by kendra Smith
Suddenly there was a thud. Rory had fallen off the bed.
‘Mum, sorry. I really must go.’
Ouch. Once again it hit her: I am in the wrong place. I can’t put my arms round Mum, offer to fetch her lipstick, make her a cup of tea. Katie reflected on the differences as she rushed through to the boys’ bedroom: thirty-four degrees here. She glanced at the jacaranda tree in full bloom outside the window, its purple fluttery petals glorious over the greenery in the garden. In Wales, where her mum was, it would be a cold evening, chill in the air, the beginning of autumn. Bulbs planted under the soil, ready for spring; their buds would burst into full multi-colour while bodies lay buried beneath, waiting for the decay of time.
‘Katie, take care, will you. You don’t sound like yourself. And remember I’m off on that cruise, remember I told you, “The Irish Coast and Cities” with Angela in a few weeks, can’t wait to get away. Call me before then!’
She brushed past James and rushed in to see Rory, to check for damage. ‘Mum?’ It was James.
‘What does porno mean?’
‘What? Oh goodness. I’ll explain later.’ Heavens! Had Maria said anything to them before she left? James isn’t even eight! Thank God I fired her.
As she turned around to scoop up Rory from the floor and fetch the car keys, something inside her snapped. The phone call with Mum, the emails from Lucy, the stress of being on her own… and now Ann could be carrying TOM’S BABY. I am on the wrong side of the world.
As she spun around, she watched, open-mouthed, as James – completely starkers – stood on the bedside table covered in glittery stickers, and did a little jig.
‘I am Naked Ninja Sticker Boy, Mummy!’ Then he wiggled his bum left and right as if attempting a Zumba dance move.
‘Yes, of course you are, darling, but please get dressed.’ Keep it together. It’s not their fault.
Forcing a grin, Katie shouted, ‘Now, hurry up.’
Ten minutes later, she glanced at the clock on the wall. She could still make it. She had an important part of her diving course after the school run, and she was determined to be there. Sod Tom, I will do this for myself, she thought forcefully, as she propelled herself through the front door with her three charges, one clinging to her hip.
She started to back the car out of the driveway.
‘Mum?’ It was Andy.
‘What is it?’
‘Do you wear socks in jail?’
‘What?’
‘In jail, do you wear socks?’
‘Well, maybe sometimes, if you like, if it’s cold,’ she said, frowning in the rear-view mirror, looking at her five-year-old and wondering if it was the Ben 10 computer games that were corrupting his brain cells.
‘And is there toilet paper?’
‘Hmm?’
‘In jail?’
‘Yes, yes there is. Not now, honey, Mummy’s really busy driving, darling.’
‘MUM?’
‘What is it?’
‘Who made the first caterpillar?’
Just as she was chewing over how to explain the Big Bang theory, but keep the God Made All Creatures line going too whilst reversing out the driveway, there was an odd crunching sound. Holy Godfathers. Not the neighbour’s cat, not the neighbour’s cat.
Slamming the car door, she stood on the driveway looking at two squashed rucksacks with tyre marks on them. Thank God. She brushed them down, threw the bags into the car and carried on reversing out the drive.
Looking in the rear-view mirror at her reflection, Katie saw a woman with wild hair, tied up in a very loose ponytail, sunglasses, as ever, resting on top of her nest of hair. She saw sweat on this woman’s brow, saw deep laughter lines. She saw the girl she had been at twenty-something peeping out from underneath with an unmade face, the girl Tom had fallen in love with, but then she was gone again and the thirty-something mother of three reappeared, the freshness gone. So where is she going – this mother of three with an unfaithful husband? I don’t think she knows. Katie sighed, staring at the queue of traffic ahead.
*
Katie turned the key in the lock of her door and was unable to speak for a moment. Less than an hour ago, after the school run, she had been floating, weightless, in an ocean pool, surrounded by silence in an underwater world, thankful for the peace it offered her brain at this crazy time. Now, she was confronted by carnage: one pelican bib, full of muck – looks like cement, probably porridge, thought Katie, a substance which, as every mother knows, once mixed with milk and left to its own devices has enough strength to hold together the Sydney Opera House; two pieces of jam toast, jam side down, of course, on the floor next to glittery stickers; one half-full rucksack containing remnants of a packed lunch, homework papers (maths); last night’s dishes in the kitchen sink; pencil shavings all around the bin, but not actually in it.
