by Ruth Heald
‘I’m sure it’s not like that.’ Matt places a hand on my shoulder and I shrug it off.
‘Matt’s right,’ Ruth says. ‘You’re not yourself, Claire. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the cottage and lie down?’ Her voice is sickly sweet.
‘Mum,’ Matt warns.
Ruth looks at Matt. ‘I don’t know why we’re all tiptoeing around her,’ she says.
Matt shakes his head. ‘Not now, Mum.’
‘Do you really think it’s safe her looking after your child?’
‘She’s our child, not his child,’ I spit out.
‘Where’s your child now?’ She steps towards me, her face uncomfortably close to mine.
I gasp and turn back towards the cottage. I can see Olivia through the kitchen door. I only meant to leave her for a minute. I haven’t even looked back to check on her. What kind of mother am I?
I rush out of the kitchen and hurry back down the path. But Ruth hasn’t finished her tirade yet.
‘You’re drunk, Claire,’ she shouts after me. ‘I can smell the alcohol on your breath. You’re not fit to look after Olivia. You’re an alcoholic.’
Twenty-Seven
My head pounds. It feels like someone is drilling into it. It takes me a moment to wake up and realise that the banging isn’t coming from inside my head, but from outside. I reach for my phone on the bedside table. Eight a.m.
I put my pillow over my head and hope the noise will go away. Images from yesterday start to flash through my mind. Ruth’s angry face. Matt’s baffled look. Ruth’s words echo in my mind. I feel so ashamed. She’s right. I do have an alcohol problem. I shouldn’t have been drinking in the afternoon while I was looking after Olivia. I’ve been trying so hard to stop myself giving into the temptation but the note was the final straw. I’m starting to feel like I need alcohol. The taste of it on my tongue. One drink. And then more.
I’d had a whole bottle of wine before I went over to confront her. I’d told myself it would help me sleep easier in the house at night. And after our argument, I’d come home and polished off a second bottle.
I’m turning into the person I was in the past, I realise with horror.
Matt rescued me back then. He helped me recover. He took all the alcohol from the house, threw it away, didn’t let me drink again. But I don’t have him this time around.
The banging outside continues, and inevitably Olivia wakes, her screams adding to the noise.
Putting one foot tentatively on the floor, then the other, I ease out of bed. My body shakes.
I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face, then go to Olivia’s room and lift her out of the cot. Holding her to me, I pull back the curtain, blinking at the aggressive daylight.
Outside, a workman surveys the result of his labour. He’s put up a ‘For Sale’ sign in front of the cottage.
* * *
The doorbell rings before I’m up and dressed. Olivia and I have been lying in bed upstairs. I’ve drunk pints of water to try and disperse my hangover, but it’s not enough. I need to rest.
I make my way slowly down the stairs, one step at a time, my whole body aching. I see Matt’s silhouette in the window. I don’t want to face him, but it’s too late – he’s already seen me.
‘Claire––’ he shouts through the door.
I open it reluctantly.
He takes in my dressing gown and unbrushed hair, and I look at the floor, embarrassed.
‘Can I come in?’
I have no energy to object and I lead him through to the living room.
He offers to make the tea and brings through the mugs.
I sip it gratefully while he holds Olivia.
‘I’m worried about you, Claire,’ he says finally.
‘I’m sorry about last night. I was out of control. It’s just – your mother – she sent me a note.’
‘What note?’
‘It said – it said I don’t deserve Olivia.’ I’m embarrassed, because looking at me right now, Matt might think that’s true.
‘You’re a good mother, Claire.’
I feel like crying. It’s just what I need to hear right now. If only he hadn’t cheated on me with Sarah. Then we could still be together. We could fix this.
‘Do you think we could give it another go?’ he asks. It’s like he’s read my mind.
‘You cheated on me, Matt.’
‘I didn’t. I don’t know how to convince you, but I didn’t.’
I sigh. More lies. How can we move forward from this?
