by Ruth Heald
The volunteer looks at me over her glasses, eyeing the black bin bag doubtfully. ‘Let me have a look.’
She peers into the bag and rummages through the items. ‘Yes, we’ll take these.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, smiling with relief. At least one bin bag of stuff is out of the house.
I leave quickly, keen to speak to Sarah. She’s already a little way down the road when I catch her up.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘Yeah, fine,’ she says. Her eyes are red and puffy.
I want to know what’s wrong and who the baby clothes belonged to, but I hesitate, not wanting to upset her further.
The moment expands. Sarah seems stuck, as if she wants to say something, but can’t form the words.
‘Do you want to get some lunch?’ I ask. A part of me is concerned and wants to check she really is all right. But another part of me wants to get to know her, to reassure myself about her and Matt working together.
She half smiles, and I can see she’s holding back tears. I know what it feels like to be desperately holding things together and I want to reach out and comfort her.
‘OK,’ she replies. ‘It would be nice to get to know you better. I know Matt so well.’ I feel my shoulders tense at the reminder of how close she is to my husband.
We walk together to the garden centre just outside the village. The path is narrow, so I go ahead with the buggy. I can feel Sarah’s eyes on my back, as she walks a pace behind and the wind rustles through the trees.
* * *
The garden centre café is crowded for a weekday, and I manoeuvre Olivia round the different food stations, sliding my brown tray along the ledge. Cutlery clinks and there’s an irregular ring from cash registers opening and closing. Sarah offers to take my bag, which gives me a free hand to reach over and grab a sandwich from the shelf. An elderly lady taps her walking stick against the buggy to tell me to move it out of the way of the drinks section.
We take the only remaining seats, in the coldest part of the conservatory-style extension, and place our trays on the tiny table. Sarah takes her napkin and clears the crumbs.
Olivia whines, and I rock her from side to side, holding her higher than usual so she doesn’t bang her head on the plastic table.
‘So you’ve been having a clear-out?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ Sarah says. She meets my eyes. ‘It’s been a bit emotional actually. I’ve been getting rid of things I should have parted with years ago.’
I want to ask Sarah about the baby clothes. I wonder if she has a much older child. She’s never mentioned any children before, but then again I hardly know her.
‘I’ve been getting rid of Pamela’s old toiletries,’ I say. ‘So I can create a space for me and Matt to actually live in.’
Sarah smiles. ‘Ruth can be difficult.’
‘I suppose you’ve known her a long time?’
‘Since I was a child. She’s always had a knack for getting her own way.’
‘Any advice for me?’ I ask, hopefully.
Sarah looks at her coffee. ‘If you want me to be completely honest, my only advice is not to trust her. I mean, she can be lovely when she wants to be. And she always puts her family first. That’s a good thing. It’s just that when you’re not part of the family…’
‘Matt and I are married,’ I say. I want to sound confident in the security of our relationship, but I hear my voice waver.
‘Maybe it will be different for you then.’ She smiles reassuringly.
‘Ruth seems to like you now,’ I reply, trying to disguise my jealousy.
‘Now I’m not a threat to her,’ Sarah says. ‘When we were going out, I never knew where I stood. I thought of Ruth and Jack as family. I was wrong. They were quick to cast me out when I didn’t fall into line.’
‘I thought you and Ruth were friends.’
‘Anyone in this village with any sense gets on with Ruth. We play tennis occasionally, that’s all.’
I feel uneasy. Everything Sarah’s said makes sense. Ruth is friendly one minute and cruel the next. She’s right – I can’t trust her.
‘How are things at the surgery?’ I ask, changing the subject.
‘You know, fine. I’m glad I had the day off today though. Made me get on with things I’d put off for far too long.’
Olivia’s whines get louder and she scrunches up her face ready to scream.
‘Poor thing,’ Sarah says. ‘She’s fed up. Can I hold her? I’m good with babies.’
