A Midwinter Promise

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘Oh Mark!’ She whispered, seized by grief. ‘Oh Mark.’ She closed her eyes. ‘So you did it. You wouldn’t let me. But you went on ahead.’

  And she pushed the paper away, afraid suddenly of the thoughts swirling around her head, and full of despair for Mark and the path he had taken, whether he’d wanted to or not. And part of her envied him, that his journey was over and he was at peace.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Julia and David sat in the professor’s consulting room at the unit, listening. Julia was only half paying attention; her real focus was the tiny bundle in her arms. Jonathan had been born by scheduled Caesarean section in the Chelsea and Westminster three weeks before, and she had spent a couple of days there recovering before she had returned to the unit. There had been no question of her being allowed home before the proper assessments had been carried out and she had recovered properly from the operation.

  ‘We have to be sure that appropriate mother–infant bonding has taken place,’ the professor was saying gravely, while David nodded, looking serious. ‘Obviously we cannot risk any return of the previous conditions and everything points to a high risk of postpartum psychosis. It’s a very real possibility.’

  ‘Yes,’ David said, ‘but you can see that she’s absolutely fine now.’

  He looked over at his wife. Julia glanced up. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re fine now, aren’t you, darling?’

  ‘Yes . . . oh yes. Fine.’ She meant it. What was a great puzzle to her now was the memory of the utter darkness and sense of futility that had possessed her while she was pregnant. The terrors of growing a baby and awaiting its birth had faded like the memory of a nightmare on a bright, confident morning. Now she was entranced by the beautiful, perfect little being who had appeared in her life, and to whom she was already devoted.

  David said firmly, ‘I think you can see that the bonding has been successful.’

  The professor observed Julia for a moment as she tended to Johnnie, tucking his blanket around him, stroking his head, murmuring to him and putting kisses on his swansdown-soft cheek. She looked up, suddenly aware of the silence. ‘What is it?’

  The professor gave a small smile. ‘Yes, all the signs are good so far. We’ve been careful about the medications we’ve given your wife, in case of any transference through breast milk, which is why we’ve been extremely careful to monitor her condition. But we’re happy with her progress. It’s looking as close to normal as we think is possible.’ He leaned towards Julia over his desk and said loudly, ‘You’re feeling all right, aren’t you, Mrs Pengelly?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘Then we’d like to go home,’ David said firmly.

  ‘That’s looking possible. But it’s an absolute prerequisite that Mrs Pengelly can’t be left alone, so we’ll need an undertaking before we can consider that.’

  ‘I’ve got time off,’ David said quickly. ‘A good few weeks. I can be there to care for them both.’

  ‘Good. But once you return to work . . . what then?’

  ‘If necessary, I’ll engage someone to be with her. I promise, she won’t be left alone.’

  ‘I’m right here, you know,’ Julia said, but not crossly. She was still mostly focused on the baby and, besides, she had the obscure feeling that she had relinquished rights over herself because of what had happened. If people had to make her decisions for her now, well, that was understandable. She’d been lost for a while, she would have to re-earn their trust, she could quite see that. She only knew that she didn’t want to be in London, or to return to the flat where she had been so unhappy.

  Home to Tawray. That’s where I want to be.

  And that was something David couldn’t refuse her.

  Julia had left Tawray in the brightness of summer but now returned in the darkest part of the year.

  The real year’s midnight, she thought, remembering her aunt’s objections to her choice of wedding day. If anything feels like the lowest, coldest, most cheerless moment, it must be this. February.

  The weather was icy cold, the hours of daylight short and only differentiated from the darkness by a kind of yellow haze which seemed to be the closest to sunlight they were going to get. Johnnie was in his baby seat, which was strapped into the back with the seat belt wrapped around it, and Julia sat beside him all the way, his fingers wrapped around her thumb. She watched as he slept, fed and changed him when they made their stops at motorway service stations, and found the whole experience utterly exhilarating.

  ‘I haven’t seen you this happy for months and months. Perhaps ever,’ David said as he watched her feeding the baby, the small warm body concealed behind an artfully draped baby shawl. They were sitting at a Formica-topped table over cups of nasty coffee with long-life milk in it, overlooking a car park. The hum of traffic came from the nearby motorway.

  Julia looked up and was instantly moved by the love and pride on his face. ‘I feel like myself again.’

  ‘What happened to you?’ he asked quietly. ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘I couldn’t control it, you know. The guilt, the fear, the self-loathing. It wasn’t something I could manage.’

  ‘You never told me.’

  ‘I didn’t want to disappoint you.’ She smiled at him, humble.

  He leaned towards her. ‘You never could.’

  ‘I could. I did.’

  ‘No.’

  She smiled again. ‘I can’t believe we’re talking about this in a motorway cafe.’

  He reached over and took her hand. ‘Promise me you’ll talk to me if you ever feel bad again. If you ever feel low or useless, or need my help. Do you promise?’

  She looked up, and found herself gazing into his dark blue eyes, touched by the intensity in them, and the desperate need for reassurance that she could see all over his face. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I promise.’

  Another midwinter promise. Like my wedding vow.

  But she was sure she would never need to keep the promise.

