by Jane Shemilt
London, May 2013
I slid the cold probe over my pelvic skin while looking at the screen by my head. I was lying on the carpeted floor of my office, doors locked and blind pulled down; this was just a quick check. Missing periods happened with stress, with exhaustion, with not eating enough. I’d been so busy recently that any of these could apply.
At first I thought it was a mistake, that the dense curved shape in the uterus was a scrambled image of some kind. I ran the probe backwards and forwards, pressing deeper each time. It wasn’t a mistake. There was a tiny beating heart in the darkness, small blocks of vertebrae, the thick umbilical cord. No wonder I’d been emotional recently – even now, tears were sliding down my cheeks. This was a baby, ours. A few moments later concern cut into the unfolding sense of gladness. I had let this happen. Six weeks ago there had been a moment when I could have drawn back but I’d chosen not to. What would Adam say? I closed my eyes. He’d be pleased. Of course he would. He’d been desperate for another child. There would be a second of disbelief, he might struggle to take me seriously, but then his face would break into a smile. He’d remember this was exactly what he’d longed for.
A door closed softly. Sarah had arrived in the adjoining office. Muted steps sounded across the floor, followed by a brief clanging tune as she started the computer. The ridged carpet was uncomfortable now; I’d have to get up soon and carry on as if unchanged. But, then, I hadn’t changed. I still wanted everything; everything exactly as it was. Family, work, achievement. I wiped the tears away. I’d be going back to work once this baby was born; I couldn’t afford to be emotional, now or later.
‘Emmie?’
I stuff my jersey into my mouth but he hears anyway. He comes into my room.
‘Stop that now.’ He sits down on the bed. ‘She wouldn’t want you to cry.’
Mum wouldn’t mind: whenever I cry she holds me … held me.
‘The funeral’s in two hours. I need you to help me. Look at me when I’m talking.’
His face is puffy. His eyes are red and small. My chest hurt. So he’s been crying too.
‘Emotions pull you under. Be strong,’ he says, and wipes his scratchy thumb over my cheek. ‘The only thing that lasts is you. It’s called survival.’
A week later, he takes me to the quarry for the first time.
I had to hurry. I examined the measurements on the screen. Crown—rump length: 1.46cm. Heart rate: 164. Limb buds: present. On course at six weeks. I wiped the sticky trail of blue gel off my skin, got to my feet and printed off the scan, slipping it into my briefcase.
The room felt smaller than usual; stale, as if the cleaners hadn’t been in that week. I wanted to open the window but the heavy glass pane had no hinges. Light poured into the room but not air. If I wanted fresh air I had to go down in the lift, along corridors and make my way through the ambulances into the crowded car park and stand on the tarmac by the rubbish bins where the smokers gathered. Somewhere there was a huge sky, a sweep of sun-lit grass, flat-topped trees. Peace.
My mobile sounded. Adam. Six weeks ago, I’d let Fate decide, thinking if a pregnancy happened it might help in some way. I hadn’t worked out exactly how, which was unusual for me, but Adam’s plan had thrown me. I’d been tired, a little drunk. Now I had to focus. I put my phone down unanswered, and after a few seconds the ringing stopped. If I told him I was pregnant he’d leave for Africa sooner than planned to be back in time for the birth. My fingers drummed on the sill. He mustn’t leave at all. Alice needed him. I needed him. Already I was more tired than usual. In fourteen weeks, the pregnancy would be five months along. I’d tell him then; leaving at that point wouldn’t be worth his while. Africa would be cancelled. Life would continue as normal. He’d be delighted about the baby so he’d forgive me. He’d have two weeks off at the birth as he’d done with the girls; I’d go back after six. Now, as well as after the baby was born, we’d continue as normal, together.
All morning I carried the secret as tightly and silently as I was carrying the tiny nub of life inside me. It was my half-day but I decided to stay on to start collecting the research papers for an umbilical-cord clamping project that interested me.
My secretary had to knock twice. ‘Your husband’s on the phone.’
‘Darling?’
His hesitant, about-to-ask-a-favour voice: he knew it was my afternoon off. As I waited, I wanted to blurt out the news but I couldn’t. My skin tingled with guilt.
