by Ruth Heald
I feel so much better after lunch. Merry and light. As I walk down the streets pushing the buggy, I feel alive again. I can cope without Matt. I can do this on my own.
But then I remember that he’ll want custody and I shiver. Can I really let someone who’s committed a violent crime look after my daughter? I’m going to have to fight for custody, and fight hard.
My first priority has to be my daughter. But then Olivia starts screaming and I think of the afternoon ahead of me breastfeeding and nappy changing, and reality comes crashing down. I won’t be able to cope. When I stop at the tiny local supermarket to pick up nappies, I see the wine is on offer and grab a few more bottles, telling myself I’m stocking up for the week. By the time I finally wheel the buggy back through the door, Olivia has increased the volume to maximum.
‘Shut up,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Just shut up.’
Inside, I pause for a moment to sit on the stairs and catch my breath.
‘Hello?’ a voice calls out. From inside the house.
There’s someone in my living room.
I put my shopping down and the bottles of wine clink together. I gather a screaming Olivia into my arms, take a deep breath and step into the room.
There’s a woman there. She has a severe grey bob and penetrating green eyes.
She gets up from my sofa and holds out her hand. ‘Catherine Clarke. I work in child welfare. Your mother-in-law let me in.’
I look round the living room at the scattered mess of toys, bottles and spare nappies.
‘I would have tidied if I’d known you were coming.’
‘We prefer to see people as they live normally.’
‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask, with feigned politeness.
‘No thank you.’
Olivia continues to scream and I rock her back and forth.
‘You can feed her if you like. I don’t mind.’
I nod, but I feel vulnerable and exposed. I don’t want to breastfeed in front of this woman. This woman who has let herself into my house and is here solely to judge me.
Olivia keeps crying and I keep rocking her.
‘I’ll get to the point. I’ve been alerted about your drinking. There are concerns you’re not well enough to look after your child.’ She’s looks at my red-faced, crying daughter pointedly.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, wondering who has betrayed me. Ruth? Surely not Matt?
‘How many units do you drink a week?’
‘Oh, not much. Just the occasional glass of wine.’
I wonder if she can smell the alcohol on my breath, hear the slight slur in my voice. I concentrate hard, trying to focus. I sit up straighter. I think nervously of the three bottles of wine in the bag in the hallway.
‘And is it true you used to be an alcoholic?’
‘Yes. I had treatment for it three years ago. I hardly drink these days.’
‘And how are you coping with looking after Olivia? You’ve had postnatal depression?’
She’s well briefed. The social worker who came round before had only been concerned about Olivia’s bruises. She seemed keen to see the best in me. This woman is different.
‘Yes, that’s right. I was feeling a bit down when she was first born, but I’m fine now.’ I think of how desperately I need help, but the only people who ever ask me how I am will use my answer to take my daughter away.
‘Do you mind if I look around the house? See how you’re coping?’
‘Sure,’ I say, wondering what she can possibly be looking for. I think again of the bottles in the hallway. That’s not evidence of anything, surely? It’s not unusual to have wine in the house.
‘Who called you?’ I ask.
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.’
It has to be Ruth or Matt. I know what this is about. As soon as I asked Matt to leave again, Ruth was back on her mission to win custody of Olivia for him. And when she saw me rifling through the recycling bin this morning, she saw her opportunity to discredit me. She wants to prove I’m not capable of looking after my daughter. If the social workers decide that Olivia should stay with Matt and Ruth, I’ll have to stay in the village too. I’ll be trapped.
‘Was it my mother-in-law?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ she says as she goes into the kitchen. ‘Mind if I?’ Her hand is on the handle of the kitchen cupboard.
‘Go ahead,’ I reply, and she opens each of the cupboards in turn. There’s nothing to find there.
I fidget, shifting Olivia’s weight in my arms.
‘I know my mother-in-law called you,’ I say, speaking slowly so I don’t slur my words. ‘She’s vindictive. She wants me out of her life.’
‘Really?’ Catherine raises her eyebrows and pulls a chair over to a high cupboard, climbing onto it to peer at the contents of the top shelf.
‘Yes. She sent me a note, saying I didn’t deserve my daughter. And she moved a smoke alarm…’ I’m rambling now, my words fast and uncensored.
The woman climbs down from the chair. ‘I was told you were paranoid,’ she says, touching my shoulder gently. ‘A symptom of your depression, perhaps?’
‘No, I––’ How can I convince her?
‘It’s OK to admit you’re struggling,’ she continues. ‘To admit you need help.’ Suddenly her sharp eyes seem kinder and for a second I wonder if I could trust her. But I stop myself from confiding in her. That would play straight into Ruth’s hands.
‘I’m fine,’ I insist once more. I need to make sure Catherine doesn’t hand Olivia straight over to Matt and Ruth. I think of what I learnt yesterday, how Matt pushed Sarah’s sister out of the hayloft.
‘My husband’s a violent man,’ I say.
‘Does he hit you?’
‘No.’
‘So what do you mean?’
‘He was responsible for someone’s death. He pushed someone and they cracked their skull. He confessed to the police.’
‘You mean Felicity Duncan?’