I hand her over hesitantly, but Olivia calms down as soon as Sarah holds her in her arms.
‘You’re a natural,’ I say, seeing how content Olivia looks.
‘Thanks,’ she replies, as she pulls faces at Olivia. ‘I could always babysit for you if you ever fancied a night off. I like looking after babies.’
I nod. Matt and I do need some time together, just the two of us. But can I trust her?
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘That’s really kind of you.’
‘Well, any time, just let me know.’
‘Are you a mother yourself?’ I ask, unable to hold back my curiosity any longer.
‘Oh no,’ she says. She smiles a little sadly. ‘My time didn’t come.’
‘There’s still time.’
‘Maybe. I had a miscarriage years ago. I haven’t found the right person to try again with since.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, reaching out and touching her hand. I know exactly how she feels. ‘I had a miscarriage too. Before Olivia. I was twenty weeks. I had to give birth to the baby.’ A little girl. Olivia’s sister. I shiver as I remember the horror of it all and my eyes fill with tears. I can hardly stand to think about it.
Sarah hugs Olivia closer to her, stroking her hair. ‘Mine was a late miscarriage too. Fourteen weeks. Brought on by stress.’
‘Was that why you had the baby clothes?’ I ask gently, wiping the tears from my own eyes with a paper napkin.
She reddens. ‘Yeah. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. Not until now, years later.’
‘It’s a brave thing to do.’ I have my own bundle of clothes for a baby that no longer exists, wrapped up in tissue paper in a box somewhere in the cottage.
‘It was a long time ago. It feels like it’s time to give away the clothes, time to move on.’
‘Yes,’ I say, thinking of all the things that I can’t move on from, the nightmares that still haunt me from events three years ago.
Sarah contemplates her coffee. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying but with you and Matt coming back… somehow it’s made it easier to put the past behind me, to move on. I see you with Olivia. You’re a proper family.’
I swallow a lump in my throat. ‘It’s not always easy.’
‘Well it’s good to see Matt happy again. It sets me free somehow. I can see he’s moved on, and it means I can too.’
‘We are happy,’ I say. If I repeat it often enough, perhaps it will become true.
‘And he finally got his baby.’
‘His baby?’ I look up at her, confused.
She meets my eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, awkwardly. ‘I thought… I suppose I thought you realised.’
‘Realised what?’ But I already know what she’s going to say before the words come out of her mouth.
‘The baby I miscarried was Matt’s.’
Eleven
Matt’s not home until late in the evening, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.
‘Busy day?’ I ask, handing him a glass of water.
‘Yeah. Lots of admin. Sarah had the day off and the phone kept ringing.’
‘I saw Sarah today,’ I reply. ‘We went for lunch.’
‘Oh?’ he says as he collapses down into a kitchen chair. He looks like he might fall asleep where he’s sitting.
‘She told me a few things, you know, about the past.’
I see Matt’s body tense and he straightens up in the chair. I wait for him to speak, wondering if he kn
ows what I’m about to say.
I continue. ‘She said that a long time ago, she was pregnant with your baby. And she miscarried it.’
‘Yeah,’ he says softly, as if he hopes I won’t hear his answer.
‘Why didn’t you mention it?’
‘It’s in the past, Claire.’
‘But it’s a big thing. When I miscarried our daughter…’ Sobs choke me and I have to pause for a moment. I can hardly bear to remember. ‘When I had my own miscarriage, you comforted me. You never mentioned you’d been through it before.’
‘It didn’t seem like the right time. You were so lost in your grief.’
‘Our fertility problems could have been something to do with you. But you must have known that was unlikely as Sarah had been pregnant too. Why didn’t you say anything?’ I remember how desperately I’d wanted a baby, how I’d thought it would fix everything. We’d had so many tests to work out what was wrong.
‘Claire, the doctors couldn’t explain the problems. No one ever really thought it was a problem with me.’
