by Wendy Clarke
‘If you don’t tell me, how am I supposed to fix it?’
I give a half-smile. ‘You don’t have to fix everything, Mitch.’
‘I know that, but I like to try. Please, Kel. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?’
I consider telling him, then shake my head. ‘Did you know, Mitch? Did you know all along where you were taking me?’
He looks away. ‘Of course not. I just thought it would be somewhere different to go. A change of scene. Since you’ve been on maternity leave, apart from the odd run at the weekend, you’ve been stuck in the house. You don’t go to a baby group. In fact, you never see anyone.’
I turn on him. ‘I don’t need anyone and I don’t want to go to a baby group. It’s enough effort just to get dressed in the mornings, let alone drag myself to a sodding group full of perfect mums and perfect babies who never cry.’
Mitch stands and walks over to the window, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. There’s nothing much to see outside, except his white van and the houses in the terrace opposite. I see his broad shoulders rise as he takes an intake of breath.
‘Okay, so you don’t want to go to a baby group. I was just using it as an example.’
The room is silent except for the sound of Charlie sniffing at something that’s under the settee, out of his reach. Usually, I’d be grateful for the peace, but now it feels awkward – pregnant with the words we’ve left unsaid.
Mitch turns and looks at me, helplessness written across his face. At times like this, he doesn’t know how to play it. Whether what he says will make things worse.
‘What happened today, Kel? That’s all I’m asking. So the village you saw was the place where you used to live. What’s the big deal?’
To Mitch, things are either black or white. He can’t understand that there might be a multitude of answers to his question. Each one dredging up emotions so intense I can almost taste them: love, hate, envy… guilt.
I don’t want to answer, but I need to tell him something. I owe him that much. ‘It wasn’t a happy place. Bad things happened there.’
Mitch nods, grateful that I’ve shared this small morsel. ‘You’ve never told me that. I’m sorry.’
All he’s ever known about me is that I left home as soon as I was old enough. Moved to Brighton and worked in the bars and clubs. When he met me, I was living in a rundown bedsit having spent the previous months dossing on people’s sofas.
‘There are some things it’s better for people not to know.’
‘What? Even your husband?’
I look at him sadly. ‘Especially my husband.’
The change in his expression is slight. A thinning of his lips and a tightness around his eyes. Mitch looks at his watch.
‘I said I’d meet the guys at The Crown tonight for a quick pint. There’s a new project I want to discuss.’
‘Don’t go!’ I hadn’t expected the rise of panic at his words. The dread at being left alone in the house with the children. Not after today.
He stiffens. ‘I won’t be long. It’s important.’
I can see Mitch wants to be out of this room. Away from the emotion he can’t understand. He needs to be somewhere else, with people who speak the same language. Not a neurotic wife who talks in riddles.
‘Do you have to?’
Suddenly, the baby monitor springs into life. Noah’s awake again. Mitch glances at it, unsure of the right thing to do. ‘I’ll see to him.’
‘No, I’ll go. He’ll need feeding. You go to the pub, I’m just being stupid.’
Mitch hesitates, torn between staying and going. As another cry comes through the monitor, he rubs the back of his neck, crippled by indecision.
‘You weren’t like this with the other two, Kelly. You sailed through it like a pro. But having another baby seems to have knocked you for six. Like I said before, if you got out more, made some friends, you might not be so…’
‘So what, Mitch?’
He looks at me lamely. ‘So weird. Sometimes I see you standing in the hallway just staring at the floor or the wall. You don’t move even if the baby cries. It’s not normal. The midwife mentioned the baby blues. It could be something like that. Maybe if you saw Dr—’
‘I don’t need to see a doctor,’ I snap. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I just wish people would stop asking me questions.’
For a second, I’m back in the thatched house of my childhood. Someone is leaning over me. What really happened, Kelly? Tell me the truth.
A tear runs down my cheek and I know Mitch has seen.
‘I’ll stay if you want,’ he says half-heartedly.
