by Ruth Heald
I nod. She’s probably right. I’m just nervous.
Paula takes my hand in hers. ‘You don’t need to worry. Soon you’ll meet your babies. And I can already tell you’re going to be a great mother.’
4
At school, a policeman comes in to give an assembly about how we can keep ourselves safe. He says there are bad people in the world. They’re called strangers. And they might offer you sweets or ask if you want to see a puppy in the back of a van. Whatever you do you mustn’t go with them. They might hurt you. You can’t even talk to them, or you’ll be in huge trouble.
We listen intently to the policeman’s talk, our legs identically crossed on the dark tiles of the school hall. We understand that hurting people is wrong. We understand that strangers hurt people. But we want to know about other people that hurt us. We wait hopefully for the answers we need, for the policeman to tell us what to do when people who are supposed to love you hurt you. We don’t need to go off with a stranger to be hit round the head or clipped round the ear. We only have to go home.
But he never mentions fathers. Even if he did, we wouldn’t say anything. If our teacher asked us if anyone hurt us, my sister and I would never tell her. Because she’d never believe us. She likes Mum and chats happily to her as if she knows her. She’d never think that she’d let my dad beat her up. That she’d let him beat us up too.
People are always complimenting Mum on her hair, long and flowing and full of volume, like a shampoo advert. But there’s a reason she always wears her hair down. It’s to cover the colours on the back of her neck; the reds and the browns and the purples. My sister and I can wear our hair any way we like. Because when he hits us, he makes sure it’s over the head. Our dark hair covers the injuries better than any plaster.
Nine
Melissa comes to see me at the coffee shop a few days later, just after 5 p.m., as my shift is finishing. For some people that would be the end of the working day, but not for my sister. This is her ‘late lunch’, and the first time she’s been able to take a break all day. She’s going back to the office straight after.
‘Did you want a drink?’ I say, as I take off my apron.
‘No, let’s get out of here. I need to grab a sandwich anyway.’
‘They make sandwiches here.’
She laughs. ‘Yeah, I’ve tried one before. No thanks.’
‘Alright then.’ I shout out goodbye to Martin and the others, and we leave the café and go to an artisan bakery a few doors down.
I watch my sister nibble at her houmous and carrot wrap. ‘What’s going on?’ I ask. There must be something up for her to visit me. Then I feel a stab of worry. ‘Is it Mum?’
‘No, it’s not Mum. I just wanted to check you were alright,’ she says.
‘Huh? What do you mean?’
‘It must be a big change for you. The house. The twins. You didn’t quite seem yourself at the baby shower.’
I raise my eyebrows, feeling suddenly exposed. ‘I’m fine.’
‘OK. It’s just that you always seemed happy in the flatshare. At the baby shower you seemed a bit subdued.’
‘But I’m happy now,’ I insist. ‘How could I not be?’ I think of how beautiful our house is, but I can’t help feeling empty.
‘You just don’t seem like you anymore. You’re living the kind of life I aspired to, but I never thought it was what you wanted.’
I nod. She’d be right at home on my street.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘I know I’m lucky.’
‘You can turn to me whenever you need to,’ Melissa says. ‘We need to look out for each other. We’re sisters.’
Her comment reminds me of our childhood. I don’t have many memories from when I was little, but I remember how close we used to be. When did that change? When we were teenagers? Or before, when our father died? I remember how, after he passed away, she spent all her time with Mum and it felt like I was always on the outside.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘That’s kind of you.’
She takes a sip of her smoothie. ‘I’d love us to be close again.’
‘Me too,’ I say, earnestly. I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation as frank as this one.
‘Have you decided on names?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ I say, smiling. ‘Frances and Alice.’ I’m excited to finally tell her.
‘Frances?’ Her face pales.
‘Yes, after our father.’ I grin. I wish my father was still around to meet the twins and this seems like the perfect way to remember him. I’m sure my sister will agree.
But Melissa pushes her chair back rapidly. She knocks the table and her glass wobbles, bright green smoothie spilling out onto the glass tabletop. She runs out, leaving her unfinished sandwich behind.
* * *
I stare after my sister, shocked. I’ve no idea why the babies’ names have upset her. I scratch at the scar on my arm and dash outside onto the street. It’s started to rain, and she’s already disappeared amid the jumble of umbrellas.
Ten minutes later I’m on the Tube home, still confused by Melissa’s reaction. The carriage’s like a sauna, moisture rising from discarded raincoats and wet umbrellas. When I get off and emerge into the air, the queue for the bus home snakes down the street. There are no seats in the shelter and I decide to walk, avoiding a bus that will almost certainly be late and overcrowded. My flimsy umbrella provides little defence against the rain, and soon my wet uniform clings to my skin and starts to itch. My bump aches.
When I get back to the house, Ian opens the door before I’ve turned my key in the lock.
‘Hello,’ I say, surprised at his eagerness to see me.
‘Hi. You’re looking lovely.’
I frown. I look anything but lovely. My belly is huge, I’m wet from the rain, and at the same time I’m hot and sweaty.
‘I don’t feel it,’ I say.
He wraps his arms around me.
‘Honestly, you look beautiful.’
