‘That’s ridiculous. You know I never even completed the act with you those few times we tried. The odds are astronomically against him being mine. And he was so clearly Dougie’s! I saw Dougie in every inch of him. He looked nothing like his brothers and sister, and even less like me.’
‘No, again, you believed what your twisted mind wanted to believe. Take my word for it, Simon, you were his father.’
He dug his heels in.
‘No. I only wish I could believe it like you want me to, but you can’t promise me that. I understand why you need to think it but—’
‘Please don’t make me spell it out for you.’
‘You’re going to have to, because without a DNA test, I will never accept you’re right.’
She held her breath and closed her eyes before she responded. She was too angry and humiliated to look at him.
‘There is no possibility Billy could have been Dougie’s child because he sodomised me.’
And there it was. His last remaining excuse for any of his subsequent actions disintegrated as fast as the ground beneath him.
She struggled to understand what he muttered as he clung tightly to the arms of his chair.
All she could make out were the words ‘God’ and what sounded like ‘forgive me’.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CATHERINE
Northampton, twenty-six years earlier
3 January
My gorgeous Billy giggled in delight as he threw his favourite toy from one end of the bath to the other and chased it on his hands and knees. ‘Slow down!’ I told him.
The blue and white plastic boat and its painted smiley face had been passed down from James to Robbie and finally to their fourteen-month-old brother. And like them, Billy never grew bored of picking it up and hurling it around.
His development was coming on leaps and bounds and he was often crawling around the house and trying to stand by himself like his brothers and sister. ‘No, Billy,’ I warned as he tried to lift himself up using the sides of the bath. He sat back down and then splashed me again with his boat.
Robbie was at an age where cleanliness was so far removed from godliness that he’d rather be playing dinosaurs with the devil than take his evening bath, and Emily always demanded that her daddy gave her one. And as James demanded privacy, Billy was the only boy who’d let his mummy share these precious moments with him. I relished every one of them.
I was shampooing the ever-increasing tufts of hair finally spreading across his crown when the phone rang. I’d been expecting a call from my friend Sharon to tell me how her wedding had gone a day earlier. I was so honoured when she’d asked me to make her three bridesmaids’ dresses, as it was the biggest project I’d ever taken on. She’d invited us to the reception but Simon and I had been forced to turn it down at the last minute when our usual babysitter got chickenpox and couldn’t look after the kids.
Sharon had promised to find the time to ring me tonight, before she and her new husband flew off on their Tenerife honeymoon.
‘Simon!’ I shouted at the top of my voice when the phone went. ‘Watch Billy, please.’
Once I heard his muffled reply from another room, I dashed across the landing into our bedroom and picked up the receiver. By all accounts everything had gone like clockwork, but more importantly, my dresses hadn’t fallen apart at the seams. I was momentarily distracted by a thud coming from outside the bedroom but I’d learned from experience that if no child’s wail followed an unexpected noise, chances were all was well.
Sharon chatted for a few more minutes filling me in on her big day before we hung up. I was proud of myself and couldn’t help but smile as I went back to the bathroom to tell Simon.
‘Sharon says everyone loved them,’ I began as I reached the door. ‘It’s a shame we couldn’t . . .’
Only he wasn’t there. But Billy was, lying in the bath, his face under no more than two inches of water.
His fine baby hair floated aimlessly, his body completely devoid of the life I’d given him. His boat was close to him, anchored in the bubbles, still smiling.
I froze until the full horror of what had happened sunk in, and then I screamed for Simon and dashed those few feet from the door to my baby. I threw my arms into the water and grabbed at him, picking him up by the waist and placing his body onto the fluffy bathroom mat.
The children appeared from nowhere and stared from the doorway in confusion. Robbie yelled ‘Daddy’ and I heard his heavy feet pounding towards us.
‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ I repeated as I picked Billy up again and held him in front of me. His neck flopped forwards.
Simon pushed me away and took charge. He lay him on the floor, tilted his head backwards, pinched his button nose and gave him the kiss of life. I knelt by his side, helpless, my arms as wet as my eyes, sobbing as his dad pushed down heavy on his chest to encourage his heart to beat again. I heard the crack of a rib under Simon’s pressure and it felt like it was my own.
‘Call an ambulance,’ Simon kept repeating, but I remained deadlocked and torn between hope and despair. James must have heard his pleas and ran. I listened to Simon’s warm breath as he blew hard into our son’s mouth; saw his palms sliding across his wet body; heard the crack of a second rib and the brush of his spine against the mat with every push.
I reached out to grab Billy’s still-warm hand and begged God to give him the strength to move his fingers and clasp one around mine. But God had neglected my son when Billy needed him, just like I had. Robbie and Emily were crying behind us when James returned and led them away to his room.
Simon wouldn’t give up, even when the paramedics arrived and tried to take over. They had to pull him to one side, but there was nothing they could do that he hadn’t tried already.
Eventually they looked at us with empathy and shook their heads apologetically.
Despair dragged my body to the floor and I clawed at my chest to take the weight off my heart. I reached for the mat, desperate to grasp something after losing so much. I tried to pull myself closer to my baby but my body was stuck to the floor. Simon scooped my head onto his thigh as I screamed so hard my eyes and throat burned.
‘It’s my fault, I’m sorry,’ I wailed. ‘It’s my fault . . .’
‘No, don’t blame yourself,’ he replied as he stroked my hair. But we both knew it was.
‘I thought you were here with him,’ I cried. ‘I shouted for you.’
‘I was downstairs.’
I begged the paramedics not to take Billy away from us, but Simon quietly explained it was time to let him go. I tenderly dried his body and put him in his Mr Men pyjamas before they carried him downstairs. I couldn’t bring myself to watch as he left our home for the last time.
Instead, I lay with my cheek pressed to the cold lino, holding on to his toy boat and wishing it could sail me back an hour in time, before I left my baby to die.
7 February