Your Guilty Lies (ARC)

by Ruth Heald

  ‘I think so. He’ll be put in jail.’

  I smile at the image of Dad in jail, handcuffed, unable to hurt anyone.

  Then I frown, remembering seeing the man at the door. He’d been shorter than Mum. How would he take Dad to jail?

  Suddenly we hear the front door shut. I run into the hall and look out the window over the driveway. He’s walking away from the house.

  ‘Has he gone?’ My sister asks, coming up behind me.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, sadly.

  I sink down onto the carpet. We’re not being rescued.

  Seventeen

  When I get up in the morning, Paula already has the breakfast cooking. She’s changed the nappies and put the babies side by side in the baby chairs Ian bought them. Frances is screaming as Paula scrambles the eggs and chops the mushrooms.

  ‘Maybe she needs more milk,’ I say. I’m so worried about Frances’s milk intake, I want to grab any opportunity to try and feed her.

  As I bend to pick Frances up Paula reaches for my arm and pulls me back. ‘You should eat first. She can wait for her feed. It’s better if babies know who’s in charge.’

  ‘Is it?’ I thought you should always attempt to soothe a crying baby. At least that’s what the book that Amy gave me on attachment parenting says.

  ‘Of course it is. If you let them do what they want now, what do you think’s going to happen when they’re teenagers?’

  I look doubtfully down at my baby’s scrunched-up, blotchy face. Every mothering instinct I have tells me to pick her up and comfort her.

  ‘I could just give her a quick cuddle…’

  ‘No.’ Paula says firmly. ‘If you do that then you’re undermining your credibility. Honestly, I’ve looked after babies for years and the disobedient, emotional ones are always the ones whose mothers indulge them. Letting them cry and not giving in to their every demand is better for them and for you. They’ll be much better-behaved young children.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, reluctantly.

  I try to eat my scrambled egg quickly, shoving huge forkfuls into my mouth. Once again it’s hard to sit comfortably with my stitches pulsing in pain and I want to get back to Frances, who continues to scream. I hear my phone ringing and rush to answer it, praying that it’s Ian. Or if not Ian, at least the midwife arranging another visit. I have so many questions for her. I want her to weigh Frances to check she’s not losing too much weight.

  I pick it up breathlessly. ‘Hello?’

  ‘I hear congratulations are in order.’ For a moment I’m thrown, and then I realise it’s Melissa.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, hovering above Frances’s baby chair, unable to focus while she screams.

  ‘Mum told me yesterday. She said to give you a little bit of time to settle in before I called you. I hope that was the right thing to do?’

  ‘Ummm… yes.’

  I pick Frances up and hold her to me, ignoring Paula’s frown.

  ‘Are they both OK?’ I can hardly hear Melissa over Frances’s wails. I carry Frances to the living room, planning to try and feed her while I’m on the phone.

  ‘Are they OK?’ Melissa repeats more urgently. ‘There’s a lot of noise. I can call back later if it’s not a good time.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say as I manoeuvre myself onto the sofa and Frances onto my breast. I want to stay on the phone so I have a reason to be out of the room, so I can try and feed Frances, away from Paula.

  ‘They scream a lot at this age,’ I say to Melissa reassuringly, although I’m not entirely sure it’s true. I need to check with the midwife that Frances’s behaviour is normal.

  ‘Sounds like you’re taking it in your stride,’ Melissa says, and I stop myself from laughing at just how wrong she is, as I try and get Frances to latch.

  ‘Ow,’ I say, but Melissa doesn’t hear me.

  ‘Is Ian helping out?’

  My chest tightens at the mention of his name and I think I might cry. I can’t tell Melissa the truth, can’t tell her how much trouble I could be in. I feel so ashamed. I take a deep breath. I should tell her. I’ll need help.

  ‘Ummm… well…’

  Melissa laughs. ‘They never help out as much as you expect, do they?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I say, but my voice catches in my throat and Frances pulls away from me and starts screaming again.

