Hello, My Name is May

by Rosalind Stopps

  ‘Modern research, huh?’ said Alain. ‘Look at the academic speaking now. Time for that doctorate, I guess. I’m just a loving daddy. Don’t know nothing, me.’

  He stared out of the window and May tried to think of something that would make up for what she had said, retrieve the day so that they could get to their new home without having a full scale row. It would be such a bad omen to start off like that. She jiggled Jenny a little, enough to disturb her from the sleep she was beginning to settle into.

  ‘Oh look,’ May said, ‘she’s not happy with me either. I think she doesn’t like sleeping in the daylight. She needs a darkened room.’

  ‘Well that’s what I thought,’ said Alain, ‘that’s why I made her those heavy curtains last night, they’re on top of the stuff in the van. We’ll have to get them up as soon as possible, good thing I thought of it.’

  Goal, thought May, shame he’s not always so easy to manipulate. May wondered if other mothers had to plan their words so carefully, keep themselves on guard at all times. She didn’t think so. Her father had died when she was a child, so she hadn’t ever witnessed a relationship between a man and a woman at close quarters. Perhaps it’s what everyone does, she thought, perhaps that’s what no one can ever say, they just learn to live with it. Or not, like Helen.

  Alain seemed cheery as they unloaded the van and chose where to put their few belongings. The woman from the flat across the hallway came out and offered to help. May worried that the woman’s offers of help would annoy Alain but he seemed to like her.

  ‘I’m Joan,’ she said as she hauled a box into their bare living room. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Alain before May had a chance to speak. ‘I’m Alain, and this here is baby Jenny, and this is my wife.’

  My wife, thought May, no name of my own.

  Alain and Joan were soon chatting as they unpacked. May didn’t join in. She wanted to but couldn’t think of anything bright or breezy enough to say. She had hoped so much that London would work out, but it didn’t seem to be getting off to a great start. Alain seemed OK now, she thought as she fed Jenny in the middle of the boxes and bags, but what had happened on the train? Had she imagined it? Should she have stood up for herself? What would have been the worst that could happen? Was there part of her that wanted him to explode so that she could run away legitimately? Go and live with Helen? And if so, was it her own fault? The questions buzzed through May’s mind like ticker tape until she thought that she might explode. You’ve got to stop this, she thought to herself, give this move, this family a proper chance. After all, look how much other people liked him. She carried Jenny through to the bedroom to settle her and listened to Alain and Joan chatting outside. May was almost drifting off when she heard her name mentioned.

  ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with May,’ Alain said to their new neighbour. ‘You’d think she’d be happy, moving into our own home and all that.’

  May was sitting on the floor in the little room that would be Jenny’s. Alain must want her to hear, she realised. It was a tiny flat, he could hardly think she was somewhere else.

  ‘It’s probably just baby blues,’ said Joan, and May felt like crying at the concern in her voice. ‘It takes some women like that.’

  ‘But she acts so strangely,’ Alain said. ‘Sometimes I, well, I think we’ll leave it for now.’

  Alain broke off quickly as May came out to the pavement outside the flat where they were taking the boxes off the van.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘absolutely fine, let me take some of this stuff indoors.’

  Shit, she thought, I overstressed that. Far too much emphasis.

  ‘So nice to meet a neighbour,’ May said. ‘Fresh starts can be daunting. It’s nice to know someone nearby.’

  May realised that Alain looked furious. She tried to think what it was that had upset him. He didn’t speak again until Joan had gone.

  ‘Did you have to do that?’ he said. ‘Make a show of yourself, tell her we don’t have any friends?’

  May tried to think what she should say to calm him down. She hadn’t meant any harm, hadn’t thought that what she had said had been contentious but she knew she had to make things OK or their first night would be ruined. The atmosphere had changed completely. Alain glared at her in a way that made her stomach lurch.

  ‘I’ve got plenty of friends, you stupid woman. I don’t want them around you, that’s all,’ Alain said as he threw Jenny’s toys into her room.

