The Flight of Cornelia Blackwood

by Susan Elliot Wright

  Early nights used to mean sex, but now they tended to mean something different, usually something along the lines of I’m going up early so I can be asleep – or pretend to be asleep – by the time you come to bed. That way, we don’t have to acknowledge the fact that we’ve gone from being unable to keep our hands off each other to barely even touching. ‘Yes, I mean no, I don’t want an early night. Another glass of wine would be lovely. Thanks.’

  We took the bottle and glasses through into the sitting room, which was still warm from earlier, the embers in the wood burner still glowing. I settled myself in the armchair with the table next to it where I could rest my glass. I took off my boots and curled my legs under me while Adrian knelt in front of the wood burner sorting out more newspaper and kindling so that within a couple of minutes, the flames were strong enough to take another log. He moved over to the sofa and stretched his long legs out in front of him. ‘It’s been nice tonight, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve had . . .’ I hesitated. ‘I know it’s silly, and I feel guilty saying it. But I’m going to say it: I’ve had a nice time. I’m glad we went.’

  It was a quiet, old-fashioned pub with lots of dark wood, an open fire and a big friendly collie called Guinness. He sat by our table, wagging his tail and nudging Adrian’s leg with his nose. We spent most of the evening throwing crisps for him, which made us both smile. And when he stuck his muzzle into the empty packet for the last crumbs, we actually laughed. It’s been a while since that happened.

  It was only the second time we’d been out since we lost Thomas, but at least we were able to talk about him tonight, wondering what he’d look like at six months, whether he’d have cut his first tooth, whether he’d be crawling. We wondered if he’d suck his thumb like Adrian had when he was a child, whether he’d be laughing yet. So many wonderful moments we’d never see. Thank God we had that brief, precious time with him after he was born. Maybe it was a strange thing to think, but even though that day was tragic and devastating, there was something beautiful, almost magical about those few hours, and I would always treasure those memories.

  They moved us to a special ‘bereavement suite’, a cosy room, no windows but soft lighting, abstract paintings on the mushroom-coloured walls, armchairs. And a cold cot, so we could spend time with Thomas and say goodbye properly. We opened the pack they gave us. A disposable camera, a kit for taking hand- and footprints and a tiny outfit – a gown made of white silk and netting, a knitted white bonnet and bootees and a little cloth nappy. We took photographs of him, of each other holding him, and then we set the timer and we took some of the three of us together, our little family. I thought it sounded macabre at first, but they said that having beautiful new baby photos, just like every other new mum and dad, was often a comfort to bereaved parents. It was proof that your child had existed. There was something reassuring about doing the same things other parents would be doing, taking photos, making memories. I laid out the gown, bonnet and bootees, then I unwrapped the hospital blanket and dressed him for the first and last time, talking to him as I did so.

  All too soon, there was a light knock on the door and Sally came in with another nurse. ‘How are you doing?’ Sally rested her hand softly on my shoulder. ‘I’m afraid it’s time.’

  ‘Time? No, you can’t take him now, not yet.’ I was on my feet, making a barrier between them and the cot. ‘You said we could have a couple of hours.’

  ‘It has been almost three hours,’ Sally said quietly.

  ‘It can’t be.’ I looked at Adrian for support, but he looked at his watch and nodded, then he put his arms around me again.

  ‘I know this is terribly hard for you both, but—’

  ‘Okay,’ Adrian said, still holding me against his chest. ‘Just give us five more minutes.’

  I didn’t hear the door close, but I knew they’d gone because that was when Adrian started to cry. We clung to each other for a few moments before pulling apart. Adrian leaned into the cot and kissed him first, then it was my turn.

  ‘I can’t.’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t leave him here. How can we go home without him?’

  Adrian gently pulled me to him again. ‘We have to, Leah. You know we do.’

  It was a few moments before I could move, but then I took a deep breath, picked Thomas up and held him against my cheek. ‘I love you, sweetheart,’ I whispered, kissing his cheek. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you always.’ As I laid him back in his cot, I didn’t even bother to wipe away my tears and one of them rolled off my chin and fell onto his cheek. I reached out and smoothed the tear into his cold skin with my thumb, and I felt a little better, because I knew that part of me would always be with him.

