The morning had been cloudy and clammy, the sort of weather that feels as though the air is sticking to your skin, clinging to it, suffocating it. We spent the morning indoors, playing with toys on the new rug that Ray had brought home a couple of days before. My tummy was clearly round now, although I was still less than four months pregnant. Kate loved to touch it and say ‘baby’, and it made my heart swell with happiness. We had lunch, fish paste sandwiches, at the kitchen table, and then I looked out of the window and saw that the sun had started to streak across the back garden.
‘Let’s go outside and play, shall we?’
Kate grinned her almost-toothless grin and I stuck a hat on her head and carried her down the back step onto the grass. We found some shade by the fence where it wasn’t too hot, and I went and fetched her push-along trike so she could trundle round the lawn with it. I sat down as she toddled about, stretched my legs out into the sunshine and tipped my head back. This was lovely. Maybe, just maybe, things were going to work out perfectly after all.
We hadn’t been out there long, though, when I thought I heard a banging noise. I strained to listen and realized it was someone knocking on the front door.
‘Ooh, that must be Aunty Sandy,’ I said, scooping Kate up and walking quickly inside to answer the door. It didn’t occur to me that it could be anyone else because, although she normally told me when she was coming, she did turn up unannounced from time to time, when the buses were running at the right times for her to get here. I left the kitchen, Kate balanced high on my hip, and walked down the short hallway towards the front door where we’d waved Ray off a few hours before. I could see a figure through the mottled glass on either side of the door and I frowned. The figure was much taller than Sandy, and wider. In fact, it looked like a man. I stopped, suddenly, and Kate turned her little face to me quizzically. For a split second I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t know who this was, and nobody apart from Sandy ever came round to see me. But now they must have spotted me through the glass, walking towards the door, so there was no pretending I wasn’t in. I stood frozen for a few seconds, my heart thudding against my ribcage, my mouth dry, unsure what to do next.
Then I shook my head. ‘Oh, snap out of it, Jan, it’ll just be the postman or something, or a neighbour. Stop being such a drama queen.’ I resumed the short walk to the door and opened it wide.
The man that stood there was, as expected, tall and broad, his shoulders filling his white shirt, the buttons straining to keep his chest covered. His face was serious. I stared at him for a second, waiting for him to speak, before I noticed a woman, standing slightly to his left, out of view of the door. She was smaller, her blonde hair pulled back neatly in a bun at the nape of her neck, her eyes wide. She looked quickly down at the ground as I met her gaze, as though she’d rather be anywhere but here. I looked from one to the other and back again, trying not to panic, but holding Kate closer to me, just in case. I glanced over the man’s shoulder, to see whether anyone was watching us. The street was empty.
‘Can I help you?’ My voice wobbled a little and I cursed it. I wanted to sound strong, in control, not scared.
‘Are you Mrs Wood?’ His voice was deep.
I nodded. ‘Why?’
He glanced at his partner, and my heart thumped. ‘Is it Ray? Has something happened?’ The words were pure panic, any control lost now at the silent front they were presenting at my door.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Wood. I’m PC McDonald. This is WPC Greene. I’m afraid we have bad news. Your husband – Mr Wood – has had an accident.’
My body started to shake and I had to cling to Kate to stop her falling from my arms. ‘What kind of accident?’ I didn’t care about my wobbly voice now.
‘Can we come in?’
I wanted to scream, No, just tell me now, right here, don’t make me wait! But instead I stepped aside and let them come in and led them blindly into the kitchen where the remains of our lunch still sat on the table, crumbs scattered across the floor. We sat down at the table, Kate on my knee. WPC Greene was the first to speak this time.
‘I’m so sorry, but he was knocked off his motorbike. In town. I’m afraid he had no chance . . . ’
No chance.
No chance to live.
No chance to be here, to watch his children grow up.
No chance.
I wanted to scream, to let my lungs fill with air and let it out into the heavy summer day, a high, intense, deafening sound. But nothing would come, and instead the sound became lodged in my throat, suffocating me. Besides, I had to stay calm for Kate. For my baby.
