by Linda Green
Also, I don’t like the fact that she obviously hadn’t told Lee about it. It’s as if she was trying to hide things from him before they got married. Edit her past so he would think she was marriage material. Who knows what else she’s concealing? I don’t think he liked it either, although when I tried to talk to him about it he changed the subject pretty sharpish.
I get the sense that all is not well between them. All the smiles and handholding and whispered jokes, that all seems to have gone out of the window. It worries me, of course, particularly because of what happened with Emma. I do hope he realises that this relationship has got to work. She’s carrying his child. If it all went wrong, goodness knows when I’d get to see my grandson. No, I need to ensure they get things back on track. That is why I’ve booked them on the antenatal course. I figured that if they were more confident about becoming parents, and met some other young couples in the same position, it would give them a bit of a boost.
‘Ooh, Jess, remind me before I go, to email you the details of the course I told you about. You know, this NCT thingy. It starts in a couple of weeks.’
‘Oh, right. I’m still not sure it’s a good idea, you know. Lee didn’t seem very keen.’
‘Sometimes, Jess, he just needs a gentle push. He doesn’t always know what’s best for him.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not his sort of thing. Bit out of his comfort zone.’
‘Well, he’s got no choice now. I’ve booked you on.’
She puts her roller down and stares at me. ‘What, without asking him?’
‘The lady said you were ever so lucky to get a place. They’d had a cancellation, you see. Usually these things are booked up months in advance.’
She is shaking her head, doing that rabbit in the headlights thing with her eyes again.
‘No, it’s a bad idea. You know he hates being told what to do.’
I purse my lips. I don’t need her being difficult like this. Telling me what Lee is like as if I don’t know my own son. And when she has only known him for five minutes.
‘Don’t fret about it, Jess. I know what’s best for him. I’ll talk him round.’
‘Yeah, but you won’t be there afterwards,’ she says, her voice rising to a pitch I haven’t heard before. ‘You won’t see what he’s like when we’re alone.’
She puts some more paint on the roller, bashing it repeatedly into the tray. As she holds it up against the wall, I see that her hand is shaking.
‘Jess,’ I say, putting my roller down. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’
‘He’ll go mad. He’ll be so angry.’
‘No, he won’t.’
‘He will, and then he might—’
She breaks off and starts sobbing. I put my arms around her and feel her body shaking next to mine.
‘He might what?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I think he might be cross with me, that’s all.’
‘But he’s got nothing to get cross with you about. I’m the one who booked the course. I’ll make that clear to him.’
She wipes her nose with her sleeve. I’m not sure she’s seeing things straight. She appears to be a bit hysterical, to be honest. I wonder if it’s starting again. The mental thing.
‘Is it all getting a bit much for you?’ I ask. ‘Are you struggling to cope, dear?’
‘No. I’m fine. Just a bit nervous about the baby, that’s all.’
‘Because if you are struggling, we can get help for you.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’
Her tone has changed. There is a sharpness in her voice I haven’t heard before. Maybe this is what Lee has to deal with. Maybe this is why things seem a bit strained between them.
‘I know, but we need to make sure we keep an eye on you, that’s what your father said. We don’t want things to get to the point where—’
‘Angela, I said there’s nothing wrong with me, OK?’
‘Well maybe you need to go for a lie-down then, dear. I can finish this on my own.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re clearly not fine, Jess. But I’m sure you’ll feel a whole lot better after a little nap. Go on, I’ll finish this. Don’t you worry about it.’
She wipes her nose again and looks up at the ceiling. For a moment, I think she is going to argue with me, but she doesn’t. She simply gets to her feet and walks out of the room. A few seconds later, I hear her bedroom door shut. I let out a long sigh. Clearly things are worse than I’d feared. I’m really not sure she is going to be up to caring for a baby – not if her current state of mind is anything to go by.
I can see I am going to be needed even more than I thought. Before the baby arrives as well as after. I will pop round on a regular basis and perhaps not give her any advance warning. That way, she won’t be able to cover it up if she really isn’t coping.
I’ll need to check she’s looking after herself and going to all her antenatal classes. I get the sense that she needs a mother figure to take care of her right now. I can do that. I can be mother and grandmother rolled into one. I will not let this family fall apart. I have stood back and allowed that to happen once and I will not do it again.
I pick the roller up again and carry on painting the wall. I’ll have it done by the time she wakes up. That should perk her up a bit. And then I can show her the stencils I brought with me and see which one she likes best.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
Joe Mount
12/09/2018 6:53pm
I don’t want to believe it, Jess. I don’t want to believe that was your life. At least when his ex-girlfriend took the stand I could tell myself it wasn’t you. I heard what she said about how Lee had flipped when he’d caught her checking her mobile while they were on holiday. I saw the faces of the jurors as they looked at the X-rays of her jaw from the hospital in Italy. But I could tell myself it was not you. It was appalling, what he did to her, and sick that he would then take you to stay in the same hotel room a year or so later, but it still was not you. Even when Sadie started giving evidence, and said about seeing bruises and marks on you in the last few months and you always explaining it away, I thought, maybe it’s an overactive imagination. Maybe, like the defence claimed, she was jealous of him taking you away from her. But then they read out the letter you wrote to Sadie, asking her to make sure I got custody of any children you had if anything happened to you, because it wouldn’t be safe to leave them with Lee. That’s when I knew something was wrong. Of course, the defence made out that you were not right in the head when you wrote it, but I knew that wasn’t the case.