‘I’ve left some scans I need at home. I’m in a meeting I can’t get out of, and then it’s the neuro-oncology clinic when I need them for the first patient.’ I heard him turn away from the phone and sneeze. Asthma again. Stress.
‘And?’
‘They’re on the table in the dining room, or maybe the floor by my desk in the study. Megan said she’d go over now if someone could let her in, but it’s Sofia’s day off.’
‘Can’t you give her a key?’
‘I almost did, but then I thought if you were around to offer her a cup of coffee, it would make it seem less of a favour. Have you got time?’
I stood to pack the papers away. ‘You owe me one.’
‘You’re an angel. I’ll fetch the girls today.’ He rang off.
I’d met Megan once in the hospital car park. Middle-aged, hair pulled back tightly, she’d seemed tired, slightly remote. She’d always refused invitations to our Christmas party; I was never quite sure what I had done wrong.
The woman waiting on our doorstep took me by surprise: younger than I’d remembered, auburn hair curling to her shoulders, her smooth face lit up when she saw me. She stepped forward. ‘Thank you so much for coming back specially.’
‘It’s kind of you to rescue Adam. Coffee?’
She hesitated, glancing at the neat watch on her wrist.
‘I’m sure he can spare you for another ten minutes. The neuro-oncology clinic starts at two, doesn’t it?’
‘You’re right. I’d love a quick cup.’
She followed me to the kitchen. ‘I should have sent a reminder last night, but he’s normally so careful.’
‘Adam is beyond careful.’ I glanced at her as I flicked the kettle on and pulled out two gold-rimmed mugs, the last of a wedding-present set. ‘Does he line his pens up on his desk at work as well?’
She raised her head from unbuttoning her coat. ‘Yes!’ Then she blushed: she was wondering if she’d been disloyal.
‘Don’t worry.’ I took her coat. ‘I won’t tell.’
The colour of her dark gold shirt matched her hair exactly. As I put the mug in front of her, I caught the echo of expensive scent. Was this for Adam’s benefit? I wondered if he knew. I appraised her again: lovely skin and clear brown eyes, a dimple on her left cheek. Wholesome, self-contained. Not his type, though that was unfair: Adam didn’t have a type. As far as I knew he had never glanced at another woman. I saw Megan taking in the polished Aga, the gleaming granite surfaces, the neatly stacked china in the dresser. The mess of the night before had been tidied away. The slate floor was spotless. Sofia was good at making a room look tidy.
‘Lovely house.’ Megan’s voice was warm.
For a moment I was tempted to pretend I did it all but the truth was easier. Megan had a busy life, she’d understand about priorities. ‘I have help. The kids leave a mess but I never have time to deal with it in the mornings.’
‘Alice and Zoë?’ She was studying the large black and white photo of us on the wall taken a couple of years ago. We looked slightly unreal. My hair had been carefully tousled – I could have been in my twenties, not late thirties. The camera had caught Adam as he was laughing. The children were between us, beaming adorably. Megan’s eyes tracked rapidly back and forth between the images. ‘Beautiful children.’ Her tone was serious.
‘I’m straight out of the door with them in the mornings so … well, you know how it is …’ But Megan didn’t have children. Wasn’t there some issue with her husband’s health? Adam must have told me and I’d
forgotten.
‘My husband’s always at home,’ she said and I caught a flicker of emotion in her tone. Defensive, embarrassed.
‘Lucky you. Adam’s never here to help. Sometimes I think it’s easier without him.’
‘Easier?’ She sipped her coffee.
‘If he’s not here to help with the kids, at least it means one person less to cook for … kind of cancels out, with the added advantage of no sex when you’re tired.’ I caught myself. What was I saying? I hardly knew her: my guard must be down. I wasn’t used to friendship from women. I didn’t know many.
She leant forward. ‘You’ll have help in Botswana, I know. I grew up out there.’
So Adam hadn’t told her that I wasn’t going with him. Was he still hoping I’d change my mind?
‘I’ve still got some contacts,’ she said eagerly. ‘Adam told me he’d be very grateful for anything I could arrange.’
