by Ruth Heald
I follow her with Olivia. I’m being silly. Emma knows me. She’s my friend and she has her own baby. She won’t care if the bedroom is messy. She knows what it’s like trying to keep on top of everything.
I strap Olivia in her chair in the bedroom, but she immediately starts crying. I draw the curtains and sit on top of the tangle of duvet on the unmade bed to breastfeed her. Emma steps over Olivia’s rattle on the floor and goes over to the temporary fabric cupboard that’s sagging under the weight of our clothes. She thumbs through my dresses.
‘This one’s nice,’ she says, holding up a blue and white striped dress that I last wore to a spring wedding five years ago.
‘Definitely doesn’t fit,’ I say. I’ve kept it in the cupboard hopefully, thinking that one day maybe I’d squeeze back into it. I indicate my stomach. ‘I guess it takes a while to shift the baby weight.’ I say it lightly, but I feel horribly self-conscious. I’ve been meaning to do some more exercise, like the doctor suggested.
Emma holds it up in front of the mirror. Even in her jeans and fitted T-shirt, she’s beautiful. I can’t help comparing her body to mine. Her flat stomach doesn’t overhang her jeans and her breasts are pert and small. I try to control my jealousy. If you saw Emma in the street you’d find it hard to believe she’d recently had a baby.
‘Can I try it on?’ Emma asks.
‘Oh yeah. Sure.’ I feel a stab of annoyance. I know Emma will look better in the dress than I ever looked in it, even when I was much thinner.
Emma wriggles out of her jeans. I can see the scar of a caesarean etched across her belly.
Not so perfect after all.
I immediately feel guilty.
Emma pulls her top over her head and slips the dress on. It fits perfectly, clinging in all the right places. Her straight blonde hair hangs neatly down the back.
Self-consciously, I run my fingers through my own messy hair. I want to straighten it before I go out.
I notice Emma’s perfectly manicured nails. ‘How do you look after Lizzie without breaking a nail?’ I ask.
Emma laughs as she twirls round in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection over her shoulder. ‘Practice,’ she says.
‘You make childcare look easy.’
‘Thanks,’ she replies with a smile.
I take Olivia off my breast and she whines. Emma picks her up and spins her around, the skirt of my dress swirling with her.
I go over to the cupboard and pick out a blue-grey pinafore. It isn’t as sexy as the other dress, but it’s flattering. I’ve worn it since I’ve given birth and it disguises my stomach.
I pull it over my head and look in the mirror. I must be nearly twice the size of Emma.
‘You look awesome,’ Emma says, and I try and smile. ‘Matt’s going to be blown away. Now let’s do your hair and make-up.’
Emma puts Olivia back in the baby seat. Then she starts straightening my unruly hair while I apply my mascara. It feels nice to be pampered for once.
When we hear Matt’s key in the lock, we’re concentrating so hard that we both jump and the mascara wand jabs my eye.
‘Ow!’ My eyes start to water and I blink rapidly.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll redo it,’ Emma says. ‘There’s plenty of time.’
Matt comes into the bedroom and puts down his rucksack. He nods at Emma.
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I’m Matt.’
‘Emma,’ she replies, holding out her hand with a smile.
‘That’s Claire’s dress,’ he says. His eyes dart over Emma’s body before he corrects himself and looks at her face.
He turns to me briefly. ‘You look beautiful,’ he says, as if he hasn’t noticed the mascara down my face.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, feeling invisible as his eyes return to Emma.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Matt and I wander up Oxford high street, navigating the pavement easily without a buggy to manoeuvre. I feel so free. Matt puts his hand gently on the small of my back and I feel a tug of affection for him. We haven’t had an evening out since we moved and I want to make the most of it.
We find the small Italian restaurant that Ruth recommended. It has a handful of intimate, candlelit tables. I look at Matt. We desperately need these moments together.
The waiter pulls out a chair for me and I sit, tugging the skirt of my dress down. The extra weight on my stomach has made it ride up, but Matt doesn’t seem to notice. He’s already studying the set menu intently.