And when that cleaner took the stand today, just a scrap of a girl herself really, and when she started talking about seeing bloody tissues in the bathroom bin on more than one occasion, that is when my stomach started to turn. And I listened as she told them about how she’d been emptying the bin when she found it. Something hard and white that fell out of a piece of toilet paper. And she’d held it up to the light and realised that it was a tooth – well, part of a front tooth. Part of the tooth that he’d knocked out when he’d hit you. That was when I put my head down and started crying. Because I couldn’t deny it any longer, not even to myself. He beat you Jess. He slapped you and punched you and God knows what else. And some of it was probably in front of Harrison and I give thanks that that little boy won’t be able to remember that when he’s older. But I will always remember it, Jess. I can see it in my head now. And I can’t imagine a time when I will ever stop seeing it. I will never forgive myself, Jess, for allowing that to happen to you.
I can still remember holding you in my arms for the first time when you were a tiny, red, wrinkled thing, and turning to your mum and telling her I would never let anything bad happen to you. Turns out I let her down as well as you. I’m sorry, Jess. Truly sorry and truly heartbroken.
Jess
Monday, 20
March 2017
I wake up and instinctively run my finger over my top teeth, just to make sure they are still there. I have done the same thing every morning for the past week, since I read it. I wonder which one it is that he knocks out. And how the hell I get it repaired without anyone noticing. I’m still registered with the dentist in Mytholmroyd, but Lee is with a private one in Leeds. Perhaps it’s the sort of place that would be able to stick a crown on with short notice. I suppose if they do ask questions, I will simply lie. If I lie to my best friend and my father, I see no reason why I wouldn’t lie to a dentist.
I put my hands on my bump. H does a little wriggle. Not that there can be much room to wriggle in there now.
‘I’m doing this for you,’ I say. But even as I say it, I know it doesn’t make sense. He won’t have a mother in four months’ time, how can that be good for him?
The truth is that I’m doing it because I don’t know what else to do. If I run and hide I may still die anyway. I don’t know where I am killed yet. It might not be here. Then there is the tiny bit of me that still thinks I can change Lee. That even if he did hit Emma, he might have learnt his lesson and have no intention of doing it to me.
And if I can’t change him, then perhaps H will. Perhaps the second he is born, Lee will look at him and soften inside and know that he can never hurt me.
I haul myself up out of bed. I have decided I quite like maternity leave. Not the being huge and having heartburn and needing to get up three times a night to go for a wee bit, but the having a lie-in in the morning and having the place to myself part of it. It gives me space and time and they are two things I am in need of at the moment.
I am on my way to the kitchen to put the kettle on when I notice that the nursery door is open slightly. I go inside and turn the light on. It’s like something out of one of those baby magazines Angela keeps bringing over, which is not surprising given that she got most of the ideas from them.
Everything is colour-coordinated in turquoise and cream. I managed to talk her out of stencils on the walls, mainly because I knew Lee would hate them, but she did get away with stars, moons and space rockets on the curtains, lampshade and rug, and a stars and moon mobile hanging above H’s cot, together with an ‘I Love You to the Moon and Back’ framed embroidery on the wall. I go over to the cot, put the side down and stroke the mattress. He will be lying here soon. My little boy. I can see him already, of course. I see him all the time. But I will be able to touch him and hold him and he will finally be real instead of a photo on my phone.
*
Farah arrives at ten thirty. I made sure I was out for the past two weeks, took myself off for a walk along the canal, because I could not bear to face this person who will soon know things about me that I do not want anyone to know. But today I am here. Today I feel I ought to say hello to the young woman who speaks up on my behalf.
‘Hi, Farah,’ I call out when I hear the key in the door, not wanting to startle her, like she did me. She pops her head around the kitchen door.
‘Hello.’ She smiles. She has a pretty face, and dark brown almond-shaped eyes with beautiful eyelashes, the sort that don’t need mascara.
‘I’ve just made a coffee, would you like one?’
‘No, thank you,’ she replies. ‘We are not supposed to stop for coffee while we are working.’
‘Well, I won’t tell anyone.’
She looks unsure for a second before her smile widens. ‘If you are sure that is OK. I will make up the time at the end.’
‘Don’t be daft. Everyone should be allowed a coffee break. How do you take it?’
‘Black please, with no sugar.’
I nod. ‘How long have you been working for the agency?’
‘Nearly a year, almost since I arrived in this country.’