  ‘I just meant,’ said May, ‘we’re new here, that’s all.’

  Shut up, May, she thought, stop talking, you’re making it worse with every word you say.

  There was a silence, and May tried to make a plan.

  ‘Earth to May, Earth to May,’ Alain said and May realised that she had been standing still, thinking, while Alain unpacked stuff around her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I was just thinking how nice it is to be together here in London.’

  A jar of peanut butter slipped out of Alain’s hands and smashed on the hard kitchen floor. Alain tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the mess.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, staring at May. ‘Oh May.’

  May noticed that he was using his soft and soulful voice. The scary one. She was on her own, with a baby to protect. May had to think fast. She had to placate him.

  ‘Why don’t you have a sit down?’ May said, keeping her tone even. ‘I can see the kettle in the corner of that box, and the tea bags have already been unpacked. I’ll clean this up in a jiff with kitchen paper and then I’ll get the dinner on. I’ve got all the ingredients ready to go, it won’t take me long.’

  May pretended to ignore the way that Alain was glowering at her.

  ‘I’m sorry I upset you,’ said May. ‘I think we’re going to be happy here, and I didn’t mean to do anything, say anything, to jeopardise that. I love you, Alain.’

  ‘Love?’ he said. ‘Love? Well I think you’ve shown your love by finding this marvellous flat, haven’t you? We were nothing, we had nothing, and now we have all this.’

  Alain swept his hands round in a grand gesture meant to show the flat. The poor dingy little flat, with its tiny windows and its three rooms plus a toilet, no bathroom.

  ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat,’ May said. She hoped it was true. If he didn’t, she had run out of choices for the moment. It would be unbearable to try to trace old friends only to ask for help, and anyway she had lost touch with most people since she had married Alain.

  Alain was quiet while May cooked. She was glad that she’d brought food ready to cook. If she thought back, Alain was often at his worst when he was hungry. May had read an article about the effects of low blood sugar, and it was possible, probable even, that this was part of Alain’s problem.

  It was nearly ready when Alain walked over to the stove and sniffed the pot. May held her breath.

  ‘That mince is off,’ he said. ‘Are you trying to poison me?’

  The air seemed to go very still, in the way that May had read about before an earthquake or a tornado. The mince was still bubbling, but more quietly now. May checked instinctively that Jenny was still asleep in her carrycot and reached out to stir it.

  ‘Are you not listening to me?’ Alain said. ‘I said the mince is off. I can smell it, see, and you would be able to if you weren’t so fucking stupid. Even your nose doesn’t work properly, can you believe that?’

  May stood with her spoon poised above the saucepan. She was hungry, and it had been smelling delicious, she was sure of that. Of course, it didn’t smell so delicious any more. It was more like a pot pourri of hatred and terror, but she was still sure it hadn’t gone bad. Don’t act apologetic, she thought, that always makes him worse.

  ‘You don’t have to have any,’ she said. ‘It’s a new recipe, but there’s bread and some of that nice cheese we bought the other day if you prefer. I’m going to have some though, I don’t think it’s off, and if it is
, oh well, I’ve got a cast-iron stomach after all those weeks of being pregnant.’

  May attempted a small laugh, and lowered the wooden spoon into the saucepan. It was a good way to disguise the shaking of her hands. Keep going, she thought to herself, act confident, you’re doing well.

  ‘I can’t believe you would do that,’ Alain said. ‘I can’t believe even you would do that to me. Christ, you must hate me. Is it because of the Welsh Film Board? Do you think that doesn’t upset me far more than it upsets you? You must be absolutely, bone-shakingly stupid if you think that for one tiny moment I’m going to let you get away with something so evil.’

  May stopped stirring. She was used to Alain’s twisted logic by now, but this was something else entirely.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘Get away with what?’

  As soon as the words had left her mouth she tried to recall them. Come back, words, she thought, come back, let me not have fallen into another trap so quickly. Alain clearly saw that he had executed a winning move, and his expression became almost kind.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, stroking May’s face as she stood frozen over the pot of mince. ‘Oh dear, who’s a stupid, stupid little girl?’