  ‘They’re all the same,’ Melissa says, warming to the theme. ‘I bet he’s still working all hours, isn’t he?’

  ‘Well, yes. Actually…’

  ‘Sorry? I can’t really hear you.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Well, at least he’s around some of the time, I suppose. Mum said you were finding it a bit difficult. Just getting used to things.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘She said you didn’t want to see her when she came round yesterday. She was a bit upset.’

  I feel a rush of guilt. I’ve texted Mum to apologise, but I know I should have phoned. I just couldn’t face it. I don’t know how to explain the way I treated her. Then I think about what Amy said. It’s normal to feel out of control when you have a baby. ‘I was a bit stressed,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to upset her.’

  Melissa doesn’t read between the lines. ‘Well, Mum only wants to help. And meet her grandchildren. When can we both come and meet the twins?’

  I feel chastised. And guilty. ‘How about Saturday?’ I say.

  ‘Great. See you then.’

  After I hang up, I feel irritated. I didn’t get the chance to explain to Melissa how difficult things are. Sometimes I feel like I’m on a totally different wavelength to her and Mum.

  I don’t want to finish my breakfast; it will be cold by now. Instead I pace the hallway, trying to calm Frances. There’s no noise from Alice. I don’t want to go into the kitchen and face Paula’s criticisms for picking up Frances, so I wander into the musty dining room, to the piano. I’m drawn to it. I just want to sit down and play and play, forget all my worries about Ian, all my anxieties about looking after the twins, the tension between me and my family. Above me, I can see where water has dripped through the ceiling from the leaking bedroom, forming a light brown stain.

  I sit on the stool cuddling Frances and close my eyes. Holding her across my chest with one hand, I start to play with the other. Even though the piano is out of tune, I become lost in the music and Frances’s screams start to quieten.

  I begin to relax.

  ‘It’s such a beautiful piano.’ I turn to see Paula behind me. I didn’t hear her come in. ‘It must have been precious to someone once,’ she says.

  ‘I know. It needs some love to get it back into service.’ I rest my fingers on the keys, calming as I feel the familiar smoothness.

  ‘Then we could use it to entertain the twins. They’d be so lucky.’ Paula smiles.

  ‘I can put my time at music college to use.’ I laugh lightly, but I feel regretful and I think of Mum and how much she’d wanted me to succeed. I’m not even doing gigs at pubs anymore. I stopped when I got pregnant. I look down at Frances and think of all my hopes for her future. I want everything in the world for her. I wonder if this is how Mum felt about me. For the first time, I feel like I might have let her down.

  ‘We should get it tuned up,’ Paula says. ‘Then it will sound even better.’

  I’d like that, but I don’t reply. Paula won’t be staying much longer. The more time passes, the more convinced I am that Ian isn’t coming back. And then she’ll have to leave. And so will I.

  * * *

  At lunchtime, the midwife still hasn’t phoned and I keep ringing her, but I just get the answerphone.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Paula asks. ‘You seem stressed today.’

  ‘The midwife hasn’t got back to me and I’m worried about Frances.’

  Paula smiles at me reassuringly. ‘It’s only natural to worry. But I’ve worked with dozens of mothers and babies and I can see she’s fine.’

  ‘Thanks.’ But as much as I
value Paula’s opinion, I’d still like to check with the midwife.

  ‘It’s hard at the beginning, but you’re doing a great job.’

  ‘Thank you. It doesn’t feel like it.’

  ‘You are, I promise. Who was that on the phone earlier?’

  ‘My sister.’

  ‘Did she have any words of wisdom?’

  ‘No… Speaking to her always stresses me out.’

  ‘Families can be difficult.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve never really had a close relationship with her or Mum.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘He died when I was six,’ I say, swallowing the lump in my throat and fighting the unexpected rush of emotion.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I can’t really remember it properly. Mum doesn’t talk about him much. Sometimes it feels like he’s been forgotten.’

  ‘You were so young when it happened.’