‘Yes,’ I say, shocked. How does she know about that?
‘You shouldn’t be bringing that up after all this time. That was a very difficult period for everyone.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve lived in the area for years. Your husband comes from a good family.’
I laugh. ‘You know Ruth?’ Things are starting to become clearer. Catherine knows Ruth. Ruth has organised her visit to scare me. I’m not sure she’s even a social worker.
‘You’re looking in the wrong place if you’re trying to blame her,’ Catherine continues, losing all pretence of being an impartial official. ‘You need to look closer to home.’
‘Who are you?’ I ask, angrily. ‘Has Ruth sent you? Are you a friend of hers?’
‘I worked with children in schools for years before I retired,’ she says. ‘Safeguarding their well-being. I can tell when things aren’t right at home. I can tell when the mother isn’t fit.’ Her eyes narrow as she looks me up and down.
‘Get out,’ I say.
She picks up her bag. ‘I’ve seen enough here anyway. I may not be able to take your child away from you, but I can let the authorities know what kind of mother you are. And I’ve worked in childcare long enough to know that you won’t get custody of your daughter.’
I wake to the sound of the key in the lock.
I must have lost consciousness. Everything hurts. Every cell of my body.
The carpet is sticky with my blood. I don’t know where I end and the floor begins.
Where’s my daughter? Did she escape?
She must have got away, I tell myself. She must have.
Footsteps on the stairs. Just one set. A man’s regular clunk, one stair at a time. No accompanying lighter footsteps of a little girl.
She must have got away.
I need to find her.
I try to move but I can’t. My body is broken. I fight to move my arm just a little, to reach out into the empty air.
The darkness is coming again. I fight it
.
I must stay awake. I must find her.
I feel the world closing in.
As I fade away, I hear the distant sound of sirens, getting louder as they approach.
Thirty-Six
I lie on the sofa, trying to get some rest. I feel exhausted from the last few days. And yet I have to up my game, be a better mother. I can’t let them take my daughter away from me. Olivia lies beside me on her back, playing lethargically with my hair as the TV flickers in the background. My top sticks to me. It needs washing. It’s still stained with Olivia’s sick from two or three days ago. I should have done the washing, but instead I’ve lain in bed most of the morning.
I put an arm round Olivia’s small body and close my eyes. I wish I could just sleep and forget everything, but I can’t let myself drop off with my baby next to me.
I’m so glad she isn’t crawling yet. The living room is a maze of hazards. Phone cables that might electrocute her, coins that might choke her, hair gel that she might swallow. Anything could happen, at any time. One moment of inattention is all it takes. A glance at my phone while Olivia picks up a coin and swallows it. Leaving her in the bath to drown while I answer the door. I flinch, remembering my dream of Matt drowning her, remembering her buggy slipping under the water in the pond.
I don’t know how people manage as parents. But they seem to. They bring up happy, healthy children. They live fulfilled lives. But not me. I can’t do it.
I can’t even keep up with the housework. The bedsheets haven’t been washed since well before Matt moved out the first time, and in the kitchen the washing up overflows the counter and spreads over the cooker and beyond.
The familiar smell of a dirty nappy wafts towards me. When did I last change Olivia? Surely since she got up? Perhaps not. I reach into the bag for the nappies. Only two left. I change it on autopilot. I know I should be talking to Olivia, laughing with her, tickling her tummy, but I can’t summon the energy. I have nothing to say to the squirming mass of chubby limbs in front of me. I’m completely disconnected from her. It’s like she’s not my child.
Ruth will be here in a minute to collect her. I really don’t want her and Matt looking after Olivia, but I had to agree to it. After she sent her friend round yesterday pretending to be from social services I have no doubt she’s serious about getting custody of Olivia for Matt. I’m sure she’s informing the real social workers of every mistake I make. I can’t deny Matt access to his daughter.
I need to smarten up before she comes but I hardly have the energy. I need to find some painkillers. I feel awful. I stumble to the kitchen and go through Pamela’s cupboard of pills, pull out some ibuprofen and take a couple with some cold water. There are enough pills to knock me out completely if I wanted. I contemplate the idea for the moment. Handing over Olivia to Ruth and then knocking back some pills and sleeping for the afternoon. But I know I have to pull myself out of this, make myself better. Otherwise I’ll lose my daughter.
When the doorbell rings and Ruth is at the other side, I manage feigned politeness. We both know she sent Catherine round yesterday to warn me. I can’t make any missteps now. I can’t say the wrong thing. So I hand my daughter over to the woman I hate most in the world and tell her to have a good time.
When they’ve gone, I go into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea, resisting the lure of the wine I bought yesterday. I’ve managed not to touch it so far. I can see into Ruth and Jack’s house from here. I see Olivia being passed back and forth between Matt and Ruth, cooed over and loved.
I want to turn away, go and catch up on some sleep, but somehow I can’t. I know that Matt confessed to pushing Sarah’s sister now. And I know just how nasty Ruth can be. I feel compelled to watch Olivia with them. I’m her mother. It’s up to me to keep her safe.
They leave the kitchen and I can’t see anything any more. I go upstairs to the bedroom and lie down, trying to let my exhaustion take over and sleep. But I can’t. All my senses are heightened, alert to any risk.
