Your Guilty Lies (ARC)

by Ruth Heald

  I oblige, pulling down my top to expose my breast. She takes a look, poking and prodding as I wince at the pain. 'Can’t see anything wrong,’ she says. ‘It must be your technique.’ She strips Alice to her nappy and hands her to me, but when I put her to the breast she pulls away and starts to scream.

  ‘You need to be a bit firmer with her.’ Paula pushes Alice’s head forcefully onto my breast, cutting off her screams. She squirms but Paula holds her tight, and then she finally starts to suck vigorously.

  I smile at Paula gratefully.

  Then the doorbell rings.

  My heart leaps. Could it be Ian?

  Then it sinks again. Surely he’d let himself in with his key? I shift on the sofa, about to get up.

  ‘You stay there,’ Paula says. ‘Keep going with the feed. Don’t worry, I’ll tell whoever it is to go away.’

  I hear Paula open the door, and then a voice I’d recognise anywhere. Mum’s.

  Suddenly I remember. I was supposed to go for afternoon tea with her today. A pre-birth, mother-daughter bonding session and an attempt to build bridges. She’s come to pick me up.

  Oh god. I look around me in a panic. I’m exposed on the sofa and I haven’t even told her the babies have been born. She’s going to be furious.

  In the hallway, I hear Paula explaining to Mum. ‘I’m her doula.’

  ‘Yes, we’ve met. But why are you here now?’ Mum sounds confused.

  ‘To look after the babies,’ I hear Paula say calmly. My heart aches for Mum then. I remember how much she wanted to meet her grandchildren, how upset she’ll be that I haven’t told her they’ve arrived.

  ‘You mean help with preparations for the birth?’ Mum says, not understanding.

  ‘No,’ Paula says. ‘I mean help with the babies. Katie gave birth to them yesterday.’

  ‘What?’ I can hear the shock in Mum’s voice. ‘But… they weren’t due for another three weeks… Is everything OK? Is Katie OK? Why hasn’t she told me?’ Her voice is getting higher and higher and is now almost a squeak.

  I take Alice off my breast and she takes my nipple with her and then starts to scream when it springs back out of her mouth. Ignoring the pain, I put her down and readjust my top. I need to talk to Mum, to explain.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Paula says. ‘The babies are healthy. Katie just didn’t want any visitors for the first few days. She wanted some time for the babies to settle in.’

  ‘But you’re here. Aren’t you a visitor?’

  ‘I’m helping with her postnatal care.’

  I pick a screaming Alice back up and rush into the hallway.

  ‘It’s OK, Mum,’ I say.

  ‘Katie!’ She stares at me, then down at Alice in my arms. ‘It’s really true. You’ve had the babies.’

  ‘Yes, Mum. I’m sorry I didn’t call. It’s been so crazy. I only got home from the hospital last night.’ I’m rambling now, trying to explain my behaviour. I feel the guilt rising inside me as I see the expression on Mum’s face.

  ‘You didn’t want to tell me?’ she asks.

  Paula interrupts. ‘Now’s not a good time. Katie was breastfeeding.’

  ‘I could help,’ Mum says. ‘With the babies, or with the housework. It’s so overwhelming when they’re first born.’

  ‘She just needs some peace.’

  We’re all still by the front door. A stand-off. I can see Mum wants to come in. But Alice ’s screams are insistent, demanding that I take action. I can’t concentrate when she screams like this.

  ‘Mum, I’m sorry but I really need to feed her.’

  Mum stares at the baby in my arms. ‘Can I hold her?’ she asks.

  ‘She’s hungry. I just interrupted her feed. She needs her milk,’ I say, feeling a kind of primal urgency as Alice’s screams get louder.

  ‘Could you come back another day?’ Paula asks.

  Mum looks stunned. ‘I could wait here,’ she says. ‘Until she’s been fed.’

  ‘I’ll message you, arrange something,’ I reply, raising my voice above Alice’s screams.

  ‘Look,’ Paula says. ‘Katie’s been quite clear. She’s in the middle of feeding her babies. She doesn’t want you here right now. She can message you when she’s ready for visitors.’