The house looked like burglars had just ransacked it. She sighed, closing the door behind her: burglars who were expressly looking for an item hidden at the very bottom of the toy box. Nah, Guv, she’s just got three kids and her husband had an affair, other woman might be pregnant with his child, won’t notice a thing missing till next Christmas.
But when she closed the door and turned around it wasn’t the state of her house that had her standing, in a wet swimsuit, with her mouth open. It was the fact that she could see Tom sitting in the blood-red armchair in the living room, staring out into the garden. He turned round when he heard the door close.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she said, hardly containing how her voice shook. She felt water trickle down her leg from her costume.
He turned to look at her and there was that pang again, the one she didn’t want to have. That ache in her heart. God, his face was so familiar, the broad shoulders and silhouette of his stance – and yet, she shuddered when she thought of Ann’s news. Don’t come near me.
He stood up from the chair and came over to her, was holding out his arms, smiling tentatively. ‘Katie? You OK? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Have you been swimming? God, you look great, by the way.’ He grinned at her, looked her up and down.
She stared at him. She wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him to go, and yet – and yet – despite everything that had just happened in the last few days, she felt a shiver up her spine. Then she recalled how she’d spent much of yesterday dialling, then hanging up as his phone rang. She had wanted to speak to him, to have it out, yet hadn’t known what to say, had thought she needed to see him, but wasn’t ready for this, not now. Not standing here half naked.
‘Katie?’ He was speaking to her, one hand on her upper arm. ‘I have a client meeting tomorrow really early. I took a flight down. I didn’t call you, wanted to surprise you, the boys – I bought them all presents, did some grocery shopping.’ He pointed to a pile of bags in the kitchen, parcels on the table. ‘I thought I could maybe—’
‘What?’ Something sparked in her and she stared at him. ‘Stay the night? All cosy? Like we were, make love to me like you did to Ann…’ Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
‘Oh Christ, Katie, don’t start again…’
‘DON’T START! Oh my God—’
‘We’ve been through all that,’ he said, squeezing her arm. ‘Look, I just wanted to see you, see the boys, Katie…’
With that another stab went through her heart. When had they last seen their father? She stared at the photos adorning the walls of the house, looked at the pictures scattered all over the dresser, the bookshelf, the black and white ‘family’ portrait – rich, huh? – the tapestry of their life in front of her: the new orange rug, the ceramic vases, the weird pasta pictures Andy kept bringing home from kindy full of glitter… The fabric of my life… Is he part of the fabric, or has he ripped the whole damn things to shreds?
‘You know,’ she sighed, staring up at his close-shaven face, ‘just as I was actually thinking that maybe we could have a conversation, make a go of things—’
‘What, Katie?’
> ‘That maybe I did have a part to play in all of this, I find out something that makes it a lot worse…’
‘What on earth are you talking about? We’ve been through this! Why are you rubbing my face in this all over again? We need to move forw—’
‘Forward?’ she muttered hoarsely, then the tears were back. ‘We’ve just moved right back to square one!’ He had both her arms in his hands, was holding her forearms like you do a person you are dancing with. She yanked them away and marched off.
‘I’ve been hurting too – up in Brisbane, in some awful apartment with rented plates and duvets, without the boys, without speaking to them or playing football, reading stories.’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘Without you. It feels like I have gone backwards in life…’
‘I have with my trust in you,’ she said quietly, yanking her towel up.
‘Katie, I know, I know—’
‘No, you don’t know. Don’t know that Ann might be carrying your baby… babies.’ She let the words sink in. Watched as his eyes grew enormous as he blinked a few times, adjusting to the news. The sun had disappeared behind some black clouds outside, and the room was dark, full of long shadows. Her eyes turned towards the answer-machine light flickering and a small yellow glow from a night-light that had been left on in the hall. She let herself flop down onto the chair.
‘Katie, I don’t know… what…’
She turned round towards him in the chair. ‘Please go,’ she said quietly, then shivered and drew her knees up in the chair, hugging them to her chest.
