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‘Hmmm?’ She watches as Tom stretches out and moves a pale, freckled hand towards the remote.
‘Tom?’ She’s exasperated now. Has he no sense of urgency? She swallows back her ‘nagging’ voice, as he calls it. ‘Tom,’ she continues. ‘I’d really love it if you could go upstairs to Thea while I get her milk. It would be really helpful,’ she monotones. ‘Because you’re so soothing with babies.’
It’s a trick she’d learnt during their stint at Relate last year – after they’d buried Rosie. She still feels resentful that Tom hadn’t been with her, even though she knows that wasn’t his fault. Would it work tonight? Would it fuck.
‘Tom!’ She picks up the remote and hurls it across the sofa.
‘Jesus.’ He leaps up. ‘Sarah. What the hell has got into you?!’
‘Oh God.’ She can hear Thea’s cries getting more intense. ‘I’m sorry. Can you just go up?’
‘Going.’ He stands, his expression bordering on sheer terror at witnessing his wife in such a state. She has no idea why she’s freaking out so much. She’s looked after a baby before. Surely this should be a doddle? She goes to the kitchen and counts out the formula scoops, checking and rechecking the amounts on the back of the blue box.
When she’s satisfied she’s got the right number of scoops, she shakes the mixture in boiling water and places it in a bowl of ice. The crying slows down.
At least Casper will stay asleep, she knows that much. Her one saving grace. She stares at the milk, willing for it to cool. ‘Hurry up,’ she mutters. By the time she goes upstairs Thea’s screams are at full pelt.
‘You calm now?’ Tom gives her a look, as though she’s one of those potty pigeon ladies who cover themselves in breadcrumbs in the park.
‘I’m calm. Look. Today. I …’
‘I know. I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I should have realised how traumatic it would be for you and I’m sorry. Oh love, why don’t you go to bed with Casper? I’ll sort Thea out. Just go and get into your nightie and I’ll do the rest.’
She wants to resist. She feels she owes it to Liza to be the one looking after Thea, but the lure of lying down and ignoring the world is too strong. She pulls out her old grey nightie from the wardrobe – the one that she used to comfort her stonking hangovers – and sits on the bed. She watches Tom angling the bottle into Thea’s mouth, her small, fuzzy head resting in the nook of his elbow.
‘Shhh, there we go,’ he says. ‘All OK now. It’s OK now.’
‘I forgot how good you are at this.’ She nods at Thea. She sniffs at the hem of her T-shirt. Don’t let me think about it. Last year. Please. Not now. But it’s too late and she starts to cry.
‘We’ll be OK, love,’ he says. She knows what he’s thinking. This should be our child. ‘Don’t you worry. You’ve had a long day. No wonder you’re feeling tearful. Now go on. Get into Casper’s bed and try and get some sleep.’
She can’t think of anything she’d rather do less than move from where she is right now. The tiredness has hit her like a truck.
Tom looks down at Thea and smiles. ‘Well done, little girl.’
Sarah pulls down the soft, pink eiderdown and climbs into their comfy king-sized bed from Loaf that they’d saved up for last year.
‘I want to sleep with you.’ Sarah’s sobs subside. She needs to feed off Tom’s calm presence. If she’s near Casper, she’ll start to feel more anxious. What if karma is real? Tit for tat. That kind of thing. What if he fell too? Please, Casper, no. Stay safe.
After Tom has got Thea back down, he goes straight back to sleep. She listens to his slow, rhythmic breathing. Not a care in the world. No lasting adrenaline from the baby crying. How lovely to be him – able to switch on and off at the drop of a hat. She can feel her heart still thrumming from earlier. She tries to still her whirring mind and fall asleep, but it’s no use. She listens to the tick-tock of the bedside clock, her limbs restless. She watches three rectangles of light strobe across the ceiling as a car drives past.
Maybe she’ll feel better when her PMT subsides. Then she’ll be able to rationalise everything. No. It’s guilt, warping into something even worse, says a voice.
‘Tom,’ she hisses. ‘Tom, wake up.’
‘Go back to sleep,’ he murmurs.
‘I never went to sleep in the first place.’
‘Shhh. You’ll wake the baby.’
She goes quiet for a few seconds.
‘Tom?’
A short jab in his ribs has the desired effect and he drags himself up onto his elbows.