  Paula starts to shut the door and Mum meets my eyes, an expression of bewilderment and hurt on her face.

  Sixteen

  When Mum’s gone, I immediately feel guilty. Alice is still screaming so loudly that I can hardly think, and I return to the sofa and perch on the edge, struggling to sit down on my stitches. I put Alice to my breast and she takes a shaky breath and then sucks angrily. Frances is still asleep on her mat. She rarely seems to be awake to feed, and I’m worried she’s not taking enough milk.

  I was too stressed to deal with Mum, on top of everything else. I still feel dazed from the birth. But did she really deserve to have the door shut in her face? She hadn’t meant any harm. She was only coming to see me because we’d arranged it. And she’d wanted to see her grandchildren. And why shouldn’t she? I feel so bad about the way Paula and I treated her. We were just starting to get on better. And now I’ve ruined things.

  I pick up my phone from the coffee table and do what I always do when I’m feeling ashamed of my behaviour. I call Amy for reassurance.

  She picks up on the second ring.

  ‘Katie! I’ve been meaning to call you. I’m still stuck in the house. The doctors said I’ve still got to rest my leg. I’ve been so bored. And I wanted to talk to someone about it, but I just thought you’d be so busy with the pregnancy… Anyway, how are you? How are the little babies?’

  ‘They’ve arrived,’ I say, with a smile in my voice.

  ‘What? What do mean, they’ve arrived?’

  ‘I had them. Yesterday.’

  ‘What? Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘I was kind of busy.’

  She laughs. ‘So how was it?’

  ‘Pretty awful,’ I say. I go into the details of the birth. How Alice was a dream birth and Frances was a nightmare.

  ‘Wow. That sounds horrific. Did Ian witness it all? Did he faint?’ Amy laughs.

  ‘He couldn’t make it. He’s in Thailand. On business.’

  ‘On business! What was he thinking?’

  ‘It was an important deal.’ I don’t know why I’m making excuses for him.

  ‘Is he on his way back?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What do you mean, not yet?’

  ‘I haven’t even heard from him, Amy.’ I feel the pressure building up inside my head, the beginnings of a migraine. Alice must sense my stress levels rising because she pulls away from my breast.

  ‘Oh my god. Are you alright? Do you think something’s happened to him?’

  ‘I’ve got no idea. I don’t know what’s going on. He hasn’t contacted me since the babies were born.’ My stomach knots with worry. What if something terrible has happened to Ian? Or what if he’s left me?

  ‘Oh my god, you poor thing. So you’re looking after the babies on your own? I could get a taxi over now. Come and help you. Although I can’t do much with a broken leg. I could keep you company, though.’

  I know she can’t really afford a taxi and I don’t want her to waste her money.

  ‘It’s OK. Paula’s here.’

  ‘Paula? Oh, the doula? That’s good she’s still there with you. But I can come too if you like. You need a friend.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘I’m coping.’ I want to tell Amy about Paula shooing Mum away, but I can see Paula’s shadow in the hallway and I’m not sure how much of the conversation she can hear.

  ‘Mum came round too,’ I say. ‘But I’d forgotten she was coming. I told her it wasn’t a good time. Everything was hurting and I just couldn’t deal with her. I feel awful about it. She only wanted to see her grandchildren.’

  ‘I’m sure she understands. You’ve just given birth. You’re bound to be a bit emotional.’

  ‘Yeah,
I suppose so. Thanks.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come round?’

  ‘Don’t worry. We can wait for your leg to heal.’ Alice is starting to get heavy on my arm and I adjust my position on the sofa to get more comfortable, and then grimace in pain as I put pressure on my stitches.

  ‘It could be weeks,’ Amy says miserably. ‘Look, this is important. You’re on your own with twins. I’m just going to get a taxi over and put it on the credit card.’

  ‘I thought you were maxed out?’

  ‘I’ve got a new one.’

  ‘You can’t do that. Look – come over in a few days. I’m sure Ian will be back by then. Then he can pay for your taxi. It’s the least he can do.’

