by Ruth Heald
* * *
I toss and turn, listening to Ian’s deep, peaceful breathing. Time blurs, expanding and contracting as I fall in and out of sleep, waking frequently and suddenly as if alarms are going off. But each time I stir the air is thick with the silence of the cavernous house.
Until now. This time I’ve woken up to faint cries. I sit up in bed, listening intently. I can definitely hear them, but they sound far away. They can’t be my twins. But my instincts won’t let me go back to sleep.
After five minutes, I pad down the hallway to Paula’s room, just to put my mind at rest. There’s no sound coming from the room. Just silence. They must be fine. Asleep. Safe.
I stand stock-still and listen once more. I can definitely hear babies crying somewhere, in the distance. It must be someone else’s children. Perhaps someone has their bedroom window open.
But something’s not right. I’m sure of it. I can feel the tension in every muscle of my body telling me something’s wrong. It’s the sound of the cries that unnerves me. I can hear a slightly stronger cry, like Alice, alongside a weaker mewling, like Frances.
I’m so sure it’s my girls and yet I know I must be imagining it. I stand outside Paula’s room, listening. Nothing from behind the door. I think about going in just to alleviate my anxiety and then imagine trying to justify myself. Paula has the twins in a strict routine. I wouldn’t be able to explain why I’d woken everyone up.
Giving up, I go back to our room.
‘Where have you been?’ Ian asks.
‘Can you hear that?’ I say.
‘What?’
‘The crying.’
He looks at me quizzically. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
‘I was sure it was the girls, but there’s no sound from Paula’s room.’
He rolls over and wraps his arm around me. ‘You must have been imagining it. It’s because you’re separated from them. It’s making you paranoid. You need to be with them. You’re their mother and they need you.’
Twenty-Two
The next morning, I go downstairs to feed the babies while Ian gets started on fixing the ceiling in our bedroom. After a few hours, he comes back downstairs triumphantly. ‘I’ve been out onto the flat roof and fixed the source of the leak. And I’ve done a patch repair on the plaster. I just need to wait for it to dry and then cover it with a coat of white paint.’
‘That’s great,’ I say, beaming. Soon I’ll be back in our bedroom, sleeping next to my babies where I belong.
He puts his arms around me. ‘Why don’t we get out of the house? Maybe go for a pub lunch with the twins?’
‘I’m not sure that will work,’ I say. ‘They tend to cry a lot.’
Ian smiles. ‘We can’t stop having fun. It must have been relentless for you since they were born. You need a break. And I’ve looked up a family-friendly pub, so we won’t disturb other people. Besides, it’s perfect weather to sit in a beer garden.’
I raise my eyebrows. Ian likes to eat at Michelin-starred restaurants, not family pubs.
‘We’ll have to go soon,’ I say. ‘Mum’s coming round in the afternoon, with Melissa.’
‘OK, let’s have an early lunch. We’ll make sure we’re back in time.’
When we go downstairs, Paula is in the kitchen. ‘I’m just making some lunch,’ she says.
‘I’m so sorry, Paula, but we’re going out,’ Ian replies graciously. ‘I hope you haven’t gone to too much trouble. Perhaps we could have it for dinner tonight.’
‘I suppose so,’ she says. ‘Well, I can look after the twins for you then, give you some time to yourselves.’
‘We’re taking the twins with us,’ I tell her.
She gives me a look I can’t read.
‘I’ll go and get them ready,’ Ian says. ‘Why don’t you sit down, Paula? Relax for once. Do you want me to make you a drink?’
‘No, I’m OK,’ she replies. ‘I think I’ll take the opportunity to go out myself.’
A few minutes later, Ian and I hear the door bang shut behind her.
‘Do you think we should have invited her?’ I whisper.
‘She’s your doula, not your friend,’ Ian says. ‘And she’s always around. Either in the room or hovering at the edges. I feel like we can’t have a private conversation.’