My thoughts flickered between possibilities: was this an innocent offer, or did she know I’d decided not to go and was seeing if she could persuade me? Was this something she was doing for Adam? Maybe why she was here?
‘Actually, Megan, I won’t be going,’ I said crisply. ‘Adam knows I couldn’t possibly uproot the children or take a year away from my job.’
‘Ah. He hadn’t told me. I’m sorry.’
It might have been those simple words, her smile or even her hand, which was lying loosely open on the table, but in the little silence that followed, something inside me seemed to unlock. ‘I can’t take time out simply because it suits Adam. It’s been tough to get to this point. I’ve had to sacrifice time with the children …’ Though last night I’d left the hospital early to catch Alice before bedtime. I sat on her bed as she read; she glanced up and smiled. ‘I thought about you today, Ally,’ I said. ‘I had a patient who needed help for her little girl to be born. She had black hair, like you. When you arrived you were so tiny, Dad put you on my tummy.’
Alice pretended to vomit. ‘Yuk. Disgusting.’
I watched her eyes return to her book. ‘Darling, you do know how precious you are …’
But she put her hands over her ears, and burrowed into the pillow. I stroked her back. Normal behaviour, but I sensed we needed days together, weeks probably, time I didn’t have. I was organizing the summer conference in obstetrics this year. I’d just have to find extra moments like this where I could.
‘I was made consultant three years ago and I’ve got research planned.’ My voice sounded brittle in the peaceful kitchen. ‘My father made me promise –’ I broke off. In a moment I would be telling her I was pregnant.
‘You must feel that everything you’ve achieved is threatened. I know exactly what that’s like.’
Did she? With her round eyes and buttery skin, she seemed sealed in an invisible envelope of calm. It was unlikely she fought the kind of battles I did every day. In the mirror earlier, my face seemed made of angles and shadows. I’d been surprised by the thin lines round my mouth and the strain in my eyes.
‘Andrew worked in the path lab at the hospital while I was studying law, but he kept dropping test tubes and lost his job so …’ She gave a little shrug. No wonder they didn’t come to parties. I was wrong to think she was unscathed; she’d faced far worse battles than me.
She looked up, smiling. ‘He’s at home all the time now, so that’s good. He helps with the animals.’
‘Animals?’ Did she have a smallholding of some kind? I couldn’t imagine her with muddy boots and buckets of feed.
She must have seen the surprise on my face because she laughed. ‘Knitted ones for the hospice children. Andrew chooses the wool. Let me give you a couple for the girls.’
‘Thanks. They’d love that.’
She was making light of her sacrifice, but what she had given up was so far beyond what I would be willing to that it didn’t touch how I felt about Adam and Africa.
‘You could carry on working out there. If you change your mind, just let me know. I’m sure I could find someone …’ She looked down: the cat had come in and was winding around her legs. She scooped him up and sat down with him on her lap. He was a stray that Zoë had begged to keep, and was usually intolerant of strangers.
‘Careful. He can be nasty with people he doesn’t know.’
‘Cats love me.’ Richard began to purr loudly. ‘I could look after him if you go.’
I didn’t reply and she continued, ‘The children would love it in Botswana. Especially Alice. She could get away from that wretched school.’
I felt my mouth tighten. Especially Alice? That wretched school? How much had Adam told her about our family? There was a hovering sense of unease, of boundaries being crossed.
‘That clinic will be starting soon.’ I lifted Richard from her arms as I spoke and put him on the floor.
She got to her feet, catching a mug with her elbow. It fell with a crash, the china splintering into tiny fragments on the slate.
‘I’m sorry …’ Megan tried to gather the broken china in her fingers.
‘It’s not important. I’ll sweep it up in a minute.’
She reached for her coat, pulling it round her tightly. She’d been caught off guard. I should have been less abrupt; it wasn’t her fault that she knew about Alice’s problems. If Adam shared family worries with her, I’d just done the same. There was something generous about her that invited confidences. As I led the way to the front door, I picked up the scans from the dining-room floor and slipped them into their envelope. ‘Thanks for coming.’ I handed the packet to her. ‘Don’t worry about the mug. It really doesn’t matter.’
She gave an awkward little wave as she walked down the steps to the street.
