by R. P. Bolton
She looked at Tom, really looked. Hollow-eyed and unshaven, T-shirt on inside out.
‘What do you mean?’
There was a tiny pause while an expression she couldn’t immediately identify clouded his face. Then he gave a weak smile and squeezed her hand. ‘You were sleepwalking.’
Sleepwalking? She hadn’t done that for years. Something flickered at the back of her mind. Searching for something. The cold ache from kneeling on a hard floor. But it slipped away before she could examine it. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them.
‘What happened?’
‘You were well out of it,’ Tom said, shuffling over to put his arms around her. ‘I heard banging and it woke me up. You’d opened the kitchen cupboards, chucked stuff out. I got there when you were trying to unlock the back door. You kept saying “the baby’s gone”.’
He got up and crossed to the window. Dust motes sparkled in the sudden light as he opened the curtains on a crisp blue sky. He leaned his forehead against the window.
‘In the end, I had to get Trinity to show you so you’d come back to bed.’
‘The baby’s gone.’ She saw the woman in black bending over the cot. But that had been in the hospital. And a dream.
‘Sleepwalking is an anxiety thing, right?’ he said, turning around. His concerned tone matched his expression. ‘Because it’s totally understandable, after everything that’s happened.’
‘It must be,’ Ellie said slowly. ‘I had the same dream when I was in the hospital, about someone taking the baby. I can’t believe I went through the cupboards, though. That’s so weird.’
He wiped a patch of condensation from the window. ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, checking the wobble in her voice. ‘I can’t remember anything. And I’m sorry for keeping you awake.’
‘Don’t worry. Listen, why don’t you try and get a bit more sleep now? I’ll be out in the garden if you need me.’
The stairs creaked as Tom descended. Ellie dropped back on the pillow. Only once she heard the back door open and close did she let the wave of panic engulf her. What the hell? She hadn’t sleepwalked since Willow Lodge.
And since the thing with the keys, nothing else weird had interrupted the gentle rhythms of daily life. Ellie had reassessed the situation and accepted she’d made a mistake. Her pockets constantly leaked random junk – tissues, Polos, loose change – whatever Henry had passed her, it hadn’t been keys. She’d left them at home in the basket.
She’d made a mistake, that was all.
Like Tom had said.
A mewling sound came from the Moses basket. The sheets rustled as the baby woke.
Ellie swung her legs out of bed. Her dressing gown lay in a heap at the end of the bed and as she dragged it on, she caught sight of Tom in the garden, standing by the remains of the pergola. The spade was buried in the muddy ground and he leaned on the handle. But he wasn’t digging. He had his mobile phone clamped to his ear and even from this distance, she noted his hunched shoulders. He glanced up at the house and she stepped quickly back from the window.
Trinity stirred again, crying more loudly this time.
‘You certainly get your appetite from me, young lady,’ Ellie said, picking her up.
Relax. Relax. Relax. Don’t think about sleepwalking. Just relax.
Exhaling slowly, Ellie focused on her body and how it occupied the chair, held the feeding cushion on her lap. Drop the shoulders, loosen the grip on the cushion. It worked. Her limbs softened, and she closed her eyes.
After a few minutes, when the greedy sucking had diminished and Trinity entered the intermittent tugging phase that signalled she had almost finished, Ellie heard the hinges creak and Tom’s careful footsteps.
‘It’s OK,’ she murmured. ‘Not sleeping.’
A cool breeze drifted in from an open window somewhere in the house, carrying the scents of autumn.
She could sense him watching.
‘You promised not to spy on me,’ she said drowsily. He didn’t respond and she ordered her eyes to open, but the lids refused to obey.
Her chin drooped to her chest and a vision materialised of Trinity kicking her legs in the brilliant sunshine. Under her, the lawn was a green velvet carpet and the whispering trees of Mosswood framed the scene. On the edge of sleep now, she murmured, ‘Have you finished in the garden?’
But in place of an answer, a distant yell catapulted her to wakefulness. Trinity let out a confused cry and Ellie started, almost flinging her off the cushion.
Downstairs, work boots scuffled on the kitchen lino. The house reverberated with the door slamming.
