Your Guilty Lies (ARC)

by Ruth Heald

  ‘Birth is a natural thing,’ Paula says, frowning.

  Mum passes Alice to Melissa, who holds her in her arms stiffly, as if she’s afraid that even the slightest movement might break her. I see tears forming in her eyes and realise how difficult this moment must be for her.

  ‘Hello Frances,’ Mum whispers, as she picks her up. Melissa winces at the name. We haven’t discussed the twins’ names since our falling-out. Whenever I tried to speak to her about it she just changed the subject.

  ‘Frances is a lot lighter than Alice, isn’t she?’ Mum says.

  ‘I know,’ I say defensively.

  ‘I wish I could have helped at the birth,’ Mum says. ‘I hate to think I wasn’t there for you.’

  I bite my tongue, thinking of all the other times she hasn’t been there for me. But then I feel guilty. She’d only wanted to help me, and I shut her out.

  ‘Don’t worry. Paula helped me out. She’s trained in caring for women during birth,’ I say pointedly.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you had someone with you.’

  ‘So, where’s Ian today?’ my sister asks, sensing the tension and changing the subject.

  ‘He’s at work,’ I answer quickly, meeting Paula’s eye and praying she won’t tell them the truth. There’s a small chance Melissa might be sympathetic, but I can’t bear the thought of Mum’s judgement.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll have plenty to keep him busy when he gets back. I expect work’s a rest for him, compared to looking after two babies.’

  I manage a forced laugh.

  ‘Is he good at changing nappies?’ my sister asks with a smile.

  ‘He’s OK.’

  The conversation continues and I can’t help but lie. They ask how Ian’s coping with the babies crying in the night, whether we’re getting any sleep, who’s cooking the meals. Once I start telling them how much Ian is helping, I can’t seem to stop. And I don’t dare look at Paula, as I lie and lie and lie.

  * * *

  That night, lying in bed under the crumbling ceiling I can’t afford to fix and listening to the creaking house, I come to a decision. I’m going to ask Paula to leave. I have to. I can’t keep thinking that Ian will come back, jumping every time the doorbell goes, praying it will be him. He might not ever be coming back. If I’m going to be able to cope as a single mother, then I need to learn to cope without Paula. The visit from Mum and Melissa brought it home to me: I can’t just keep burying my head in the sand and relying on her.

  ‘Thanks so much for all your help with everything,’ I say to her in the kitchen.

  ‘You’re doing really well,’ Paula says encouragingly, as she picks up the dry plates from the draining board.

  ‘I don’t think I’d have got through the birth without you.’ I shudder at the thought of going through that on my own. ‘And it’s been great to have your help over the last week.’ I take a deep breath and spit it out. ‘But I think I can manage on my own now.’

  Paula puts the plates away noisily in the cupboard. ‘You haven’t got the hang of breastfeeding yet.’

  ‘No, but the babies are in a routine now. That helps. I need to try and cope on my own.’

  Paula stops what she’s doing and slams the cupboard door shut so hard that the crockery rattles. She turns round suddenly, her eyes sparking with anger.

  ‘Are you asking me to leave?’ she says, her voice heavy with rage.

  9

  ‘Who was that man, Mummy?’ I whisper as Mum prepares the tea. Dad’s upstairs, out of sight, but only just out of earshot.

  ‘What man?’ Her body has frozen into place as she dishes up our vegetables.

  ‘The one who came round today.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Oh – he’s a friend of your father’s.’ She struggles to lift the plates from the kitchen worktop, her arms shaking, and I wonder what Dad has done to her.

  My sister looks at her, confused. ‘But Dad doesn’t have friends.’

  Dad’s thunderous voice bellows from the doorway. ‘What are you telling them?’ He strides up to Mum, pushes his face next to hers. She quivers. ‘I told you not to tell them.’

  ‘Don’t you think they should know?’ Mum asks. I glance at my sister, terrified. She never stands up to him. And what is it we should know?