  May put the wooden spoon into the mince and reached out her hand to turn off the gas. Damage limitation, too late for anything else, at least get away from the hot stuff. She remembered Alain’s finger. She should have backed down sooner, she could see that clearly now, this big strong brave act was for fools.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I’m talking about, dear little sweet little stupid little May. I’m talking about this.’

  He moved his hands as he spoke, down from her face to her shoulder to her chest until they were resting on her stomach, still swollen from the birth. May stood still.

  ‘This,’ he said again. ‘Have you even tried to lose weight? Were you planning on staying like this for ever?’ He jabbed May’s stomach with his fingers as he spoke. She held her stomach in and tried to step backwards, but she was right next to the cooker. It was a narrow kitchen, and to get away from him she would have to step round him. It wasn’t going to happen. She had to work with what she had. May’s fingers tightened on the wooden spoon.

  As if he was reading her mind, Alain spoke. ‘Give me that,’ he said, ‘the wooden spoon, hand it over. I’m worried you might hurt yourself with it, do you know why?’

  May remained frozen, holding her stomach in and trying to think what the right thing to say or do might be, the safest path, the way to get out and away. Nothing seemed possible.

  ‘I said, do you know why?’ he said, jabbing her stomach again, harder this time so that she cried out.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No I don’t know why.’

  She handed over the spoon, dripping with sauce.

  ‘Because you’re so fucking stupid you can’t even be trusted with a wooden spoon,’ he said.

  He laughed as if he had said the wittiest thing ever. ‘Do you get it?’ he said. ‘Or are you too stupid to even understand how stupid you are?’

  He wiped the spoon as he spoke, round her face and over her clothes, dipping it in the saucepan now and again until she was totally smeared. May tried not to wince at the heat of it.

  ‘This is the thing,’ he said.

  He spoke in a quiet, reasonable tone, as if he was explaining something in a friendly way.

  ‘You’re not going to poison me. I know your little tricks, you see, I’m one step ahead of you at all times, and you would be best advised not to ever forget it. You’d feed me the mince, and I’d eat it, like the fool you think I am, and bingo. You’d be able to keep her,’ he pointed to the sleeping baby, ‘all to yourself, mummy and baby. Am I right?’ Alain stared at May. ‘I said am I right?’

  May tried to think. If she said yes, not only would she be admitting to something insane, but she would also be in terrible danger. If she said no, there was a chance that he would become even more angry. She decided to hedge.

  ‘I don’t know why you would think that,’ she said. ‘This is the same recipe we had last week, I thought that you would like it. Has something happened today to upset you? Is it the flat? I’m sorry if it’s me.’

  What am I doing? she thought. Standing here, exhausted from the move, asking him if he’s OK, pretending to be reasonable. She was covered in tomato mince sauce, and she was terrified. This was not the new life in London, the quiet family life she had imagined. This was not the life that anybody sane would choose to live.

  ‘Eat it,’ he said. ‘Stick your hand in there and eat it like the little piggy you are. Go on, eat it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ May said. ‘I only just turned the gas off, look, it’s practically still bubbling, I can’t put my hand in there.’

  ‘Eat it,’ he repeated, ‘yum yum yum.’ Alain thrust the wooden spoon at May’s mouth.

  ‘I’ve had enough,’ she heard herself shout. She hadn’t known that she was going to say it until she heard the words. ‘Stop it, get out of my way, I need to have a wash. Leave me alone.’

  She pushed past him, picked up Jenny and left the kitchen, propelled by the momentum of her own words. She ran into the toilet, the only room with a lock, and pushed the bolt home. Jenny was still asleep and May kissed her.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jenny,’ she said. ‘I’m going to sort this out, I promise.’

  May was covered in dinner and trembling so hard she thought she might drop the baby. She wiped off the worst of the sauce and settled down on the floor to feed Jenny, crying, until she fell asleep.