‘Bastard thorns!’ Tom shouted. ‘They’ve cut me to ribbons again.’
The sun ducked behind a cloud and the nursery darkened. Silent tiger, lion, elephant eyes from the motionless mobile watched Ellie clutch the baby and stumble on to the landing. How—?
Tom stood in the kitchen doorway, streaks of blood mingling with mud on his T-shirt. He tilted his head at the top of the stairs.
‘Look at that!’
He lifted a wad of paper towel from his forearm and brandished deep parallel scratches, like claw marks.
Ellie stared down. Her mouth opened and closed but couldn’t formulate a reply.
‘Have we got any antiseptic cream?’ Tom said, dabbing at the cut. He looked up. ‘Ellie?’
She shook her head slightly, trying to rearrange the chaos in her head.
‘In the drawer,’ she said faintly, edging down the stairs and then placing Trinity in the bouncer. ‘Did you just come up to the nursery?’
‘No,’ he answered distractedly, already rattling around in the kitchen. ‘Which drawer?’
The bouncer rocked as Trinity kicked her little legs in fury. Plasters, ointment … nothing was where it should be. It was as though a whirlwind had passed through the house, upending drawers and scattering the contents. She found the first-aid box in the cupboard under the sink, just as Tom turned the tap on and water deflected off last night’s unwashed plates. He jumped back, but too late to prevent the water splashing onto the muddy floor.
‘Here, clean it off with that.’ She passed him a baby wipe. ‘What happened?’
With the cap off, the tube released the reassuring smell that took her back to Dad treating her childhood bumps and scrapes. She dabbed the cream first on her fingertips then his arm.
‘I tripped and landed right in the rose bushes.’ He screwed his face up and opened his fist to reveal a matrix of thin lines studded with scarlet beads. ‘Those thorns are like razor wire. They really had it in for me.’
‘I think you need to do this,’ she said, propping his elbow on the table so his wrist was at shoulder height. She added, casually, ‘Are you sure you didn’t come upstairs?’
‘Not me, I was too busy being mauled by feral vegetation.’ He gave her a sharp glance. ‘Why?’
She peeled the backing off a wound dressing. Despite the pounding in her ears, she kept her voice light. ‘No reason. Just thought I heard you, that’s all.’
‘OK well, we need to set off for the clinic in about an hour, but until then …’ He pulled his gardening gloves back on. ‘Man versus plant. Round two.’
Watching Tom make his way through the weeds, she rinsed the cloth under the tap and the faint pink of diluted blood swirled down the plughole. When he reached the debris of the rose beds, he turned and flexed his biceps like a body builder. She gave a double thumbs-up and from the bouncer came the sound of Trinity smacking her lips.
‘That’s right,’ Ellie said, unbuckling the straps on the bouncer seat. ‘Silly Daddy. Come on, let’s get you ready for your injections.’
She noticed the mud as soon as she walked back into the hall. And the handprints on the banister. She dabbed it and fresh dirt smudged under her finger, still wet. How had she not noticed when she came down? And there, too, on the carpet, almost invisible in the green swirls, were glistening patches left by mud
dy feet.
It didn’t make sense.
Why would he lie about coming upstairs?
27. Now
Uppermoss Medical Centre appeared to have outgrown its car park some years earlier. After two expletive-filled circuits, Tom pulled back out onto the main road and began systematically trawling the side streets.
‘Permit holders only,’ he muttered. ‘Double yellow lines.’
Ellie glanced at her watch. ‘Why don’t you drop us outside and come in when you’ve parked up?’
‘Don’t worry. We’ll make it.’
But the only free space was streets away and although Tom had the added weight of Trinity, it was Ellie who panted as she tapped her date of birth and initials on the touchscreen in the overheated foyer. God, she was so unfit.
Shan the estate agent would have marketed the waiting room as ‘vintage’. Fifty shades of beige, from the fraying fabric seats to the cream walls covered in faded public health posters.
Caring for your new-born. Staying mentally healthy. Fighting fatigue.
Tom jiggled Trinity on his knee.
‘Will the nurse ask how you are as well?’