  ‘It’s nothing to do with them. It’s between me and him.’

  He leans over the table, puts his face next to mine.

  ‘Are you asking questions, you nosy little brat? Well, you need to stay out of my business.’ He slams his fist into the table and the plate of food in front of me bounces skyward and then lands on the floor.

  ‘Look at the mess you made!’ he screams at me.

  He turns to Mum. ‘You see what I mean? Your stupid children. Can’t even sit up at a table and eat their dinner without getting it all over the floor.’

  He looks directly at me and I shrink away from him.

  ‘Are you afraid of me?’ he sneers.

  Before I can reply, his hand thwacks me round the back of the head, and I collapse against the table.

  Nineteen

  ‘You’re asking me to leave?’ Paula glares at me, her cheeks flushed, furious. She takes a knife from the draining board and starts to dry it, running the blade back and forth inside the tea towel.

  I step back, surprised at her anger. ‘Well, I suppose I am asking you to leave, in a way,’ I say, smiling nervously. ‘You’ve done a brilliant job, but now it’s time for me to look after the girls on my own. I can give you a great reference.’

  Paula sighs heavily. ‘Is that what this was to you? A business transaction?’

  ‘No. It’s not that.’ I scratch at my scar nervously, thinking of everything Paula’s done for me.

  I see she has tears in her eyes. ‘Sometimes I think I get over-involved with my clients. I care too much. I really care about you, Katie. I suppose I wasn’t expecting you to ask me to go, not yet.’

  I think of how kind she’s been to me, how she’s listened to me talk about my worries about Frances, about my difficult relationship with Mum, about the loss of my father.

  ‘I’m sorry – you don’t understand. It’s nothing to do with you,’ I say. ‘It’s Ian. I don’t think he’s coming back. And if he’s not coming back, then I can’t afford to pay you. So I have to let you go.’ I break down, sobbing.

  Paula’s face changes, and I see her anger subside. ‘Of course he’s coming back,’ she says, putting her arm around me. ‘Don’t be silly. He’ll be desperate to see his daughters.’

  ‘I thought so too… but really, I think I’ve been kidding myself.’ I glance at her, wondering if I can admit that he hasn’t contacted me. I’m so ashamed.

  ‘We haven’t even spoken since I gave birth,’ I confess, through tears. Paula wraps me in a hug, holding me. I shake with sobs. ‘I think he’s left me.’ I stumble over the words.

  ‘It will be OK,’ Paula says. ‘Even if Ian doesn’t come back, you’ll cope. You’re a great mother. And I can stay a little longer if you need me.’

  ‘Really, it’s alright,’ I say through tears.

  ‘If it’s money that’s a problem…’

  ‘I know Ian can afford it. He said he was happy to pay. But he hasn’t sent anything through yet.’

  ‘Look, let me stay a few more days, help you transition to life as a mother. It can be free of charge if you like.’

  But I don’t want it to be free. I want to pay my way. ‘No, Paula. I can’t let you do that, it’s too much. I haven’t even paid you for the work you’ve already done.’ I look at the floor, embarrassed.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ she says. ‘Listen, you’re providing bed and board, aren’t you?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I say.

  ‘Well, I don’t need the money. And I want to help you, Katie. I don’t want to see you alone like this. So why don’t I stay? In return for bed and board? That way, we both win. It would be so hard for me to leave now, I’ve become attached to you and the twins.’r />
  I stare at the floor. The offer sounds too good to refuse. I’d feel so much happier if Paula could stay just a little bit longer. I can learn everything from her while she’s here, and then when she goes I’ll be confident enough to look after the girls on my own. Or, if Ian comes back, with his help.

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘If you’re sure.’

  * * *

  ‘I’m taking you out,’ Paula says the next day. ‘You need to get out of the house. Stop thinking about Ian.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘It’s a surprise. You’ll see when you get there.’

  ‘Paula, I really can’t afford much.’