  May woke from a dream of hot babies covered in blood that looked like tomato sauce. Jenny was still snuggled in, suckling. It could only have been a few minutes. May scrubbed her face with toilet paper and cold water. The mince had crusted round her ears and hair, and it took a while. Her face was red and puffy. She looked at the bolt on the door. It was flimsy, but it had held. That must mean that he wasn’t going to try to pursue her here for some reason. Think, May, think, she said to herself, what’s he going to do next? Her only hope was to stay ahead of him. Jenny was OK, that was the main thing.

  May looked at the window. It was tiny and high up. Even if she had a chair to climb on she wouldn’t be able to reach it, and even if she could reach it what could she do? Throw a note into the street and hope it was picked up? No. If this was a film there would be someone standing out there, or else the police would storm the building, or…

  May tried to pull herself together. This wasn’t a film, it was her life, Jenny’s life. She was hungry, cold and trapped in the toilet of her new home with a tiny baby. She stood up. She needed to be determined and dignified, that was the trick. She would walk out of the front door. It should be easy. It should be the easiest thing in the world, a woman leaving her house with her baby, it must happen every second of every day in every country. She walked over to the toilet door and listened. May’s hand was on the door handle and she was about to leave when she heard a noise. Breathing. She could definitely hear breathing outside the door. She tried to still her own breathing to be sure. It was breathing, ragged, gaspy breathing as if someone had been running or crying. May’s stomach lurched. She was trying to decide whether to speak, try to leave, or just settle back down on the floor when Alain spoke from the other side.

  ‘May,’ he said, ‘my lovely May, my darling Jenny, what have I done?’

  It could be a trick. She stepped back from the door.

  ‘Alain?’ she said.

  ‘Thank God,’ he said, ‘thank God you’re OK. May, I’m so, so sorry, I’m the sorriest man there ever was, sorrier than that even.’

  May wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to start another argument, that was definite, but she also didn’t want to roll over and accept the apology as if it was something almost normal, as if he had broken a favourite cup or forgotten an anniversary.

  ‘I need to come out of here, am I safe?’ May asked. It was a pointless question. Of course he would say yes, whether she was or not,
but the way he said it – that was what she had to be listening to. She had to make sure that it wasn’t a trick.

  ‘I would never, ever hurt you, my darling May,’ Alain said. ‘And I’m so, so terribly sorry. I heard today, before we left, that I didn’t get the job I’d thought would be a cinch, the one I really wanted. I think it hurt me more than I realised. After the last time, too, with the Welsh Film Board. What can I do to show you how sorry I am? How can I ask you to forgive me? That I would hurt you, the precious mother of my precious child, defies belief.’

  He sounded as though he meant it, and May decided to take a chance, but be ready to run if it was a trick. She slid back the bolt and left the toilet. As soon as she saw Alain’s tear-stained face she knew she had been right. She felt an irrational surge of gratitude and sank to the floor next to him in the hallway, Jenny snuggled between them.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘it’s OK.’

  May pulled Alain’s head on to her shoulder. She wondered how it was possible to fear and hate someone yet also to love them, to be grateful to them for the quiet times.

  ‘It’s not OK,’ he said. ‘I was unkind to you, and I don’t know why.’

  Unkind, May thought, unkind? Surely unkind was when you told someone you didn’t like their new dress, or you teased them for listening to the top ten. Was it the right word for smearing a person with hot sauce on the first day in a new flat and then making them take refuge in a toilet with a little baby?

  ‘I think there might be something wrong with me,’ Alain said. ‘I’m going to go to the doctor now we’re down here, honestly. I think it might be something serious.’

  Alain started to cry, sobs that tore at May’s soft, exposed heart.

  ‘Ssh,’ she said, cradling his head. ‘Ssh, it’s OK, I’m here, don’t cry.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jenny,’ Alain whispered into the baby’s ear, ‘and I’m sorry to you too, May. I’m really going to try, from now on. No more nonsense.’