by Claire Allan
So by the light of the flames flickering in the fireplace, I climb onto the bed beside her and lie down. Holding her hand, I listen as her breathing settles and she falls asleep.
I know it’s wrong of me to say this but, as I allow myself to drift off beside her, I feel more content than I have done in a long time.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Angela
I wake early. Sneaking out of Eli’s room and into my own. Dawn is just breaking, frost glistening on the pavements outside. I open my bedroom window and fill my lungs with fresh morning air. Soon the street will be busy, but for now it’s just me, the fresh new start of a new day, the distant hum of car engines turning over and coming to life. I can’t help but smile.
Eli barely stirred during the night and I decide it’s best to let her sleep as long as possible, then we can have a lazy breakfast together. We’ll speak to her union rep after breakfast, I decide. And then I might encourage her to come for a walk with me. Put some colour in her cheeks. Maybe take a walk around the Botanic Gardens. Lunch in the museum. We’ll deal with whatever challenges the day brings in bite-size pieces.
I go downstairs, slip on my coat and set off towards the bakery at the top of the street. I want to try to encourage Eli to eat and I wonder if some of her favourite buns might be enough to tempt her appetite. I know she has a fondness for the iced turnovers from Kitty’s Kitchen. It’ll also give me a chance to talk to ‘Kitty’ herself. I’d always thought her a nice girl. Clean-living. A positive influence on Eli when they went to school together.
I’m sure my daughter could do with a friend just now, and it’s not like she can pick up the phone to that Rachel one. It mightn’t hurt if I can rekindle the friendship she used to have with Kate. It might help her start to see this place as home again. She might even realise it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she did end up staying in Belfast.
The bell over the door tinkles as I walk in. Kate’s chatting to one of my neighbours, laughing with him while filling a white paper bag with a selection of buns.
It strikes me that she looks so much more carefree than Eli. Much more carefree than Eli’s looked in a long time. Kate has the same relaxed look I remember from her teenage years when they both spent time together.
‘Mrs Johnston.’ I hear Kate speak. ‘Good morning to you, what can I get you today?’
‘Morning, Kate,’ I say. ‘Could I have two of your finest turnovers, please, and one of those large treacle scones.’
I know Eli’s usually a sucker for a thickly buttered slice of treacle scone.
‘Treating yourself today?’ Kate asks with a smile that I return.
‘Eli’s staying with me for a bit. I thought I’d treat us both.’
‘Ah, yes. I saw her a few days ago,’ Kate tells me. ‘She called in briefly. How is she? If you don’t mind me saying, she looked worn out.’
‘Well, she’s been going through a tough time,’ I confide before moving closer. ‘Maybe you could call in and see her. I know you girls used to be very close and well, I think she could do with a friend right now. One she can trust.’
Kate’s eyebrows rise. I know I’ve said enough to get her concerned – to want to know more. To want to help. But I don’t want to be sharing all of our worries with the neighbours, so I say no more.
‘I’ll do that, then. How long’s she here for?’
‘I’m not sure yet. It could be a long time …’
I dare not hope that this, horrible as it is, could end with my daughter back on my doorstep.
‘Oh, okay. Well give her my love,’ Kate says as she hands me my change. ‘If it’s okay, I’ll call in after work. I’ll just arrange someone to pick Liam up from nursery so he’s not running amok in your house.’
‘Your wee boy’s always welcome in my house, Kate,’ I smile. ‘Sure, he’s a dote.’
Finish with a compliment.
She rewards me with a broad smile. ‘We’ll see you both later, then,’ she says.
I feel so much lighter as I walk back to my house. As if things are finally starting to go right again.
The last few weeks have been so tough. I’ve been living on my nerves. Afraid to be alone, if I’m honest. I feel as if I’m being watched.
Hunted.
Eli isn’t the only person who’s been receiving unwanted messages.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Louise
The time had come. I knew I’d have to say goodbye to him.