I’m handed the wine list by the waiter and I scan it quickly. Would it really hurt to have a drink tonight? Just the one. To celebrate our time together.
‘We could get a bottle,’ I whisper to Matt, as if it’s the naughtiest thing in the world.
Matt shakes his head.
‘You know that’s a bad idea, Claire.’
My heart sinks. Matt’s never liked me drinking. He prefers a life of colas at pubs, water at weddings. He thinks the alcohol makes me out of control. But I’m not like that any more. And sometimes, I just want a drink. I need to unwind after the stress of the day. But it’s not worth an argument, so I drop it.
He reaches across the table for my hand. ‘Let’s just enjoy tonight,’ he says. ‘Enjoy being alive and having each other.’
The evening flies by in a haze of conversation. We’ve hardly spoken since Olivia was born. Not properly. We’ve talked about nappy changes and feeding schedules and what baby equipment we need to buy. We’ve discussed moving house and unpacking and fixing the toilet that isn’t flushing properly. But we’ve hardly spoken about ourselves. Tonight is different. I feel connected again. Part of a partnership.
‘Are you settling back into the village OK?’ I ask, remembering Matt saying that it was difficult returning to his childhood home.
He smiles. ‘I’m getting there,’ he says. ‘But I feel like an impostor sometimes. Like I’m just playing a role. Vet. Family man. People have known me too long here. I feel like they can see right through me.’
I nod. ‘I feel like an impostor as a mother sometimes, too.’
‘You’re a good mum, Claire,’ he says, reaching for my hand.
‘It doesn’t feel that way,’ I reply, turning my face away from him to try and hide the tears that are forming.
‘You have postnatal depression. It’s an illness. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad mum. Is there anything I can do to help?’ He reminds me of the old Matt now, the one who’s kind and caring and looks out for me. Not the stressed man he’s become since we moved.
‘I need to see you more. Now Sarah’s working for you, can you get away from the office earlier? Can you help more with Olivia?’
‘I can try,’ Matt says. ‘But we really haven’t got enough business yet, enough customers. We’re haemorrhaging money.’ He sweeps his curly, dark hair out of his eyes.
I feel guilty. It was me that was so set on moving out of London and starting afresh.
‘We don’t have to stay here, you know. We could move back.’ I say the unthinkable. I know in my heart I can’t return to London. I want to keep that part of my life in the past, put it behind me.
‘No,’ he says. ‘We should try and make it work. I want the practice to be a viable business. I want us to have the family life we moved for.’
‘Me too,’ I say.
Our main course arrives, and Matt attacks his lamb steak with his knife.
‘It will be much better once your mother’s cleared out the house. And we’ve drained the pond.’ Ruth and Jack are coming round to help us with the pond tomorrow.
‘Yes, I’m glad you persuaded Mum to sort the house.’
I nod. I wish Matt was better at sticking up for himself with her, rather than leaving things to me.
We start to talk about the future and the mood lifts. Between us, we conjure up a different life. A life where Matt’s surgery becomes profitable and he hires enough staff to work four days a week and spend more time with Olivia and me. A life filled with laught
er, with lots of family time. In our fantasy I find freelance work as a journalist and diligently write articles after Olivia’s gone to bed. Ruth clears the cottage and helps with babysitting and eventually we have enough money to put down a deposit on a house of our own.
‘I think we can do this,’ Matt says, smiling.
‘Me too.’ I’m relieved we’re on the same page again, sharing our dreams and aspirations, imagining our lives together.
Matt leans across the table and takes my hand in his. I want to reach out and touch him properly. It feels like we’ve found each other again after being lost in the wilderness. We’ve been two individuals leading separate lives in the same house, with a screaming, unreasonable baby between us.
I want us to be a couple again.
The waitress brings the dessert and Matt moves his hand out of the way, so she can put the piece of chocolate cake in the middle of the table between us. I take the fork, cut off a corner and put it into Matt’s waiting mouth. He laughs and crumbs sprinkle across the table. I laugh too.
