A different memory assaults me. Last night’s caller used the phrase ‘stop poking your nose in’. That’s the exact same phrase Martin used this weekend when he told me about Dom spending time over at the Cliffords. He said something like ‘I don’t want to poke my nose in’. That has to be more than a coincidence, surely. It’s not that common a saying.
I get up and take two steps over to the cot to say good morning to my daughter, who gives a wide smile at the sight of my face. I pick her up and take her over to the changing table, trying to lie her down on the padded surface, but Daisy’s not having any of it. She clings on tight like a koala. She wants a cuddle. I give up for the moment and bring her back to my chest, smiling as she looks up at me and grabs at my nose. My days should be spent revelling in the joy of my daughter, not worrying about evil people trying to snatch her. I’ve only got a couple more months until I have to return to work. How can I go back to work when Daisy’s life may be in danger?
‘Morning, Kirst.’ Dom pokes his head around Daisy’s bedroom door. ‘Sleep okay?’
‘On and off,’ I reply. ‘Mostly off.’
‘How you feeling?’ He comes in and plants a toothpaste kiss on my lips, and another on Daisy’s head. Then he pings one of my curls to try and get me to lighten up.
‘Still a bit weirded out,’ I say. ‘I’m not looking forward to turning my phone on this morning in case there’s another missed call, or a message.’
‘I’ll check for you,’ he says. ‘Where is it?’
‘Charging in the kitchen.’
‘Usual pin code?’
‘Yeah. Dom…’
‘What?’
I tell him about Martin using the same phrase that was used by the caller last night. ‘What do you think?’ I ask. ‘Should I tell the police about it?’
Dom frowns. ‘To be honest, I don’t think you should be making any more accusations without evidence.’
‘But it’s pretty coincidental, don’t you think?’
‘Yeah. But that’s all it is, Kirst – a coincidence.’
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Tears prick behind my eyes.
‘When have I ever said I don’t believe you?’
I take a breath. ‘Sorry, just woken up. Bit grumpy and all over the place.’
‘That’s okay. Look, do you want me to stay home with you today?’
I would love nothing more than for Dominic to stay with me. I’m craving his company, the comfort of his words, his arms, his support. ‘You need to be at work though, don’t you? Show them that you’re committed in case of redundancies.’
‘One day shouldn’t hurt.’ But he looks nervous, like one day will hurt.
‘How about if you knock off a bit early instead?’ I suggest.
‘Are you sure? I can stay home if you need me.’
‘I’m sure.’ But I go and ruin it all by allowing a tear to slide down my face.
Dom peels Daisy from my arms and places her back in her cot. ‘You’re not okay, are you?’ he says. ‘How much sleep did you actually get last night?’
‘Not sure.’ I sniff. ‘Maybe an hour or two.’
‘Two hours? That’s nowhere near enough. No wonder you’re tired and tearful. Go back to bed – our bed – and I’ll bring you up some breakfast.’
‘But what about work?’
‘I’ve got time to make you breakfast. Then you can go back to sleep for a bit.’
‘I’m not sure if I’ll have the chance to sleep,’ I say. ‘I have to change and feed Daisy, and she won’t be ready for another nap for ages. I’ll have to play with her to tire her out.’ More tears slip down my cheeks and I feel like a useless, soggy mess. I sink cross-legged to the floor and put my head in my hands.
‘Kirstie?’ Dom’s voice sounds anxious. Probably because I don’t normally cry about stuff. Even when I miscarried, I didn’t really cry. I was quiet, sad, angry, but rarely tearful.
‘I’ll be okay in a minute,’ I murmur, a sob catching in my throat.
‘I’m calling the doctor. You’re exhausted. Stressed.’
‘I don’t need a doctor.’ I try to sniff back my tears. ‘I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.’ But I’m not fine. I’m a shuddering wreck.