It was something that had to be done and still, I felt sick at the thought. Then I felt angry with myself for allowing him any space in my heart.
For allowing myself to be weak.
For allowing myself to sin.
I went to church each morning, sat through morning Mass and then, when it was quiet – the daily worshippers gone home to their mid-morning cup of tea and their families – I’d kneeled below the statue of Our Lady and begged her for guidance and forgiveness.
Surely she understood more than anyone what it was like to lose a child. I wondered, had she gone mad afterwards? How could she not have? How could she have watched her only son being subjected to such horror and not question the power of the Devil over the power of her God? But she’d remained steadfast, and I knew I wanted her strength on my side now. I had to believe that she was with me, if I was to take the final few steps – and those final few steps couldn’t wait any longer. If I’d stalled any more, I’d have risked everything.
It wouldn’t have taken much for people to make the connection – and then I could have lost my baby. I couldn’t allow myself to lose another baby. No matter how hard the next step would be, it had to happen.
I kneeled before Our Lady and bowed my head, then I muttered the words to the prayer Memorare over and over again:
To thee do I come, before thee I stand,
sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
despise not my petitions,
but in thy mercy hear and answer me.
Amen.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Angela
There are three emails sitting unopened in my email folder. The first arrived two and a half weeks ago. The second about ten days ago. The third on Thursday last. All of them from the same person.
Part of me wants to look at the emails, of course. As soon as I saw his name, I wanted to look at them. I wanted to see what he had to say for himself. To see why he’s come looking for us now, of all times.
I wonder, should I just reply? Tell him to leave me alone. Tell him he has the wrong Angela. Surely there are hundreds of Angela Johnston’s in the world. He can’t possibly know it’s me. Not for definite.
But I don’t want any contact with him. None.
I switch off my computer. Unplug it. I’m almost tempted to smash the damn thing. To hell with keeping in touch with people. What I can’t see can’t hurt me. The world was a better place before computers allowed people to meddle in things that they simply shouldn’t.
I go to the kitchen, switch on the radio and sing along to some soul classics from the Seventies. Usually this is enough to make me feel brighter, but today I’m rattled. I feel on edge. My chest tight. The music is too loud. Too intrusive. I switch off the radio. I’m tempted to take a nip of whisky from the bottle in the cupboard, just to take off the edge.
But I don’t. I decide I have to keep my focus. Eliana’s needs are so much more important than mine now. I’ll treat her to breakfast in bed.
I’m not sure if she’ll have thought to pack everything yesterday. So I reach into the cupboard over the microwave and take out the bottle of prenatal vitamins I’d bought ‘just in case’. I wonder if she’s left her notes in the hall. I must have a little look at them, see that she’s completely up to date with all of her checks. Actually, it mightn’t be a bad idea to get her to see a doctor up here, especially given the stress she’s been through over the last few days. I pick up the phone and dial my doctor’s surgery to
ask for an urgent appointment.
‘I know she’s not a regular patient, but she’s seven and a half months pregnant and has been under a lot of stress. I’m worried about the impact it might have on the baby.’
The receptionist sighs but takes Eli’s details anyway, says she’ll see what she can do and that she’ll call me back. I’d have preferred it if she’d offered me an appointment there and then but I’ll take what I can.
I carry the tray of breakfast upstairs, hear Eli call, ‘I’m up, Mum,’ as I climb.
Putting my elbow to the door, I push my way in.
‘Just a small breakfast. From Kitty’s. She sends her love, by the way. Said she might call in sometime.’
‘I’m not sure I’m in the mood for company,’ she says.
‘Kate’s not company, she’s a friend, and she’s a lovely girl. It might do you the power of good. She said you called in a few days ago.’
Eli blushes. ‘I was just passing, it was raining,’ she says. ‘But that was before everything at the hospice. She is lovely but, Mum, I can’t. I just want to hide. I’m too embarrassed to talk to people.’
‘You’ve nothing to hide from,’ I tell her. ‘You have to stop beating yourself up.’
‘I called the RCN,’ she tells me.