‘You have to tell me the truth, Matt.’
‘The truth?’ he asks. ‘I don’t think you want to hear it. Because the truth is that none of this is about me. It’s about you. It’s about you believing all sorts of things that are in your imagination. You think everyone’s out to get you. My mother. Sarah. Me. When the truth is that we only want to help you.’
I don’t know what he’s trying to do to me, yet slowly but surely Matt and his mother are making me fall apart.
‘Please, Claire,’ he says. ‘Let’s give it another go.’
‘No. Sorry.’
He straightens then, and I see his demeanour harden.
‘OK then. If that’s the way you want it. But I need access to Olivia. I need to see my daughter.’
‘I can’t let her spend time with your mother. I just don’t trust her.’ I think about the smoke alarm. Another thing Matt will think I’m imagining.
‘You can’t dictate that, Claire. Listen, if we’re not together, then Mum wants to take you to court, to win custody. She’ll use everything she knows about you against you. I need to see my daughter regularly. You can’t withhold that.’
A shiver runs down my spine. Does Ruth really want to take Olivia away from me entirely?
‘OK,’ I say. ‘We’ll sort something out. But don’t leave Olivia alone with your mother.’
Matt sighs. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
I shake my head. I’m only trying to protect my daughter. ‘It’s a condition of you seeing her,’ I say.
Matt sighs. ‘Look, you’re being completely unreasonable. My mother loves Olivia. But if it’s my turn to look after her, then I can make sure I’m always there with her, if that puts your mind at rest.’
I nod. ‘OK.’
He reaches out and strokes my hair and I recoil at the unexpected tenderness. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I just moved back in?’ he asks.
For a moment, I want to say yes, to forget about him and Sarah. But I can’t. I’m stronger than that. I shake my head. ‘Look, you need to go. Emma’s coming round soon.’
Matt stands. ‘Well if you need anything, you know where I am.’ He kisses me lightly on the cheek before he goes out the door.
* * *
Emma gives me a huge hug when she arrives at my door with Lizzie. ‘How are you?’ she asks, cocking her head in concern.
‘I’ve been better.’
‘I’m so sorry about the flat,’ she says. ‘I completely forgot about the building work.’
‘It’s OK. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere else.’
Emma touches my shoulder as she shifts Lizzie in her arms. ‘You shouldn’t be looking for somewhere else. You have every right to live here with Olivia. You should stay.’
I nod. I know in theory she’s right, but in reality I’m not sure if I can stand to stay in the cottage much longer. I don’t feel safe.
‘Look, you need to relax,’ Emma says. ‘Are you ready for your massage?’
‘Sure,’ I reply, as Emma places Lizzie alongside Olivia on the playmat. I eye Olivia doubtfully. I don’t think she’ll be quiet for very long.
Emma follows my gaze. ‘Leave the babies to me – I’ll entertain them. And I’ll make you a cup of tea. It’s time to focus on you.’
Once I’ve finished my drink, I double check the blinds are fully closed and then undress, folding my clothes and putting them neatly on the chair. Olivia watches me curiously, while Lizzie stares at the ceil
ing.
Emma lays a towel across the sofa and I lie face down, inhaling the comforting smell of washing powder.
She puts some soothing music on her phone, turns off the main light and switches on the desk light in the corner. I shiver and Emma places another towel over my back.
I hear the squelch of the massage oil as she squirts it onto her hands and rubs them together to warm it up.
‘Just try and relax,’ Emma says, pulling the towel down to expose my bare skin. I start as her hands touch my back. They feel cold at first, but as she pushes her hands into my muscles, I stop noticing.
I close my eyes. I can’t stop thinking about Matt. I still love him. But he didn’t stick up for me when I confronted Ruth about the note. His loyalties are with her, not me. We can’t be together. I won’t take him back after his affair. My jaw sets in resolve.
‘You need to stop tensing up,’ Emma says. ‘Otherwise it’s going to hurt.’
‘OK,’ I reply.