I hear the implication of his words. That it was a problem with me. My high levels of stress. My anxiety. I wonder if he was secretly relieved each time the pregnancy test was negative.
‘I just wish you’d told me. It’s such a big thing. How could you keep it from me?’
* * *
When we go to bed, Matt falls asleep instantly, as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But my anger grows as I lie awake, listening to the house creak and the wind groan. Why has he hidden so many things from me?
His phone vibrates, but he doesn’t stir. Usually I’d leave it, but this time, I reach over. The display says he’s got a text from Sarah, but I can’t see the contents. I tell myself that it could be about work, perhaps she’s sick or going to be late in tomorrow. But it’s 11 p.m. Why would she be texting him this late?
I look at Matt’s sleeping body beside me and feel more alone than ever.
The sun’s shining and the people in the pub gardens swill their pints as they gaze at the river. Olivia is older, about two. Her blonde hair has grown out long and wavy and she has the same determined jawline as Matt. She holds a stick and prods it into the shallow water, trying to lift up a pebble from just below the surface. She gazes adoringly at her father as he crouches beside her.
The sun beats on the back of my neck and I smile. Matt lifts Olivia up so that her feet dangle over the surface of the water and it tickles her toes. She laughs and I laugh with her.
Then Matt starts to wade into the water, going deeper into the centre of the river. My laughter catches in my throat.
Matt’s jeans are soaked, turning a deep, dark blue. I can’t see his face. The only noise is the rush of the river. An empty plastic water bottle flows past, faster than I’d expect. The current’s strong.
I watch as Matt holds Olivia above the water and then suddenly submerges her. I’m frozen in place on the riverbank as her face disappears below the water. Matt holds her down. I want to run to her but I can’t move. I want to scream but I can’t open my mouth to breathe. Seconds pass. Then minutes.
Matt pulls Olivia’s limp body from the water and holds it in his arms, staring down at her face as if he can’t understand what’s happened.
I wake.
My scream catches in the back of my throat as I bolt up in bed. My breathing is fast, and my heart beats faster. I’m drenched in sweat. I see shadows in the room, flitting across the curtains.
I turn on the light. There’s no one there.
It was just a dream. Beside me, Matt stirs in his sleep and rolls over, pulling the cover over him. I creep under beside him, wrapping my arms around his warm back. It offers no comfort.
I lie still, my body tense, despite Matt’s warmth. The dreams are back. I used to have them every night in London. I thought they would stop when we moved but it seems I’ll never escape them. Why do they haunt me? Why can’t I let go of the past?
I hear a creak.
A pipe. Or someone on the stairs.
I listen intently. Outside, the wind blows through the trees. A car roars down the main road. Another creak. A footstep?
Matt snores gently.
I know I’m imagining things, but I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve checked.
I ease myself out of bed and pad softly over to the door. I stand stock-still, listening. There are no sounds. Just my imagination. It would be amusing if I didn’t still feel the ball of fear inside me, solid and hard in the centre of my stomach.
I wonder if I should take something from the bedroom. A weapon. If I really think there’s an intruder, isn’t that what I’d do?
I glance at Matt’s still body. I can’t wake him just because of my paranoia. He’ll only start going on about me being unwell again.
I go to Olivia’s room. Her nightlight illuminates her, sleeping soundly, one arm above her head. I can see her chest rising and falling gently with each breath.
I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye.
It’s just a car’s headlights casting the shadow of a tree onto the bedroom curtains.
Olivia stirs and I leave, not wanting to wake her.
In our bedroom, Matt sleeps on undisturbed and I feel a flicker of resentment.
Something still doesn’t feel right.
I turn the light on in the hallway. It’s too bright for four in the morning and I blink myself into a fuller state of consciousness. I make my way downstairs and check the front door. It’s double locked. We never use the bolt, but now I reach down and slide it across the bottom of the door.
I go through the kitchen to the back door and try the handle. The door doesn’t budge. It only has a simple key lock. I peer out into the darkness. I wonder if we should add a bolt, so it can only be opened from the inside.
