The Flight of Cornelia Blackwood

by Susan Elliot Wright

  Diane flushed with pleasure. ‘I always knitted for my boys when they were tiny, and for the grandsons. I’ve made some lovely jackets and cardigans over the years, but it’s nice to have the opportunity to knit a little frock.’ Then she rummaged in the big bag at her side. ‘And I brought you a couple more things. Ah, here.’ She handed me a large, expensive-looking box of chocolate pralines tied with a tasteful white bow. ‘Bit of a treat for the new mum.’

  ‘Diane, that’s so thoughtful – thank you! We’ve had tons of presents for Harriet, which is lovely, obviously, but this is the only thing . . .’ I got choked up then and couldn’t continue. She waved my attempted thanks away and delved back into the bag, bringing out two rectangular Tupperware boxes, which she set on the floor beside her, and an earthenware pie dish covered with foil. ‘I thought you might like to have this tonight,’ she said. ‘It’s just a steak and mushroom pie. There’s beer in the gravy but it’s only a splash so it won’t do the baby any harm – you’re feeding her yourself, aren’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘Trying to.’

  She pointed to the Tupperware. ‘Then we’ve got chicken and vegetable casserole in this one – there’s potatoes in it as well, so it’s a complete meal – and the other one’s just some pasta with a spicy sauce. Save you cooking for a couple of nights.’

  Adrian came into the room wiping his hands on a tea towel.

  ‘Diane . . .’ I tried to thank her, but I was so tearful with gratitude, I couldn’t speak.

  ‘Diane.’ Adrian beamed. ‘You are a total star.’

  Again that little flush of pleasure.

  ‘I’d like to say you shouldn’t have,’ he continued, unable to resist charming her. ‘But having tasted your cooking before, that would be particularly stupid of me.’

  There was a beat, during which we all remembered the reason we had tasted her cooking before, then she said, ‘Well, I’ll let you get on. But remember, I’m only next door if you need me.’

  My nipples were so sore that the relief when Harriet stopped sucking was immense, even though I suspected she hadn’t had enough. I looked down at her perfect, angelic face. Her eyes were closed, long lashes resting on her cheeks. I slipped my little finger into the corner of her mouth to detach her from my nipple, and the rush of cool air on my skin was soothing as her head sort of fell away. As gently as I could, I wiped the line of milk from her chin and laid her carefully in her moses basket. She made a few more automatic sucking motions, then she was asleep. I stood there for a minute or so, just gazing at her, in awe of her sheer perfection. The sadness for my lost babies would always be there, but I was aware of it beginning to fade, more a mist now than the all-consuming fog it had been at first. At that precise moment, I was purely, simply happy. At almost exactly the same time as the thought clarified, another chased it away; the certain knowledge that my happiness was as fragile as my baby’s delicate bones. I leaned over and touched my lips against Harriet’s silky skin, my face so close to hers that I could feel her breath on my cheek. I tucked the cot blanket around her so she’d feel snug and safe, and tried to recover the contentment I’d been feeling just seconds ago; but instead I felt heavy and uneasy. Adrian would be back from the shops any minute, so I made a conscious decision to try to pull myself together. He only had two weeks’ paternity leave, and I didn’t want to spoil this magical time.

  When he got back, he went into the kitchen to put the shopping away and I could hear him whistling. It seemed loud. I wished he’d whistle more quietly. I got up and wandered over to the window to look out at the snow. It wasn’t particularly deep, but it was enough to turn the lawn completely white except for a line of paw prints from one of the neighbourhood cats. A magpie landed on the terrace just outside the window. One for sorrow. I looked up into the trees for its mate, but another two landed within seconds. I smiled. Two for joy, three for a girl . . . They flew off again, probably aware of me watching them. A huge crow swooped down from the trees and stood just the other side of the glass, cawing so loudly it sounded as if it was right here in the room with me. It turned its head to one side and looked at me, then flew off. As I stood there staring out at the white expanse of lawn, the most terrifying thought came from nowhere, presenting itself in my head so powerfully that it was as if it was really happening and I could see it unfold in front of me: there was a car, and I watched myself lift Harriet out of it, still strapped into her car seat. I placed her on the ground and then I got back in the car, drove towards the car seat and ran right over it.