  One of the logs in the burner cracked loudly, bringing me back to the present. Adrian looked down into his glass as he swirled the dark red wine around inside it. ‘I know what you mean about feeling guilty. I keep catching myself not being sad, joining in with some of the banter at work or laughing at some silly thing on Facebook. And then I feel like crap because I remember that our baby died.’

  I nodded. ‘I still think about him every day. Do you?’

  ‘Probably. Not as much as I did to begin with, but yeah, probably every day.’

  For a while, I’d thought Adrian had moved on, so I was reassured. Tonight was probably the most we’d talked about it since it happened, and I was glad. But we still hadn’t talked about what had happened to us. ‘Do you think we’ll ever be able to laugh again without feeling guilty?’

  ‘Of course we will,’ he said. ‘Let’s try and make it happen. I know things will never be quite the same again, but we’ve had such a nice evening. It’s made me think there’s hope that we’ll be able to get back to some sort of normal.’

  Some sort of normal. ‘Yes, maybe that’s what we should aim for – some sort of normal.’

  ‘Come and sit over here for a change.’ He patted the spot on the sofa beside him.

  I picked up my glass and padded over the warm wooden floor to join him.

  He slid his arm around me and pulled me close, but it felt a bit awkward. ‘We used to do this all the time, didn’t we?’

  ‘When we were younger, yes.’

  He laughed. ‘Bloody hell, Leah – we’re still in our thirties! What you mean is, we used to do this before our baby died.’

  I felt my body go rigid, but he was right. It was just that everything that happened before that seemed like a lifetime ago.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ He rested his lips against my hair and kissed the top of my head. I let my body relax against him. ‘Come on, Grandma.’ He put his wine glass down and encircled me with his arms. ‘Let’s canoodle.’

  ‘Okay.’ It came out as a whisper, but I put my arm around his waist and squeezed.

  ‘You know what we were talking about the other night,’ he said, his voice suddenly more serious. ‘About trying for another baby?’

  I nodded, my skin scraping against the roughness of his jumper, but I didn’t say anything. We’d stumbled over the conversation and had ended up abandoning it.

  ‘Well?’ he whispered. ‘Have you thought about it any more?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m scared,’ I murmured. I looked up at him. ‘And not just about being pregnant again; about us. About getting pregnant.’

  ‘Me too,’ he whispered, and it looked as if he had tears in his eyes. ‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?’ Then he lifted me to my feet and held my face in his hands, and as he kissed my eyelids, I felt the faintest stirrings of desire. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go up. Let’s be close to each other.’

  I’d been going to write another letter tonight, but after only a moment’s hesitation, I decided it could wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  NOW

  When I open the door, Ollie is grinning, despite the torrential rain. He puIls back his hood and jumps in onto the mat. ‘I’ve got new wellies,’ he says, proudly putting his foot out so I c
an admire the frog faces on the toes.

  ‘Wow! Those are fantastic. What a lucky boy.’

  ‘It’s absolutely chucking it down out there,’ Cassie says, hanging up her coat, which is already wet, even though she’s only walked from the car.

  Ollie drops his rucksack in the hall and allows me to help him off with his dripping mac and boots. ‘Can I play with Spider?’

  ‘Of course you can. I think he’s on the windowsill in the sitting room.’

  As Ollie skips off to find the cat, I turn back to Cassie. She looks different. Her skin looks brighter and clearer, her eyes are shining and she’s done something to her hair. ‘Cass! You look amazing! What have you done?’

  Cassie flushes and her eyes sparkle. ‘I went to the hairdresser’s. I thought it was about time I had it done properly. I just had some layers put in. And a few highlights.’ Her hand strays up to push a wisp of hair behind her ear.

  ‘It suits you.’ It’s an understatement. ‘It looks lovely – really flatters the shape of your face.’ It isn’t just her hair, though. She looks sort of . . . softer. Something is different. ‘Shall we have coffee now? Then we can have another one when we’ve done upstairs.’ We often work together these days, me vacuuming while Cassie dusts and wipes, or vice versa, depending on how my back is. I was uncomfortable about the cleaner–employer relationship even at the start, but now we’re definitely friends it seems even more wrong.