  ‘It’s not anything expensive,’ she says with a smile, expertly changing Alice ’s nappy while I fiddle with Frances’s.

  We get the bus together and I wheel the pram into the dedicated space. As I tap my contactless card on the reader, I feel sick. I’m not sure if there’s enough money in my account to even pay for this journey.

  When we get off the bus, we walk past the shops. There are so many things I need to buy. More nappies. Food. Baby clothes. But I can’t afford any of them. I think of seeing Mum the other day. Am I going to end up asking her to bail me out? I can’t let my babies go without nappies.

  Paula looks at her watch. ‘It’s just round the corner.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The registry office. That’s the surprise. I’ve booked you an appointment to register the twins.’

  I frown. ‘I don’t think I’m ready for this.’

  ‘You know it’s not worth waiting for Ian,’ Paula says. ‘You need to start taking back control. So you can cope on your own, with or without him. It will make you feel better, instead of just moping around the house hoping he’ll come back.’

  I nod. Of course she’s right. He still isn’t answering his phone. At night, every possible explanation goes through my head. Could he have been in some horrific accident? And no one thought to tell me? Or perhaps he’s gone missing and no one’s reported him?

  But in my heart I know the most plausible explanation is that he’s left me.

  My stomach knots as I sit in the waiting room, watching the couples that fill the other seats, their tiny babies in their arms. I stare at the fathers enviously as they coo at their babies.

  When we’re finally called into the office, we sit down opposite the registrar and she fills in details for each twin. When she asks for the name of their father, I give them Ian’s name.

  ‘Are you married?’ she asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m afraid, for unmarried couples, we can only register the father if he’s present at this meeting.’

  I look at Paula. ‘He’s abroad at the moment.’

  ‘It’s up to you if he’s on the birth certificate. But if you want him on it, then you’ll have to book another appointment and come in with him.’

  ‘You can always add him on later,’ Paula says.

  ‘OK,’ I say, feeling unsure. ‘Let’s leave it blank for now. I’ll speak to him about it when he gets back and he can come in then.’ Paula and the registrar look at me, and I realise I haven’t escaped the pitying expressions. Even the registrar has come to the conclusion that he’s not coming home. I feel a flush of heat. Frances whimpers in the pram, and I use that as an excuse to pick her up and hold her close, trying to hide my tears.

  * * *

  By the time we get back it’s dark, the day already starting to close in on us. Paula starts tidying up, dusting the shelves in the living room.

  ‘You really don’t have to do that,’ I say.

  I pick up Frances from her mat and give her a cuddle. Her eyes follow Paula round the room.

  ‘I’m just trying to brighten the place up a bit,’ Paula says. ‘Now it’s my home too.’

  I frown. I know she’s only working for bed and board, but I hadn’t really thought of this as her home.

  She takes an envelope of photos out of her handbag. ‘I got some photos printed. Of the twins. I thought they’d look nice.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘That’s a good idea.’ I’ve hardly remembered to take any photos myself. There’s always so much to do. I look round the room now and notice how bare it is. No pictures on the walls. No photographs. If it wasn’t for the twins’ toys, a changing mat and some nappies piled neatly in the corner by Paula, you wouldn’t know who lived here.

  ‘Can I see the pictures?’ I ask.

  Paula hands me them. They are mainly of the twins. On their play mat, in their buggy, asleep in their cribs. There are a couple where Paula is holding them and has managed to position the phone for a selfie. She’s got one of me, at the hospital with them when they were first born. There’s a photo of Paula and the twins at the hospital too. Whereas I look pensive and unsure, she’s smiling confidently into the camera.

  ‘Do you have any frames?’ she asks.

  I only have a few and they already contain old pictures of my family and friends. I should really replace them with my twins. I feel guilty that I haven’t even thought about it. I hurry upstairs and dig the frames out of an unpacked suitcase, remove the photos and then take them down to Paula.