  ‘Leah! My God, what is it? What’s happened?’ Adrian was crouching down beside me, his face and voice sharp with alarm. ‘Can you move? Can you get up?’

  My heart was pounding, and for a moment I felt as if I couldn’t breathe, but then my head sort of rocked and I came back to myself. I didn’t remember falling but my legs were twisted under me and I was clutching my abdomen as pain seared across it. I looked out at the garden but there was nothing but cat and bird footprints in the snow. ‘I don’t know what . . .’ I tried to move but I felt my stitches pull, making me cry out in pain.

  ‘Stay there, I’m calling an ambulance.’

  ‘No, no, there’s no need. Just help me up.’

  I checked my scar, worried that there would be a gaping wound. One of the stitches looked as if it had popped but apart from that, it all looked okay.

  ‘What on earth happened?’ Adrian looked shocked. ‘I heard you scream and I thought—’

  ‘I screamed?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it was more half-scream, half-groan. Look, are you sure we shouldn’t call someone?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, honestly. I just . . . I don’t know, I felt a bit weird for a minute, that’s all.’ He still looked worried, but I couldn’t tell him what I thought I saw.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THEN

  My breasts were still tender and my nipples felt raw, but I was determined. I gritted my teeth as Harriet latched on, then I settled back and tried to relax as she fed. As I watched her, I marvelled again at her utter perfection. It was hard to believe that she’d only been here for ten days. In that time, our lives had changed completely. Everything, from when we ate, drank, slept, even went to the loo, revolved around the baby. In every room there were baby clothes drying on radiators and open packs of nappies and wipes lying around. Adrian was tidying up around us in preparation for the midwife’s visit. ‘How can someone so small take up so much space in life?’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘I was just thinking the same thing. But when you look at the size of the hole we were left with after Thomas died, it doesn’t seem so odd.’

  He nodded. ‘True.’

  His smile faded and I wished I hadn’t said that out loud. He hardly ever talked about Thomas now. I stroked Harriet’s hair, silky black just like her brother’s.

  The doorbell rang, followed by two sharp knocks. ‘That’ll be the midwife,’ Adrian said, going to the door to let her in. She was a big woman, not enormous, but sort of . . . hefty and big-busted. Older than the midwives at the hospital – in her fifties, maybe. ‘I’m Liz.’ She held out her hand. ‘Sorry you’ve had to wait so long, but we’re all over the place at the moment. Everyone’s off sick with colds or flu. It’s a flaming nightmare.’ She sank into the armchair opposite, filling the space around her as she unpacked her bag, spilling files and notes across the floor and coffee table. ‘Now, where . . .’ She rummaged in her bag. ‘Ah!’ She pulled out a flowery glasses case, which she put on the table next to her pen. ‘There we are.’ She looked up at Adrian and beamed. ‘Tea please, two sugars. I assume that’s what you were about to ask?’

  He smiled and went off to make the tea while she examined my scar, which she said was looking a little inflamed, but nothing to worry about.

  ‘Got your red book to hand?’

  ‘On the bookshelf there.’

  She put her glasses on to peer at my record book. ‘How is everything going? Harriet feeding well? Any problems?’ Sh
e leaned forward to look at Harriet. ‘Feeding on demand?’

  She was slightly schoolmistressy, brisk and efficient rather than soft and soothing like the hospital midwives. But I liked her. She made me feel safe. I nodded.

  ‘Good. How often?’

  I tried to remember exactly how long Harriet went between feeds, but it was blurry. ‘She seems very hungry. And she cries a lot if I’m not feeding her. I think it’s about every two hours, two and a half if I’m lucky.’

  ‘Oh dear. Rotten luck. Nothing to worry about, but hard going for you.’ She looked at my record again. ‘How are your nipples? Still sore?’

  ‘Yes, very.’

  ‘Get hubby to pop out for some lanolin cream. That should help, but it might be down to technique. If she’s latching on properly, you shouldn’t have a problem.’