I sit down, take a breath, wait for her to speak.
‘The union say they’ll support me, but we all just have to wait until the hospice itself completes their investigation.’
I almost don’t want to ask the question but I have to. ‘And the police investigation?’
‘That’s all dependant on what they find. They may decide no crime was committed. They have to look at all the evidence. Even if they decide not to prosecute, I could still be struck off.’
I feel my stomach lurch, but I do what any good mother would do in the situation – I reassure her that it won’t come to that. Even though I have no idea if it will or not.
‘Best to distract yourself, then,’ I say, ‘seeing as it’s all out of your hands anyway. And there’s no better way than to see Kate. She’s going to bring her little boy with her, so won’t that be nice?’
Eli doesn’t look convinced.
*
By eleven thirty, I’ve persuaded Eli to come out for a walk with me. We have our big coats, gloves and hats on and are walking past The Palm House, the stunning cast-iron glasshouse that provides a focal point to the Botanic Gardens all year round. We’ve linked arms and Eli’s mood has brightened a little.
Mine has, too. I’ve reassured myself the emails I’ve received needn’t mean anything if I just ignore them.
‘You were right, Mum,’ she says. ‘It was the right idea to get out of the house for a bit. Clear my head. It’s been years since I’ve been here.’
‘You always overlook the things that are on your own doorstep,’ I tell her.
‘I suppose. We all take things for granted, don’t we? Even me.’ She pauses. ‘Mum, do you think maybe I’ve taken Martin for granted, too?’
I stop and look at her. Her pale face is even whiter in the winter sun.
‘You’re not to think that way,’ I tell her, shaking my head.
‘Why not? Maybe it’s true, Mum. I know you don’t want to think the worst of me, but maybe this is all my fault. I’ve been hard to live with. Maybe I’ve pushed him away or not appreciated him and how hard he works because I’ve been feeling so sorry for myself. It would hardly be any big surprise that he went looking elsewhere.’
I hear her voice break and at any other time I’m sure a part of my heart would break with hers, but not this time. This time I’m angry with her. Actually disappointed in her. It’s not an emotion I’m used to experiencing when it comes to my daughter. I find myself unlinking arms with her, breaking away. How can she think that? How can she think anything she could have done can justify her husband having an affair?
‘Oh, Eli, you can’t think that way.’
‘But what if what he said yesterday is right, Mum? That it’s me who’s changed. You know I’ve not felt like myself since I’ve been pregnant. Probably even from before then, when we were trying. I feel everything’s been a bit out of my control. And this damned feeling sick all the time. So much for blooming – all I’ve done is wilt.’
I don’t speak, still reeling that she can see fault in herself. That she can turn her anger against Martin inwards and pit it against herself. That’s not how I raised her. I raised her to be strong. I raised her to believe she didn’t need a man in her life. I’d managed perfectly well without one in mine.
As I feel her arm hook in mine, I resist the urge to pull away.
‘Was it like this for you, Mum? Did you bloom when you were carrying me? Or is it all a big pregnancy myth?’
I push down my anger and my fear.
‘I enjoyed being pregnant,’ I tell her. ‘I felt a bit sick at the start but not so much, really. But I wasn’t trying to do everything back then. All I really had to concentrate on was being pregnant and having a baby. I wasn’t juggling everything the way you young ones do now.’
‘But you were on your own. That must have been hard in itself.’
I think back to how it really had been when I was pregnant. It’d been hard. I put my hand to my stomach, trying like the stupid old woman that I am to recall those feelings from all those years ago of a baby, safe and sound, moving inside me.
‘Everyone faces their own hardships, sweetheart. Anyone who tells you they have it all sorted is lying. You have to try to hold on to the positives.’
‘There doesn’t seem to a lot of positives about,’ she says.
‘This baby’s a positive,’ I tell her.
She nods, but I know she doesn’t realise just how much of a gift her baby is.
‘But Martin, Rachel … work … everything else is …’ She shakes her head. How can she put it in words?
