Chapter 7
The wedding is booked for three months after Jonah’s birth. My baby weight is coming off quickly due to the breastfeeding. Mam had been saving for new wardrobes, but the wedding had to take priority, so her savings go towards having a dress made for me. Sophie told me she is being a bridesmaid and quickly takes over all the wedding plans. I don’t care, really. I turn up for my dress fittings when asked. I have no interest in the wedding at all; Jonah is my priority. We were offered a council house about two miles away from home and are due to pick up the keys in a few days.
Mam offers to babysit whenever I need her to, because I have to go decorate the house. We are given a grant for paint so we can freshen the place up. We have no furniture except for a settee, a table, and some rickety chairs, which are given to us. Zitty helps with the decorating, but he is a liability and usually makes a mess. I arrive at the house one day, hoping he has finished painting the living room. As I open the front door, he proudly shows me the windowsill he had stripped of paint, gouged grooves in, and stained. I think, Fucking hell, what a twat. We now have one odd windowsill. He proudly tells me that it has taken him all day to do it. I reply, “Oh, well done. It looks great.” I am pissed off but want to keep the peace. He comments that he was good at carpentry in school. Whoopee, a stained windowsill!
The wedding is a week away. I tell my parents that I will visit every day. Mam is upset that we are moving out, and she keeps telling me that I can pull out if I decide it is not what I want. Sophie always adds her comment to the conversation. Lorna is not bothered, but she has grown fond of Jonah.
The wedding day comes and goes. The day after, I arrive at my parents’ for Sunday lunch, leaving Zitty in bed with a hangover. I insist on having Jonah on my wedding night. He is my son – and the best excuse I had for not having to have sex with Zitty. We acquire a bed on the wedding day, but it has no legs on it; one of the guests offered it to us because he was throwing it away. Zitty and his friends go get it after the food and speeches, and they set it up before we get home. Mam asks where my husband is, and I tell her he is in bed. She asks if I am going to cook him Sunday dinner. I reply no; there is no food in the house, anyway. He goes down to his mam’s because he is an only child and is spoilt rotten, which suits me.
I soon discover my husband has no intention of working, unless it is on the fiddle. He complains that it isn’t worth him working. He gets to know a few local builders from the pub, and he labours for them. He tells me he is getting around twenty quid a day. Any money he earns, he keeps for himself. He is out of my way, so I don’t care. He goes to the pub every night and comes in at all hours.
Although I do not like living with my new husband, I love the independence of moving out of my parents’ home. Finally I can be a proper mother to Jonah.
I promise to visit my parents every day and fit in a few visits a week to my in-laws.
The evenings are my time with Jonah. My daily routine consists of cleaning the house in the morning and visiting my parents or my mother-in-law in the day. Then I head home around five to cook tea and bathe the baby. My favourite night is Saturday. My favourite series, Pride and Prejudice, is on, and I love period dramas. This is just television, though, and I know there is no Mr Darcy for me. He doesn’t exist in the real world.
Although Jonah is a pleasant child, he doesn’t sleep. At fourteen months of age, he still has me up throughout the night. I am exhausted. Zitty never gets up with him; he is always hung-over and sleeps in on the weekends until midday. Jonah has a favourite toy, a stacking pole with colourful rings that have to be stacked onto the pole in the right order. One morning I carry Jonah into the bedroom with the toy and leave him playing on the floor while I sort the ironing. Zitty is still sleeping off his hang-over. As I turn around, I see Jonah swinging the pole part of the toy in his hand, and he smashes it down into his dad’s nose. Zitty starts to groan in pain. Before he can get up, I grab Jonah and run down the stairs. Zitty is right behind me. I jump onto the settee and hold Jonah underneath me. Zitty punches my back and arms, trying to hit the baby. I scream at him to stop it, telling him it was an accident and Jonah’s only a baby. He is furious that his nose is bleeding. He goes to the bathroom to get some tissue, and as he leaves the room, I grab Jonah and run out of the door. Jonah is crying and terrified. I haven’t had time to get his coat on, and it’s freezing out. I cuddle him to me and run to my parents’ house. As I enter, they look puzzled. Jonah has calmed down now. I ask, “Can I come home?”
I have been at my parents for about a week. The news from my mother-in-law is that Zitty is devastated. She tells me he can’t eat or sleep. I don’t give a shit, to be honest. After a week of living at my parents’ I feel like the house is closing in on me. Sophie doesn’t leave Jonah alone, and we have to share a double bed with Lorna. Mam means well but is taking over again. Dad says that I can’t go back and live on my own. They don’t know the whole story; I told them that we had an argument. Lorna and Andy are the only ones who give me space. Andy stays at his girlfriend’s house most nights. Lorna has grown to love Jonah, but only as long as he doesn’t mess up her stuff or interfere with her busy social life; she’s out most nights with the girls and is having a great time.
Sophie comes in one night and is drunk. She decides to put Jonah into her bed, and he starts crying. I wake up and am furious. This has made my mind up. I want to give Jonah some routine, and I feel suffocated again. I can’t do this at my parents’ house, and I am going back to the house. Zitty is always out, anyway. I need my own place.