*
Midnight. Katie sighed as she checked her watch. She had been pacing up and down the corridor with Rory. Her legs were like jelly, but she needed to shower and once Rory was back in bed she stood under the hot water for a good ten minutes, washing her hair, trying to scrub all the emotions out of her brain. She remembered the boys’ eyes when they saw Tom’s presents, his writing, how their faces fell when she’d told them he’d left. Scrub, scrub, more shampoo, more bubbles, bloody thoughts, can’t get rid of them…
Sitting on the bed afterwards she felt the water trickle down her back from her wet hair, noticed how she made a damp patch on the bed, not really caring that she had. Looking at the bed, which she used to share with Tom, at his pillow, his stupid pillow… God, there were the tears again.
Just when had he and Ann maybe conceived a baby? When was it that Tom and Ann had lain together, legs entwined, Ann feeling the warm liquid trickle down the inside of her thigh? Had she then turned over, smiled at Tom, pushed his fringe out of his eyes, laid her head on his chest… smelt that smell, his smell…? Katie could feel herself redden, her cheeks burn. Rory started whimpering, and then the whimpering turned into a scream.
Automatically she got up, even though her legs felt like lead. She paced round the room for a while, holding her bundle in her arms, his tears mixing with hers as she held his face up to her cheek. As she placed him back onto her chest, he let out those machine-gun sobs, building to a crescendo ah, ah, ah – then one very loud one… then, finally, silence. She watched as his thumb slid into his mouth and she held him in her arms, sat in the chair in his room, very gently rocking him.
He dozed off on her chest, one cheek on her breast, the other dewy still from the tears, his tiny hand clutching the top of her towel. Half an hour ago, a wailing monster, now a silent cherub in Bob the Builder pyjamas and a big fat nappy – still my baby. Soft hair covered his head, with that unique baby smell, long curling eyelashes touching velvety smooth cheeks.
Must sleep… can’t forget Ann’s face, or Tom’s. Jesus. Her head was spinning. Ann was pregnant? So was it Tom’s or had the IVF worked? Suddenly, as she felt Rory’s heartbeat next to her skin, she had an odd sensation of disgust and delight. I must be mad. And yet… and yet… Ann is so, so desperate for a child… She sat like that for a while, staring down at Rory, trying to moralise the array of thoughts spinning around her brain, a centrifugal force containing messed-up emotions… her face nestling into Rory’s soft curls.
Nobody can take this baby away from me, thought Katie, burying her head deeper into Rory’s smell. This is all Ann wants. She wants to hold a baby again. How much pain had she been in with Paul? How hard did he used to hit her? Why did that bastard blame her? A very small fragment of Katie’s thoughts then split away from the rest in her brain, hurled itself through the cosmos and lodged itself in her heart. That part, in some small way, started to feel sorry for Ann.
Peering down at her tiny tearaway, she saw he had finally succumbed to the peace of slumber. Her heart felt like bursting with love. My child is growing up, holding his hand up and insisting he be part of the world. But just now, at two in the morning next to his bunny rug, in the arms of his mother who is drowning in confusion, he is still my gorgeous, vulnerable little baby.
40
‘Katie? You look like shit.’ Naomi was standing in the school playground staring at her friend.
‘Thanks.’ Katie shook her head, her mind elsewhere. She smiled thinly at her friend. She couldn’t face telling her about Ann; didn’t know where she’d find the words. It hadn’t been a good day. She nearly hadn’t got out of bed this morning; she was so tired. The sort of tired you feel after bereavement; like when you want to crawl under the soft duvet, hide and never come out. She’d wanted to stay there all day, but then James had got up; she could hear him in the kitchen, trying to make toast for the others. The smell of burning had made her leap up, terrified.
‘Mum.’ James was suddenly next to her. ‘Mrs Perkins has told me to check my hair, thinks lots of us in the class have head lice. What are head lice?’
‘What?’ Katie started to rummage in James’s hair. ‘Stand still!’ She inspected James’s messy mane in broad daylight. There’s one, the bugger! Crawling through my son’s hair. And another. Not this, not now…
Trooping into a local chemist, Katie wondered if things could get any worse. An assistant in a blue overall came up to them.
