled in the darkness beneath, slowly drowning as my baby watches calmly, sitting in her chair, on the other side of the patio doors.
I shiver. I can almost feel the water encircling me, the reeds wrapping round my arms.
I quickly return to the house and look back at the garden. With the walls of the house separating me from the water, I feel safer. I let myself feel a bubble of satisfaction that Ruth will be able to see the equipment from her kitchen window. Up until now she has been insulated from Pamela’s mess and clutter, in her huge, neat and tidy house.
I carry Olivia through to the living room, then grab the scissors and pierce the tape of the nearest box. Now the plastic walkers have been moved, there’s a little bit more space for unpacking.
The first box contains stationery and notebooks for the study. I pull out the bright orange diary that I wrote in when I was pregnant. I read it back to myself.
I’ve spent the day shopping for baby clothes. I want this so much, I can’t believe it’s finally happening.
My words are only from three months ago but it’s as if they’ve been written by a complete stranger. There’s page after page of excited scribbles, full of hopes for the baby and for myself. I can feel the anticipation coming off the pages as I count down to my due date. I thought the baby would be a fresh start for me and Matt. A chance to put the past behind us.
No matter how many screaming children I saw in supermarkets and shopping centres, I knew with absolute certainty that motherhood was what I wanted. Friends told me there were ups and downs, but all I saw was the stream of smiling baby pictures on Facebook; proud parents beaming at christenings, neat children in ironed school uniforms ready for their first days of school. Talk of sleepless nights and nappy changes went in one ear and out the other. I wanted a baby so much that I tuned out the negatives. I thought it would fix something inside me. If I had a baby, I wouldn’t be so broken.
The diary stopped the day Olivia was born, the many remaining blank pages waiting to record the joy of motherhood. But I haven’t been able to continue. The thoughts I have now are too complicated to put down in writing, I can’t let them loose on the page.
I planned to share the diary with Olivia when she was older. A gift she could keep forever, detailing her first year in the world. I swallow my guilt. At this rate it’ll never be finished. Olivia must never know how I feel about her. I don’t even want to acknowledge it myself.
Beneath the diary is a stack of parenting books. During my pregnancy I devoured them, determined to be the perfect mother, to make up for the fact that I wouldn’t have my own to guide me. Somewhere I have a folder where I neatly summarised the key points from each book. But no amount of advice could prepare me for the reality of motherhood. And no amount of advice could replicate the natural love I’m supposed to feel for my child. Why can’t I feel it? There’s something wrong with me, something missing.
I sigh and carry the books upstairs. I shove the diary in the drawer. Maybe one day, when I’m happier, I’ll be able to look at it again and complete it for Olivia.
The next box reveals kitchen equipment. Plates and bowls and mugs. I know there’s no place for them. Every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen is already full with Matt’s grandmother’s crockery. There’s hardly enough space for our food.
I consider emptying the box and then filling it back up with Pamela’s plates and bowls, but the whole thing feels like a waste of energy, so I close it again.
I hear Olivia grumbling upstairs. She must have woken from her nap so I leave the boxes and tend to my daughter.
While I’m breastfeeding, I think about my argument with Matt last night, how dismissive he was when I asked about Sarah. Ever since I’ve found out that they used to be a couple, I’ve had that niggling sense of doubt. I wonder why he never told me about her. Unable to resist, I search for Sarah online on my phone. I find her Facebook profile and scroll through the publicly available photos. There’s not much there. Just a few of her on a beach and a couple in the countryside. I hover over the ‘add friend’ button and then decide against it. I can’t let my curiosity about her take over.
But she makes me feel uneasy. I don’t understand why she’s stayed in the village when she had so many prospects. What on earth would possess her?
I abandon Facebook and try typing Sarah’s name into Google. She has such a common name and there are too many results from a basic search so I add the name of the village, and then add the county.
The first result is Matt’s website. He set up a site for his new surgery before we even moved out to the countryside. He thought he’d get new enquiries, but it only got a few visitors a week. From the data, it looked like it was just the same people coming back to his website again and again. Matt and his mother, we thought. Not new customers. The website hadn’t even had any enquiries. I’d forgotten it existed.
Sarah’s photo is front and centre of the newsfeed on the site, introducing her as a new member of staff. The only member of staff. She smiles into the camera, looking professional yet countrified, in a neatly ironed blouse and wellington boots, her auburn hair shimmering. She could be a model for one of those country lifestyle magazines. I sigh. There’s no point comparing myself to her.
I scroll further down the feed. There’s not much else on there. Just the news that the practice is opening, accompanied by a picture of me and Matt, arm in arm. I’m beaming into the camera, heavily pregnant and happy. I wish Matt had asked me before he put the photo up. He knows I worry about privacy. Anyone could see my name on that website and track me down.