‘What is it?’ He squints over to the small Ikea side table. ‘Three in the morning. Oh God, Thea’s due a feed soon anyway. What’s the matter?’
‘Liza. Jack. And,’ she nods over to the Moses basket. ‘I was just thinking.’ She stares at the shutters on their bay window, wondering when they’d last been cleaned.
‘Thinking what? He’s going to be OK. You know that. I spoke to Gav.’
‘No. I know but …’ She takes a breath. If Tom agrees just to this one thing, she knows, in her heart of hearts, that everything can be OK. Not in an OCD, everything-has to-be-in-threes kind of way. Just in a make-her-peace-with-what-she’s-done kind of way. She’ll show Liza just how sorry she is. She won’t say anything at all about what happened, but she is absolutely convinced that if she gives her life over to Liza, just for a little bit, then everything will be OK. She’ll have paid her dues for her wrongdoing. She wonders whether to wake Thea while they’re talking but decides not to. She wants Tom’s full attention and he’s always moaning that she can’t multitask.
‘OK. Well, I was thinking. Our downstairs flat. Well – we’re not using it. I know we were going to Airbnb it before we renovate, but how do you feel about Liza and Jack moving in? With Thea, of course. That way they’ll all be on one floor. Easy access. That kind of thing.’
She holds her breath. Tom’s kind. He’ll always do anything to help out. But before she’s allowed herself to exhale, he shakes his head.
‘No. No way. Not now.’ He throws back the covers with more force than is perhaps necessary and walks over to Thea. ‘I’m going to feed her now. Before she starts screaming. Then hopefully she’ll sleep till seven.’
Tom always has been a stickler for routine and she has to admit that, for Casper, it had worked a treat.
‘Look, I know you want to help. But this is not the way to do it. Besides.’ He lifts up Thea’s small body and places her gently over his shoulder. Sarah watches the paleness of his skin, reflecting against the moonlight.
‘Besides what?’
‘Besides. What about us? Our baby? I need you to focus fully on our situation, Sarah. We can’t put our lives on hold. No matter how awful Liza is feeling. There are other ways we can help. Jack is going to be OK. You know that, don’t you? You,’ he takes a breath, ‘we, we aren’t over what happened to us last year. Please don’t give your entire self over to Liza.’
She wants to tell him she owes it to Liza, in more ways than one. She wants to shout at him that he wasn’t even there when Rosie died, so how dare he try and tell her what Liza does or doesn’t need. But she is too exhausted.
‘How do you know? That Jack will be OK?’
‘Because I know. This bit will be tough for them. But you know what Liza’s like. She’s got it in hand.’
An image of Liza’s pram from earlier floods her mind’s eye. The piles of rubbish. The medicine boxes and the rotting apple cores. She isn’t so sure.
‘OK,’ says Tom with a sigh. ‘How about you move in with Liza for a couple of days? Stay with her just while Jack settles back in. I can take some time off work. Look after Casper. That way you can help out but we can still focus on us. On our baby, Sarah.’ He squeezes Thea tight. ‘You know how much this means to us.’
She opens her mouth. She’s about to tell him about the IVF clinic appointment next week, but something stops her.
‘OK, Sa? Is that OK? Good enough?’
‘Yes.’ She wraps her arms around herself and shivers into her T-shirt. ‘Yes, it’s fine.’
But in her head, of course, she’s thinking something totally different. No. It’s not good enough. It’s absolutely not good enough at all. She doesn’t want to move into Liza’s; with Gav giving them both the evil eye every time they open their mouths. She wants to be right here with Tom and Casper. And she wants to, she has to, do the best by her friend. There’ll be a way to get Tom to agree. And she’s damned if she isn’t going to find out what it is.
WhatsApp group: West London Primary Academy PTA Class Reps
Members: Ems, Liza, Aissatu, Sarah, Bella, Millie, Amina, Charlotte T, Charlotte G, Nabila, Charlotte M, Kalisha, Amelia, Shereen, Fizz, Becky D, Becky G, Isa, Marion, Mimi, Camilla
Liza:Hi all. I hope everyone is surviving half-term! I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I just wanted to let you all know that Jack has had a terrible accident and fractured his neck and broken his wrist. I’m doing the best I can but I’m trying to put everything into place now, before we leave the hospital, so that I can focus on him and him alone as he’s going to be flat on his back for a while. He’s doing ok (champion that he is) but it’s going to be a long recovery. And thankfully, I think he’s going to come out of this relatively unscathed (physically, at least.) So – I wanted to let you all know that I’ll be stepping down from my role as head of the Christmas fair this year. I know it’s not far away so I wanted to let you all know sooner rather than later so you can get things in place. I’ve started off with a bit of the sponsorship money – some leads but there’s a lot of work to be done. Need to raise 10k for all the stuff on the school enrichment fund. This is the most important thing so any leads at all please, please chase them up. This is a full-on task, so anyone that is interested needs to be aware of that. Thanks all.