Ellie gave him a sidelong glance. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Oh you know.’ He adjusted the strap on Trinity’s dungarees. ‘I wondered if it might be worth mentioning the sleepwalking and stuff.’
Her heartbeat picked up. ‘What do you mean “stuff”?’
‘You know, tiredness, losing the keys and emptying the cupboards, cleaning, that kind of thing. Look’ – he nodded at the board – ‘our turn.’
The nurse who popped her head round the door wore a navy tunic, a harassed expression and a straight-to-the point attitude.
‘One parent only. Waiting room, please,’ she said, waving Tom back down the corridor. She ushered Ellie. ‘Weight and three lots of vaccinations …’
Five minutes later, Trinity had been weighed, measured, swabbed and injected. Questions had been asked and answers given regarding sleep patterns and feeding. Comments made about introducing solids and the importance of tummy time because ‘No one wants a flat-headed baby, do they?’
Ellie rocked Trinity against her shoulder while furtively inspecting her skull bones. What was the woman trying to say?
The nurse finished plotting new graph points in Trinity’s record book and put her pen in her breast pocket.
‘She’ll be unsettled for a few hours. If she gets worse, please give us a call. The good news is she’s gaining weight nicely and everything seems fine.’ She edged towards the door as she spoke. ‘Anything you’re concerned about? How is your health?’
Ellie hesitated, then said, ‘I’m tired and I keep getting confused. But that’s probably because my sleep is so disrupted.’
The nurse’s hand hovered on the handle. ‘I can get you in with a GP if you like. There may be a wait though – we’re very busy today.’
‘No, no,’ Ellie said quickly. ‘It’s nothing.’
Holding Trinity awkwardly, she slipped the little red book in her bag and exchanged a look of worn-out solidarity with the next mum waiting in the corridor.
As long as those graphs kept heading in the right direction, her fears eased a little. Trinity was healthy. Trinity was fine.
At least she would be once she stopped screaming.
Plastering on a bland smile, she scanned the waiting room. Eyes peered over newspapers or lifted from screens, but Tom’s bloodshot baby browns weren’t among them. She pushed the foyer door open with her elbow and saw him, pacing as he chatted into his phone.
He jerked his head as the automatic doors slid open.
‘What’s their team saying about that?’
Biting his lower lip, he nodded to whatever the other person said. When they’d finished, he closed his eyes briefly and said, ‘Shit, shit, shit. OK, I’ll be in within the hour. Bye.’
He raked his fingers through his hair, then set his shoulders back and found a smile. ‘Poor baby, did that hurt?’
‘She was very brave,’ Ellie said, passing the still-squalling baby over. A second later, his phone beeped. He read the message quickly over Trinity’s head, as they walked to the car.
‘Tanya?’ Ellie said tightly.
He nodded and lowered Trinity into the car seat. She drummed her feet furiously against the upholstered edge.
‘Yeah, there’s been a complication. Look, will you be OK if I just pop into work after I’ve dropped you home? I wouldn’t ask except it’s an emergency and Tanya can’t do it on her own.’
I can’t do it on my own.
With effort, she swallowed the reproach and dropped her bag into the footwell. Unwanted angry tears stung her eyes and she dipped her head so he wouldn’t see.
‘Lucky Tanya. She sees more of you than we do,’ she said, lightly.
But he wasn’t even listening.
28. Then
She heard them before she saw them. Their laughter escaped under Mia’s door and into the communal hallway of block B Henderson Hall where Ellie stood, fumbling for her keys. That foghorn of mirth belonged to Mia, proprietor of Manchester’s most raucous laugh. But whose was the low, masculine murmur? Danny was still in the library when she left half an hour ago.
An unchained bike leaned against the electricity meter cupboard. Tom’s bike. When she left his flat this morning, he told her he was working straight after lectures finished. He didn’t know she would be home early. And she wouldn’t have been, except two lads sharing a bottomless bag of Doritos plonked themselves next to her in the library.
She paused on the small landing and listened to the wordless cadences of animated conversation. Two people getting along well. Very well.
She took a deep breath and knocked.
‘Come in,’ Mia called out. ‘It’s not locked.’