  ‘Yeah. I spent my whole childhood missing him. I felt like he was the missing piece of me, that he’d have helped me make sense of who I am. I imagined that if he’d been alive, that we’d just get each other somehow, in a way Mum didn’t get me.’

  ‘Your mother’s not the most supportive person. She was so determined to barge her way in here yesterday against your wishes.’

  ‘Melissa thinks I’ve been unfair to her. I’ve been feeling guilty about sending her away.’

  ‘You have to stick up for yourself, otherwise she’ll walk all over you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I just wish I had a better relationship with my family. I wish my father was alive. I wish Ian was here.’

  ‘I’m sure Ian will be back soon.’

  I nod. ‘Are you married?’ I ask. I’m hoping that she says yes, that she’s had a long, happy marriage. Then she can tell me her secret.

  But she says wistfully, ‘I was once. I was too young. Young and naïve. He was penniless. He didn’t leave me anything in the divorce apart from his name.’

  ‘You didn’t have children?’

  ‘No. There was a time when I wanted them, but I’ve gone past the point where it’s possible anymore.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t be. I came to terms with it a long time ago.’

  I appreciate how candid she’s being and wonder if I should tell her how Ian hasn’t contacted me. I scratch nervously at the scar on my arm. ‘I haven’t had any update from Ian,’ I admit, my stomach knotting. ‘I wanted my twins to have a good relationship with him, to have the relationship I missed out on with my own father after he died. But that’s not looking likely.’ I wipe the tears from my eyes.

  ‘I’m sure he’s on his way back. He must have found a flight by now.’

  I’m about to tell Paula the truth when she wraps me in a hug and the words die on my lips. ‘You’re doing a good job in difficult circumstances,’ she says. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’

  ‘Thanks. Sometimes I’m not so sure.’

  ‘It’s because your family undermines you. You’re so used to your mother’s criticisms that you’ve internalised them. She makes you feel like you’re not good enough and you believe it.’

  I nod. She’s right.

  ‘I didn’t have a happy childhood either,’ she continues. ‘That kind of thing affects you for life.’

  ‘I’m so glad you understand.’ I smile weakly but I feel a bit faint.

  ‘I lost my own father recently. It’s affected me greatly, even at my age.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I reach out to touch her arm. ‘I didn’t know. When did you lose him?’

  ‘Last year. It’s weird, there’s so much you forget about your childhood, but when you lose a parent, suddenly the memories start flooding back.’

  I nod. I can’t remember much of my childhood. I just have flashes of memories. Holding my father’s hand. Playing the piano with my mother. Messing around with Melissa.

  My mother and sister have had to fill in the gaps. Mum’s shown me the photos. Family picnics, birthdays, Christmases. They should be happy memories, but they feel static and unreal, from another life. And underneath it all there’s something just below the surface, something darker and unknown. I push down the thoughts, not wanting to remember.

  Eighteen

  Frances has been screaming next to my breast for over an hour, latching and then sucking and then coming off again. Paula comes in and takes her from me. ‘I’ll give her the bottle,’ she says.

  ‘I could keep trying…’

  ‘You’ve been so worried about her weight. You need to let her have the bottle. You can’t have her screaming when the midwife comes round. She’ll think you’re not coping.’

  ‘I really wanted to breastfeed. I’m succeeding with Alice.’

  ‘Frances and Alice are different. They have different personalities. Think how different the births were. Alice’s was textbook, whereas Frances tore you apart from the inside, while the hospital pumped you both full of drugs. You can’t expect her to be the same as her sister after that. She’s been more difficult from the beginning.’

  ‘I just want to treat them both the same.’ I blink back tears.

  ‘What time is your mother coming round?’ Paula asks.

  ‘Two o’clock.’ It’s the time that fits in best with the routine that Paula has got the twins into. Feed. Nappy change. Sleep. Repeat. She’s pasted up a timetable on the fridge and we try to stick to it. It makes everything go smoother.

  I’m dreading seeing Mum. I don’t know what to tell her about Ian. I never even told her he’d gone to Thailand. She’ll judge me if she knows he hasn’t seen his children yet. But if he’s left me then I’m going to have to swallow my pride and ask for her help.