‘And where did you come from?’
‘From Afghanistan, my home.’
I nod, but I feel stupid because I don’t really know anything about Afghanistan. Only bits and pieces that I have seen on the news.
‘Did you come with your family?’ I ask as I hand her the coffee.
She shakes her head. ‘No. My family, they are all dead.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, looking down. ‘I didn’t realise. My mother’s dead too, I know how hard it is.’
‘It is OK. I am used to talking about it. I had to tell the authorities about them when I arrived here.’
‘So you’re a refugee?’
‘No. My asylum application was refused. They say it is safe for me to return there. Even when I told them what they did to my mother and father and brother, they say it is different now, it is safe. They do not really understand.’
‘So how come you’re still here?’
‘I was given discretionary leave to remain, because I am under eighteen and I have no one left there to look after me.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I will be seventeen next month.’
I blow out. I had no idea. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your entire family when you are the age I was when I lost Mum.
‘I didn’t realise you were so young.’
She shrugs. ‘I think when you live a difficult life, you do not look your age.’
‘So you were just sixteen when you came? You made that journey on your own?’
‘Yes, although I was with many others. We had all paid the same man.’
‘Weren’t you scared?’
‘I was, but not as scared as I was in Afghanistan. They would have come back for me, you see. Because my family did not live the way they told us to live. Because my father spoke out.’
‘It was still very brave of you,’ I say. She takes a sip of the coffee.
‘It is easy to be brave when the alternative is to die.’
‘And will they let you stay for good when your leave runs out?’
‘I do not know. When I am seventeen and a half they will decide.’
‘But you can’t go back!’
‘I know that. But I will have to wait and see what they say.’ She finishes her coffee. I remember Sadie’s post, how she said Farah hadn’t come forward at first because she had been scared. I understand now, at least a little, what it is like to be scared.
‘I hope they let you stay.’
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I hope so too.’ She comes over to the sink, about to wash up her mug.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, taking it from her. ‘Please let me do that. It’s one of the few things left I can do.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, turning to leave and then turning back. ‘The nursery for your baby, it is so beautiful. He is going to be a very lucky little boy.’
I smile at her, knowing that very soon she will know the truth about our family too.
*
Lee is not happy about these classes. Not happy at all. I still remember the face he pulled last week when he was confronted with a nappy coated with a mixture of marmite and peanut butter. I was surprised he didn’t walk out there and then, to be honest. Playing mummies and daddies is clearly not his idea of fun. I am still surprised he even agreed to come at all. I don’t know what Angela said to him or how she talked him round, but I’m pretty sure he’s regretting it at the moment.
We pull up outside the college where the classes are held. Lee slams the car door and comes around to my side. Another car pulls up next to us. I see the man get out as Lee opens my door. I recognise him from the classes, although I can’t remember his name.
‘Maybe they should allow two parking bays for pregnant women,’ the man jokes. ‘It’s a wonder the supermarkets don’t have “Mum and bump” parking spaces.’
Lee smiles at him, I suspect more because he feels he has to than because he finds it funny. He helps me out of the car and shuts the door behind me. The woman from the other car emerges with a small
grunt.
‘Hi, Jess,’ she says. ‘It doesn’t get any easier, does it?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘It doesn’t.’ I can’t remember her name, although I think it is Rachel. Either that or Charlotte. Half of them seem to be called Rachel or Charlotte. They are all older than me, of course. Most of them at least ten years older. And they all seem to have proper careers, unlike me.
‘I wonder what they’ll get us doing this evening,’ she says, as we waddle up to the entrance together. Her partner holds the door open for us, and I thank him as I go through.
Lee takes my hand as soon as we’re inside. It’s like the opposite of when you’re a kid and you suddenly let go of your mum’s hand when you see people you know. I don’t know whether to feel happy or sad about it.
‘I have to say, you made a much better job of the nappies than I did,’ her partner says to Lee.
‘Yeah, but when we have to deal with the real ones they won’t be covered with marmite, will they?’ replies Lee.
They both laugh. They seem to like him. They will probably recount this episode when they hear that he’s been charged with my manslaughter. Say things like, ‘He seemed to have a great sense of humour,’ and, ‘He always helped her out of the car and held her hand.’
We walk into the room. The chairs are laid out in a semi-circle. It’s pregnant woman, dad-to-be, pregnant woman, dad-to-be all the way around. We sit down at the end. The NCT teacher, whose name is Cath, comes over.
‘Hi, Jess. How’s the heartburn?’
‘Still as bad.’
‘Did you try the little and often eating?’
‘Yeah, still no difference.’
‘Oh dear, at least you’ve not got long to go now. Three weeks, is it?’
‘Yeah, about that.’ I don’t tell her he’s going to be six days late. It’s not the sort of thing you can say.
Cath moves to the front of the class once everyone is assembled. ‘I hope everyone’s well and comfortable, or as comfortable as they can be in the circumstances.’