The next day I go back to the house, and there are dishes everywhere. So much for the not eating. Zitty comes downstairs and is surprised to see me. I tell him I’ll come back, but if he touches Jonah, I’m off – and this time I will tell my dad what really happened. Zitty’s afraid of him, and this makes him agree. My parents are upset and worried about me going back to Zitty. I reassure them that I’m all right.
There is no food left at the house, so I give Zitty a tenner and tell him to go to the shop for some food. He comes back with bread, milk, eggs, and potatoes. He keeps the change, but I didn’t expect any because this is routine. Any money he can get his hands on is spent in the pub. I don’t care; I simply want him out of the house. An hour later, I am alone watching television, and the baby is in bed. We have our house back; it’s just me and Jonah again. I realise I have to tolerate Zitty because my parents will not let me live on my own. I desire this most of all, my independence. I am nearly twenty years of age!
Chapter 8
Zitty works most days now. This is good because I don’t see him. I have to claim income support because he will not get a proper job or provide for us. He has started to get into fights at the pub and has some fines. He hides letters behind the washing machine, thinking I won’t see them. I read them and discover he has to go to court. His mother is ashamed, and his stepdad has the cheek to say that he was never in trouble until he got married.
Jonah is two years old, but Zitty doesn’t bother with him. My mother notices and comments on it all the time. Mam says she could cry for the baby when Jonah walks up and talks to him, and Zitty simply gets up and walks away. Everyone else spoils Jonah, and I worry that he will end up like his dad if he is an only child. I cannot bear the thought of having children by different dads, so I decide I will have one more child with Zitty, and then I’m off.
It takes about six months for me to get pregnant. Zitty can’t believe his luck because sex is pretty much on tap at the moment. Well, he’d better not get used to that! I usually face the wall because I don’t really want to be that close to his face.
I am getting really worried that I may not be able to have any more children. I had pelvic inflammatory disease after having Jonah, and the doctor asked me about my sex life. I explained that I have only ever had one partner, and I’m married. He couldn’t understand how I had contracted the disease, I explained that I had th
e coil fitted after having Jonah, and I think that was the cause. A month later, I discover I am pregnant. It surprises me that Zitty is pleased.
Six months into the pregnancy, I am absolutely huge, Zitty keeps commenting on how fat I am, but I don’t answer back. I know he is looking for an excuse to start an argument, and I won’t give him one. I make sure Zitty never has Jonah on his own; he has become ill-tempered and has no patience with him. Another court date has been set for Zitty. Now he regularly gets into fights when he’s out drinking. A month later, his mother is ashamed because he is sentenced to six weeks in prison. She knows it will be in the local paper, and everyone will know; she reads the paper regularly for gossip about everyone else.
Zitty has been told that he will only do three weeks of his sentence if he behaves. I think that is wrong – six weeks should be six weeks! He makes sure that we have a phone line fitted in the house. I am nearly eight months pregnant, he tells me he will ring me every night. I know this is to make sure I don’t go anywhere, and he can check that I’m home. Everyone else thinks he’s worried about me. I don’t know what he thinks I am going to do in my condition!
Three weeks later, Zitty is home, and I am in labour. The midwife has commented that it must be a boy because they are lazy. Zitty has refused to come in with me; his excuse is he has to work! He works (still on the fiddle) for his uncle, who would give him time off to see his child being born, but Zitty has said that he can’t go through that again. Fourteen hours later, I have a second son and call him Eligh. We had an agreement that I would name the baby if it was a boy, and he would name it Polly if it was a girl. I get my way. Eligh is a healthy eight pounds, nine ounces and has black hair.
Everyone comments on what a beautiful baby Eligh is, and I have to agree. Even Zitty is smitten. I only breastfeed him for a week because he has extremely hard gums, and my nipples are cracked and really sore. I lose the baby weight quickly and am back in my size ten jeans within two weeks. It takes time to get into a routine with two children. Jonah loves his baby brother; he is nearly three and will be starting nursery school soon.
A few months later, we are lucky enough to be offered a three-bedroom house nearer to both our parents’ homes. We move with the help of my family. The only problem is that the house is about five doors away from my nosey in-laws; even Zitty isn’t happy about it. He and his mother share the same volatile personality and argue a lot. His stepdad spends his time spying with his binoculars on the neighbours – which will now include us! Another favourite hobby of theirs is listening in to the police radio station.
Our new home is near the nursery which Jonah is about to attend. My mother-in-law has said she will come over in the mornings to watch Eligh while I take Jonah. Jonah has had a few visits and enjoys playing with children his own age. He has problems with his speech, and so he is allowed to attend full time; the social worker thinks this will encourage his speech to develop. He also attends speech therapy sessions once a week.