‘No.’ It was all I could get out, the only sound my mouth would form, and it scratched my throat, my dry mouth, my parched lips, as it left.
But I knew it was true.
And then, as if it also knew something terrible had happened, as though it wanted to let me know it was there, and that, actually, everything was going to be all right, there was a soft thump against my pelvis.
It was my baby’s first proper kick.
9
September 1979
I had to leave the house, the city, everything. I had to get away. It was the memory of Ray in everything, of the hope he’d had for the future in the little bed, the excitement he’d felt when he’d brought home that ridiculous painting above the fire. Everything reminded me of what I’d lost.
I got through the funeral, although I don’t really remember it much. I can see snatches of it in my mind: sympathetic looks from Ray’s colleagues, a hug from Sandy, the pain in my chest that made me feel as though I’d never breathe properly again.
But then I had to leave.
I packed a couple of bags with clothes for Kate and me, bottles, milk, a few bits and pieces of food, toiletries and nappies. I didn’t really have an idea of where I wanted to go, so I more or less picked somewhere out of thin air. It was a little village just south of Norwich, where some new houses were being built. It was only a bus ride from the centre of the city but I knew nobody there, and it was far enough away to leave the bad memories behind me. I hoped.
I’d seen a little house advertised for rent in the local paper and Sandy had helped me sort it out, even driving over in her brand-new Morris Marina to pick up the keys for me. So when we arrived on a hot, sticky September afternoon, it felt as though, for the first time since Ray had died, I might just be able to do this.
Maybe.
It was a little terraced house with two bedrooms, one for me and one for Kate and the baby.
‘It’s lovely,’ Sandy said, running her hand over the flowered wallpaper in the cool hallway as we stepped inside for the first time. But all I could see was a house without Ray.
‘Thank you, Sandy.’ I turned to her, gripped her arm for support to stop myself collapsing there and then in the entrance of the house. ‘For everything.’
Her arms wrapped around me. ‘Don’t be daft, Jan. I’m always here.’ She pulled away and caught my eye. ‘Always. Do you hear?’
I nodded numbly and walked along the soft-carpeted hallway to the kitchen. I had to make the best of this. I had to get on with things, for Kate and my unborn baby, even if I didn’t feel as though I’d ever breathe normally, live normally again.
And to start with, the four walls of that house were my world. I didn’t see anyone, apart from the occasional visit from Sandy, and I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t make friends, I didn’t talk to anyone apart from the woman behind the counter in the corner shop when I had to. I knew they all wondered who I was and why I was here, pregnant, on my own with a small child. But I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t tell them about Ray, about him being knocked off his motorbike in the centre of Norwich, about him being killed almost instantly, his skull smashed into the tarmac. I couldn’t tell them about everything I’d lost, about the hopes for the future that had disappeared the moment I’d opened the door to those two police officers that sunny summer morning. I couldn’t tell them because I couldn’t form the
words. I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it, so how could I explain it to anyone else?
So it was easier to lock myself away and try to grieve, try to get through the pain that filled my heart, my belly, my head, without letting Kate down.
‘Please tell me if you need anything. Anything at all,’ Sandy said on one of her regular visits. She always came with a bag of food from the grocer’s and made me something to eat, something I had to force myself to swallow for the baby’s sake if not for my own. It always felt as though it was going to get stuck in my throat, choke me.
‘I will, I promise. Thank you, Sandy.’
She was my rock, those first few weeks. The only person I saw. But it was hard for her to get there too often, from Cromer, and so I was almost always alone, just me and Kate.
The days passed in a blur that September, and soon it was October and my belly was getting bigger. I’d been surprised to learn that Ray had left some money in a bank account – not much, but more than I ever knew about – but even that was running out now and I was vaguely aware that I needed to find some work once the baby was born. Maybe mending clothes, or ironing or something.
‘I’ll help you all I can,’ Sandy said.