I kick off my sensible slip-on shoes, bought when my belly grew so big I could no longer bend over to do up my trainers.
Ian takes my head in his hands and wipes a raindrop from my cheek, then runs his hands through my hair.
‘You know how much I love you, don’t you?’
His lips meet mine and he kisses me passionately, almost desperately. The sex that follows is rushed, both of us suddenly needy for the chemistry we’ve lost as my body’s grown bigger and energy levels have dropped. We remain in the living room, shedding our clothes quickly on the sofa, laughing as we shift positions until we find a way to fit together again.
Sex was the foundation of the beginning of our relationship; quickies in expensive hotels on our lunch breaks and dirty weekends away in Europe. It’s a relief to find we’re still as attracted to each other as we ever were.
We pull apart, sweaty and satisfied. He smiles at me, and then kisses me on the lips.
‘I love you, Katie.’
‘I love you too,’ I say, letting myself forget my anxieties about our future together just for a moment.
‘I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to stay for dinner tonight,’ Ian says as he pulls on his trousers. ‘I’ve got to work.’
‘Oh,’ I say, disappointed. I just want to relax in the warmth of his arms; I don’t want to lose him to his work. It happens too often.
A shadow passes over the window and I’m not sure if the sun has simply hidden behind a cloud, or if there’s someone behind the shutters. I suddenly feel exposed, pregnant and naked. I start to pull my dirty barista uniform back on.
‘As long as you take some time off work when the twins arrive,’ I say.
‘Of course. Actually I’m going to be away for a short while.’
He goes to the kitchen while I dress and brings me a glass of water.
‘There’s an amazing opportunity at work,’ he continues.
‘Really? How long will you be away?’
‘A week.’ He reaches over a
nd strokes my hair. ‘I’m going to hate being away from you.’ His hands caress my belly. ‘And the girls.’
‘A week? Where? Can’t you pop back and see us?’
‘That’s the thing. It’s in Thailand. A new client. Building a whole hotel complex. Billions involved. And they want us to be one of the prime contractors. It’s not an opportunity I can turn down. It’s in a beautiful, undeveloped part of the country. Next to the beach, backed by mountains.’
‘In Thailand?’ I sit up straighter. Thailand’s so far away. What if something happens with the babies while he’s away? ‘When did you find out?’ I ask, wondering how long he’s kept this from me.
‘It was confirmed this morning. I knew it was coming but I was hoping it would happen a few months down the line, once you were settled with the twins. I’m sorry, I know the timing is awful.’
‘Can’t you send someone else?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t send a junior for a job like this. It has to be me. I need to meet the management company, see the site, assess the opportunity.’
I realise I don’t have a choice. He’s going. We’ve got so much left to do to prepare for the babies, and I’ll have to do it all on my own.
‘When are you leaving?’ I ask.
‘My flight’s booked for tonight.’ He glances at his watch and smiles apologetically. ‘I’m afraid if I don’t leave soon, I’ll miss it.’
* * *
After Ian’s gone I don’t know what to do with myself. There’s not much in the fridge, and I go out to Sainsbury’s to get myself a ready meal, which I heat up in the microwave and consume on the sofa on my own. I feel a stab of loneliness. I wish Ian wasn’t going to the other side of the world so close to my due date. He’ll be on his flight by now. I feel unsettled in the house on my own, remembering the shadow that passed by the window earlier, and the woman by the café watching the house a couple of weeks ago.
After dinner I take the bin bag out of the kitchen and go outside down the unlit path to the bins. I lift the lid off the dustbin and see an unsightly mush in the bottom. I’ll have to get that cleaned out, but for now I just chuck the bag in.
‘Hi,’ a voice behind me says, making me jump.
I turn to see a man towering over me in dark clothes.
‘Hi,’ I say, goosebumps rising on my skin, despite the balmy night. I eye up the path from the bins back to my front door. It will take less than a minute to get back inside.
‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ He reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. I recoil. ‘I’m Cameron, your next-door neighbour.’ I let out the breath I’d been holding as he points to the immaculate house next door. He’s the guy with the Porsche.
‘Katie,’ I say, regaining control. ‘Nice to meet you.’ I hold out my hand, grateful when he removes his from my shoulder to shake mine. It’s pitch-black tonight, the moon covered by dark clouds.
‘I just wanted to introduce myself. I saw that you’d moved in and wanted to say hello. You’ve done a great job tidying up the front of the house.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘But my partner did all the work.’ I feel an urge to mention Ian, so he knows I don’t live alone.
‘Has he done the inside too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, that’s good. That house had been left for too long. I’m glad someone like you moved in. Someone who’ll take care of it.’
I nod, thinking of the appalling state of the place when I first moved in. ‘What happened to the previous owner?’ I ask.
‘You don’t know?’
I look at him, surprised by the concern in his voice. ‘What happened?’ I ask again.
‘He…’ Cameron glances down, sees my heavily pregnant belly and starts again. ‘He died recently. He’d lived in the house for years, since he first got married. Although the last few years he was in a home and the house was empty.’
‘That’s sad,’ I say, thinking of the elderly man moving to a home, away from the house he’d lived in for so many years. ‘I suppose it used to be a family home.’
