Silent Child

by Toni Maguire

  She was not to blame for the outcome. After all, it was only a small child’s naivety that convinced her there was only one key.

  Chapter 28

  What did I say about Christmas? That there are some words which can trigger my panic attacks. Not only that, but the word ‘Christmas’ itself does not always conjure up happy memories. Just before the last one, when visitors were due to arrive and were expecting happy faces and an organised house, I had a miscarriage.

  All I can remember of it was the searing pain in my womb when I woke up in a small pool of blood. I knew, even before I staggered to the bathroom, what had happened for it had happened before.

  Oh, I was not yet so far along the way to having a noticeable bump and attending ultrasounds. I had used one of those home pregnancy tests and grinned with pure happiness when that line went blue; as had my partner, when I told him. We might have our hands full with our two girls, but Patrick and I are young. Even though it wasn’t planned, we had welcomed the thought of the new addition tucked away inside me.

  Tucked away safely was all I hoped for. Don’t all expectant mothers wish for that one thing more than anything else? Even though my stomach was flat, it did not stop my hand resting protectively on it. It was in the early hours of that morning when those terrible cramps woke me and I realised that those protective actions had not worked. Even before I climbed out of bed, I already knew – I could feel that emptiness inside me.

  It was the third time it had happened. Each loss broke me for a bit, no doubt about it. One second, the baby is in you and you wonder if it’s going to be a boy or a girl, perhaps with red hair like Isabelle or dark blonde locks like Sonia. All those questions simply fly into the heads of us expectant mothers, don’t they? Will he or she take after me and only eat food when the colours are right and will that tiny person also jump over the cracks in the pavement and hate sand or grass beneath their feet? Those are just some of the questions that I asked myself every day. And it’s only by asking myself them that a picture formed in my mind and that blue line on the testing kit I had seen in the bathroom turns into a small person who, within a few months, my partner and I will be meeting. That’s the belief which gives me the spirit of happiness I carry around as I picture the child growing inside me.

  That was until the cramps and the unwanted flow of blood woke me and I rushed to the toilet. Within seconds, I was looking in dismay at the clots of blood sliding down the inside of the bowl. But then, from the moment I had woken and felt the dampness on my pyjamas, I knew – didn’t I? – that he or she was gone and that we would never meet.

  That last loss certainly caused my postnatal depression to return. I could hardly bring myself to eat, and tired as I was, sleep evaded me. In the daytime my greatest wish was to curl up in a ball and just ignore the world. But the world didn’t only have me in it, did it? My world also had my partner who shared my sadness and two little girls who needed me. Just thinking of them made my inner voice give me a stern talking-to.

  Oh no, you don’t, Emily, it said firmly. Lying in bed wallowing in self-pity is not going to help your children now, is it? They don’t deserve a mum who isn’t there for them.

  Any loss, especially a miscarriage, can bring on a depression. OK, I accept that, but there’s no excuse for not having time for your daughters.

  So, no bursting into tears at the slightest thing, they deserve better than that. Remember, they come first, the voice continued. And so it went on, nagging away at me.

  Blast, I thought, that inner voice of mine was not going to be quiet until I dragged myself out of bed. Of course I knew it was right, so each morning, I made my legs swing out of that bed, pasted a smile on my sleep-deprived and pinched face, made us all breakfast, before getting out my daughters’ toys and books.

  I had to make sure that life remained normal for them – they needed me as much as I needed them.

  So, feel sad, my voice of Reason told me, just not in front of them. You didn’t have children only to let them down, so get your fighting spirit charged up.

  The one thing my inner voice failed to do was to stop my emptiness allowing another drawer to spring open. One I have never looked in since I was a teenager. And one most definitely labelled ‘Leave Well Alone’.

  It was that part of my life that I have tried to erase from my memory. But no matter how hard we try to bury the past, sometimes it refuses to stay forgotten. I remember now that twisting sensation low in my stomach when I heard Carl telling us of his decision that changed so much. Not just for me, but for my mother as well. Up until then, no one could have imagined how he would achieve the results he had aimed for since first meeting us. But then I could not see into his mind and therefore was unaware of just how clearly he could see into mine.

  Chapter 29

  It was some time before my mother had agreed to marry Carl, not that I think she needed much persuading, when Lily announced to us that she was pregnant. Or rather, it was my dad who told Mum that bit of good news. Knowing who it was on the phone, I had moved close to her, thinking that maybe he wanted to speak to me about that weekend’s arrangements. Fat chance after he shared that particular piece of information! What was he thinking? I mean, he knew my mother, didn’t he? Surely he wasn’t expecting congratulations to come down the line, he really should have known there was no chance of that. She just about spat with rage before slamming down the phone the moment the word ‘pregnant’ penetrated her brain.

  ‘Looks like the slut will be giving you a little brother or sister soon!’ she seethed. ‘Or did you already know and not tell me?’

  ‘No, Mum. He never said a thing, honestly.’

  ‘Hmm . . . Well, I suppose I’ll have to believe you. Anyhow, it’s hardly good news for you, is it? I expect your days out with him will come to an end now he’ll have another kid to worry about.’