But it wasn’t fair to rely on her, no matter what she said. And maybe it would be a distraction from everything to spend time looking for work, would help me claw my way through the fog of grief that hovered over me, waiting to crush me at any moment.
Days were spent playing with Kate, scrubbing the house, trying to stay busy. I just wanted the baby to arrive now, but it wasn’t due until well into the new year.
Then one day in early November, everything changed.
I woke up feeling a little under the weather, but nothing I could put my finger on. A low-lying tummy ache, a little shivery. Kate didn’t care, though, and she was yelling her head off from early in the morning. I dragged myself out of bed and padded through to her room, holding my tummy. The air was chilly and I shivered as I opened the door to her bedroom to find her sitting up in her bed.
‘Morning, sweetheart.’ I walked across to her and planted a kiss on her head.
‘Hewo mumma.’ Her smile could melt a thousand icebergs, and I scooped her up and held her on my hip as we opened the curtains. It was a grey day, almost weatherless, the air still, the sky grey and unmoving. The street was empty apart from a small black cat darting across the road, and we stood there for a moment, looking out.
‘Right, let’s get you downstairs for breakfast, shall we?’
‘Brekkie!’
I carried her to the top of the stairs, but the pain in my stomach was insistent so I put her down and held her hand as she cautiously took one step at a time. We counted the flowers on the carpet as we went down.
In the kitchen I lifted her carefully onto a chair and walked round getting out plates and plastic cups and spoons, putting water on to boil. I poured cereal into Kate’s bowl and mashed it up with some milk. My stomach was aching and I felt a little dizzy, so I plonked myself down on the chair opposite Kate with a heavy sigh to wait for the water to heat.
‘Want Mummy to feed you?’
Kate waved her spoon in the air and squealed with delight, so I leaned forward and plucked it from her hand. I gasped as a pain shot across the front of my stomach and round my back, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. I frowned. I was sure it was nothing to worry about, just a cramp or a trapped nerve.
I spooned cereal into Kate’s mouth and she giggled wildly as I pretended the spoon was a bee buzzing round her head.
‘More!’ she yelled, and I floated the spoon towards her open mouth. When we were done I chopped a banana for Kate and made myself a cup of tea, then sat and sipped the steaming cuppa while she smeared banana all round her face. I was cold but I didn’t have the energy to walk up the stairs to get a cardigan, so I wrapped my hands round the mug and blew the steam into my face.
Breakfast done, I lifted Kate from her chair. And then I nearly dropped her as the pain shot across my abdomen again; only this time it didn’t disappear, but deepened, intensifying like a tight band from my belly button round my side. I put Kate quickly on the floor and sat back down heavily, leaning right forward to try and catch my breath. The tightening was getting worse by the second and I could feel my heart knocking on my chest like a hammer. The walls of the kitchen bulged out and in again, and I sucked air in and out as slowly as I could while my head spun. I couldn’t get comfortable; there didn’t seem to be a position that helped ease the pain, so I stayed still and concentrated on breathing. I knew Kate was watching me but I didn’t know what to do.
‘Mummy’s OK, go and find some toys, sweetheart.’
But she shook her head and came closer, fear etched on her face. I wrapped my arm around her and kissed her cheek and tried not to panic.
Slowly the pain subsided and I stood, my legs wobbly beneath me. I held Kate’s tiny warm hand in one hand and clutched the back of the wooden chair with the other, then shuffled slowly through to the living room. I flipped open the top of the little toy box in the corner and we pulled out some teddies, a couple of cars and a plastic record player that Sandy had given her and I sat her down on the carpet to play. I stayed right next to her so she didn’t worry, and lay back on the sofa, my legs out in front of me. My eyes followed the Artexed pattern of the ceiling and I tried not to think about what this pain might mean. It was too early for the baby to be born, I was only just over six months pregnant. It couldn’t come yet. I had to relax.