I began to sweep up the pieces of china scattered on the floor. The girls came down here with bare feet in the mornings. I leant further to reach the fragments that were under the stool and a shard lodged in my palm, diamond sharp. I pulled it out; a drop of blood welled and I put the tiny wound to my mouth. We didn’t need china to remember our wedding. I tipped the shattered remains into the bin and went upstairs to my study.
I didn’t sit down straight away, I felt restless and stood at the window for a while. Richard was outside again, crouching by the apple tree at the edge of the lawn. The garden was immaculate. Adam’s territory: the neat beds and edged grass were as ordered as his desk. I’d wanted a wild-flower patch, but when I looked it up online, it seemed complicated and I knew I wouldn’t have time. The cat was crouched low, staring into the twiggy depths of a laurel bush, paws folded under his sleek body, tail twitching. Above him, the dark branches of the apple tree were thick with white and pink blossom. How had I not noticed before? The buds must have swollen, then opened unseen. In the gardens that lay alongside ours, there was blossom everywhere, tender flashes of brightness close-hemmed by walls and fences. I’d missed it all. Putting my hand low on my abdomen I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of my palm seep through my clothes to my skin. Inside me the tiny heart was the size of a poppy seed; it would be beating twice as fast as mine. At this stage her skin would be as translucent as a petal.
The back door slammed below me: Sofia back from her English class. I pulled out my papers, accidentally smearing the top one with blood. I wedged a tissue into my palm and settled down to read.
CHAPTER FIVE
Botswana, March 2014
No, wait. The cot isn’t empty.
There are a few blond hairs in the dip where his head has rested; a shiny circle of dried mucus from his mouth.
‘For Christ’s sake, Em, don’t fucking touch it,’ Adam shouts.
There are bloody footsteps on the rug and on the crumpled mosquito net, but it’s my blood: the sole of my foot has been cut by a piece of broken glass. His white blanket is missing.
‘We need to move out of here.’ Adam bundles me from the room. ‘The police will want to take it apart.’
So it’s a crime scene now. A criminal has my son. I twist out of Adam’s grasp and pu
t my hands to my cheeks, clawing the skin. ‘What did you see? When you got home, what did you see?’ I’m shouting at him as we walk down the corridor. Alice backs against the wall in the sitting room. Zoë stands close to her, sucking her thumb, watching us.
‘No one … everyone …’ Adam is wheezing badly – he can hardly talk. The girls glance at him, scared. ‘I phoned the police. They’re coming.’
‘What did you see, Alice?’ Ashen, she stares at me. Sliding my arm round her, I feel her body shake as though in the grip of a fever. ‘Ally, did you hear anything?’
She twists away.
‘I’m going back outside with Kabo,’ Adam gasps. ‘Don’t move. Stay with the girls.’
Sitting on the floor, I pull them to me. Zoë climbs onto my lap. I hold Alice’s arm, which is as cool and stiff as a doll’s. Adam disappears from the room.
‘What happened, Zo-Zo?’ I put my face against hers but she begins to cry again, deep shuddering sobs. I hold her tightly. There is a roaring noise in my head. Someone touches my arm: Elisabeth, with a glass of water. I tip it into my mouth, swallowing quickly.
‘What did you see, Elisabeth?’ The children cringe at my harsh voice.
‘Nothing.’ Elisabeth looks frightened. ‘I was in the garden with the girls.’
‘Josiah? Teko?’
‘Josiah is sleeping. Teko found that the baby has gone.’
‘Where is she now?’
Elisabeth points through the back window. I stand to see: Teko is faintly visible, her white shirt glimmering as her torch sweeps over the reeds by the pond. The noise in my head gets louder.
‘I can’t sit around doing nothing when everyone is looking.’
‘Chief Momotsi lives in the village,’ Elisabeth says. The name is familiar, my patients have mentioned him: an important man, a leader. ‘He will help you.’ She nods.
‘I’m going right now.’ I move from the children and fumble for Adam’s keys on the row of hooks, grab the remaining torch on the shelf above and call the girls to me again.
Adam meets us at the door, bent over and gasping for breath; he puts a hand on my arm. ‘Wait. The police …’