  She slides the new pictures inside and puts them up on the shelves.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asks. ‘It makes the place look more homely, doesn’t it?’

  I swallow. ‘It does.’

  ‘Great,’ she says with a smile, picking up a dirty mug and taking it from the room.

  She’s right, it does look better with the babies on display. But I wish there were photos up with me and Ian and the girls. That’s what I’d hoped for, what I’d imagined. A family life. As it is there are more photos of Paula with my babies than there are of me with them. You would think Paula’s closer to them than I am. I frown for a moment, unexpected tears welling up in my eyes. A part of me knows that’s probably true.

  * * *

  That evening, Frances is sick on her babygrow. As I put her on the changing table to take it off, I glance out of the window. The huge hedge almost entirely blocks my view of the street outside, but I catch sight of movement on the driveway, a shadow in the dark. I shiver. I’m glad Paula’s still in the house with me. I remember how my neighbour appeared suddenly behind me when I was emptying the bin. How he made me jump.

  As I start to change Frances’s clothes, I hear a rattling and then a knock on the door. I freeze. It’s too late for visitors.

  Then I hear a key turning in the lock.

  I make out Paula’s footsteps in the hallway. My heart is in my throat.

  There’s a muffled conversation.

  I need to know what’s going on. I pull my twins into my arms and hug them close.

  On my way down the stairs, I suddenly recollect Amy toppling down them. My heart beats faster and I grip my twins tighter, looking down at every stair as I take each step.

  And then I see him.

  Framed by the doorway and lit up by the porch light.

  Ian.

  Twenty

  ‘Hi,’ I say, shocked. Relief floods through me. He’s back. I’m not going to have to bring the twins up on my own.

  Paula takes a step away from the door. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she says, glaring at Ian before she retreats into the house.

  ‘Katie – I can’t believe it. You’ve had the twins. I missed it.’ Ian looks flustered and confused as he stares at the two babies in my arms and I make my way down to the bottom of the stairs.

  I’m overcome by emotion and my relief is starting to turn to fury. How can he just turn up like this, out of the blue?

  ‘Why didn’t you fly back earlier?’ I ask, still hardly able to believe he’s here, standing in front of me. I stare at him, waiting for an explanation.

  ‘What do you mean? When did you have them? I think there’s been a problem with my texts. I flew back as soon as I got your messages yesterday.’

  ‘Ian,’ I say, rage building inside me. ‘What do you mean, you only got my
messages yesterday? I sent them as soon as the twins were born. And anyway, what about my calls? I rang and rang. How could you ignore me? How could you ignore your babies?’

  ‘I didn’t get any calls,’ Ian says, doing a convincing impression of bewilderment. He takes his phone out of his pocket and stares at it as if he’s never seen it before.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I didn’t get your calls. My phone can’t have been working properly in Thailand. I just got all your messages yesterday. They came through all in one go. And then I booked the next flight and flew back.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I say, although I really, really want to believe him. Could this all have been just a miscommunication?

  ‘You can’t have got my messages either,’ he says. ‘I sent you a couple to check how you were, but I didn’t get any reply. I assumed you were busy.’ He pulls out his phone and holds it out to me. ‘Look – you can see all the messages here.’

  He shows me the screen and I see a line of texts from me, telling him I’d given birth to the twins and asking why he hadn’t got in contact. His phone says he received them all yesterday.

  ‘Why didn’t you call Amy or my mother if you couldn’t get hold of me? Or our landline?’

  ‘I didn’t have any of those numbers programmed in.’

  I sigh. ‘I had the twins a week ago.’

  ‘A week ago?’ His face falls. ‘Just after I went away…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t believe I missed it. I thought, when I went away… I thought you wouldn’t have them for ages. You weren’t due yet.’

  ‘They came early.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. Oh god, Katie, did you have to give birth on your own? I really wanted to be there for you.’

  ‘No, Paula was with me.’ I can see him trying to place her name. ‘The woman who let you in. My doula,’ I clarify.