I lay there for some time listening to Kate’s chattering and the odd car driving along the road. The net curtains hid the street from view and the dim, neutral daylight was failing to squeeze much light into the room, leaving it empty and colourless. I carried on tracing the Artex with my eyes, and breathed steadily in and out, in and out, my chest rising and falling, my heartbeat gradually slowing.
The pain was still there, but it had subsided to a dull ache, as if I’d been wearing too-tight jeans for too long. I wished Ray was with me, and then I wouldn’t feel so scared. But, like everything else from now on, I had to do this alone.
‘Mumma.’ Kate was standing next to me, holding her little hand on my tummy.
‘Hi, sweetheart. Mummy’s OK.’ I kissed her little nose and she watched me for a few more seconds, then, as though she was finally convinced, she turned and sat back down again, pushing cars round the flowery carpet.
I couldn’t just lie there all day. If I got up and the pain got worse, I’d take myself to the doctor’s and get it checked out. Everything would be fine. Carefully, I swung my legs over the side of the sofa and planted my feet on the floor, pushing my body into a sitting position. So far, so good. I pushed myself up and straightened my legs slowly. But as I stood the pain came back, worse than before, and I gasped, bent double, and fell back onto the sofa, clutching my stomach.
Kate whipped her head round, her eyes wide.
I tried to smile at her but nothing would come and she watched me with serious eyes. It felt as though a knife had been plunged through my side and into my belly . . . I was on fire; the pain ripped through me, tearing my stomach, my womb, my baby from me. I needed to get to the bathroom, this couldn’t happen here. With a superhuman effort I launched myself from the sofa to the door and, each step utter agony, climbed the stairs to the bathroom. I stumbled through the door, and as I did a final roaring pain ripped through me. I heard screaming and remembered Kate, then realized the noise was coming from me. I fell to my hands and knees and watched as blood spread on the floor, around and out towards the sink, the door. With each convulsion I felt myself doubling up, wanting to scream but not wanting to scare Kate any more. I needed to get to her but I couldn’t move from where I was and all I could do was hope that she was OK, and still playing with her toys, blissfully unaware.
I have no idea how long I was on that bathroom floor, but what could have been seconds, minutes or hours later I was shivering on the cold tiles, covered
in blood, and there was a tiny, still mass beside me. I couldn’t bear to look at what should have been my baby, cold and lifeless on the bathroom floor, a symbol of everything that I’d lost. Instead, numb, I grabbed a towel from the rail and wrapped it round the baby and picked it up and pushed it unceremoniously to the side of the room. I needed to get down to Kate, but first I had to clean myself up. I stripped everything off, the pain in my stomach and groin almost tearing me apart, and jumped into the freezing ceramic bath and ran the taps. The water was lukewarm but I splashed it all over myself hurriedly, watching the pink water running down the bath and into the plughole. Shivering, I grabbed a clean towel from the floor and wrapped it around me, pulled on some clean knickers and a sanitary pad and walked as quickly as I could down the stairs, holding onto the rail as I did. I went straight into the living room and my heart almost stopped; there were toys abandoned in the middle of the carpet, but no sign of Kate. My head felt as though all the blood from my body had filled it and I grabbed hold of the door frame for support. Oh God, not Kate as well now. Where was she?
My eyes whipped backwards and forwards, scanning the small living room for clues. And then I spotted her, just a few tufts of hair sticking up above the arm of the chair. I walked over and found her crouched behind it, her legs drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped round them, pulling them closer. There were tears and snot all over her face and she was looking at me with utter terror in her eyes.
I put my arms out and she reached hers towards me and I scooped her up and held her close to me. I was shivering in just a towel but I didn’t care, I had my Kate and she was safe and she was all I had left in the world now. We sat carefully on the chair, and I wrapped my arms tightly round her and felt her hot little cheek press against the cool skin of my shoulder. She was shaking, but I was too and we sat there together, huddled in a ball, for ages. I buried my nose in her fluff of hair and slowly, slowly, she stopped shaking and looked up at me, her eyes dry now.
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