Millie: Oh my god, Liza. That’s so dreadful. I’m so sorry. We’re all here to help.
Charlotte G: Oh, Liza. We are all so desperately sorry. Jack is such a spirited little boy that I know he will cope with this brilliantly. Do let us know how we can all help.
Liza: Thanks so much all. But please – use this thread just to sort out the Xmas fair, so I don’t have to worry about it! If you want to send any private messages to me or Jack please do.
Ems: Typing …
Charlotte G: I’ll do it!!! I’d love to
Mimi: ME!
Shereen: Yes. Liza, we are here for you if you need anything.
Charlotte T: I’d LOVE to do it.
Charlotte M: I can’t. Sorry! I’ve just got so much on with the little ones at the moment and work – I think it’d be silly to take it all on at once. Don’t you? I’ll help out of course in any way that I can though.
Bella: As you know, I’m not a SAHM so I just don’t think I can offer any more of my time. But like Charlotte M says – I’m happy to help.
Fizz: Just FYI I’m a *SAHM* and my time is limited too! I don’t think we should be talking in terms of time. It’s not helpful when we are all exceedingly busy with our children and everything else.
Sarah: Guys – let’s just focus on Liza here please and getting the fair sorted so she can concentrate on Jack. Anyone who offered to help out, we’ll have a meeting the first Thursday back after half-term, in the green café at ten am. I’ll send out a reminder before then. 10k is a heck of a lot. We need to get focused. Ok?
WhatsApp group: School mums VIP business
Members: Charlotte G, Bella
Charlotte G: Was that the ‘incident’ I heard about at The Vale Club? Do you know? Apparently someone wasn’t watching their kid and they had a fall? There’d better be an investigation of some sorts.
Bella: I don’t know. Maybe. Awful.
Charlotte G: Must be. I’ll try and find out. They shut the club apparently. I wasn’t there, of course. Had all three kids at home crafting. But by the sounds of it, someone’s head’s going to roll.
Bella: *rolling heads emoji*.
LIZA (#ub687bb9b-816d-5913-a6b5-230e71dfbb2b)
The next morning, I meet Gav in the hospital café. I’d slept on a guest bed next to Jack, whilst he’d gone home to get some rest. I’d barely shut my eyes, listening out all night for any change in the rhythm of Jack’s breath.
‘Ready?’ I hand Gav a black coffee. Two espresso shots, just as he likes it. He nods and takes the cup without a thank you. We get the lift up to floor three, Paediatrics. I shield my eyes from the other patients in wheelchairs and trolleys. I can’t stand any more heartache right now. Selfish, I know.
We stand close to each other as we walk towards Jack’s hospital bed. My little boy is there, his head on the pillow, stilled by a foam neck brace. I’d only been away from him for about ten minutes whilst I went to meet Gav but I’m already overcome with the feelings I’d been battling all night – fear, guilt, sorrow, relief that he’s alive. There’s a flickering halogen bulb to the side of him, the blue concertinaed curtains drawn so that I can only see half his sleepy face. It all feels a bit eerie now the lights have been switched on, especially when I see the cannula tape, puckered over his small arm. There’s a plastic jug of squash next to him, still full with a bunch of limp-looking straws next to it.
‘You OK?’ Gav takes my arm and pulls me forward. For some reason this small act of kindness makes me want to cry all over again, until he seems to physically push me forward with the palm of his hand on my back. He wasn’t being kind after all – he was just steering me into the right direction, I think. My feelings can’t keep up with his actions and my throat constricts. It seems that neither of us knows how to behave in light of this trauma. ‘Just …’ I manage.
‘Come on. Let’s not let him see us upset when he’s fully awake.’ Gav grabs two plastic chairs and places them next to Jack. There’s an awkward moment, when neither of us knows who should sit first, but I go ahead and lean over to my son.