  That was my mother, everything always ended up being about her – she just had to get that bit out.

  Ignoring the spite in her voice and instead of feeling a baby might be competition, I felt a surge of excitement at the news. At seven, I might not have known much about how babies come into the world, but I did know they were not left behind a bush but grew in their mummy’s tummy. Also, it took some time before they arrived. Not that now would have been a good idea to ask Mum how long it would be until I met my new brother or sister. Instead, I kept the smile, which would have shown her just how much I was already looking forward to meeting the new family member, off my face. Once in my room, where I no longer had to listen to her bitching about my dad, my head filled with happy pictures. I saw myself playing with the baby, as I was told my older cousins had done with me, and then when she was a little older, holding her hand to keep her safe as I took her for a walk and reading to her when she was put to bed.

  Unfortunately, up to a point, Mum was actually right about me not seeing my dad so much. Not that it was down to him, but Lily – her morning sickness seemed to increase on the weekends I was due to visit. An apologetic phone call would come, telling me not to bring an overnight case as she needed to rest, although most times he also offered to meet me after school on the Friday and take me out for an ice cream.

  Being told that I was not going to stay at his house overnight was disappointing. Although I looked forward to seeing him, not to mention loving the large scoops of different flavoured ice cream, the conversation between us was always stilted. I could see him searching hard for something to talk about apart from how was school and what was I learning there.

  I too was awkward as I could hardly chat about my mother and Carl. There was too much there I was hiding, and as for the family, because of my stepfather’s restrictions on my visits, there was not much I could say to him about them either. And there were times when my conversation also dried up and I too felt uncomfortable. Like Ben, my dad did his best to try to reassure me that he was there for me and I could talk to him about anything if I needed to. But then with Lily using every excuse she coul
d come up with to stop me visiting, it was pretty uncertain as to just what he could do. It was obvious that he would always put her wishes before my needs. All in all, however good the ice cream and cakes in the cafe might be, it was not the best place for us to spend an hour or so.

  I can picture him now, light brown hair flopping over his forehead, as with his blue eyes avoiding mine, he glanced discreetly down at his watch before telling me it was time for him to run me home. I think it came as a relief for both of us by then. In contrast, if I was at his house then I spent most of my time upstairs with Lily’s son Paul, playing various board games, so he didn’t have to think of engaging me in conversation all that much. Surprisingly, Lily didn’t seem to mind when the pair of us disappeared up to his room – but then I suppose it gave her more time on her own with her partner.

  So yes, she did use morning sickness as a reason to put my visits off. Not that she succeeded every time.

  I could see that my father didn’t really understand her resentment of me, nor did he face up to the fact that she felt that way. And I know why: it was because I was part of the family he had left for her and she wanted a clean break. Also, I’m sure she never forgot that it was me who caught them in bed together and spilled the beans. I mean, how embarrassing that a four-year-old shows you up? Though I don’t think that’s an acceptable excuse for a woman who slept with her friend’s partner, broke up a family and then was unkind to his seven-year-old daughter. Not that Dad saw any of that, but then we all know that love can be really blind sometimes.

  * * *

  When the day came for Lily to give birth, she was rushed into hospital just in time for an eight-pound baby girl to be delivered.

  ‘Trust her to have such a short labour!’ Mum said crossly when she heard. The baby was to be named Crystal, something else Mum was not short on harsh words about. And she made a point of adding the prefix ‘half-’ to ‘sister’ whenever the ‘Crystal’ word cropped up.

  I knew about the baby’s birth almost straight away. The day after his second daughter arrived in the world, my father came to the school to tell me that I now had a sister. I must say that he was the one person who never prefixed that with the word ‘half-’ – something that I’m still grateful for, as I was for him coming to the school to tell me about her so quickly. I was so happy, I beamed up at him. He had clearly decided that telling me about her birth over the phone was not the best idea he could come up with. Not after his last experience of speaking to Mum about Lily’s pregnancy.

  After Dad had told me about Crystal’s arrival, I managed to retreat to my room and get out my paints. Only this time I was going to use them for something I wanted to give pleasure. I started making a ‘Welcome to the World’ card for my sister. Balloons, hearts and a smiley face played a big part in that card. Once finished, and making sure the paint had dried, I hid the card in my satchel. I can just imagine how angry my mother might have been, had she seen it – no doubt she would have snatched it from my hiding place and torn it up.

  I actually got a hug from Dad when, on a visit a couple of weeks later, I presented it to him.

  ‘Look, Lily,’ he said, showing it to her, ‘isn’t this thoughtful of Emily?’

  ‘Yes, it’s lovely, Emily, thank you,’ she said and even managed a tight-lipped smile.

  I was, however, far more interested in the tiny bundle lying in Lily’s arms than her thanks. Even now I can remember my feelings on seeing that tiny, dark-haired scrap with her tightly closed eyes and rosebud mouth. Just two words came into my head then: ‘my sister’.

  Oh, how I longed for Lily to ask me to sit next to her so I could hold Crystal just for a few moments!

  Not that I dared ask and she didn’t suggest it.

