by Ruth Heald
I read the article three times.
The accident happened late at night. Sarah’s sister fell from the hayloft in the barn and cracked her head on the concrete floor. The article has a timeline of events and an annotated diagram. Despite this, it isn’t quite clear exactly what happened at the moment she fell. But it’s clear that Matt hasn’t told me the whole story. There were only two witnesses to the accident. Him and Sarah. Both were interviewed by the police.
Why would he keep that from me? What other secrets does he share with Sarah?
I go through Matt’s Facebook profile and look through the posts from the last few months, and then go back years and years, to see if there’s something there about him and Sarah. Something I’ve missed. There’s nothing. No hint of a relationship with her. But it wouldn’t be on his public profile. I need to look at his private messages. I log out of my account and type in the password he used to use for everything. It doesn’t work. He must have changed it. He must be hiding something.
At least he’s not with her now. He’s with Ruth. I bet she’s furious with me for chucking out her beloved son. I’m sure she won’t let me stay in the house for long without Matt. But where can I go? I should have thought this through before I packed his bags. I should have had a plan.
I think of my life back in London, how much I miss it. Or at least I miss parts of it. I could move back. I wonder if the newspaper would take me on again. A mix of emotions rise inside me. I remember the excitement I felt when I first entered the buzzing newsroom. The thrill of chasing down the story. That was at the beginning. By the end I hated the newspaper and I hated who I’d become. Could I really go back?
But I’m stronger now, I tell myself. I wouldn’t get sucked into that cut-throat, competitive world, doing everything I could, no matter what, to get the story. I wouldn’t get caught up in the testosterone of the newsroom, I wouldn’t let my article come before the people.
I take a deep breath and compose an email to the editor. I have nothing to lose. He’s new and he probably won’t even know who I am. I introduce myself, tell about him my track record, let him know the prizes I won and ask if there are any vacancies. I hesitate for a moment after I reread the email, wondering if he ever heard the rumours about why I left at the height of my career. I hope not. I swallow my doubts and then click send before I can change my mind.
The glow from my phone lights up Olivia’s face. I look down and see she’s fallen asleep on my breast. I lift her gently back into the cot, lay her next to her toy bunny, and go back to bed. It’s cold without Matt’s body beside me. Sleep threatens to submerge me, but I keep starting awake, picturing Matt with Sarah.
In the quiet, I can hear the faint beeping from the loft. I wish it would stop. When daylight comes, I’ll have to go up there and check out the noise.
I stare at the wall, watching the flickering shadow of a moth fluttering around the bedside light that I can’t bring myself to switch off. What if there’s someone up there? What if I’m not alone in the house?
* * *
At eight, after a couple of hours of fitful sleep, I get dressed and take Olivia out to the supermarket. I swing into the mother and baby space, narrowly avoiding a collision with a shopping trolley, carelessly abandoned in the middle of the car park. Olivia wakes as soon as the car stops, my ten minutes of respite over. When I open her door, a cold blast of air hits her and she starts to cry. A mother with a toddler in tow looks at me curiously and I wonder if she’s judging me.
Olivia’s hat has fallen off in her car seat and I replace it awkwardly on her head. She pulls it off again. Holding it in one hand and Olivia in the other I lock the car and go into the supermarket. I find a trolley with a baby seat, but Olivia seems too small for it. I steer it slowly to stop her banging her head as she slides from side to side.
Olivia’s eyes light up as she looks at the multitude of products on the shelves. I throw things into the trolley beside her. Lamb chops for dinner. Vegetables. Fruit.
An old lady comes over and starts cooing at Olivia, leaning over the trolley and pushing her face close. My baby smiles angelically and I tense. She never smiles that way at me.
‘She’s lovely,’ the woman says. ‘What a good baby.’
I nod politely. She has no idea. Olivia reserves all her love and affection for others. Never for me. I must try harder. I walk round the supermarket pretending to be a good mother, bending over and talking to Olivia in that high voice I’ve heard other mums use. It’s easier here in public, where there’s an audience. Easier for me to play my part.