I stare out at the garden. If there’s someone staring back then they can see right into the house. There’s no blind to cover the glass of the back door. I’ll order one in the morning.
Suddenly I see a reflection move in the glass. They are behind me. I scream as I turn, bracing myself for attack.
Matt.
It’s only Matt.
‘Why are all the lights on?’ he asks, rubbing his eyes.
‘I thought I heard someone in the house.’ I look at my bare feet, feel the cold tiles beneath them. I realise how ridiculous the whole thing sounds. I have come down alone in my nightdress to confront an intruder.
‘What? Why?’
‘I… I…’ I don’t want to tell him about the dream. Especially when he already thinks I’m going mad.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say finally. ‘I just thought I heard something, that’s all. It’s nothing.’
He grips the kitchen counter and I can see he’s frustrated. His bloodshot eyes tell me how much he needs to rest. He’s been working too many hours. It’s taking its toll.
Finally, he reaches out and puts his arms around me. I can tell he is going through the motions, calming me down, so he can get back to bed.
‘There’s no one here, Claire.’
Even in his embrace, my body’s tense and I can’t relax. But I know he’s right. All the doors were locked. There’s no sign of a break-in. No one’s in the house.
‘Are you having the dreams again?’
He can read me so easily.
I look up at him and nod, ashamed. I feel like a disturbed child with a calming parent. Our relationship shouldn’t be like this.
‘They just mean you’re stressed,’ he says.
Matt means to reassure me, but I can still feel the adrenalin flooding through me. I know I’m stressed. I thought I’d left my fears behind in London, but I haven’t. Out here there’s even more to deal with. The never-ending dusty clutter that fills the house, my interfering mother-in-law, Matt spending so much time at work. With Sarah.
The thoughts ricochet around my head. But to say them out loud would be ungrateful. I was the one who insisted we move. I was the one that wanted al
l this.
Matt’s arms around me should comfort me, but something still doesn’t feel right. I wish I could calm down, but I can’t seem to relax.
I pull away from Matt’s embrace. I should be grateful that he loves me, both at my best and at my worst. Even when I messed up, he was there to help me pick up the pieces. I know I can rely on him.
Matt goes to the kitchen sink and pours two glasses of water. He hands one to me and I take a sip.
‘I think you should go to see a doctor again,’ he says.
I don’t want to see a doctor. I don’t want to have to explain how I feel. I don’t want to admit that I’m falling apart.
‘It was only a dream, Matt. Let’s go back to bed.’
‘Claire, please. Just think about it. I’m sure a professional could help.’
‘All right, I’ll think about it.’
I follow him out of the kitchen and up the stairs, checking the back door and then the front door as I pass. They’re still locked.
As we go back into the bedroom, Olivia’s screams pierce the night.
Matt looks over at me and sighs. ‘She’s awake now,’ he says accusingly.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll go.’
‘Thanks. I need to get some sleep so I’m OK for work tomorrow.’ He settles himself into bed under the covers, puts in his earplugs and turns away from me. I sigh as I hear his breathing deepen.
I go into Olivia’s room. Her face is wet with tears and I lift her out of the cot and hold her close to my chest. She squirms in my arms and I sit down with her in the rocking chair. I hum a lullaby, to calm myself as much as Olivia. I do the only thing that will quieten her and put her on my breast. She struggles against me before she latches and then settles.
I move back and forth in the rocking chair, but the positioning of the wooden armrests makes it difficult to get comfortable while holding Olivia. My arms start to ache and I keep humming. The tune helps me ground myself, place myself in the real world. Escape the dream. That’s all it was, I tell myself. A dream.
But in the deathly silence of the night, reality and dreams seem to merge. It’s hard to know what’s real. Olivia’s nightlight chases away the shadows and I’m grateful. There’s no one here but me and Olivia. I checked the whole house. No intruder.