Matt rubs his leg against mine under the table. I raise my eyebrows at him, and a slow smile plays out on his face.
‘I want to take you home,’ he whispers, his eyes playful.
‘I want that too.’ I feel a restless excitement as he squeezes my hand.
‘Do you want to get a hotel room?’ he asks.
‘We can’t afford it,’ I reply. But I know that if we don’t take this opportunity we’ll never get another one. Olivia breastfeeds every two hours at night and the curtains in our bedroom don’t quite close. I’m convinced my mother-in-law can see in.
Besides, I want Matt now. If we wait, go home, speak to Emma, settle Olivia, the moment will be lost.
A cheap hotel seems worth it to get our marriage on track. Space completely to ourselves, without having to worry that Olivia will wake up.
Matt settles the bill quickly, leaving a big tip.
He’s grinning from ear to ear as we stroll down the high street hand in hand. I feel all the anticipation of a first date or a one-night stand. The world has a sense of unreality to it, an excitement. I feel so alive. I need Matt. Now.
* * *
Matt knows a B&B around the corner, and he takes my hand and leads me down the street. We walk quickly, half running, drunk with desire.
Suddenly I think of Olivia and I have to stop to check my phone. There are no messages from Emma. She must be fine.
As I put my phone away, Matt pushes me lightly into a doorway and puts his mouth over mine. His kiss is deep and eager, and I shiver with excitement. I feel young again as Matt presses his body into mine. It’s been so long. Too long. Matt’s weight pushes my body against the glass panel of the shop door and I worry the alarm will go off. I feel his hot breath on my neck as his hand moves down my dress and brushes my bare skin.
‘I want you,’ he whispers.
‘Not here.’ I’m breathless as his mouth moves lower, his kisses moving down my neck. I look over his head to the map on my phone.
‘The B&B’s only five minutes away,’ I mumble into his hair.
I push him lightly and we move back into the street. A man glances sideways at us and I run my hand through my tangled hair and blush.
Matt reaches for my hand.
‘I can see the B&B sign,’ I say, and we speed towards it. The entrance is a small blue door, with a tiny sign on the doorbell. Matt prods the doorbell confidently. There’s no speaker phone, and no immediate answer. Matt’s mouth is back over mine, as we hear footsteps on the stairs.
The door swings open.
‘Do you have a room for tonight?’ Matt asks, breathless.
‘A hundred and fifty,’ the woman says, looking us up and down. It sounds too much and for a moment I question the whole idea.
‘We’ll take it,’ Matt says.
‘Follow me.’
The check-in is painfully slow and we listen to the details of the breakfast that costs an extra fifteen pounds and a description of the local area. Matt catches my eye and grins. Neither of us wants to admit we live locally.
Eventually we’re left to our own devices. We follow the threadbare carpet, down an unlit corridor to room seven. I open the door with trepidation. The handle is sticky.
We turn on the light, but the bulb is so weak it does little more than cast shadows. I can just about make out the brown and green 1970s zig-zag pattern of the carpet. In this light it’s impossible to tell whether the room has been cleaned. But right now, I couldn’t care less.
Matt interrupts my thoughts, wrapping his arms around me and pushing me back onto the bed. I relax.
As Matt positions himself on top of me, I reach one last time into my handbag and check my phone. No calls from Emma. Olivia is fine.
Matt’s body sinks into mine and I wrap my arms around him. We kiss and I roll him over so I’m on top of him. I’m eager to discover him again. Everything feels new and exciting, as if we’ve only just met.
I unbutton his shirt slowly, my fingers lingering on the small patch of hair on his chest. His torso lifts, muscles defined as he shrugs out of his shirt. He doesn’t have time to go to the gym any more, but his body remains ripped from his physical work. I run my hands through his hair and then back down over his chest. He cups my breasts, then lifts my dress over my head.
I wish I’d dressed for sex, but I hadn’t. When I got ready, I automatically put my dress on over my nursing bra. My breasts are trapped inside, but it’s only a second before Matt releases them and my nipple is in his mouth. I pull away, the sensitivity too much.