‘Yes,’ he says, frowning. ‘A long time ago.’
‘Well, it will be again soon. Once my two are out.’ I pat my belly.
‘Two?’ he asks, his eyebrows shooting upwards.
‘Yes, twins.’ People are always shocked, and I have to wait a moment for him to recover from the surprise.
‘That’s lovely,’ he says eventually. ‘I’m so glad a family are moving in. It’s a fresh start for the house. God knows it needs one.’
Ten
The next morning I drag myself out of bed, wash in the rainforest shower in our freshly done-up bathroom, then towel myself off with one of my old scratchy towels. I dress quickly, surveying my bump in the mirror, running my hand over the stretch marks. My babies kick, and I watch in fascination as I see my skin ripple in the mirror, a tiny foot pushing out.
The house feels empty without Ian. When I’m on my own I seem to only go in certain rooms, like a mouse repeating the same route again and again, leaving the same tracks. Ian hasn’t done much more work on the house since the baby shower. The hallway, the living room, kitchen, bathroom and our bedroom could be straight out of the pages of an interior design magazine. But the other rooms are trapped in the past. When I step from one room to another, it’s like stepping back in time to the 1950s.
A car horn honks outside and I glance out the window to see Mum’s Peugeot, looking out of place on the huge driveway. I go downstairs and climb into the car, pulling the seat belt round my pregnant belly.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asks.
‘Fine, thanks,’ I say. ‘How about you? How are your headaches?’
‘Oh, not too bad,’ she says as she pulls out of the driveway.
‘Have you had the results of the scan?’
‘Yes, they don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but they’re going to run some more tests.’
‘Tests for what?’
‘Nothing serious. My appointment’s not for months. If they were worried they’d be seeing me a lot sooner.’ She quickly changes the subject back to pregnancy. ‘You know, I was dreadfully ill when I was pregnant with you. Sick right until the end.’
I nod. ‘I’m lucky. I haven’t had that.’
‘You look glowing,’ she says.
‘It’s the blusher,’ I reply, and then feel bad about batting away her compliment.
* * *
We walk round the shops together for hours. I rarely enjoy time with my mother, but today it feels almost companionable. She isn’t questioning my life choices or telling me to get my act together. She seems to have softened now she has grandchildren on the way.
I’m so huge now, that I feel like I’m ready to split at the seams. Strangers continuously stop us to ask when I’m due. I’m overwhelmed by all the baby clothes and equipment in the shops. Babygrows and sleepsuits. Booties and socks. Hats and scratch mittens. Sheets for the crib and sleeping bags. Soon my mother and I are laden with bags. Mum wanted to pay for a lot of it, but I’ve insisted we put it all on Ian’s credit card. He gave it to me before he went away with instructions to buy only the best for our babies.
Mum’s bought the babies one toy each: a beautiful hand-knitted caterpillar and a stuffed elephant.
‘Will you need a double buggy?’ Mum asks.
‘Yes,’ I say, although I still can’t imagine myself pushing one around. It all feels unreal.
‘They can be expensive, you know. I’m happy to buy it for you.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘We can afford it.’
‘You don’t have to push me away, Katie. They’re my grandchildren and I want to provide for them.’
‘Honestly, it’s OK,’ I say. ‘Thank you, though.’
‘Melissa said she spoke to you the other day about the babies’ names.’
‘She did.’
‘She’s very hurt, Katie. She didn’t want you to use the name Frances.’
‘But I
don’t understand why,’ I say. I’ve tried calling Melissa to discuss it with her but she’s refused to answer the phone. ‘I want to name the baby after Dad.’
‘I know, sweetheart. It’s just, Melissa wanted to use that name too. If she ever has children. Are you sure there’s not another name you like? Why don’t you have Frances as a middle name?’
Melissa never told me she wanted to use the name. I feel a stab of guilt and I wonder if I should give in. But then my resolve strengthens. He was my father too.
‘No, Mum. I’ve already decided.’ I feel tearful all of a sudden. Why can’t she be pleased for me?
‘OK, then. I’ll speak to Melissa. She was very close to her father.’
‘I was close to him too. Just because I didn’t have as many years with him as Melissa had, doesn’t mean I loved him any less.’
‘I know you loved him,’ she says. ‘I’ve always known that. I’m sorry. I just told Melissa I’d talk to you about it. I wasn’t sure how fixed you were on the name. But of course, you have every right to use it.’
‘OK,’ I reply. But the conversation leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Why does she always have to put Melissa first?
We head over to the department store and, after much deliberation, I choose a double buggy.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to get it?’ Mum asks. ‘I’d like to buy you something useful.’
‘No, Mum, it’s too much money. We’ll get it.’
I hand Ian’s credit card to the till assistant. She gives me the card machine and I type in the pin.
‘Do you know what you’re having?’ she asks conversationally, as she waits for the card to go through.
‘Two girls.’
‘How exciting.’ The card reader beeps and a receipt comes out. The till assistant stares at it for a second.
‘I’m sorry. Your card’s been declined.’ She starts typing into the card reader again, and then holds it out to me. ‘Do you want to try again?’