‘Can I help you?’
She lowered her voice, conspiratorially. ‘Nit treatment.’
‘Sorry?’
‘NIT treatment, which aisle?’
‘Oh, your kids have head lice, do they?’ said the assistant, smiling.
Perhaps she’d like a loudspeaker, thought Katie, issue a customer announcement that the lady with the green dress with pasta sauce stains on it in the centre of the chemist’s has children with head lice, could everyone please stay clear? Katie took a deep breath and asked again, patiently. The assistant handed her some Lavender Oil.
‘No, not hippy stuff!’ Katie sighed at the woman, exasperated.
The assistant’s eyes widened.
‘Sorry. Under a bit of stress, what with Ann maybe having his baby, and all of that.’ What am I saying? ‘I need real chemicals,’ she said quickly, ‘you know, I want to kill them off, not treat them to an Indian head massage!’ Katie tried to laugh. It came out all wrong.
‘Mummy? Is Ann having a baby?’ James stared up at her. ‘How did that happen?’
Katie clutched the tin of mousse the assistant handed her and prayed that today would end soon.
*
Three hours later, after a marathon de-nitting session, Katie’s head was swimming with thoughts of nits, infidelity, babies… Ann’s baby, Ann’s babies… She wearily wandered into the bathroom. She looked at her reflection in the mirror: staring back at her was a ruddy-cheeked woman with slightly red eyes – a confused woman who didn’t know who to trust. Her husband? Her ex-best friend, who may or may not be carrying her husband’s babies? Katie stared at the mirror again. Who is this woman? Is she brave? Yes, damn it, she is. And does she want to quit the marriage? Does she love her husband?
The woman in the mirror stared back blankly at her without any answers.
Katie squinted at the mirror again – actually, that woman looked a bit Neanderthal. She studied her eyebrows. When did I last pluck my eyebrows? I can’t remember. Do you get nits
in your eyebrows? Oh Christ. Grabbing the tweezers, Katie decided to fix that. Pluck, pluck, pluck. Should’ve done it ages ago, she thought throwing her tweezers back into her make-up bag. Much better.
I think? She peered in the mirror quickly.
The boys were reading My First Atlas together on James’s bed with a torch as she passed their room. She jumped onto the bed and snuggled up next to them under the blanket.
I adore my boys so much, nits or no nits. They pored over the atlas, looked at rainfall in the Himalayas, where Santa lived in the North Pole, tectonic plates, and then, finally studied the two tiny islands near the centre fold of the book.
The boys watched as Katie traced her finger over the UK, down across Europe, over Russia, across South East Asia, over Australia and down to the dot on the east coast marked ‘Sydney’.
‘It’s a long way,’ said Andy.
You got it, kiddo. She cleared her throat. ‘Boys, Mummy’s been looking at some lovely houses for us when we… go home, back to England, with cubby houses in the garden. We could even get a dog!’
They both looked up at her, eyes shining. ‘Really, Mum?’
‘Yes, really, boys – we will be back home soon,’ she said squeezing them both and grinning. ‘Isn’t that terrific?’
‘No.’ James looked up at her rubbed his eyes. ‘Will we really get a dog?’
*
Sleep had eluded her as she stared at the ceiling fan, stationary, its blades not required; no need to circle round and round, to move hot muggy air; it was damp outside now as it had been raining and become cooler. She could smell the sweet soil through the open window. She pulled up the duvet; felt like her head would explode with thoughts. She turned over to look at Tom’s pillow, the buttons in their buttonholes, the ones he used to say annoyed him. Why put buttons on a pillowslip? She found herself smiling at the memory. So particular.
Her eyes drifted round the room, took in the cupboard that still contained many of his shirts, shoes; her eyes then landed on the soft glow from the hallway where the light was left on, as always, for the boys. It threw a peachy glow over the table in the hall and she stared at the photographs proudly set out: last year, at the beach… A pain went through her heart as she realised that she did miss Tom. Could she forgive him? She realised that despite everything, seeing him yesterday had made it worse. Then suddenly her heart stopped.