He kisses my neck and I stretch myself out, welcoming his lips and his hands, as they delve lower. As I fiddle urgently with the buckle of his belt, I realise I’ve needed this. I wonder if this connection can fill the desperate emptiness inside me, if this is all it will take to fix me.
Matt sits up and pulls off his trousers and boxers. I pull down my off-white cotton knickers. I climb back on top of him and he’s inside me in one swift motion.
I see the reflection of my phone flashing on the ceiling, but I ignore it. I’m lost in the moment, the feel of Matt inside me, my skin against his. At last. I savour it, closing my eyes and losing myself in his rhythm.
We’ve waited too long for this and when it comes it’s fleeting, intense. My orgasm draws me in and then lets me loose. Too soon.
His quickly follows.
I allow myself a few minutes in his arms, our naked bodies sharing warmth. I want to linger here forever, but I picture Emma waiting for us patiently, sitting straight-backed on our sofa, and I pick up my phone to check the time.
There’s a missed call from Emma. I remember the flash of the phone against the ceiling, my brain fuzzy with desire, my choice to ignore it.
Panic consumes me.
There’s only one reason Emma would have called.
Olivia.
Sounds and images flash through my head. Olivia screaming. Olivia’s limbs broken and bent. Olivia burned. Olivia drowned. The clunk of Olivia hitting her head as she falls out of her cot. The smell of bleach at the hospital. A tiny body surrounded by nurses.
I pull away from Matt’s arm, a deadweight around me. I jab at the call button on my phone.
It rings. And rings.
Listening to it ringing, I collect my knickers, bra and dress from their scattered locations across the room. I imagine us racing to the hospital. I give Matt a hard push to get him out of the bed.
Voicemail.
I press the call button again, as I wriggle into my underwear.
‘What’s wrong?’ Matt asks from the bed.
I shush him even though the only sound at the other end of the phone is the incessant ringing until it goes to voicemail once more.
Why isn’t she answering? Maybe they aren’t allowed phones in the hospital. Maybe Emma doesn’t want to answer because she can’t bear to tell me bad news, to tell me my daughter’s dead.
Maybe I should be sitting down to make thi
s call.
‘Hello, Claire?’
She’s picked up. I can’t speak. I’m terrified of what she might say.
But the background is quiet. There are no hospital sounds. No sirens.
‘Claire? Is everything all right?’
I force the words out. ‘Where’s Olivia?’ I ask.
‘She’s upstairs,’ Emma says, ‘in her cot.’
The relief is so intense that I sink back onto the bed. I let out the breath I was holding.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Oh.’
‘How’s your evening been?’ she asks.
‘Good,’ I say, glancing at Matt, who is staring at me, bemused. ‘It’s been good.’
Matt starts stroking my arm and I push his hand away.
‘Don’t rush back,’ Emma says. ‘Everything’s fine here.’
‘You rang me?’ I ask, my voice shaking. The adrenalin has not yet dissipated.
‘Oh, yeah, I did. Just to tell you she went to bed OK and not to worry. Be out as long as you like.’
‘I think we’ll come back now,’ I say. I can’t lose the uneasy feeling, can’t slow my heartbeat. I need to get back to my daughter.
‘No rush.’
I hang up the phone and turn to Matt.
He wraps his arms around me, kisses my neck.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. But I can’t get the images of Olivia in hospital out of my head.
‘One more time?’ he asks, his eyes lowering to my breasts.
‘No, let’s get back.’
‘Come on, Claire. We’ve paid for the room.’
‘I can’t. I need to check on Olivia.’
‘Seriously?’ He thumps the pillow in frustration.
Somewhere down the corridor, I can hear the rhythmic creaking of bed springs. I dress and wash my hands.
Matt turns on the shower but I switch it off again, handing him his boxers.
He turns it back on.
‘Claire. Just let me shower!’
I stand and watch him, tapping my foot impatiently as the soap suds cascade over his muscled chest.
There’s the beep of a text message from the bedroom and I rush back in to check my phone.