I nod. It would be nice to have some time with Ian alone. Even last night in our bedroom, I thought Paula might hear us through the walls.
We wander to the high street, Ian pushing the buggy, and go to a family-friendly gastropub. I feel relaxed and happy for the first time since I gave birth. Maybe this is the first of many family afternoons with Ian and the twins. I feel hopeful for our future together.
* * *
‘I think we’re taking advantage of Paula,’ Ian says, over his Caesar salad. We’re sitting outside at the pub, sipping ice-cold drinks and eating lunch in the sunshine. ‘She does so much…’
‘I know. I don’t ask her to. She just seems to do it. I kind of wish she’d stop. It makes me feel a bit guilty.’
‘I know she’s been helpful to you while I’ve been away…’
‘I couldn’t have managed without her.’
‘I can see that. She really knows her stuff. But I wonder if we should think about how much longer we need her for?’
‘A bit longer,’ I say, unsure if we’ll be able to cope on our own with two tiny babies. Ian will probably still be working long hours and it will be just me on my own most of the time. I’ll need Paula, at least to start with.
‘I don’t know what her motivation is for being so kind,’ says Ian.
I frown. ‘Can’t you accept that she’s just a nice person? She was willing to help me for free when we weren’t sure if you were coming back.’
‘We need to make sure we pay her properly. I think we should have a proper contract, make everything above board. We don’t want to owe her. I’ve asked for her references too, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Why?’ I say. ‘She’ll think we don’t trust her.’ I don’t want to offend Paula. I want her to stick around.
‘She creeps me out a bit. The photos she put in the living room – there are more of her than of you. And she’s always there, watching. You must admit, she’s a bit strange. And I don’t like the way she behaves with the twins. Sometimes she acts like she’s their mother.’
‘I know, but I don’t want to let her go just yet. I think we need her to stay and help a bit longer. Just while we get settled.’ He might be right, but while he’s been away Paula has been my crutch, the one person I could turn to.
‘Don’t worry,’ he says, reaching out across the table and taking my hand. ‘She’s given me four different references, so I’m sure they’ll check out. And now the ceiling’s fixed in the spare room, she can move in there and we can move back to the main bedroom. That way you’ll be right next to the girls. Paula won’t need to bring them to you to feed them in the night. And then we can both get used to being with them, and eventually Paula can leave.’
I imagine being beside my twins at night and immediately feel better. ‘We can move her into the spare bedroom tonight, after Mum and Melissa have left.’
‘That sounds like a good idea. It will give me time to put a quick lick of paint over the repair when we get back to the house. It should be dry by the evening.’
* * *
‘How are you feeling?’ Mum asks, in an exaggerated sing-song voice as she walks through the door. Then she pauses and her face falls.
‘Hello, Paula.’
When Paula goes to get the drinks, Mum whispers to me, ‘Why’s she still here?’
‘I needed her to help out. It’s hard with twins. But she’s leaving soon. Ian and I are starting to get things under control.’ I smile. It’s such a relief not to be lying about our relationship anymore.
‘Yes, Cynthia’s daughter had twins and she had terrible trouble. If one wasn’t screaming, then the other was.’
‘Paula’s got them into a
routine, which has really helped.’
‘You know I could have helped. I could help now, with the girls.’
‘I don’t want to put you out.’ But it’s not that; it’s all the terms and conditions the help comes with. I’d have to do everything the way she thinks is best.
‘If you and Ian ever need me to take the twins for a couple of hours at the weekend and give you both a break, it’s no trouble at all.’
‘We’re OK, Mum,’ I say, touching her arm. ‘But thanks.’
‘If you’re sure…’ she says.
‘Yes. We’re going to manage without Paula soon too. We can do it on our own now. We are adults, after all.’ I laugh lightly, but it’s only partly a joke. Mum still treats me like a child.
‘I think that’s wise. Paula’s here more often than Ian is.’ I grit my teeth. They still don’t know that Ian missed the first week of his children’s lives.