I wipe my face with my sleeve. ‘No. You go. I’ll be better on my own. I’ll feed Noah, then get an early night.’ I force a smile. ‘Maybe this will be the night he sleeps through.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Mitch squeezes my shoulder, looking relieved. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
I place my hand on top of his. ‘I know and I’m sorry. One day, when I’m ready, I’ll tell you everything, I promise. And Mitch.’
‘Yeh?’
‘Go easy tonight. You know how persuasive the lads can be.’
‘Just a couple of pints. I promise.’
He walks to the door and opens it, his shoulders relaxing. He’s keen to leave and, for the first time in our marriage, I wonder whether my husband might have secrets of his own.
14
Kelly Before
Kelly’s fast asleep when her mum wakes her the next morning. She feels groggy as though she hasn’t slept properly. It was too hot last night, the air thick and still.
‘Get up, Kelly. We’ve a busy day.’
Sitting up, Kelly rubs the side of her face, feeling the imprint of her cellular blanket on her cheek. ‘Where are we going?’
Her mum smiles brightly. ‘To the sports centre. Freya changed her mind.’ She holds out a lined page that looks like it’s been torn out of a notebook. On it, in felt pen, her sister has written I will go to holiday club.
Could this be a mistake? Only yesterday, Kelly had thought she wouldn’t be going. Had sat, heartbroken, as Freya had shaken her head and covered her hands with her eyes when her mum had suggested it. Kelly had always wanted to go to holiday club, and now she’s old enough, her dream had been snatched away from her.
For the rest of the day, she had refused to play with Freya. Had sat in the shadows of her hiding place in the laurel bush and wished that the girl had never come to them. Had hated her for spoiling everything.
As she’d peeped through the leaves, she’d seen Freya standing alone by the flower bed, reaching out a hand to the late-summer blooms and breaking their stems with her thin fingers. Finding one she couldn’t break, she’d let the flower head loll heavy and broken against the bruised stem. When her mother had walked across the grass and seen the wilting posy in Freya’s fist, Kelly had put her hands over her ears, waiting for the raised voice… but it had never come. Instead, her mum’s face had softened into a smile as Freya held the flowers out to her.
If Kelly had done the same, she’d have been rewarded with a slap.
Now, Freya’s standing behind her mum, her fair hair freshly washed. She’s wearing a pair of denim shorts that emphasises the thinness of her legs, the white skin mottled as if its winter. Beneath her T-shirt, Kelly can see the shape of the locket her mum gave her.
She’s never had a locket.
The room lightens as her mum twists the blind to open it, and Kelly sees what’s in Freya’s hand. It’s Amber, her favourite doll, her white, nylon hair gleaming in the morning sunlight. She holds it out to Kelly.
Last night, still angry with her, Kelly had stopped by Freya’s open bedroom door on her way to the bathroom. On the floor, beside Freya’s bed, she’d seen a row of dolls, their plastic faces turned to the wall, as though they’d done something wrong.
Freya was lying on the pale pink duvet, Amber clasped to her body.
In seconds Kelly had been on the bed, prising Freya’s fingers to make her let go, but she’d only clutched Amber more closely to her body. Grabbing one of the doll’s arms, Kelly had pulled harder until she’d fallen back on the bed, Amber’s plastic arm in her hand.
Kelly can still hear the terrible sound that had come from between Freya’s pale, thin lips as she rocked the armless Amber in her arms. A low keening that had frightened her. Wanting her to stop, she’d thrown the plastic arm at the girl and Freya had taken a juddering breath. With the doll tucked under her chin, she’d closed her eyes and within seconds was asleep.
Kelly stares at the doll in Freya’s outstretched hand and sees that the arm is back in place. Is she trying to say sorry for taking what wasn’t hers? For breaking Amber’s arm? Is she feeling guilty for not being a good sister?
She turns away. ‘I don’t want her now.’
Kelly’s mother grabs the doll out of the Freya’s hand and thrusts it at her. ‘You should be ashamed of your behaviour. Why can’t you be more like Freya, Kelly, instead of always thinking of yourself?’
Kneeling next to Freya, she cups her hands around her face. ‘She doesn’t mean it, sweetheart. It was a lovely thing to do and she’s just ungrateful.’