In the evenings, I spend my time decorating the new house. I can paint and wallpaper really well, and I like to make the house look good. I always look out for bargains in the DIY stores. Zitty, on the other hand, thinks nothing of punching holes in the doors after a night in the pub. I am trying to make a home, and he destroys it. If I protest, he gets angry and starts on me, so I would rather him punch a hole in the door. The plan to leave once Eligh was born backfired. It is much harder to leave with two children. My father has been suffering with depression for about a year, and Mam has told me that she cannot cope with me and the children as well. She has also said that I’ll keep going back anyway, so what’s the point? She has said I have made my bed, so I can lie in it.
Zitty is shaming his parents on a regular basis in front of all the neighbours. People have started to notice him banging on the door, trying to climb in through the windows at two in the morning, shouting abuse at me, and screaming for me to “open the fucking door.” I pretend to sleep, secretly hoping the ladder will slip and he’ll break his neck. I’m not lucky that way at all. His mother is always complaining about his antics – how can she slag off all the neighbours now? I think, You raised him, you horrible bitch! But out loud I simply nod and sympathise. I have learned to keep my mouth shut.
Three months later, I discover that I am pregnant again. It isn’t planned, but Zitty’s happy because he knows it is tying me to him. Lorna visits now and then; she is busy having fun and has settled down with a bloke who is a few years older than her. She works down the local pub in the evenings, and that is how they met. She has started driving lessons and has put in for her test. She gets on with Zitty, but she can see that he’s a loser. Everyone down the pub knows he’s a knob, and she often catches him chatting up other women. He’s scared of Lorna’s new fella, and so he doesn’t give her any lip.
I am nineteen weeks pregnant and due to go for my scan. I’m not very big on this baby and have had problems with some spotting. My father-in-law has told Zitty that he can borrow the works van to take me to my appointment. Zitty is pissed off because now he has no excuse and has to come with me. He shows off and demands that I go get him some fags on the way. We don’t talk. I would have preferred to catch the bus, but pregnancy gives me travel sickness.
We get to the hospital, and I have drunk a lot of water as instructed by the midwife. I am desperate for the toilet but have to hold onto the pint and a half of fluids for the scan to work. This is taking all my concentration, Zitty is constantly moaning in the background. He complains to the receptionist, and she is polite, but I can tell she thinks he’s a prat. It’s so embarrassing.
Eventually we go in. I lie on the bed as instructed, and the cold jelly is applied. The radiology assistant is checking the baby. She turns the screen towards her while Zitty is trying to look at it. She explains that she is taking some measurements and will need to check something with the doctor. Zitty asks what’s going on. I tell him, “I don’t know. It probably doesn’t have a hand or something.” I am trying not to panic because this has never happened before.
A few minutes later, the doctor comes into the room and introduces himself. He sits in the radiographer’s chair and checks the baby’s measurements. He tells her she was right to get a second opinion. He asks me to wipe the gel off my belly, and once I have emptied my bladder, we should meet him in the next room. I get up, bewildered, and we do as he says. Zitty is still moaning because time is ticking on.
The doctor and radiographer enter the room, and he tells us that unfortunately my baby is incompatible with life. I don’t understand. He then tells us that the baby has a form of spifa bifida, called anencephalic. It means that the baby can live in the womb until the pregnancy is full term, but as soon as he is born, he will die in pain within a few hours. He explains that the baby’s skull has not completely fused together, leaving the brain exposed. There is nothing they can do.
It finally registers that the baby is going to die. I feel shock and most of all guilt. I didn’t want another child, and it’s as if I wished this to happen. The doctor explains that I will have to give birth because I am nineteen weeks along. He asks me if I would like to go home tonight and come back in tomorrow. Or I could stay and be started off today. I tell him I’ll stay because if I go home, I won’t come back. My husband says nothing, and then he asks if he can ring his parents to let them know; he gets up and leaves the room. He tells his parents what is happening, and they have the boys and agree to mind them overnight. He also calls my mother, tells her the news, and asks if she can come see me. When he comes back into the room, he says he has to take the van back to work; it’s just his excuse to disappear.
My parents arrive within two hours. Dad still has depression and is driving me mad. He’s going on to my mother, asking her if he needs to stay. She tells him to go home because she is staying with me. I am so grateful to have her here; I don’t want to go through this alone.
Twelve hours lat
er, I have been given four pesirees, but they are not working. The nurse has explained that she will give me one more, and if this doesn’t induce labour, I will have to go to the theatre, where they will insert one high up into my cervix. That will definitely work. Mam leaves the room as I have my fifth pesiree inserted. I am scared and sore, and I think, Please let this one work.
Mam tries to comfort me and tells me about when she lost my sister; she had spina bifida, and she said that looking back, it was a blessing because the baby had no quality of life. An hour or so later, the nurse comes in to check on my progress and examines me. When she completes the procedure she asks if I would like to hold the baby when it is born. I tell her I don’t know, and she explains that a lot of women always wonder afterwards what the child looked like and imagine it to be a monstrous-looking foetus. She tells me that if I want to see the baby, I can ask the midwife after it is born. This time the pesiree is working, and I can feel contractions, but I also feel numb inside.
My True Colours Page 3