  I looked down at Harriet. As if to demonstrate the point, she appeared to be chewing on my nipple. ‘Am I not doing it right?’

  ‘It’s a myth that women were born knowing how to breastfeed. Is there someone who could help show you what to do? Mum, or sister, perhaps?’

  I shook my head. ‘My mum died when I was seven. I have a sister-in-law, but she’s in Cambridge, so no, not really.’

  She took her glasses off and looked at me properly for the first time. ‘You poor duck. It’s tough, not having your mum at a time like this. New mums need mothering as much as the new babies, if you ask me.’ She put her glasses back on, glanced towards the door and lowered her voice. ‘Hubby looking after you? Doing his bit?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve been expressing, so he gives her at least one of the night feeds.’

  She nodded. ‘Good, good. Now, show me how she latches on.’

  Liz watched as I attempted to get my nipple into Harriet’s mouth. Sure enough, I was doing it all wrong. Liz showed me what to do and gave me a list of organisations offering breastfeeding support, but the disruption had upset Harriet, and instead of dropping off to sleep, she started first to grizzle, then to yell. I stood up and paced the room with her, jiggling her up and down and gently patting her back. Adrian came back with the tea and biscuits, and I was aware of Liz watching me. Please stop crying, I pleaded silently. I didn’t want the midwife to think I was incompetent, but instead of quietening down, Harriet cried even louder and more vigorously, her little face turning pink with the effort. I was on the verge of tears.

  ‘She does this for most of the night,’ Adrian was telling Liz. ‘Is it normal for her to cry so much?’

  ‘Some babies cry more than others,’ she said, still watching me, observing.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.’ My voice wobbled, barely audible under Harriet’s cries. ‘I’m feeding her whenever she wants, changing her so often that half the time, I find the nappy’s still dry, but she still . . . Sometimes I think she doesn’t like me.’ I hadn’t meant to say that, and, to my shame, the tears I’d been holding back spilled over. Liz stood up and came over to take Harriet from me. ‘Come along, now,’ she said, and at first I thought she was talking to Harriet, but then she said, ‘Let’s not be thinking like that. You’re the most important person in her world. If anything, she’s probably picking up on the fact that you’re worried, and that’s what’s upsetting her.’ She held Harriet out in front of her, then turned her over so that Harriet’s tummy was cradled in that big, capable hand, then she gently jigged her up and down, almost as if judging her weight. Harriet stopped crying instantly and appeared to be looking around the room.

  I should have been grateful for the sudden peace, but instead I wondered why this woman, a complete stranger, could stop my baby from crying when I couldn’t do it myself.

  Then she took the shawl from the moses basket, laid it out on the sofa and showed me how to wrap it around Harriet so that she was tightly swaddled in a little cocoon.

  ‘I wish you’d been here at three o’clock this morning,’ Adrian said.

  Liz turned to me. ‘How much sleep are you getting?’

  ‘Not a lot, to be honest. She wakes up so many times. We take turns, but Adrian has to be back at work soon.’

  ‘It gets easier, but I know that’s not much help at the minute.’ She looked at Harriet, whose eyes were closing now. ‘There.’ She laid her back in her basket. ‘When you’ve been up half the night, it might seem like she’s only sleeping for five minutes, but it’s likely to be much longer than that. She looked at me sternly. ‘Now, I want you to take some advice: she will sleep, even if it’s only for half an hour at a time, and when this baby sleeps, you must make sure that you sleep, or at least lie down and rest.’ Then she looked at Adrian. ‘Make sure this mummy does as she’s told, okay, Dad?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Good. Now, I need to run through a few things with you.’ She told me about the baby health centre, the six-week check, when Harriet’s vaccinations were due and so on. ‘It’s all written down in there.’ She pointed to the red book. ‘But sleep-deprived mums don’t always remember to check. I’m going to put you down for another visit from one of the health visitors, but realistically, we’re so short-staffed I don’t hold out much hope, so you might be better dropping into the centre.’ She put her glasses away and began to gather her things. ‘Any problems at all, contact the centre, or your GP. Anything you want to ask before I go?’