I spot a grandmother shopping with her daughter and granddaughter. The grandmother pushes the trolley as she offers well-intentioned advice on childcare to her daughter, who pushes the buggy beside her. The daughter bats the advice away, irritated. I listen to them as they bicker over what they’ll have for dinner.
When they move away, I can still hear the rise and fall of their voices.
I long for the relationship they have, missing my mother. I’d do anything to be with her right now. If my mother was here, what would she say? I can hardly picture her any more, let alone hear her voice. Would she tell me everything would be OK? Would she help me?
I find myself at the end of the supermarket I avoid. The alcohol aisle. I feel my trolley turning, see the glimmer of thousands of glass bottles lined up. I stop at the Chilean reds, remembering a vineyard tour I did back when I went travelling after university. I pick them up one by one, reading the labels and feeling the cold glass against my skin. I can almost taste the tanginess running over my tongue and down the back of my throat. It reminds me of balmy summer evenings when I sipped a cold glass of wine after a long day’s work.
But I’m not that person any more. I can’t be that person again.
I put the bottles back.
Further down are the New Zealand Sauvignons. I find Matt’s favourite and hold it for a moment. There’s no point buying it and I put the bottle back reluctantly. I tell myself it would be silly to drink on my own, as much as I want to. I go to the till. Olivia starts to whine. The queue’s too long and I fidget as the man in front painstakingly fills his plastic bags. I can still imagine the taste of the Sauvignon on my tongue, see the wheat yellow colour of the wine in the glass, feel the rim of the glass on my lips.
It’s my turn. The till assistant swipes through my purchases and I pack as fast as I can, returning the bags to the trolley.
She tells me the total, and I pause.
‘Hang on a minute,’ I say. ‘I’ve forgotten something.’
I dash back to the wine aisle and grab the nearest bottle.
* * *
I pull up in front of the cottage and sit for a moment in the car. I don’t want to go inside. I want to drive far away, away from my life and away from my family. I want to forget everything that’s happened.
A knock on the car window jars me back to reality.
Matt.
I close my eyes for a second before I open the door.
‘Why aren’t you at the practice?’
‘I couldn’t go to work. Not with all this going on. We need to sort this out. I’m worried about you.’
I sigh. He’s always been a good actor. I wish he’d just admit what he did.
‘Claire.’ He reaches for my arm and I pull it away sharply. ‘Do you really believe I’d sleep with Sarah? Why would I risk losing you? Risk losing our family?’
I feel uncertain now, as if I might have imagined the whole thing.
I see Ruth appear from the side path. I don’t want her here.
She goes round the back of the car and opens Olivia’s door. She gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and tells her how beautiful she is and then comes to the front of the car.
‘What are you doing out here?’ she asks Matt.
‘You know what I’m doing. I needed to speak to Claire.’
‘I wouldn’t waste your breath. Look at what she’s done to you. Evicting you from your own home f
or no reason at all.’
‘You’re not helping, Mum.’
Ruth turns to me, her voice venomous. ‘Who do you think you are, coming here, living in my mother’s house and treating my son this way? After all we’ve done for you, you throw him out with only a bin bag of his things?’
I look down at the gravel. ‘He’s cheating on me.’
Ruth glances at Matt. ‘Is he? Well good for him, in that case. He’s carried you long enough. Looked after you. Protected you. You can’t expect someone to love you when you behave the way you do. He’s told me about you, you know. That you’re paranoid. That you’ve been forgetting things. No one would put up with that forever.’
I swallow, afraid. How much of my history has Matt told his mother?
‘Mum, please––’
Matt grabs her arm, tries to pull her away.
‘And another thing. Don’t think you can just live in this house forever, rent-free. The house was for my son to live in while he set up his new business. Not you.’
‘What about your granddaughter?’ I say. ‘Don’t you care what happens to her?’
‘Don’t worry, nothing will happen to Olivia. In fact, she’ll end up better off. There’s no chance you’ll get custody with all your problems.’