  ‘OK,’ she says. ‘I could come on Monday. Would that work?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I want to talk more, to tell Amy everything that’s happened and confess all my worries about Ian, but Frances starts to scream and the rest of our conversation is a series of sorrys and pardons as we struggle to hear, until we give up and say hurried goodbyes.

  When I get off the phone I see I have a missed call from a roof repair company. Paula takes Frances from me to comfort her while I ring them back.

  ‘I can come round in an hour,’ says the man at the other end of the line, ‘and have a look. It sounds like the kind of thing that can be fixed today. Pretty straightforward.’

  ‘Thanks so much.’ I imagine myself sleeping beside my twins tonight and relief rushes through me.

  ‘I just need to take the call-out fee over the phone. It’s seventy pounds.’ My heart sinks. I kick myself for maxing out Ian’s credit card on baby clothes. I really didn’t need so many. My own credit card is just shy of its limit and my current account’s close to empty. My maternity pay hasn’t come in yet. If I pay for this now, I’ll be completely broke. And that’s just the call-out fee.

  ‘How much do you think the work will cost?’ I ask hesitantly.

  ‘Depends what I find when I get there. But I reckon a minimum of five hundred pounds. Possibly a bit more, depending on the extent of the damage.’

  There’s no way I can afford that.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I don’t think I can go ahead.’ I hang up the phone. I’m going to sleep in the leaking bedroom until Ian comes back and fixes it.

  * * *

  ‘I’ve cooked lamb for dinner. Keep your iron levels up,’ Paula says that evening.

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing that. You’re here to help with the twins, not cook.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  I feel a nagging worry. I’m really not sure how I’m going to pay Paula if Ian doesn’t return soon. He still isn’t answering his phone and neither is anyone at his office. Perhaps they’re in Thailand with him, helping him secure the deal. I’ve left so many messages. Why hasn’t he got in touch?

  I take Alice through to the kitchen and put her in the baby chair as I try to find a comfortable position on a designer kitchen stool. I neck a couple of painkillers and then I eat quickly, desperate be able to return to a softer chair.

  ‘Are you alright?’ asks Paula, seeing my discomfort.

  ‘Yes, it’s just the stitches.’

  ‘That doctor was a barbarian. You never needed to be cut in the first place.’

  I wince. ‘I know. I wish she hadn’t.’

  ‘You were doing so well in labour before they put you on that drip. Your breathing techniques were really working. You could have pushed Frances out, no problem. But she wanted to cut you. Probably in a hurry to take her break.’

  ‘It’s done now.’ I don’t want to think about it. I hadn’t realised how much pain I’d be in after the birth.

  Paula reaches out and strokes my hair. ‘You’ve been so brave through all of this. I’ve been so impressed. But you don’t have to be, you know. After dinner, I can run you a bath with Epsom salts and you can relax while I look after the babies. That should help heal your wounds.’

  * * *

  In the bath, I let my head sink under the water, enjoying the warmth on my face, my hair fanning out. Under the water I can only hear the gurgles through my ears, only feel the porcelain of the bath and my own chest rising and falling.

  But I can’t escape my thoughts. If Ian doesn’t come back, what am I going to do? I’ll be a single mother, struggling to look after twins on my own. I won’t have any money. How will I even afford nappies?

  I hear the bathroom door open and I rise up quickly, head surfacing from under the water. I instinctively put my arms over my breasts. But it’s just Paula.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks.

  ‘Much better.’

  She passes me a towel, and I gratefully wrap it round me. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How are your stitches?’

  They feel better, calmed by the salts, but I really can’t say how they’re healing. I have no way of looking at them without a mirror, and I haven’t dared take one out to study the damage that’s been done to my body by the birth.

  ‘The salts have helped,’ I say.

  ‘I could have a look at them if you like? Apply some ointment to cool them.’

  I hesitate for a moment, embarrassed by what they might look like.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve seen it all before.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’ I wonder at this moment if the indignity of giving birth has transformed me permanently from someone who changed under a towel at the gym, to someone who lets it all hang out in the swimming pool changing room, not caring who sees.