On the bed, one leg curled under her, Mia sat holding a mug. Tom sprawled on the floor inches from her.
How cosy.
He jumped up and wrapped her in a bear hug. And if he noticed her stiffen, he didn’t act fazed.
‘We thought you weren’t back till later,’ Mia said. ‘I said Tommo could wait till you got back.’
Tommo?!
‘Well, the library was heaving,’ Ellie replied as she extricated herself from Tom’s embrace. ‘And I’ve got a bit of a headache.’
Mia unfurled herself. ‘I’ve got some paracetamol somewhere.’
‘No, I’m good, thanks. You coming, Tom?’
Mia stretched and a yawn creased her perfect features. ‘See you guys later.’
Behind her own closed door, Ellie leaned against the wall to kick her shoes off.
‘I thought you were going to the gym?’
‘I am,’ Tom said, gesturing down his body. Which, admittedly, was clothed in shorts and a neon yellow vest. ‘But …’
He held her mobile phone out.
Of course!
As soon as she saw it, Ellie remembered. She’d been brushing her teeth in Tom and Danny’s tiny bathroom when her phone beeped. Danny knocked to ask how long she’d be and in the rush, she must’ve left it on the side.
‘Thanks.’ She picked it up. ‘I thought I’d left it in here.’
After the initial surge of relief came guilt accompanied by irritation. Not with Tom, or Mia. Herself. Talk about paranoid. Tom wouldn’t cheat. It wasn’t in his nature. And as for Mia. OK, she did have that ‘all’s fair in love and war’ attitude with Danny’s ex, but … she shook her head. No way.
Tom fastened his cycle helmet. ‘See you later, yeah?’
Ellie hesitated, twisting her fingers together. He smiled expectantly.
The words burst out from nowhere. ‘I love you.’
Tom broke into a broad grin. ‘I love you too.’
29. Now
Ellie hadn’t sleepwalked since she was discharged from Willow Lodge, almost ten years earlier. The key to her recovery, the centre director had explained in her soft Scottish accent, was to learn to exist in the prese
nt. That was the ethos at Willow Lodge, and from mindful colouring after breakfast to thoughtful yoga before bed, an activity was allocated to every minute.
Real life with a baby didn’t leave much time for mindfulness, but mindlessness? That she had by the bucketload. Two minutes scrubbing the brown stains left by Tom’s casually dropped teabag. A further ten chipping limescale off the bath taps. A good hour rearranging the jumble inside the kitchen cupboards. Hoovering. Mopping. Mind-numbing, yes, but right then, a numb mind was her aim. Plus by the end of it, she could cross a few items off the to-do list on the fridge door.
Stifling a yawn, she wiped Trinity’s sticky face and hands. If her lack of crying was anything to go by, the pain of the injections had eased off.
‘Tummy time,’ Ellie said, unrolling the playmat.
Trinity lay on her belly looking comically startled at the sight of her reflection in a mirrored panel.
‘Zebra. Lion. Tiger.’ Ellie pointed at the squares then at herself. ‘Mummy.’ Swooped in to tickle the baby’s tummy. ‘Trinity.’
A dimpled fist thumped a square, a bell tinkled and the baby gazed in astonishment, searching for the source.
Trinity changed day by day, hour by hour. It was fascinating to watch her infant intellect working like a database with each sense inputting infinite pieces of information from the world around her. This time last week, she couldn’t lift her head and today, here she was goggling at the messy collection of boxes by the fireplace.
‘Clever girl,’ Ellie exclaimed. ‘Are you telling Mummy to get on with the unpacking?’
Thanks to Roger whisking her mum off to Spain, she didn’t have a family home to store her childhood possessions and this pile constituted the archive of Eleanor Wight.
She rocked back on her heels. When you viewed it as the history of her life so far, there wasn’t much.
The first box contained memories of a happy childhood. Photos of Dad in a paper hat, lifting a glass to the camera. Christmas the year she got her first bike. Ellie squinting in the sun from high on her dad’s broad shoulders. Memories of his terrible jokes and surprisingly slick dance moves. Everything swept away by the tsunami of a cancer diagnosis.