  It was pitch dark when they reached the house, but light glowed golden behind the great windows downstairs, making them appear like beacons against the night sky.

  ‘But who’s there?’ she exclaimed, holding Johnnie close. She had taken him out of the baby seat for the last few miles, unable to resist keeping him on her chest, where she could inhale his beautiful baby smell.

  ‘I asked Mrs Petheridge to get things ready for us. I couldn’t have us turning up to a dark and cold house.’ David pulled the car to a halt. ‘Come on now. I’ve got something to show you.’

  It was not simply that the lights were on; the house was warm and clean and a fire was burning in the drawing room, illuminating the panelling in a dark honeyed glow.

  ‘This is wonderful!’ Julia said, her eyes shining. ‘It’s properly homely!’

  ‘That’s not all. Come on.’ David was obviously excited about something and he took her by the hand, and led her back to the hall and up the stairs.

  ‘Where are we going? To my room?’

  ‘Yes. Look.’ David threw open the door of her bedroom and she went in, looking around in astonishment. It was transformed. Her bed was gone, and the old peach-coloured paint vanished. Now it was papered in a bright pattern of yellow and green hot air balloons soaring upwards in a pale blue sky, and carpeted in a thick-tufted ivory velvet. A cot took pride of place, a nursing chair nearby, and cream nursery furniture stood around the room, including a bookcase full of picture books.

  She gazed at it, full of strange emotion to see her old room so transformed: it was life-enhancing to see it remade for a new young life. And yet . . .

  ‘Do you like it?’ David asked anxiously. ‘We did it while you were in hospital.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Sally and I.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked around, taking it all in. ‘Sally’s been here?’

  ‘She offered to help. Wasn’t that kind of her?’

  ‘Yes. Ve
ry.’ She turned to David with a smile. ‘It’s lovely. Really. I love it.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘But . . .’ The thing that had been troubling her leapt suddenly into the forefront of her mind. ‘Where will we sleep?’

  ‘In the main bedroom, of course.’ David looked at her quizzically. ‘Is that all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ It came out lamely so she followed it up quickly. ‘That’s . . . good.’

  She felt that same emotion that had gripped her in the professor’s consulting room: that she had somehow, obscurely, given up her right to make decisions for herself. She couldn’t say, The baby isn’t coming into this room, it’s too far away from me. And I’m too scared to sleep in my parents’ old room because of what happened to me there.

  Instead, she said, ‘Yes, that’s good.’

  And after all, she told herself sternly, the nursery was beautiful. It was perfect.

  David did not object when she put their travel Moses basket next to the bed and laid Johnnie in it after his last feed, or say anything when she avoided their en suite bathroom and went instead to the one down the hall. She realised that he would not contradict her outright, that much of their communication had now been relegated to the non-verbal. By her actions, she was saying, I won’t use your nursery yet, at the same time as her words said how much she liked it. And by not commenting on her decision to have Johnnie sleep by their bed, he was somehow endorsing her – Very well, I understand, he’s too young. Have him sleep with us for now.

  But they never said any of that.

  Instead, as she lay in his arms that night, Johnnie in the cot beside them, she said, ‘So Sally came down?’

  ‘She’s been so kind.’ He pulled her close. ‘The whole time you were in hospital, she couldn’t do enough.’

  ‘She came to see me practically every other day. It was good of her.’

  ‘She’s been a real friend to us. And she got such a kick out of helping me do the nursery, you’d have loved it.’

  ‘I just . . . I suppose I always thought that I’d show her Tawray myself. It feels odd to think that she’s been here without me.’

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No! No.’

  There they are. The eggshells. Something had changed between her and David, that she couldn’t quite identify. He watched her all the time, and got noticeably edgy when the baby cried, as though fearful that Julia would get hysterical and not be able to cope. He seemed constantly worried that something might tip her over the edge into the madness that had possessed her before. Psychosis, they called it. But really, old-school madness. David knew Mummy’s death had scarred her but not how much, and she couldn’t tell him the depth of her trauma. So they’d all agreed it was a strange circumstance brought on by the hormonal changes of pregnancy and whatever weird things happened inside women’s brains when their bodies were annexed by their babies. She hadn’t been able to explain it, because she didn’t understand it herself, and she didn’t want to revisit those awful feelings in any case. The experience was fading into a merciful blur and she had no interest in restoring it to focus. Now it was over and gone, she wanted to put it all behind her and let it go. So with tacit acquiescence, they said nothing. But it lay between them, delicately stepped over every day.

  The weeks at home with David and Johnnie were some of the happiest she had ever known. The cold bleakness outside seemed to make the house all the more welcoming when the fires were blazing and the old radiators banging with effort as they warmed up. With David there, the nightmares receded and she was able to concentrate entirely on Johnnie and his all-absorbing needs: the feeding and changing, bathing and sleeping. He cried but she understood he had no other way to tell her what he needed, and it didn’t panic her. She was exhausted but the night feeds and lack of sleep were sweetened by seeing his face when she woke, the feeling of him nestling into her and the contentment that flooded her when she nursed him.