  ‘Let’s have one now.’ Cassie grins, looking pleased with herself. ‘Got something to tell you.’

  ‘Oh yes? What?’ I lead the way into the kitchen.

  ‘Coffee first. Have you got anything nice to have with it? I know it was my turn to get the cakes but I couldn’t park anywhere near the shop, and what with this sodding rain . . .’

  ‘No worries. I’m sure I can find something.’ I switch on the coffee machine and open the cupboard a few inches so Cassie can’t see the selection of cakes, biscuits and sweets I keep for Ollie when I look after him. I always give him a little treat before Cassie picks him up. I take out a box of Mr Kipling French fancies.

  ‘Ooh, Ollie’ll be pleased – these are his favourites, especially the yellow ones.’

  ‘Are they?’ As if I don’t already know. I slide them onto a plate, then take out a bottle of squash and the plastic cup I keep for him.

  ‘Don’t call him just yet,’ Cassie says, her voice lowered. ‘Let me tell you my news.’

  ‘Hang on a sec.’ I bring the coffee to the table, pull out a chair and sit down. ‘Okay. What is it?’

  ‘I’ve met a man. And he’s a very nice man.’

  I carry on smiling, but it’s clear Cassie is expecting more of a reaction. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that Cassie might start seeing someone, although now I think about it, why wouldn’t she? ‘Come on then,’ I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, ‘spill! What’s his name? Is it that really tall guy with the blond dreads?’ He’s a regular at the café, and he’s always eyeing Cass up when he thinks no one’s looking.

  ‘Who? Oh, I know who you mean. No, not him.’ She pulls a face. ‘He smells funny. No, his name is Luke, and we met through . . . Well, it was weird, like it was fate or luck or something. Bad luck turning into good luck, I suppose.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ I can hear Ollie in the hallway, laughing and talking to Spider and flicking a ping-pong ball up and down the floorboards for the cat to chase. I love hearing Ollie playing here in this house.

  ‘You know I put that big mirror on eBay?’ Cassie bites off a chunk of cake, chews and swallows, then takes a sip of coffee. ‘Ooh, that’s hot. Well, this guy bought it for twenty-six quid, but the only time he could pick it up was Monday afternoon before three, so that was going to be tricky. You’re not around Mondays, and after I’ve finished at the café and picked Ollie up, it’d be quarter to four by the time I got home. So I left the mirror in the hall and arranged for Jean next door to let him in. Basically he should have been and gone by the time I got back, so we shouldn’t even have met.’ She giggles, then raises her eyebrows and puts on a melodramatic voice. ‘But then, spookily, fate intervened.’

  I manage what I hope is an encouraging smile and take a bigger mouthful of coffee than I mean to, burning the roof of my mouth.

  ‘So anyway, I get home with Ollie, and there’s this drop-dead gorgeous bloke on his knees on my front path. For a minute I thought it was some leaflet delivery guy who’s collapsed, but then I realise what’s happened. He’s dropped the mirror he’s just paid me twenty-six quid for, and he’s on his hands and knees trying to pick up all the slivers of glass off my path. He remembered me saying I had a child, and he didn’t want to risk him hurting himself. Wasn’t that sweet?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘So I went in and got the dustpan and brush, told him not to worry and that I’d finish clearing up, but he wouldn’t let me – said he’d never forgive himself if me or Ollie cut ourselves. Then he asked me about some of the things I’m growing in the front garden – knew the Latin names and everything. Turns out he’s a gardener! So then we were off, talking about plants and stuff, and how the rain’s affecting everything. He went to the exact same horticultural college as I did. How spooky is that?’

  ‘Small world, as they say.’

  ‘Yeah. And you know what? All the time I’m standing there chatting to him, I’m thinking, this guy is soooo nice. So I invite him in for a cup of tea, and he ends up staying for a drink.’ She takes another sip of coffee. ‘Oh, Leah, we got on so well – it feels like I’ve known him for ages. He asked if he could see me the next night, so I’m like, yes, obviously. He brought some wine and we got a pizza delivered, and then the next night I said I’d knock up some pasta, and he came with wine and flowers and chocolates, and he even bought a little book for Ollie.’