  The next time I visited, my arms almost stretched out to Crystal of their own volition. Plucking up courage, I did ask if I could sit next to her and just hold her for a moment. Lily’s answer, which was repeated often over the next few months, was that her tiny daughter was still too young to be held by anyone who was not an adult.

  After the third or fourth time, Crystal’s eyes were focusing and her chubby legs were kicking out contentedly. Lily had placed her on the carpet, where she could wave her arms and wriggle away happily. It was when I knelt down beside her that Lily told me sharply to leave her alone. I began to understand the baby’s age had little to do with her refusal to let me hold her – she just didn’t want me anywhere near her daughter. This was later confirmed by Paul. With a slight prodding from me, he admitted hearing my dad ask Lily to let me hold the baby, saying that if we were all in the room together, what harm could it do?

  ‘And what did she say to that?’ I asked, though I had a pretty good idea.

  ‘Oh, you know Mum!’ he told me. ‘She glared at him, shook her head and said “No way!” and that was the end of them talking about it.’

  * * *

  Knowing that Lily was not comfortable with me being in her home saddened me, but I managed to cope with that. Not being allowed to get close to the baby was another matter, though. Lily just did not want Crystal ever bonding with me, that was the nub of the matter. This I knew and not just from Paul. It seems wherever I went, grown-ups forgot about those sharp little ears of mine. Standing halfway down the stairs, I heard Lily talking to my dad about me. Well, the truth is that I crouched down in an effort to remain invisible as soon as I heard my name mentioned and listened to every word they had to say.

  ‘Look, Ted, I’m just not comfortable with her getting too close to Crystal.’

  ‘Why? We’re all in the same room together and it’s not as though she’s going to drop her or anything.’

  ‘That’s not what concerns me. If we let her get too attached now, what are we going to do when they’re both a little older? I wouldn’t want Crystal picking up any of those peculiar habits of hers.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lily! What habits is a baby going to pick up? She’s not exactly talking or doing much now, is she?’

  ‘Look, I know Emily’s yours, but you have to admit she’s different. And let’s face it, as she gets older, she’s likely to get even more peculiar. All the fuss with her food and not wanting to walk on different parts of the pavement, that’s bad enough, but I’ve heard her talking to herself as well and you can’t say that’s normal, now can you?’

  ‘But she’s only seven and lots of little kids have imaginary friends, that’s something they grow out of.’

  ‘It’s not an imaginary friend she’s talking to, Ted, she talks to herself! I’ve heard her telling herself something she has to do. She even tells herself off! That’s what doddery old ladies do when they’re losing their marbles, not little girls.’

  ‘I just don’t see it’s a big issue.’

  ‘Well, I do! Look, I’m happy enough about her visiting. I don’t have a problem her playing with Paul now, do I? He’s got used to her odd ways. So, I’m not trying to keep them apart, I just want to monitor it.’

  OK, she got most of that right. Not that I considered it was talking to myself when Fear and Reason had an argument and I had to chip in. All right, maybe that is a bit unusual, but it was hardly going to harm a baby, was it? I told myself mutinously, staying very still and listening to what else they had to say.

  ‘The other kids at her school talk about her, you know. Paul’s told me that. It’s only because her cousins stick up for her that she’s not bullied. And that’s not what I want for our little Crystal. Children have a knack of copying the older ones. Now, do you see what I mean?’

  I heard my father give a resigned sigh: ‘Well, she’s still my daughter’ was his only response and bang, went my hope that he would deny Lily’s accusations or at least try and rid her of her concerns. Though I did not believe she really believed them, I was certain it was just another excuse to break all his ties with Mum and me. But that didn’t stop my skin prickling at the very thought of the other children who I had believed liked me whispering behind my back.
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  Don’t cry, Emily, whispered Reason, she’ll say anything to get her own way.

  But I was still a child and children want everyone to like them. I swallowed hard and crept away as silently as I could.

  I had hoped he might have said more in my defence.

  He didn’t.

  * * *

  It was soon after I overheard the conversation between Dad and Lily that I noticed the large photo of me had disappeared. As far as I knew, it was the only one that my father had of me. I can still remember it being taken by my uncle on my fifth birthday. He must have got it framed and given it to him – which meant that my mother’s family had still been seeing Dad after he left. Not that I was going to let Lily or Mum know that. He had placed it on the mantelpiece in their home and every time I visited, I noticed it was still there – but not any longer. In its place was a professional portrait of Lily, wearing a square-necked white dress and holding a pale pink-clad Crystal.

  She must have made him remove it after that last conversation I had managed to overhear.

  ‘Where’s my picture?’ I asked my dad, looking up at him. He flushed before saying that Lily must have put it away when she was dusting.

  A pathetic excuse if ever I heard one, seeing there was another picture in its place.

  We both knew that she had done it deliberately.

  I had always been aware that Lily had very little time for me but I hadn’t realised, despite what she said to my father, how much she disliked having me in her home. Some of it, I was pretty sure, was because my marks at school were always so high, they were remarked on by the teachers. I had seen the expression on her face when my father talked about my achievements with pride and then her getting cross with Paul when he moaned that I was top in everything.

  By then I hardly knew what was worse: being unwanted in my father’s home or quaking with fear as I tiptoed around Carl in mine.