I push the thoughts aside. I can tell Matt to take the picture down, but it’s unlikely to be a problem anyway. It’s already been up a few weeks and clearly no one has been looking at the website. I’m just paranoid. I need to stop thinking like this. I look at the time and realise I must leave. I’m meeting Emma at the park with Olivia.
By the time I’ve changed Olivia’s nappy, put her coat and gloves on, checked the contents of the nappy bag and settled her in the buggy, I’m running fifteen minutes late. I text Emma to apologise and then rush out, pushing the buggy up the hill at speed, working up a sweat. When I arrive at the park I see Emma sitting on the bench alone, staring into the fountain.
‘Emma.’ I smile at her and she gets up, wrapping me in a hug.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ she says.
‘You too. Sorry I’m a bit late.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I was just enjoying the rare sunshine.’
Despite the cold, the sky is clear and the sun beams down, warming our bare faces between the hats and scarfs.
‘Thanks,’ I say, looking around for her buggy. ‘Where’s your lovely daughter?’
‘Oh, she’s with Dan.’
A wave of envy washes over me. While her ex looks after Lizzie, Emma has some time to herself, without a clinging, needy baby.
‘You’re free,’ I say brightly. ‘You can do anything you like.’
I see the expression on Emma’s face and wish I could take it back. She’s told me that when she’s not with Lizzie she feels bereft, as if she’s without a limb.
‘I’m sorry,’ I
say. ‘What time are you picking her up from Dan’s?’
‘Not for ages, so we have the whole afternoon.’ I see her trying to force a smile and I desperately try to think of a way to cheer her up. I can see how hard it is for her without Lizzie.
Olivia interrupts us with a scream. It’s a welcome distraction and I take her out of the buggy and hug her close. Her cries continue.
‘Is she hungry?’ Emma asks.
‘I don’t think so. I only just fed her.’
‘Do you want me to take her?’ Emma reaches out her arms for Olivia and she immediately calms in Emma’s embrace.
‘You’ve got the touch,’ I say quietly. I feel like such a failure next to her.
‘I always wanted lots of children,’ she replies. ‘But I might have to stick with just one.’ She blinks back tears and stares into the fountain.
‘Oh, Emma.’ I hate to see her like this. She’s normally so full of life. ‘You’re such a great mother. I really hope you’ll get another chance. You’ve got so much going for you. You’re kind and caring. And beautiful too. You’ll have your pick of men when you’re ready to date again.’
She doesn’t smile like I expect and I wonder if I’ve been insensitive. I don’t want to dismiss her heartache.
‘Maybe,’ she says despondently.
I don’t know what to say. I’m grateful I’ve got Matt. He’s always been a good husband to me. At least, he used to be. I try not to think about the distance that’s grown between us lately. About my bubbling fears over Sarah.
‘What’s difficult,’ Emma says, ‘is knowing that I’ll never have the life I planned. I imagined it so differently. A family. Happiness. But just one person can take that all away from you in an instant.’
‘You don’t need Dan,’ I say. ‘He hasn’t taken everything. You still have Lizzie.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘I wish she was here now.’ She looks at me intently and strokes Olivia’s hair. Together they look like an advert for motherhood. Jealousy washes over me. Why can’t that be me with my daughter?
‘You’re so lucky to have Matt,’ Emma continues. ‘You two are perfect together.’
I remember what Matt said last night about not wanting children. I dab the corner of each eye to stop the tears falling.
‘My marriage is far from perfect,’ I admit. I instantly regret my words. How can I complain about Matt’s small flaws when Emma is struggling on her own?
But she turns to me, concerned. ‘Is everything OK, Claire?’
‘It’s nothing. Well, not nothing. I’ve just got an uneasy feeling.’
‘About what?’
‘Do you know Sarah?’ I ask.
‘No,’ Emma says, eyebrows raised.
‘She’s a friend of Matt’s. Actually, an ex-girlfriend. Who he’s started employing at the surgery.’
‘Gosh, I can see why you’d be a bit… concerned.’
‘Can you?’ I’m so relieved she doesn’t think I’m just paranoid. ‘I mean it’s probably nothing, but…’ I continue uncertainly.
‘It does seem a bit strange.’ Emma confirms my own thoughts.
‘I trust him. It’s just odd he didn’t mention to me that she’s an ex. I found out from his mother.’
Emma is quiet, her brow furrowed.
‘What do you think?’ I ask. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to confide in someone, I’m desperate for her opinion.
‘I don’t know. Every relationship is different, I suppose.’ She glances down at the floor, before she continues hesitantly. ‘But the whole thing reminds me a bit of Dan. When he was cheating, he just stopped telling me things. Things that were important.’
I take Olivia back into my arms, and put her in her pushchair.
‘I can trust Matt,’ I repeat. ‘I know I can.’ But even I can hear the waver in my voice, as I try to convince myself it’s true.
