Inside my head I hear the sound of laughter. Stupid. I’m so stupid.
There is no baby. How could Lisa do this to me? The water is too hot. The steam rises, and my hopes sink. I feel angry, betrayed, but overriding all of those things is a thought that this is what I deserve. Payback. I’m a terrible, terrible person. A wave of dizziness washes over me and I place my palms against the tiles to steady myself. I’m not going to be a mum. I’m dragging in short, sharp breaths through my nose. I’m never going to be a mum. My knees buckle and I sink to the floor. The water cascades over me. But I know no matter how long I stay in the shower I will never feel clean again. How could I not have known? The money she demanded. The appointments she kept me away from. The bump I never felt move. ‘We believe what we want to,’ Lisa had said. Oh, how she must have laughed at the way I sucked it all up.
The sun is dipping behind the rooftops and the sky looks like fire. I wrap myself in a towel, my damp hair tangled around my shoulders, and perch on the edge of the bed as though I don’t belong here. As though this isn’t where my husband and I made love. Made plans for our future. I don’t know what to do. Say. How to act. I’ve lost everything. Nick is moving around downstairs, and it’s almost as though I’ve been suddenly placed in some weird reality TV show, watching myself from high above. Waiting to see what I’ll do.
Lisa.
She has broken my heart, just like I broke hers when I fell in love with her twin. How could I have thought she’d have forgiven me for loving him? For being the one who was there as his life ebbed away.
I need to speak to her. I find her in my favourites list; her smiling face transforms my sorrow to anger.
I need to see her. Face-to-face. I already know she will find another excuse to avoid having the scan this week. I think long and hard before I send the text.
We need to talk about money.
The reply is almost instant.
I’m at work. Call you later? X
Liar – I want to punch out, but instead I say:
Would rather go through everything face-to-face. Know I’m meeting you on Friday anyway but I’ve been thinking and I’m not sure we’re giving you enough for expenses. Feeling terrible.
That last bit, at least, is true.
You are sweet!
Bile rises, stinging my throat.
I could come over tomorrow – I’m off?
Look forward to it.
I say, and I find that somehow I am.
39
Now
I’d drunk too much wine last night. Wanting to blunt the sharp edges of the truth. Nick and I had skirted around each other, pretending everything was fine as we’d prepared a lasagne neither of us could eat, draining a bottle and a half of Shiraz between us, as though this was normal Monday night behaviour. Nick was edgy. Distracted. We dined amongst the ruins of our marriage, staring at Nick’s mobile, which sat between us, dark and silent, along with the Parmesan cheese and the secrets. A last supper, of sorts. As I was getting ready for bed the back garden was suddenly bright. Something had triggered the security light. Or someone. I had stared out of the window watching the bushes sway. A shadow move. But rather than fear I’d felt a certain inevitability. It was always going to fall apart. I was only surprised it had taken ten years.
‘Morning.’ Nick shuffles into the kitchen, smelling of stale alcohol, as I probably do, yawning although he seemed to sleep far better than me. Each time I drifted off, the sound of laughter, of a baby crying, grew louder and louder until I rolled over and pressed my mouth against the pillow and screamed. Nick didn’t stir. Now, he runs a hand over his chin, as though he can’t quite remember whether he has shaved. He hasn’t.
‘Morning. I feel rough.’ That, perhaps, is the only truth I will speak today.
‘Me too. Don’t know what possessed us. On a school night, as well!’ he says as he drops bread into the toaster.
His throwaway comment sets my teeth on edge. There will never be a school run for me. The early morning panic. Pulling together PE kits, locating homework.
Outside, a plane trails a frothy white tail across a clear blue sky, and in the cold light of day I’m beginning to doubt myself. Have I got it wrong? It seems incredible to think Lisa has lied. Growing up there were times she was mischievous, secretive, sometimes, but never malicious. Never cruel. And yet grief bends and breaks the people we were. Moulds us into the people we never wanted to be. Soon I will know, one way or the other, and if Lisa has lied, I don’t know what I’ll be driven to. After all, I’ll have nothing to lose.
‘What are your plans today?’ Nick asks.
It’s a perfectly innocent question but concern bubbles under every word, and I wonder if he wants me out of the way so he can see Clare. See Ada. It stings to think I am no longer the centre of his world, if I ever was. I need to confront him, I know, but I can only deal with one thing at a time.
‘Lisa is coming.’
The toast pops and Nick spreads peanut butter on a slice, thick and crunchy. ‘That’s nice. I’ll try and get home early. Look, I know I’ve been distracted lately but I’m happy about the baby, really. Excited even. It’s getting nearer now. It seems more real somehow.’ He turns to face me. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been as involved as I should have been. The problems with work… they’re over now. It’s over now.’ He says it with such regret and, as he crosses the room and wraps his arms around me tightly, my resolve crumbles. I find myself hugging him back, hard, and our embrace shouldn’t feel so full of love, but somehow it does.
My skin is pale, tired. I dab foundation on with a sponge. Colour my cheeks a little too pink. Make my lips a little too glossy. Painting on a veneer. The doorbell rings. This is it. Don’t let your mask slip.
Lisa waddles through the door, and I hug her hello, trying not to recoil as I feel her bump hard and round. I can’t believe it is real.
Fake.
Everything about her is fake, I think, as she recounts her journey, the renegade sheep that brought the traffic to a standstill. Her laughter peals as she tells me about the overweight businessman who tried to shoo it back into the field, face beet red, turning on his heels and running back to the safety of the car when the sheep started to chase him.
‘Of course I couldn’t help,’ she says, and I nod my agreement as I fill the kettle. Spoon coffee into mugs.
I study her as we sip our drinks.
‘How’s work?’ I ask, and she nods.
‘Good.’ But she doesn’t elaborate further, and when I ask her to tell me about her favourite patient she changes the subject. Why have I never noticed how evasive she is? She shifts in her seat and the chair creaks.
‘Hope the legs don’t break.’ She grimaces. ‘I’m like a baby elephant now.’ She tells me how she can’t stop eating at the moment. Savoury things. Salty. I wait for her to slip up. Waiting for a sign. But she speaks about the pregnancy as though it is real, and it isn’t until I mention money her eyes bounce around the room, as she looks at everything but me.
‘Do you need more? Are you okay?’ I lean forward. Rubbing her arm reassuringly.
She cups her bump, shaking away my touch. Wincing.
‘He’s kicking like mad!’
Quickly I move to her side. Place both hands on her bump, ignoring her attempts to brush me off. There’s nothing to be felt. No movement. Just this solid, unnatural, mound.
We wait for a moment, trapped in this pretence, until she sighs and says: ‘He’s settled down again now.’
I jerk my hands away as though her words have hurt me, and in a way, they have.
She yawns. Rubs her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m shattered. Work is so busy. I need to get back this afternoon.’