  I don’t like the idea of this stranger buying presents for Oliver.

  ‘Cut a long story short, he stayed the night, and it was . . .’ She closes her eyes. ‘It was wonderful. He’s . . . Do you know what, Leah, I think he’s someone I could fall in love with. He’s certainly the first person I’ve been seriously interested in since David died.’

  ‘What about Adrian?’ It is out of my mouth before I even know I’m going to speak.

  Cassie looks startled. ‘Adrian? What on earth has he got to do with anything?’

  ‘Oh . . . I . . . I don’t know, really. Just,’ I shrug, ‘you must have been a bit interested in him. He was Ollie’s father, after all.’

  ‘Yes, was being the operative word. And anyway, I said Luke is the first person I’ve been seriously interested in since David died.’ She’s looking at me oddly. ‘I have to say, it feels a bit weird, you bringing Adrian up.’

  Shit. Shit! My face and neck are turning red, I can feel it. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what made me think of him. Maybe it’s because we were talking about him the other week and you said he’d wanted some contact. I just thought . . .’

  ‘Yes, but he never showed up – I told you. I haven’t heard anything from him since then and that was, like, a year ago.’ She takes another mouthful of coffee. ‘And I told you, didn’t I, that whole thing . . .’ She sighs. ‘It’s something I still feel embarrassed about – and ashamed of. I used him to get Ollie. I wasn’t even attracted to him, and I don’t think he was to me, either. If you want the truth, it was a disastrous couple of days of mediocre sex and crippling guilt.’

  Good, I think. But I wish I hadn’t blurted out his name like that. It shocked me almost as much as it did Cassie. ‘Well.’ I’m dangerously close to tears and there’s a crack in my voice. I swallow. ‘Sorry again for bringing him up.’ I take a few deep breaths as I go to the sink for a glass of water, then I turn back to Cass with what I hope is a more cheerful expression. ‘So tell me more about this gorgeous man you found in your garden, presumably dropped there by the Boyfriend Fairy.’

  Cassie laughs and her smile returns. ‘He’s just turned forty, and he’s a f
reelance landscape gardener, like I said. He was married for four years but he’s been divorced for three, no kids, no contact with the ex. He was seeing someone but he split up with her just before Easter, so he’s properly single.’

  ‘How does Ollie feel about it? About you having a boyfriend?’

  ‘I haven’t made any big deal of it, like, “this is my boyfriend” or anything. But Luke’s very good with him, and Ollie seems to like him.’

  I nod slowly. ‘That’s good.’ I don’t like the idea of a strange man being so close to Ollie, but I know it’s not really anything to do with me. ‘You sound very keen.’ I give a half-laugh. ‘You’re not in lurve, are you? You’ve only just met him.’

  Cassie grins. ‘True, but didn’t you tell me you and your husband had only been together for a few weeks when you got married? That you just knew?’ She smiles almost dreamily. ‘I don’t want to jinx it, but I think he might be the one.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THEN

  Adrian held my hand as the blood pressure cuff tightened around my upper arm.

  ‘Perfect,’ Dr Mason said, unwrapping the cuff. ‘Now hop up onto the bed so we can see how things are doing.’ She placed the stethoscope over my bump, and as she did so, we could all see an area of flesh rising up as a hand or foot glided under the skin. She laughed. ‘Well, I certainly don’t need to ask you about movement.’ A second later, I felt that strange, intimate shift within me and another little mound appeared. ‘My goodness, he’s lively today. Or she.’ She stretched the tape measure over my enormous stomach and down to my pubic bone. ‘Spot on.’ She smiled. ‘All is exactly as it should be. I’m very happy with the way things are progressing. Come and sit down when you’re ready.’ The extreme cheeriness made me slightly nervous, but I could see she was trying to keep us positive.

  Adrian helped me up off the examining table and once I’d straightened my clothes, I sat down next to him. Dr Mason scribbled something on her notes, then put her pen down and turned her attention to me. ‘How are you feeling about the birth, as we’re getting nearer to the date?’