  After the babies have fed and had their nappies changed, we put them down for their nap. They scream at first and then fall fast asleep, Alice’s tiny hand reaching out to find Frances’s and gripping it tight.

  I smile at Paula, my heart brimming with love for my girls. ‘Peace and quiet.’

  ‘You see,’ she says. ‘A routine works. It makes everyone happier.’

  * * *

  I’m cleaning the living room and struggling to stay awake myself when the midwife arrives and bustles into the room. She has an iPad, and as she asks me how I’m coping she ticks boxes off on her electronic list. She asks me about how much support I get from my partner, and I can’t bring myself to confess Ian’s not been here. I hear myself lying yet again, saying that Ian helps where he can, but is out at work a lot and is just ‘getting the hang of things’.

  ‘I see.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘And what other support do you have? Do you have family nearby?’

  ‘I have a private doula helping me out.’ She smirks, and I know she has already taken in the huge house and the expensive decor. The doula is the final confirmation that I have more money than sense.

  ‘You know we offer you all the support you need through the NHS. You get an allocated health visitor, and then there’s support in the community: breastfeeding clinics, mums’ groups, baby-weighing clinics.’

  I nod.

  ‘But I suppose if you’ve got a private doula you don’t need any of that.’ I can see her mentally ticking me off her list as someone who doesn’t need any help.

  ‘Actually, I’ve been worried about Frances. I think she’s losing weight.’

  Paula appears in the doorway.

  ‘I’m Paula,’ she says, holding out her hand to the midwife. ‘Katie’s doula.’

  ‘Sheila,’ the midwife says curtly. ‘Let me have a look at Frances first, then. We don’t normally weigh babies again this early on. It’s quite normal for them to lose weight in the first few days.’

  She picks Frances up and examines her and then Alice. ‘They both look fine. Perfectly healthy.’

  ‘Frances hasn’t been eating properly. She seems to hate breastfeeding.’

  ‘Don’t worry too much. She looks OK to me, and breastfeeding can take a while for you
both to get the hang of. But I can arrange for the feeding consultant to come and visit if you like.’

  ‘I’ve been helping her,’ Paula says.

  ‘It’s still early days,’ says Sheila.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Right,’ the midwife says. ‘If that’s it, then I’ll head off. Or is there anything else you’re worried about?’

  ‘My stitches are very painful. It’s very difficult to sit down.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s normal at this stage. It will get better.’

  I think about asking her to have a look at them, but she’s already packing up her bag to go. And besides, Mum and Melissa will be round in a minute.

  * * *

  When Mum and Melissa arrive, the babies have been fed once more, washed and dressed in clean clothes.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, smiling as I open the door.

  ‘Katie!’ Mum beams. ‘I’m so glad to see you looking so well. I was worried about you last time I came round.’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum, honestly. Sorry to worry you.’

  Paula walks out from the kitchen and Mum’s face falls. She opens her mouth and then closes it again. She looks at Melissa, who gives a little shake of her head, enough to persuade Mum not to ask me why Paula’s still here.

  ‘I’m glad you’re OK,’ she says instead. ‘I can’t wait to meet the babies properly.’

  ‘Me too,’ Melissa says, slipping her shoes off.

  ‘They’re just in the living room.’

  We go through and I pass Alice to Mum. ‘This is Alice,’ I say, as Mum coos over her. I see my sister swallow.

  ‘So how was the birth?’ Mum asks.

  I wince as I remember how terrifying it was, how I had to go through all that without Ian beside me.

  ‘It was OK,’ I say. I don’t want a lecture on how I was silly not to accept pain relief. She’d never understand why I wanted a natural birth.

  ‘Birth is always horrible,’ she says, and I realise she’s seen through me. ‘Quite frankly, I found mine traumatic. I wish I’d been knocked out completely when I gave birth to you.’ I nod, not wanting to admit that, with hindsight, I wish I could have been knocked out for Frances’s birth too.