‘Jack? My little one? It’s OK. Mummy and Daddy are here.’ His eyes look all droopy and a small tear rolls its way down his cheek. I feel the heat of his breath on my hand. A lone, thick eyelash has made its way onto his cheek. ‘We love you so much. We’re so proud of you.’ I lick my finger and press it over the eyelash. ‘I’m doing it for you. The wish. OK?’ I shut my eyes and blow as hard as I can. Please, please make him better.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I didn’t mean to be a bad boy.’
‘Oh darling, you could never, ever be a bad boy. It was an accident. A dreadful accident.’
I would never, ever admit this to Gav, but I think about the fact that I had been inside The Vale Club. That I should have been with Jack, watching him. How easy it had been for me to be sitting in the warmth, as he had climbed higher and higher up that post. How poor Sarah would probably feel guilty for the rest of her life that had she checked on him just minutes later, she might – just might have seen him. Too high. Not that she should feel bad. Of course, she couldn’t have changed a thing. But – I know Sarah. I know how she is, she’ll obsess over this. My stomach feels like it’s about to fall out of my body.
‘Never let me hear you say that again, darling.’ I smooth back his hair. His eyes look glassy. ‘You’re OK. You’re going to be all OK. I promise.’
I hear the creak of Gav’s leather jacket as he leans forward and wraps both of his arms around Jack’s small legs.
‘I love you, big guy,’ he says, his voice muffled by the sheets. ‘I love you so much. You are my hero. Always remember that.’
A small smile hovers on one side of Jack’s mouth. I look at Gav, who is chewing the inside of his lip, eyes closed.
‘It’s OK,’ I tell him too. ‘He’s OK. He is.’
By the time we both look back at Jack, he’s fast asleep again. It’s only then that I feel drops of liquid pouring out from my boobs.
‘Shit.’ I look down at two, large damp bullseyes on my Breton tee. ‘Shit. Thea.’
‘Is she OK?’ Gav snaps his head up. ‘She’s with Sarah – are you sure that’s the right person to—’
‘Yes, yes of course. It’s just that,’ I point to my chest. The movement seems grotesquely intimate, embarrassing even, given Gav hasn’t been anywhere near that area since Thea was conceived.
‘Do you reckon you could just go to the maternity ward?’ I think back to when we’d last set foot in there only eight weeks ago. My bladder feeling like it was going to explode as I bounced up and down on that purple, rubber ball. ‘Just explain the situation and ask one of the midwives if I can borrow a pump? That nice girl, Lucie. See if she’s on shift? She’ll remember us.’
Gav lets out a deep sigh. ‘I’ll go and see. Anything else?’
I look up at his brown eyes. I want to ask him why he had felt the need to separate from me in the first place. How if he could explain it to me fully, perhaps I could help, do something. Anything, to make it better. But he’ll shut down. As he usually does. Say that things have changed since Jack had been born, and that’s that. Then why did you have another child with me, I want to shout. Why?
‘No thanks. Nothing.’ My whole face hurts with the effort of trying not to cry. My chin feels numb.
Why didn’t you love me enough to stay with me? To try and work things out, I want to ask, even though, deep down, I know the answer.
He’s gone for a long time. I watch the other kids in the ward. Listen to the shuffle of feet and swish of mops. A tall male nurse with a sharp face comes over to take Jack’s blood pressure and temperature.
‘Lovely boy.’ He breaks into a grin. I nod but can’t say anything. By the time Gav gets back, Jack is still asleep. He wheels in a large yellow hospital-grade pumping machine. We both smile, thankful that the distraction – and size of it – has broken the tension. ‘Jesus,’ I say, as he pushes it around the bed and moves his chair out of the way. ‘Looks like it could milk an elephant.’ I try and be light-hearted for Gav. Make jokes so that he might recognise the old me. The one he fell in love with and perhaps, then, things would be all right.
‘Someone’s coming,’ he says. ‘With all the other … you know,’ he waves his hands around his own chest, ‘stuff.’
We sit and wait. Eventually someone arrives and hooks me up with all the bottles and tubes. Both boobs are stuffed unceremoniously into two rubbery cones.
‘Let me,’ says the midwife, ramping up the dial. Almost instantly, the drrrr drrrr sound starts up.
‘That noise,’ Gav says, mimicking the sound of the machine and placing his palms over his eyes. ‘Gives me nightmares.’
