William has been sitting in the corner of Ruth’s lounge for over an hour while Gloria talks to her friends. He doesn’t like this room; the glass cabinet with wedding and baby photos depresses him and the bland rubbish playing on the stereo is like nails down a blackboard. Ruth is Gloria’s closest nursing friend, and the last, except them, to start a family. Right now, he doesn’t like her very much either and he positively hates christening parties.
A few months ago, he came back early from work and found Gloria on the kitchen floor, a tight knot of grief, knees gripped to her chest. He caught the misery on her face in the brief second before she could get it under control, readjust herself for him. She tried to grab the balled letter next to her, but he dipped down and got to it first. It was from her sister.
‘I’ll get over it,’ she said, wiping her face with both palms. ‘Just seems a bit greedy. She’s already got three. Not sure I can get excited about a fourth.’
He sat on the floor and put his arm round her, kissed her warm head. She leaned into him, her body relaxing, and it amazed him how she could let him be her comfort, when it was him inflicting the hurt.
Gloria has no idea that every now and then he lets himself imagine a pregnancy; the heat of her joy, a baby arriving – always a girl – the soft flesh of small fingers closing round his. Neither does she know about the images that burst into his mind with all the vivid horror of his flashbacks. Images of terrible attacks on their baby’s fragile body. The unbearable anguish of embalming his own child. Because how could he ever let anyone else do it? All this he keeps to himself.
On his most recent visit to Cambridge, he hoped to talk about it with Martin, thinking that his presence has an almost magical quality. But once he arrived, he felt the folding in of himself and let Martin’s lively company be enough for both of them. He must have stayed with him more than ten times in the last two years. Sometimes with Gloria, sometimes on his own. It’s best when she comes, and Martin cooks an elaborate meal, with wine and loud music, and flowers on the table, but mostly he comes on his own, wanting to give her a break.
Gloria is walking towards him now, carrying the baby in its ludicrous satin gown, followed by Ruth, who smiles at him and says, ‘Want a cuddle, Uncle William?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, thank you.’
Ruth mock frowns, looks to Gloria.
‘Come on, William.’ Gloria smiles, but there’s warning in her voice. ‘He’s a poppet.’ She holds the baby towards him, determined.
It won’t take much, he thinks, just reach out, take the child, and that delicious smile will sweep her face.
‘Come on then, little chap.’ He stands, trying to sound confident. His hands close around the baby’s sides, and he feels the tiny case of ribs under the slip and slide of the satin. The two women grin at him. He settles the baby into the crook of his arm.
‘Look how relaxed he is!’ Gloria says.
‘Sit down with him’ – Ruth looks eager – ‘he might drop off.’
Carefully, William settles back into the seat, feels the weight of the miniature body relax in his arms, watches the eyelids, slower and heavier with each blink. Everyone else is standing and he’s aware of other guests smiling down at him. He concentrates on the baby, the adults now on the periphery of his vision.
A golden flicker at the edge of his left eye is the only warning, seconds before his body jolts at the certainty that the baby is dead. He struggles to stand, holding it with both hands. He shouts and the baby wakes. But how? It’s dead, and all these people, all these parents are waiting for him. He must do it quickly, before it starts to decompose! He tries to run through the crowd. There’s a cry of anguish. The baby is being pulled from his arms by an angry man. The father wants the body, but William mustn’t give it to him! He tightens his grip on the screaming baby. He must get to work!
‘William! William! Let go of the baby!’
Gloria. Her arms round him. Someone’s sobbing. Where’s the baby? The line of parents stare at him.
‘All right now?’ she asks, searching his face.
The film of sweat cools on his forehead. The cul-de-sac is full of parked cars. They lean on their bonnet in silence. The fresh air helps bring him back to himself, his surroundings. Her hand on his shoulder is gentle and so is her voice, but he senses she’s angry.
‘Get in the other side. I’ll drive, but not yet,’ Gloria says, soft but firm, slipping her hand in his jacket pocket for the keys. ‘I’ve got things to say and you need to hear.’
Once in the car, he stares through the windscreen, exhausted. A gust of wind whistles through the air vent.
‘They must hate me.’
‘No.’
‘Course they do. At least now they’ll know I’m right about not wanting children.’
She twists urgently in her seat towards him. Her eyes are fierce and full of intent. They stare at each other for a moment, him braced against what’s to come. Then her breath heaves in and out and she turns back to look out of the windscreen. ‘I have never told anyone why we haven’t got children’ – she speaks quietly now – ‘but you know what really pisses me off? Not that you don’t want children, or wake up screaming. Do you think I could love anyone as much as I love you – who wouldn’t be touched by the horror of what you saw?’
‘What then?’ he asks, just wanting to get home and sleep.
‘That you don’t have to put up with this. It’s one thing in our home, our bedroom, but William, you scared me today. You could have hurt the baby.’ Her voice wobbles. ‘I just know there’s help out there.’
‘I won’t let it happen again. Clearly, I’m not safe with children.’
‘Yeah, you tell yourself that.’
The unfamiliar tone of sarcasm gets his attention. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re scared of getting help, because of what else it will uncover. This isn’t just about Aberfan.’