I stare at her, shocked.
‘Matt, come on,’ she orders. ‘We’ve got company this evening.’
Matt turns to me. ‘We’ll talk later. On our own.’
I watch as they walk back down the path together. How have I ended up in this position? This was meant to be a fresh start, but Ruth wants to take my daughter away from me and make me homeless.
I go round the back of the car to Olivia. She’s happily patting at the toy that hangs above her car seat. I go to undo her buckle.
It’s already undone.
I stare at the loose straps in horror.
Did I forget to fasten her in? Have I driven all the way back from the supermarket without my daughter strapped in the car? If there’d been an accident, I could have killed her. Just like when I left the brake off the buggy by the pond. Maybe Ruth is right, maybe Matt would get custody. If I can’t even be trusted to strap my daughter into her car seat, then maybe I don’t deserve her.
Twenty-Three
In the afternoon, I don’t know what to do with myself. I stare around the house, looking at the boxes surrounding me. It feels pointless to unpack them now.
I wish I could talk to Miriam. I just want to pick up the phone and call her, confide in her the way I always did in the past. I still have her number in my phone. So much time has passed, maybe she’ll have forgiven me by now. It’s worth a try. I have nothing to lose.
I painstakingly compose a text message.
Hi. It’s Claire. It’s been too long. I’d love to catch up. I hope we can put the past behind us.
I’m about to delete the last bit and redraft it, when Olivia cries for her feed.
I read the message again. She’s never going to reply anyway. I click send.
While I’m feeding Olivia, Emma messages me to see how I am and suggests a trip to Oxford to take my mind off things. Dan has Lizzie and she’s at a loose end.
She comes round to collect me half an hour later and soon we’re in the city centre, wandering round the shops.
‘I’ve organised a surprise for you,’ Emma tells me. ‘To cheer you up.’
I grin. ‘Really?’
‘Yep. It’s just round the corner.’
She leads me to a side street and I see the small wine shop she’s mentioned to me before. My heart sinks. I really shouldn’t buy more wine. Not when I’m feeling so down.
‘Maybe not today.’
‘Come on, Claire. I’ve organised a tasting session for you. My treat. You have to try it. Everyone raves about this place.’
‘I’m not sure…’
But Emma is already inside the shop.
I follow her in reluctantly, wheeling the buggy in behind her. It takes up all the floor space in the tiny shop. I hope no one sees me and judges me.
The man behind the small desk at the back welcomes us with a smile and I tell myself that a tasting can’t do any harm. It will only be tiny portions.
‘Beautiful baby,’ he says, looking down at sleeping Olivia.
I smile proudly. It’s so rare for her to be quiet. I should make the most of this opportunity.
The man talks us through the history of the shop, the grapes and the wine-making process, as I relax, breathing in the smell of the alcohol and imagining the taste of it on my tongue.
Finally, he takes two plastic cups and pours us each a small glass of the dry white. I swirl it round my mouth, savouring the tang on my tongue. I hold it there for a moment, letting the flavour overwhelm my senses. I wonder if I’m supposed to spit it out, but that’s not been mentioned so I swallow and then take another sip.
We try another wine and then a third and a fourth. I’m starting to feel a bit giddy. It’s so long since I’ve drunk alcohol, that I’m not used to the rush I get when it starts to flow through me. But it feels good. Emma keeps asking questions about the grapes and the fermenting process as the proprietor pours increasingly large portions.
I smile at Emma and she giggles at me and clinks her plastic cup with mine.
‘Having fun?’ she asks.
‘Yes.’ I laugh. I am having fun. For once I feel relaxed and free.
* * *
After the wine tasting, Emma suggests we sober up with a coffee. We need to give it a bit of time before Emma can drive us back home.
In the coffee shop, Emma leans across the table and asks me how I’m feeling.
‘OK, I suppose,’ I say. ‘I miss Matt. And he’s still denying sleeping with Sarah. I’m starting to wonder if he’s telling the truth.’