  Yes, I thought. How do I get this right? Why does she cry all the time? Does she think I’m a useless mother? ‘I don’t think so. Except . . . when did you say I need to take her to the clinic?’

  ‘As often as you like – there are drop-in sessions every day. It’s all in your book, but give us a call if you’re not sure.’

  And because I couldn’t think of another reason to keep her here, I said, ‘Okay, thanks.’

  She gave me a big smile and squeezed my shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  I felt a lump rise in my throat. I walked with her to the door and had to stop myself from bursting into tears and falling into her big, capable, confident arms.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  NOW

  The following week, Cassie turns up alone. ‘Where’s Ollie?’ I try not to sound too disappointed.

  ‘Luke’s watching him for me. They’re both still in their pyjamas, so they’re just slobbing around, playing some computer game.’

  ‘Oh, right. Should he—’ I stop myself from making another comment about computer games. ‘Never mind. Luke not working again, then?’

  ‘No, I thought I told you – his Friday job came to an end a couple of weeks ago. It was only a six-month contract. He’s still got all the other stuff, so he’s not going to bother looking for anything else until after Christmas.’

  ‘Oh, I see. It’s just that I bought some iced fingers.’ I realise straight away how ridiculous that sounds, so I laugh. ‘It doesn’t matter. We can have one with coffee, and you can take the rest home with you. Shall I make it now?’

  Cassie hesitates. ‘You know what? I think I’m just going to crack on without a break today, if that’s all right.’ She opens the cupboard under the sink and starts taking the cleaning things out. ‘We’re going to Luke’s mum and dad’s for the night, and I’ve got a few bits to do before we go, plus I need to get our stuff ready.’

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure.’

  She hasn’t made eye contact since she arrived. ‘Cass, is everything all right? You seem . . . I don’t know . . . preoccupied.’

  ‘Leah . . .’ She pauses, standing there with a bottle of bathroom cleaner in her hand, and it feels like she’s about to say something non-cleaning-related. But after a second or two, she says, ‘Listen. I’ve got so much to do before Christmas, do you mind if I skip next Friday? I’ll give it a really good go this week, so you won’t need to do much.’

  I can’t think of a reasonable objection. ‘All right, if you can’t make it.’

  ‘Great, thanks. Do you want me to do the paintwork upstairs this week? The bottoms of the doors are looking a bit grubby where
Spider puIls them open.’

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. At least having Spider means there’s a bit more work for Cass to do. Without him, it’s sometimes difficult to find enough to fill two hours. Ollie’s interest in Spider is waning lately, but I find myself increasingly glad of feline company. I now encourage him to sleep on my bed, enjoying the warm weight of him on my legs and the feel of his smooth head butting against my hand in the morning. I don’t delude myself, though; I know that if I were to disappear, Spider would simply move on to another source of food and shelter. He’s the same as Ollie – he quite likes me if I happen to be around, but he doesn’t need me; I’m not necessary.

  The Wednesday before Christmas, I drive out to the café as usual. Cass smiles and says hello, but instead of waving me to a table and bringing over my coffee so we can chat, she busies herself tidying around the coffee machine, so it’s the new girl who serves me. I settle to marking a pile of level four essays as I drink my latte. After a while, I order another coffee, and this time it’s Cassie who brings it over. ‘There you go,’ she says, putting the cup and saucer down on the table. ‘How’s it going? Work and everything?’

  Is it my imagination, or is she avoiding my eye?

  ‘Not bad, thanks. I think I’m getting back in the swing of it now. In fact, I’m quite enjoying it.’

  Cass nods. ‘So how long were you off work before? After your accident?’

  I freeze. She’s never asked about the accident before, so why now? I reach for my cup and it rattles in the saucer as I pick it up. ‘Quite a long time, in the end. I lost my confidence, you see. I’d only been back a few months when A . . .’ I stop myself and fake a brief coughing fit. ‘Ooh, something went down the wrong way.’ I thump my chest. ‘Sorry, what was I saying?’

  ‘You were off work a long time. And you’d only—’

  ‘Ah, yes. I was saying about how I’d not been back long when Clive was killed and, well, as you can imagine—’