‘Kirstie.’ He crouches down in front of me. ‘I’m going to make you a doctor’s appointment, okay? If I call the surgery as soon as they open, I’ll probably be able get you an appointment for today. You can tell them that you’re not sleeping and that you’re anxious.’
‘Don’t forget paranoid and deluded,’ I add.
He tuts. ‘I don’t think that at all. Maybe she’ll give you something to help you sleep, then you won’t feel so bad during the day.’
‘Do you really think I need to see a doctor?’
‘I don’t think it can hurt.’
‘What if I don’t want to go?’ I get to my feet once more and glare out of the bedroom window, not seeing anything.
‘Well, obviously you don’t have to go.’ Dom comes and stands by my side. ‘But honestly, Kirst, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’
I whip around to face him. ‘You don’t know how much you can…’ I trail off and shake my head.
‘Sorry, that came out wrong,’ he says, hunching his shoulders. ‘I just meant we’re both under a lot of strain with everything. And you have to admit, you haven’t been acting like yourself these past few days.’
‘That’s because there’s someone out there who’s… Oh, forget it.’
‘No,’ he says. ‘Someone out there who’s what?’
‘Trying to take Daisy,’ I whisper.
‘Do you really believe that, Kirstie?’
‘Um, let’s see: the baby monitor, the flower bed, the spilt paint, the person out in the fields at night, your car being keyed, Martin’s basement, that threatening phone call… Isn’t that enough to make any parent worried for their child?’
‘I’ll admit, the phone call was odd. But honestly the other things could just be kids mucking around, or coincidences. And the fact is, Kirst, no one has actually tried to take Daisy.’
‘Fine,’ I snap, fed up with trying to justify myself. ‘Whatever. I’ll go.’
‘You’ll go? To the doctor’s? Today?’ I hear the lift in his voice and it makes me want to scream.
‘I just said I would, didn’t I?’
He puts an arm around me and kisses the side of my head as I grit my teeth. It’s all I can do not to push him away. I’m starting to feel like I don’t know my husband any more.
* * *
‘Hello, Mrs Rawlings,’ Dr Sloane says. ‘Please take a seat.’
I do as she asks and sit on the plastic chair opposite her own, a faint smell of disinfectant in the air. The room has been arranged so that there is no barrier between us. Instead, the cherry-wood veneer desk is pushed up against the wall beside her.
‘How are you today?’ she asks.
‘I’m okay,’ I say automatically, before correcting myself. ‘Actually, no, I’m not okay, but I don’t think it’s anything you can help me with.’ I bite my lip trying to stop myself from crying. What the hell is wrong with me?
‘What’s the problem?’ she gives an encouraging smile, her tired brown eyes filled with compassion, something I didn’t expect.
‘I’ve been having trouble sleeping,’ I say, my hands resting in my lap.
‘Your daughter is six months old, right? Is she keeping you up at night?’
I glance across at Daisy, who is currently asleep in her pram by my side. ‘No, she’s good as gold – sleeps through till five thirty most nights. Then goes straight back down for another few hours.’
‘That’s good to hear. So what else is keeping you awake, do you think?’
I consider the question, trying to work out how to explain the turmoil in my brain. ‘Recently, I always seem to be worrying about everything. My mind won’t switch off at night or even during the day.’
‘And what are you worried about?’
I tell her about the voices I heard in the monitor, about the flower bed and the spilt paint, and also about the threatening phone call. ‘And ever since I heard those voices, I’m scared that whoever it was might come back and snatch Daisy.’ I don’t mention Martin and his basement – it sounds too ‘out there’. I don’t want to give her any reason to doubt my sanity. I just need help sleeping at night. ‘So, you see, it’s not really a medical issue. It’s more that I’m worrying about the safety of my child.’
‘I see.’ Dr Sloane leans over to her desk and begins tapping at her computer keyboard. ‘It sounds like you’ve had a few quite traumatic experiences.’
‘And I seem to be on the verge of crying all the time. It’s not like me,’ I add.