‘OK?’ she asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
‘Yes.’
Her hands come down hard into the muscles. She kneads my flesh, pushing deep into my skin and putting her body weight behind the movement.
The pain takes my breath away and I can only focus on not crying out.
‘Is that too hard?’
Emma continues without me answering. I close my eyes. The pain starts to feel good, as if she is pushing the impurities out of me, pushing the thoughts out of my mind.
‘It’s good,’ I say, releasing my breath just enough to get the words out.
‘Great. Not everyone likes Thai massage. It’s supposed to hurt a bit. You have to take out the knots in the muscles. And that’s going to be painful, especially if you’re as tense as you are. But when it’s done you feel like you’re walking on air.’
‘OK,’ I say as she presses harder into me. Her slim frame hides a strength I didn’t know she had. If she held me down, I wouldn’t be able to get up.
Olivia whines and she sets Lizzie off, who starts crying. Emma’s hands leave my skin. I listen to her go over to the babies, pick them up and soothe them. After a couple of minutes they both calm and I’m overwhelmed by jealousy. Why don’t I have that effect on my daughter? Emma returns and her knuckles work their way into the gaps underneath my shoulder blades. I wince.
‘You’ve tensed up again.’
‘Sorry.’ I grit my teeth, scrunching up my eyes. Emma repeats the motion again and again, until I’m not sure I can bear it. I bite the inside of my cheek until I draw blood, the sharp metallic taste distracting me from the pain.
Emma’s hands move to my neck. They wrap around me like a python and I suddenly feel vulnerable. I wonder if she could kill me if she were to squeeze in the right place for the right period of time.
‘It’s OK,’ Emma says, sensing my discomfort. ‘You just need to relax.’
I feel the soft cushion against my cheek, breathe in the lavender fabric conditioner. The tinny music from Emma’s phone is starting to irritate me.
I’ve had Thai massages before, but they’ve never been this hard. I feel sick with the pain. I wonder if it’s because I’m more stressed, more tense. Emma says nothing as her hands stretch out the tendons in my neck. She pushes up hard into the bones at the base of my skull. Stars dance in front of my eyes. It’s too much.
I should say something.
I feel my breathing quicken. It’s OK, I tell myself. It’s OK.
I’m about to speak when her hands lift from my skin. I hear her squirting the oil on to her palm, and dread the feel of her hands back on my neck.
But instead she goes to the other end of the sofa and starts running her hands up and down my legs. The movement is smoother, more relaxing. She presses hard, but it isn’t as painful.
‘You have more tension in your neck and shoulders than your legs,’ Emma remarks casually. ‘It’s a sign of emotional stress.’
‘Right,’ I say, into the sofa cushion.
‘But I’ve got a lot of the stress out of the muscles now. So you should feel much better.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, relieved that the painful part is over.
I relax as Emma continues to work on my legs. I take deep breaths and try to empty the thoughts from my mind, focusing on the sensation. I hear a swishing noise, and I’m suddenly aware of my naked skin pressed against the towel.
I lift my head to look up. Emma gently pushes it back down.
‘Don’t worry, I just adjusted the blind.’
‘The blind?’
‘I couldn’t see properly. Don’t worry. No one can see in.’
When the massage finishes, I sit up, the towel wrapped over my breasts.
‘Was that good?’ Emma asks. ‘I bet you’re much calmer.’
She brings me a glass of water and I sip it gratefully. I feel exhausted.
‘Thanks so much,’ I say.
‘It’s no problem at all. That’s what friends are for.’
When I’m rehydrated I get up to make Emma a cup of tea. It takes all my strength to resist offering her a glass of wine. I need to start controlling myself. For Olivia’s sake.
‘I’m sorry that moving in with me didn’t work out,’ she says again. ‘Perhaps after the building work has finished…’
‘It’s OK, I understand.’ Despite the how painful it was, the massage has made me feel better.
‘How did your interview in London go?’ Emma asks. ‘Do you think they’ll offer you a job?’