  He fattened and grew, and changed from a trembling red-faced little creature to a plump, chortling, kicking baby, brighteyed and full of energy, and both of his parents adored him.

  The time came, all too quickly, when David had to return to work. The flat in Battersea had been let go, and he was back to occupying the spare room in his friend Robin’s flat. Without saying anything, he and Julia had known that she would not now be going back to London. It helped that spring was on its way, signposted with the banks of snowdrops along the drive and the emergence of clouds of yellow and purple crocuses across the lawn.

  They took Johnnie out for a walk in his pram, pushing it along the gravel walks, pointing out birds and flowers and clouds, even though he’d fallen asleep as soon as they tucked him in and taken him outside. Greta scampered around them, dashing off on an adventure before coming back to them, then running off again.

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ David said, as they walked side by side, muffled in scarves and overcoats. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘Can’t you give up that job?’ Julia said. She didn’t want to lose him to that odd netherworld of the court, where she was not permitted to know what was going on.

  ‘I can’t right now.’ David dug his hands into his pockets and stared at the gravel as they walked.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There’s nothing to go to, for one thing. I don’t want to go back to the navy, so I’m going to have to find a new career. And for another . . . well, she needs me.’

  Julia felt suddenly cold. ‘What?’

  He hesitated. The habit of concealment was strong, and she felt him struggle as he considered whether to say anything. When he spoke, it was slowly and slightly halting. ‘Look, I’ll have to tell you a bit so you understand. Things are tough for her. I know that in many ways she’s her own worst enemy, but she’s having a hard time. The marriage has gone up in smoke. She hasn’t a hope in hell of winning her husband back, and she can’t understand why the whole world is in love with her but the one man she really wants is impervious.’

  It was more than David had ever said about his employers, more than Julia ever dreamed he’d say.

  ‘Is it that bad?’ she ventured in a small voice.

  ‘Very. Something has to change soon, or I don’t know what will happen.’ He sighed. ‘It’s making life very, very difficult. All of us – the staff – we’re splitting into camps. Communication is becoming impossible with all the dissemination and scheming. It’s tough.’

  ‘That’s awful.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But . . . why doesn’t he love her?’

  ‘Who knows? My guess is they are entirely unsuited to each other; you’d see that if you were in their company for five minutes. I think that whatever infatuation they had for one another wore off a long time ago, and it’s left them wondering how the hell they can stand each other for the rest of their lives. Perhaps if she were more docile and submissive, and understood the rules of the game and was prepared to live by them, it might work. They could live more or less separate lives and appear united when necessary. But she doesn’t want to do that. She doesn’t want to submit. She’s angry and resentful and she intends to remake things her way if she possibly can.’

  ‘Why should she be the one to submit? Why not him?’

  David gave her a sideways look. ‘It doesn’t work that way, as I expect you understand. The whole machine of court is too big, too entrenched. It doesn’t change, not easily. It would be like trying to move a mountain.’

  ‘Well, no wonder she’s angry, if she’s just expected to put up with it all. Is he doing anything in particular to upset her?’

  There was another long pause before David said, ‘I can’t comment on that. But no one involved is blameless, I must say that.’ He sighed. ‘I do what I can, but it’s not easy. The way things work at court – well, there’s only so much that can be said or done, and if one oversteps the mark or slips up, it can quickly be curtains.’ He slid a gaze across at her. ‘I could be gone any day now. I could be forced out with
silent treatment until I resign – that’s the usual way. But until then, oddly, I want to stay and do what I can to stop the ship hitting the iceberg.’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was so bad.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to come to London.’ A sense of bleak depression settled on her. David had made clear his priorities, and she came second, behind his work.

  ‘No.’ David reached for her hand. ‘I’ve had an idea. Tell me what you think. How would you feel about Lala coming over?’

  ‘Lala? How could she? She has her work!’

  ‘Well, actually, she’s thinking of taking a break for a while. She can tell you more when she comes. But what do you think? I’ll still be here as often as I can, you know that. Every weekend, every holiday.’

  Lala. Scenes of the past flitted in front of Julia’s mind: their shared girlhood here. To have Lala back for a while would be sheer happiness.

  ‘Yes. If she’ll come, then yes.’

  The pleasure at Lala’s coming pushed out the bitter feeling she got when she thought about David’s loyalty to his beautiful, charismatic and suffering employer.

  Julia knew she was being guarded, watched over as though she were a helpless child, but she didn’t mind. The handover between David and Lala was almost seamless. He left on a Sunday afternoon and before bed, Lala had arrived from the airport, as elegant as ever in a navy travelling suit, smart pumps and a rope of huge pearls at her neck.

  Within half an hour, when the baby had been admired and put to bed, it was as though they had never been apart. By the drawing room fire, over cups of cocoa, they talked over everything that had happened, and Julia tried to give Lala an inkling of what it had been like, although she still shied away from describing the experience in-depth.

  ‘It was like being possessed, that’s the closest comparison I can think of. Although I’ve never been possessed, of course. And then the actual arrival of the baby, which I’d been so frightened of, was like an exorcism. I’ve been emptied of the evil. It’s gone.’ She smiled shyly at her sister. ‘Does that sound completely barmy?’