Ten minutes later, I hear the whir of a car engine and then the sound of wheels on the gravel.
I rush to Olivia’s room and look down onto our driveway. Our car is gone. They must have taken Olivia out.
I pace up and down the room, unable to sit still. Where would they have taken her?
I text Matt to ask. As I watch my phone, waiting for a reply, I start to panic. What if they’ve taken her away for good? They could have moved her out of the village, away from me, to a place I’ll never find her.
My phone beeps. Matt says they’ve gone out in the village and that I shouldn’t worry.
But the text doesn’t quell my fears. I hate to think of my daughter with them. I still don’t know where they’ve taken her.
I grab my keys and leave the house in my dirty clothes, walking quickly into the village. I look for them on the streets, but there’s no sign. I rush around, checking the post office and the charity shop and then the pub and the garden centre. Nothing. My heart races. I’m sure something is wrong. Where have they taken her?
And then something occurs to me. Sarah. Perhaps they’ve taken her to see Sarah.
It takes me ten minutes to get to her flat. I see Matt’s car outside and at first I’m relieved.
But then I wonder what they’re doing there. My daughter is with two people who were suspects in the investigation into Sarah’s sister’s death. What’s going on? Why are they all meeting? Are they trying to cover something up? Or was I right about their affair all along?
I creep over to the block of flats. Sarah’s in flat 2, which must be on the ground floor. I peer into the windows of the flat on the left-hand side and gasp. They’re there. All of them. Ruth. Jack. Matt and Sarah. Sitting on the living room sofas, deep in conversation.
Matt is holding my daughter. He says something and everyone laughs.
Then he gets up and leaves the room, passing Olivia to Sarah. Sarah smiles at my baby, pushing her face close to hers and stroking her hair. I feel a surge of jealousy and fear. I don’t want that woman holding my daughter. I don’t want her touching her. My hand clenches into a fist.
They look like the perfect, happy family.
Suddenly, everything makes sense. Sarah wants my child. And my husband. She’s worming her way into my family, taking my place.
I think of all the odd things that have happened since we moved. Olivia falling into the pond. The bruises on her legs. The note. The smoke alarm. Were these all ways of discrediting me, of getting to my daughter? I remember what Sarah said about miscarrying, how she hadn’t found someone who she wanted to have a child with since. She wanted to steal my family all along. What if none of what’s been happening has been down to Ruth? What if it’s been Sarah?
I must do something. I must get Olivia away from her.
In the living room, Ruth suddenly turns and looks directly at me. Her eyes meet mine and I recoil. She says something to Sarah and Sarah turns to stare at me, my daughter in her arms. There’s a moment where they all confer, and then I see Ruth get up.
I rise from my position at the window and go to the door of the block. It opens.
Ruth.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’d like my daughter back,’ I say.
‘It’s Matt’s turn for access. And we’re having a nice time.’ She looks at me pityingly. ‘You need to go.’
I barge past her, into the hallway and then into Sarah’s flat and her living room.
‘Claire?’ Matt says as I enter.
I look at the expectant faces and realise I haven’t planned what to say.
‘I want my daughter back. Why have you brought her here? You said you weren’t cheating on me. Was it all lies?’
‘Claire – we’ve had this conversation before. I’m not cheating on you. You were the one who told me to leave.’
Olivia whines and Sarah strokes her back to comfort her.
She needs to get her hands off my daughter. I go towards her to take
my baby back.
Matt exchanges a look with his mother and gets up, placing a hand on my shoulder.
‘You need to go, Claire.’
I shrug out of his grip.
I point at Sarah. ‘She’s trying to take you,’ I say. ‘She wants my family. She wants my life. She wants my baby. But she's not having her.’
‘Claire, you need to calm down.’
Matt’s hand is back on my shoulder, leading me out of the living room, but I slip away from him.
‘Admit it. You’re trying to take them from me.’
Sarah stares at me blankly. Her indifference angers me.
‘No one knows what you’re talking about, Claire.’ Ruth speaks slowly and gently, as if talking to someone who’s not well.
Jumbled thoughts flash through my head. Matt and Sarah working together. The noises in the house at night. Olivia falling into the pond. Sarah’s sister’s fall.
‘She’s dangerous,’ I say, turning to Sarah. ‘You can’t be with Olivia. Not with your past. You can’t be trusted.’ I struggle for the next words. ‘Not after what happened to your sister––’
Sarah’s sudden tears shock me into silence. Her body wracks with sobs and Matt and Ruth spring into action. Matt takes Olivia from her and puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, while Ruth brings her a glass of water.
Olivia screams and I go to take her from Matt, but Ruth blocks my path.
‘You’re leaving,’ she says, pushing me towards the door.
‘Not without Olivia.’ I escape Ruth’s grasp and rush over to Matt, snatching my daughter out of his arms.
* * *
That night I can’t sleep. I relive the day again and again. Matt has sent me a series of angry texts, saying I should never have gone round to Sarah’s, that I shouldn’t have upset her. I read them over and over, thinking how only a few days ago I wanted to get back together with him. Now there’s no one I can trust.