I smile. ‘I hope so.’
Emma smiles at me encouragingly. ‘You’ll have a route out of here, soon enough. Back off to start your exciting London life again.’
I nod. But I can’t ignore my mixed feelings about returning to London, particularly returning to the newspaper.
‘I want to move out as soon as I can,’ I say. I tell Emma about my run-in with Ruth yesterday, how she thinks I’m not a fit mother, how she even put that in a note and sent it through the door.
‘That’s shocking,’ Emma says. ‘I saw the “For Sale” board she’s put up outside. You mustn’t let her push you out. You have every right to live here. Can you avoid her?’
‘Matt needs to see Olivia, so I’ll have to see her sometimes.’ I sigh. The whole thing seems overwhelming. No matter how far away I move, Ruth will always be Olivia’s grandmother.
‘If Matt wants to look after Olivia more, then why don’t you do it on your terms?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ Emma says, putting her arm through mine. ‘We should have a girl’s night out. A big one.’
I haven’t had a night out for so long. I imagine dancing in a club, forgetting all my worries. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘We can go to London,’ Emma says. ‘Make a proper night of it.’
I smile. I need to forget my responsibilities and enjoy myself for once. Maybe if I just have some time off from the relentless childcare then I’ll feel better about everything.
‘When?’
‘I could do Thursday,’ Emma says. ‘If Matt wants to see more of Olivia, then he can have his chance. He can look after her the whole evening.’
She grins deviously and I smile back. Matt has never had to look after Olivia on his own for more than an hour or so. Now he’ll be able to see just how hard it is.
And I get to have a night out. Finally, I have something to look forward to.
I look at my suitcase, mine and my daughter’s clothes neatly folded inside, along with a small selection of my daughter’s toys. I wanted to let her choose what she wanted to take. But I couldn’t. She can’t know we’re leaving, in case she somehow lets slip to my husband. We have to leave so much of our lives behind in this house; not just her toys, but the lives we’ve built for ourselves here: the carefully chosen furniture, the state-of-the-art kitchen, our family pictures.
I’m so grateful to have a friend to move in with. Even if we’ve only ever spoken on the phone, I know she must care ab
out me. You’d only offer up your home to a friend.
I’ve explained everything to her. Everything my husband did to those girls. There’s only one option. She’s right. I have to leave.
I’ve prepared to move in two days’ time, when my husband’s away at a conference. I’ve bought an expensive candle for my new friend as a thank you for letting us move in with her. I borrowed my husband’s credit card to buy it. It’s only a small risk. He’s unlikely to notice until he sees his credit card statement at the end of the month and I’ll be long gone by then.
I just need to get her address and then I’m ready. I won’t write it down. I’ll memorise it. That way my husband will have no chance of finding it.
When I ring the helpline, she picks up on the first ring and I’m glad it’s her on the other end. I tell her I’m packed and ready to leave.
‘Well done,’ she says. ‘You’re doing the right thing.’
‘Thank you. I can see you’re right now. I can’t live with him any more.’ I feel overwhelmed with gratitude towards her. She is rescuing me.
‘That’s OK. It’s a brave decision to make.’
‘We’ll come to your place on Tuesday,’ I say. ‘What’s your address?’
There’s a silence on other end of the line, and my heart beats faster. I hold my breath.
Finally she speaks. ‘I think a women’s shelter is the best place for you. They have policies and procedures to keep you safe and the resources to help get you back on your feet. I’ve looked them up for you. There’s one about five miles away.’
The words are worse than a physical blow.
‘What about your place?’ My voice shakes.
‘I’m sorry but it just won’t work. I was silly to suggest it. You need proper care and protection.’
‘We’ll be no bother, I promise.’
‘What if your husband comes after you? I can’t protect you from him.’
‘But I can’t go to a shelter.’
‘Why not?’
I’d wanted to stay with a friend, somewhere I was welcome and felt safe. Why can’t she understand that?