I hate myself for being twee but I do believe this. ‘Things happen for a reason,’ I tell her. ‘And while it may seem that everything’s beyond your control now, that’s simply not true. You’ve taken matters into your own hands about Martin by coming here, giving yourself time to breathe and think properly. With work, I’m sure the investigation will weigh everything up and realise you’re a great nurse and you acted with no malice.’
‘That doesn’t make her any less dead,’ Eli says, her face serious.
‘She probably would have passed by now anyway. And possibly would’ve suffered a lot more pain first. It’s sad, of course it is, that she didn’t get to see her son again, but do you think she’d want his last memory of her to be one where she was in as much pain as she was when you helped her? That would’ve been horrific for everyone.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Angela
Eli is half-heartedly stirring a bowl of vegetable soup when my phone rings. I glance down and see it’s a call from my doctors’ surgery, so I answer. The still not-very-cheerful receptionist tells me that if Eli wants to call in after three, the doctor will fit her in for a quick check-up. I thank her and hang up.
‘Who was that?’ Eli asks, putting her spoon down, having apparently given up on her soup.
‘My doctors,’ I tell her.
‘Are you sick?’ she asks, and the slight panic in her eyes pleases me in a strange way. It’s nice to feel loved.
‘No! Lord, no. Nothing like that. Look, I don’t want you to be mad, but I figured since you were up here, and you’ve had some awful shocks recently, it wouldn’t do any harm to have a doctor give you the once-over. You’re awfully pale-looking and I know I’d rest easier if you had your bloods checked. Especially your iron.’
‘Mum, I had my blood checked three weeks ago. I’m fine. And I really don’t need to see a doctor.’
‘But what if you take another funny turn? Won’t you need to have a doctor on your side?’
‘It was a panic attack, Mum,’ she whispers. ‘I just have to work through them.’
‘But still, pet. You can’t be
too cautious with pregnancy. Especially when this one’s been giving you so much trouble. And add to that all the stress of the last few days. Wouldn’t it be wise to get your blood pressure checked, too?’
‘I’m a nurse, you know. I know what warning signs to watch out for.’
‘And you’re also a nurse under a lot of strain and who hasn’t necessarily been on the ball all the time.’
Her face crumples. She sits for a moment or two in silence. I watch the tears pool in her eyes, watch as she tries to blink them away rapidly. I see the almost imperceptible wobble of her bottom lip. The crinkle of her chin. I know the look well. I’ve seen it often and cut her off at the pass before the tears more times than I can remember.
This time I stay silent, even though a part of me is annoyed at myself for making my daughter cry. I watch as two full, fat tears roll down her cheeks, as her eyes turn red, making her pale skin look even closer to translucent.
‘I just worry so much about you, Eli. You’re my whole world, you know that, and I want to make sure you’re okay. Can you just humour me? You know what I’m like and always have been. I know I’m overprotective, but it was just you and me for so long that I … well, I love you, and if you do this for me I’ll try to remember to back off. I’m sorry, pet.’
I know I’m hamming up my sadness. My guilt at being too overprotective. Using the ‘poor me’ routine to get my daughter on side.
‘Okay, Mum,’ she says. ‘And thanks for caring.’
‘Darling, that’s what I’m here for.’
More tears fall, but I feel the soft squeeze of her hand and I know that we’re okay. I squeeze her hand back gently, three short squeezes, which signify ‘I love you’. I’ve done it with her since she was a child, a secret code between us. It was something my own father used to do with me when I was little. It’s one of the only things from my own childhood that I’ve been able to share with Eli.
*
That sound. Rhythmic. Loud. Like a horse galloping. Like a train building up speed. A life preparing to be born. Real. So small, so tiny and so helpless but so very alive. Each beat telling me things are going to change and change for the better. My grandchild. This baby who’s going to make my life complete. Our lives complete. This innocent soul who’ll probably never realise how much she’ll mean to me. How much she’s wanted and loved already.