  ‘Come into the main bedroom and dry off. It’s easier there.’

  ‘OK,’ I say. She’s right. It’s awkward changing in my small double room, with the crumbling plaster and festering damp. I’ll feel dirty again as soon as I enter.

  I towel off in her room and throw on a T-shirt, while Paula potters around downstairs looking for the ointment.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Paula calls through the door.

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘Lie down on the bed.’

  I lay the towel out on the bed to catch the blood and lie down, feeling only moderately embarrassed about my semi-nudity. I shiver in the cold and goosebumps rise on every inch of my skin. Paula washes her hands in the basin in the room and then comes over.

  I feel her fingers touch the stitches and I wince.

  ‘Have you had a look at this?’ she asks.

  ‘No,’ I admit.

  ‘Maybe best not to. They haven’t done a great job. It looks a little infected.’

  ‘Infected?’ This is the last thing I need.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Paula says. ‘I’ve got some cream that will help.’

  Paula rubs it over and over into my skin and I bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out.

  ‘There,’ Paula says. ‘That’ll get better in no time. But it does make me angry that doctors can leave you like this and there’s no way for you to know what they’ve done. They really haven’t done a good job. What do people do when they don’t have anyone to check them?’

  ‘Thank you, Paula,’ I say, rising from the bed and wrapping my towel around my waist. ‘I really don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  * * *

  ‘Do you know when Ian’s coming back?’ Paula asks me out of the blue the next day, as she changes Alice’s nappy.

  My body tenses. Does Paula suspect he’s not coming back too?

  ‘I’m not sure. He might need to stay out a bit longer.’ I feel my face flush. I’ve tried to sound like I’m OK, but I’m going out of my mind with worry. If he’s left me, then what am I going to do?

  ‘How much longer?’ Paula asks.

  ‘A few more days,’ I say vaguely. I’m so ashamed he hasn’t been in contact. I can’t admit that to Paula.

  ‘I was just wondering if you’d thought about registering the births. You need to do it to qualify for child benefit.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea.’ I need that child benefit money more than anything. I don’t k
now how much longer I’ll be able to afford nappies, let alone anything for me. But what about Ian? He should be on the birth certificate. ‘But I should wait, shouldn’t I? For Ian?’

  ‘You don’t have to. It might be best to do it without him. You don’t want to leave it too late.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ It seems so final to go without him. What if he reappears with a reasonable explanation for everything? After all, it’s only a few days since the twins were born. That’s not long if he hasn’t been getting my messages.

  ‘Let’s give him a bit more time.’ I blink back tears.

  ‘Time for what?’

  ‘He’ll be back soon,’ I lie. ‘He’s just trying to find a flight.’

  Paula raises her eyebrows. ‘There are lots of flights from Thailand.’

  ‘He’s in a remote part. He needs to get back to Bangkok before he can catch a flight.’ I want to stop this conversation before the lies get more intricate, before I get caught in their web and I can never come back from them and admit the truth.

  ‘OK,’ says Paula. ‘I just don’t want you waiting around for him forever. He’s not worth it.’

  8

  We want to hear what the man’s saying to our parents, but we can’t. They’ve gone to the kitchen and their voices don’t carry up to our room. We think about creeping down from our bedroom but we can’t risk it.

  ‘He looked like a policeman to me,’ my sister says confidently.

  ‘I don’t think he was wearing a uniform.’

  ‘Not all policemen wear uniforms. Some go around pretending they’re just normal people. And then they catch out the bad guys.’

  ‘Do you think that’s what he’s doing?’

  ‘Maybe. I mean, Dad let him in, didn’t he? If he’d looked like a policeman he’d never have let him in.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And then Dad will relax and confess.’

  ‘Confess to what?’

  ‘To hurting us. To hurting Mum. You know, I bet Miss Kingdom sent him.’

  I feel hope filling me up and I grin. ‘Do you think he’ll take him away?’