My sister picks up a photo from the mantelpiece absent-mindedly. ‘And what’s with these photos? They are so many of Paula. But none of Ian.’
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. It’s the second time the photos have been mentioned today.
‘That is rather unusual.’ Mum raises her eyebrows.
I sense Mum’s jealousy, her displacement by Paula, a woman close to her own age, muscling in on her grandchildren.
‘Let’s take a photo of you and Melissa with the twins today,’ I say. ‘Then I can put it up on display with the others.’
Paula comes back in with the drinks and Mum nods, but I can see she’s not satisfied.
We talk for a while and I start to feel more relaxed, as Mum talks about her friends and my sister sticks to the safe topic of her work.
Before they leave, Frances wakes up and Mum insists on picking her up and giving her a cuddle.
‘She’s still small, isn’t she?’ she says, frowning critically at my baby.
‘Yes, Mum, I know,’ I say, annoyed.
‘Have you taken her to the doctor?’
‘The midwife told me she’s fine. She’ll catch up with growth when she’s ready.’
‘You need to speak to the doctor. She’s skin and bone.’ She holds Frances up and we can both see her ribs poking through her tiny chest.
‘Mum, I’ve asked the professionals. I don’t know what more I can do.’
‘You need to listen to your instincts. Don’t let yourself be fobbed off. Don’t take no for an answer. Doctors can be lazy. I should know, I’ve worked with enough. You have to keep going to the GP, keep bugging them.’
‘OK, Mum.’
‘You and Melissa were never this skinny.’
‘She’s a different child, Mum. Different genes.’
‘It must be hard breastfeeding too. You need more milk for two babies. Have you thought about that, that you might not have enough milk for both of them?’
‘It can’t be that. Paula’s topping Frances up with formula.’
Paula nods. ‘That’s the best thing for them. Katie can’t produce enough.’
‘Well, that might be a good idea.’ She turns to me. ‘You don’t want to get too stressed about breastfeeding. If you’re stressed the babies will be too.’
Mum passes Frances to my sister. ‘What do you think?’ My mother asks her. ‘Does she seem too small to you?’
‘What do I know about babies, Mum?’
My mother glances at my sister and then back at me. ‘There must be something going on. I can come with you if you like, to the doctor.’
‘There’s no need,’ Paula says. ‘The babies are fine.’
I feel a headache coming on, caught in the middle of this battle.
* * *
Later, when Paula is out buying nappies, I go upstairs to feed the twins and find Ian in the main bedroom. He’s stripping the sheets off the bed. Paula’s meagre possessions are piled on a chair: her nightdress, her book, her reading glasses, changes of clothes, perfume. Her toiletries have been replaced on the bedside table by his collection of moisturisers and aftershaves.
‘Ian?’
‘I’m just getting the room ready for us to move back into.’ He opens the window. ‘It needs a bit of airing.’
Alice starts to moan and I pick her up.
‘Ian, I think you’re jumping the gun a bit,’ I say as I rock Alice back and forth. ‘I haven’t had time to mention moving to the other room to Paula yet.’ Although I can’t wait to be back in the main bedroom next to the twins, I’m nervous about telling Paula about the move, particularly after the way she reacted last time.
‘Well, perhaps you can do it soon.’
‘Now seems like as good a time as any.’ The voice comes from the door.
We both turn to see Paula standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.
‘Paula,’ Ian says, going over to her and reaching out to touch her shoulder. She pulls away from him.
I pick Frances up instinctively and hold my twins close to my body.
‘You’ve come into my room without asking. And you’ve moved my personal belongings.’ She glares at Ian.
‘Paula,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid we want our room back. Katie was going to talk to you.’
‘Was she now?’ She looks at me.
‘I’ve fixed up the spare room,’ Ian says. ‘It’s perfect for you.’
But Paula ignores his words, her face flushed with anger.