‘They all deny it at first,’ Emma replies. ‘That’s exactly what Dan did.’
I stare into my coffee.
‘And Ruth is getting involved too, which isn’t helping. I think she might evict me from the house.’
‘Oh no. That’s awful.’ Emma gives me a sympathetic glance. ‘You and Olivia could always come and stay with me if you need to.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. My pleasure.’
I sigh with relief. It feels good to have a choice, even though I’ve no intention of leaving the cottage without a fight.
‘Thanks.’ I sigh, reaching across the table to touch Emma’s hand. ‘You don’t know what that means to me.’
‘It’s no problem. Lizzie and I would love your company.’
Emma looks out at the street beyond the coffee shop. ‘What do you fancy doing now? We’ve got the rest of the afternoon.’
‘I should be getting back.’ I’ve perked up from the caffeine, but underneath I’m exhausted.
‘Really?’ she says, disappointed.
Then I think of the oppressive cottage and imagine an afternoon of feeds and dirty nappies, and change my mind. ‘What were you thinking?’ I ask.
‘How about we go to one of the churches? They’re beautiful.’
I smile. ‘Sure.’
There’s a church a short walk down the road, and we wander inside. Emma seems thrilled that the church spire is open today. ‘Do you want to climb up it?’ she asks excitedly.
I look up at the tower. The views must be spectacular. ‘Why not?’
‘Great,’ Emma says, and before I can think twice, she’s paid our entrance fees to the man behind the trestle table at the bottom of the steps. I look doubtfully at Olivia in her buggy. Can I carry her up?
‘Don’t worry,’ Emma says. ‘She’ll be fine in the sling.’
Emma’s right. I take Olivia out of the buggy and strap her to me.
The steps are uneven and I have to concentrate on the climb. After a while, I start to feel dizzy from the spiralling staircase. It goes on and on and it feels like Olivia is getting heavier and heavier strapped to my front. Her weight pulls me off balance, each step harder than t
he next. The air in the spire is thick with dust, the handrail’s rusty, and I’m starting to feel claustrophobic.
Olivia lets out a small whimper.
‘Not far to go now,’ Emma shouts down from above me. ‘I can see the top.’
‘OK,’ I say, as I force my legs to keep climbing.
Olivia starts to cry and it echoes around the narrow stairwell. The loud group of tourists on the stairs below pause their conversation, and I’m embarrassed. ‘Don’t worry, Olivia,’ I say over and over, as I push on towards the top.
This whole thing is starting to feel like a really bad idea. What if I slip and fall and Olivia’s skull cracks on the stone steps? That’s the kind of accident you read about in the tabloids. The kind where the mother is always blamed. I wish I hadn’t had a drink. My giddiness is fading, but the light-headedness remains, and I’m not sure if I feel unsteady because of the drink or because I’m carrying Olivia.
Finally I see a glimpse of blue sky and I’m at the top of the spire. The wind hits me and knocks me off balance as I step out onto the narrow walkway.
‘Are you OK?’ Emma asks, her hand on my shoulder to steady me.
‘Just a bit dizzy.’
The wind whips round Olivia, and I look out over the view. It’s beautiful. The dreaming spires of Oxford dot the compact city below us, and beyond there are miles of rolling fields.
‘Come on,’ Emma says, and I realise that I’ve hardly moved away from the steps.
I go to the edge. The stone wall is only up to waist height and a thin, netted barrier has been put up to stop people throwing things over the edge.
Suddenly I feel sick. If I was knocked or fell, Olivia and I would go straight over. The net wouldn’t break our fall.
The rustle of pigeons in the tower next to me startles me. The world starts to spin. I step back suddenly and knock into a tourist taking a photo.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble.
I can’t look down. Images are cascading through my head, flooding me with memories. I’m back on the roof of the car park, standing on the edge of the concrete barrier. Alone. The world is tiny and undefined below me. A blur of people and cars and movement. I can no longer be a part of it. My heart pounds in my chest, my hands are clammy. I’m ready to jump. Ready to end everything.