Kelly’s eyes ache with the tears she’s holding back. She wants to tell her mum that it was Freya who took her doll, but she doesn’t. She knows it will only make things worse. Instead, she climbs out of bed and puts on her slippers. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I expect you are.’ She takes Freya’s hand. ‘Come on, Freya, it’s time for breakfast.’
It’s only when they’ve left the room that Kelly realises she hasn’t seen or heard her father this morning.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ she calls after them.
Through the half-open door, she sees her mum stop, her free hand on the banister. ‘He had to go to work early.’
As always, Kelly considers the way she’s said it. Cross-referencing it against other conversations for signs of crossness or disappointment. She thinks she hears both.
‘Okay.’
Her clothes have been laid out for her and, as she puts them on, she wonders what Carly will be wearing and what she’ll say when she shows off her new big sister. She can’t wait to see her face when she tells her that this one will be staying forever. But then doubt creeps in. What will Carly make of this strange girl with her baby-fine hair, the blue veins visible beneath the translucent skin? What if she doesn’t like her?
When she gets downstairs, her mum has made them both packed lunches. They are in plastic lunch boxes on the kitchen worktop. One box is shiny pink and has Beauty and the Beast on it. On the lid of the other, Bob the Builder smiles out from the scuffed blue plastic, his yellow helmet almost rubbed away. She hates it.
Her mum points to the blue one. ‘You don’t mind taking that one, do you, Kelly? It seemed silly to buy two new ones.’
Kelly thinks of the Disney princess at Carly’s party and the unfairness wraps itself around her, making it hard to breathe. Her mum knows how much she loves Beauty. How, even though no one has taken her to see the film, she’s read the book from cover to cover. Sliding it out of the box set of Disney stories that sits on the shelf in the large bedroom that’s now Freya’s.
The girl is sitting at the table, an empty breakfast bowl in front of her. Kelly knows she’s waiting for her to make her choice so she can have the same. Can’t she make up her own mind? But then she remembers Freya’s change of heart, how she’s tried to make amends, and the irritation slips away. How horrible it must be to sit in someone else’s kitchen with different cupboards and different food and a new sister who you’ve only known a few weeks. She looks at the Bob the Builder lunch box. It was once Mason’s. She liked Mason.
‘I don’t mind having that one,’ she says, even though it’s a lie.
Her mum is stacking the dishwasher. ‘On the holiday club timetable, it says it’s swimming today. Your costumes and towels are in your rucksacks by the door and I’ve rung Anne Johnson to let her know you’re coming.’ She looks at Freya meaningfully. ‘I’ve explained everything and she’s going to keep a good eye on you, but I expect you to look after her too, Kelly.’
‘Of course, I will. She’s my sister.’
‘No, Kelly, she’s… Oh, for goodness’ sake, I haven’t got time for this.’
The dishwasher door slams closed and Kelly flinches. Not wanting to make her crosser, she says nothing more but takes the box of Honey Nut Loops and tips them into her bowl before pushing the box to Freya.
As the girls eat, Kelly’s mum comes round behind Freya, a hairbrush in her hand and a stretchy black band around her wrist. Gently, she pulls the brush through the girl’s wispy hair, then, putting the brush down, uses both hands to smooth the hair away from her face before securing it with the band. It’s so fine she has to twist it four times around to stop it from slipping off. With her hair tied back, Freya’s face looks odd, the pale eyes too large in her head, the neck too long, the chin too pointed.
‘There.’ Her mum nods at her work, satisfied. ‘That will make it easier to put on the swimming cap.’
She doesn’t offer to do Kelly’s hair and she’s glad. Sometimes, when she does it for school, she brushes too hard, the bristles raking across her scalp. At other times, the band is twisted so tightly that the skin around her hairline aches.
* * *
They have the radio on all the way to the sports centre and her mum doesn’t mind when she sings along with her. She looks across at Freya who has her forehead pressed against the glass.
‘We’re going to have a great time. There will be bouncy, inflatable things in the water and later we might have races.’ A thought occurs to her. ‘You can swim, can’t you?’