* * *
We walk through the park side by side, lost in thought. I spot a grandmother pushing her granddaughter in a pram, talking gently to the child as she strolls down the path. I imagine what the mother might be doing. Working out at the gym. Resting. Shopping. Anything she wants.
I swallow my jealousy.
‘Do you ever wish your parents were around to help out?’ Emma asks, reading my mind.
‘Yeah, I do.’ I think of how much my mother would have loved Olivia. The close relationship they could have had. But some things aren’t meant to be.
‘Me too,’ Emma says wistfully. ‘My parents died when I was tiny. I never had anyone to guide me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, feeling bad for her. At least I had a mother growing up.
‘It’s OK,’ she replies. ‘I haven’t thought about it for years, but now when I see grandparents with their grandchildren I think of my own parents and remember how I felt as a child. How alone and lost. I don’t want Lizzie to miss out on that love the way I did.’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I say. ‘I just have my mother-in-law. And although she tries to help…’
Emma laughs. Every single time we’ve met I’ve complained about Ruth.
‘She’s difficult,’ Emma confirms.
‘Yep. She keeps coming into the house unannounced, moving things around. Matt says he’ll speak to her but––’
‘Sometimes family aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,’ Emma says. ‘That’s why we have friends.’
I smile and nod, blinking back tears.
‘We can be family to each other,’ Emma continues, putting her arm around me.
I feel warm inside. It’s so nice to have someone around who listens and understands me. Even if my own family aren’t here and Matt’s family don’t seem to like me, I’ll still have Emma. I’m so grateful for that.
We walk round the park for hours, just chatting. I start to feel alive again, normal. Claire the person, rather than Claire the mother.
Emma suggests we go and feed the ducks.
I hesitate before I agree. I’m nervous around water, especially with small children. But I know I have to get over it. The future will involve paddling pools and swimming lessons. I can’t let my fear rule Olivia’s childhood.
We head over to the corner shop on the edge of the park to buy bread.
All around the water’s edge children are throwing bread clumsily in the direction of the ducks. Some goes in the water, some falls onto the path.
Emma and I watch.
Olivia is far too young to feed the ducks and I start to wonder why we thought this was a good idea. Two adults standing side by side, throwing bits of sliced bread into a pond.
I can’t take my eyes off the children. As I throw my bread absent-mindedly, I count them and assign each one to a parent.
The reeds are tall and thick. It wouldn’t take much for a child to fall into the water and become tangled up. I’m not sure if anyone would even be able to see them from the path.
A child on the other side of the pond wanders closer to the water, drawn in by the swimming swans. His mother is casually chatting behind him.
Watch him! I want to scream. Watch him!
But I don’t and the child returns safely back to his mother to get more bread.
Another child to my right. Walking just a bit too close to the edge.
My heart beats faster. I can feel the heat rising in me. Despite the day’s chill, I’m sweating under my winter coat. I feel sick. I can’t catch my breath.
I need to get out of here now. I grab the handles of Olivia’s buggy and push at it. It doesn’t budge. I push harder and the back wheels rise off the ground, moving forward an inch.
The brake. I put my foot under the lock and release it. The wheels free and I speed away from the pond.
‘Are you all right, Claire?’ Emma shouts after me.
A minute later I have to stop. I bend over, my breathing ragged and fast. I throw up onto the grass.
Nine
Emma appears beside me, breathless from running.
&n
bsp; ‘Claire, what happened? Are you all right?’ Her eyes crinkle in concern.
‘I’m fine.’ I stumble over the words, embarrassed.
‘You’ve been sick.’ Emma takes the buggy with one hand and uses the other to guide me over to a bench. ‘Sit down,’ she says. ‘Get your breath back.’
I slide onto the bench, still feeling unstable and wobbly. I can’t seem to control the panic still flowing through my system.
Emma places Olivia opposite me. She’s staring at the bright blue sky above us, unaware of the fear that’s taken over my shaking body.
I bend over, put my head between my knees and try to calm down.
Emma strokes my back. ‘It’s OK, Claire. Take as long as you need.’
When I finally sit up, I stare at the sky and try to take deep breaths. I let my hands rest on the wooden bench, attempting to ground myself.
‘How are you feeling?’ Emma asks.
‘A bit better.’ I manage a half-smile. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry for.’
‘I just panicked, that’s all. Sometimes the water…’ I pause as I feel a wave of nausea washing through me. I don’t think I can explain how I feel, not even to Emma.
‘It’s all right,’ Emma says. ‘There’s no need to be sorry.’
‘I have them occasionally – the attacks. For a while I really struggled. I’m almost better now.’ I smile ruefully. ‘At least I thought I was.’
‘It must be so scary,’ Emma says.
‘I’m OK.’
Emma smiles at me and pulls some tissues out of her bag, offering me one. I dab at my eyes and then wipe the sick from around my mouth. I’m so embarrassed. I wish she hadn’t seen me like this. I look like I’m not coping.