‘Don’t come in here again,’ she says.
She shoos us out and then slams the door behind us. In my arms, Alice starts to scream, almost drowning out the other sound. On the other side of the door, I hear a key turning in the lock.
Ian and I look at each other. Where on earth has Paula got a key from?
11
The basement is freezing cold, and it takes a while for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I see a dark shape curled up in the corner. It’s my sister, lying on an old mattress, shivering. I slide down the steps on my bottom and go over to her.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
‘What do you think? Of course I’m not.’
‘What did he do to you?’
She starts to sniffle. ‘The same as he did to you. He carried me in here and dropped me on the floor, that’s all.’ I reach out to hold her hand but she pulls it away.
‘Will you have bruises?’ I ask.
‘I don’t think I fell hard enough.’
I nod, dejected. When Dad was out, we saw a bit on the news where a child had unexplained bruises. It turned out her father was hurting her and she was taken away from her parents. Mum quickly turned the TV off, but my sister and I understood the message. If we want someone to believe us, if we want to escape, then we need evidence. We need bruises. Not the kind on your knees from falling over in the playground. Bigger ones.
But we don’t have anything like that. Dad always hits us round the head where no one can see.
‘Maybe the bruises will come up later,’ I say.
Neither of us have heard anything from Miss Kingdom. She’s been on playground duty, but she hasn’t said anything to us. I’m not sure she believed us.
I sit down on the mattress and put my arms around my sister. She gets up and hobbles to the other side of the basement.
‘This is your fault!’ she says angrily through her tears.
‘What?’
‘Why did you wave at that man? You must have known it would make Dad angry.’
‘I didn’t think he’d find out.’
‘Then you must be stupid.’
‘I’m sorry.’
I go over to her. The only way we can get through this is if we look out for each other. Despite everything, we’ve always had each other. We’ve always needed each other.
I reach over to touch her shoulder. But she pushes me away.
Twenty-Three
Ian and I look at each other in shock, staring at the door Paula’s just locked. ‘Where did she get a key?’ Ian asks me.
‘I have no idea. I didn’t give her one. I didn’t even k
now the door locked.’
‘She has to go, Katie. She can’t lock herself in a room in our house.’
My temples throb with the beginnings of a headache. He’s right. Seeing Mum earlier brought it home to me. Paula has taken over, putting up photos of herself around the house, taking control of the twins’ routine and overwhelming me with a constant stream of advice. She’s closer to my twins than I am. I needed her before, but now she’s embedded herself completely into my life and my babies’ lives. It’s too much. This was only ever meant to be a short-term arrangement, but now she’s acting as if the house is hers.
‘It’s time for us to be a family on our own, Katie,’ Ian says gently.
I nod. As useful as Paula was, and as grateful as I was for her help, she was never going to stay forever. And now I’ve become too dependent on her. I need that to change.
I pass the twins to Ian and knock on the door. ‘Paula?’
No answer.
‘Paula? We need to talk.’
The twins start screaming. A chorus of demands: milk, nappy changes, cuddles. For a second, I feel sick. How will we cope on our own?
Ian rocks the twins as he takes them away down the corridor to our bedroom to change their nappies, leaving me to deal with Paula.
‘Paula?’ I call again.
I hear the key twist in the lock and the door opens.
‘What was that about?’ she says angrily as she opens the door.
‘Ian fixed the ceiling in the spare room for you. We were going to ask you to move in there.’
‘I see.’
‘But actually, Paula, I’m not sure this is working anymore.’
‘You mean with Ian? I told you, you should never have let him back in.’
‘No, I mean, I don’t think we need your help anymore. You’ve been completely invaluable to me, but now I think it’s time for Ian and I to stand on our own feet.’
‘You and Ian?’ She laughs. ‘You don’t know the first thing about looking after your own children.’
Her words are like a punch and I recoil in shock. She’s always been so supportive. But now she’s throwing my own worries about my skills as a mother back in my face.