They’ve pulled into the sports centre car park. Her mum reverses into a space, then puts on the handbrake. She turns round in her seat. ‘Anne says it’s fine to join in with the others as long as you wear your armbands, Freya. Just make sure they’re blown up properly.’
Freya gives no indication that she’s heard. She’s watching the girls who are climbing out of the people carrier that’s parked next to them. It’s Carly. Tabby and Ava are with her.
‘Wait for me, Carly!’ Leaning out of the window, Kelly waves her arms, but it’s too late. The girls are already running towards the double doors of the sports centre. She wants to run after them, but she knows she’ll have to wait for Freya.
Carly’s mum walks over to the car. She smiles apologetically at her mum through the open window.
‘They’re just excited. I’ll take the girls in if you like.’
Kelly’s pleased. If her mum went in, she’d only make a fuss about Freya and everyone would stare.
They follow Carly’s mum into the sports centre and she has to listen to her twittering on about how lovely it is to meet Freya at last. The shy smile Freya gives in return makes her feel grumpy. When they get inside, a young woman, dressed in navy shorts and a yellow T-shirt with ClubActive embroidered on it, is waiting for them.
‘Hi, girls. I’m Anne. You can change in here.’ She points to a door with Changing Room written on it. ‘I’ll show you.’
She pushes the door open and leans against it to let them through. Immediately, Kelly is hit by the smell of chlorine and the echoing voices of the girls who are changing there. Spotting a bench with enough space for both their bags, Kelly leads Freya over to it. The floor is wet in places, strands of hair collecting in the joins between the tiles. She tries not to look at it, or at the used plaster she can see through the slats in the wooden bench.
‘When you’ve put on your costumes,’ Anne says, ‘put your clothes in your bags and hang them on the hooks above the bench. I’ll come back to take you to the pool area in ten minutes.’ Turning to Freya, she lowers her voice and points to the row of blue metal doors that line the wall. ‘If you want, you can change in one of the cubicles, Freya.’
Kelly had been looking at a lone sock t
hat someone’s left on the windowsill above her, but now she drags her eyes away to stare at Anne. Like the other girls, who have stopped what they’re doing to listen, she’s wondering why Freya’s getting special treatment.
Beside her, Freya stands with her head bent, her hands bunched into fists. Slowly, she shakes her head, then takes her rucksack off her back. Unzipping it, she takes out her towel.
Anne looks doubtful. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’
The door swings shut as she goes back out and Kelly waits to see what Freya will do. The other girls have lost interest; they’re stuffing clothes into bags and stretching swimming hats over their hair. The talk is of the races they’ll have and how warm the water’s going to be.
At the other end of the changing room, Carly, Tabby and Ava have finished changing and are looking at them with interest. She’d wanted so much for them to meet her new sister, but now they’re here, she’s not so sure. What if they think she’s weird?
Unrolling her towel, Kelly takes out her costume and lays it in front of her. She’d have liked to have worn the red one with frills around the legs, but that’s the one her mum’s given to Freya. Instead, she’s got the polka dot costume that she’s had for ages. The material has gone thin and see through in places where it’s stretched, and she suspects the elastic around the legs will cut into her.
Using the wall for balance, Kelly stands on one leg and takes off one trainer, then swaps legs and takes off the other. She places them both under the bench, then sits and pulls off her socks, trying to find a dry piece of floor for her feet as she bends to push them into her shoes. Her T-shirt is next and then her shorts.
Standing in just her pants, she looks across at Freya and sees that she hasn’t moved. She’s standing with her arms by her sides, the red swimsuit in front of her, her face a picture of misery.
‘Come on, Freya. Anne said we only have ten minutes.’
Freya looks at her, her eyes barely blinking, then picks up her towel and wraps it around her body. It’s a long towel and the end trails on the wet floor. Holding it closed with her right hand, she tries, with difficulty, to wrestle her arm out of the sleeve of her T-shirt. Kelly watches, fascinated. At school, nobody changes under a towel. When one arm is free, Freya bunches the top of the towel in her fist and tries to free the other arm. The other girls are mostly changed, standing by the benches waiting to be told they can enter the pool area. Soon, their attention will be taken by the strange girl who is changing inside her towel.