The Stuff of Nightmares (26 page)

I lie in bed at night, clawing at my hideously swollen stomach while Alex lies gently snoring beside me. I feel like a balloon that’s about to pop and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I envy Alex and resent him like hell because of it.

I’m trying to suffer in silence, but then I find myself feeling even more bitter towards him. Why should I be the only one to suffer?

I hate this.

I swear that this pregnancy will be my last. Never, not even for Alex, will I go through this again. Another pregnancy and I can kiss my sanity goodbye. If it hasn’t gone already.

26 December

It’s over. At last. The thing was born quite easily on the day before Christmas Eve. It was born within two hours of my contractions starting. The pain wasn’t too bad and it slipped out of my body like a greased eel. That made it worse. The whole process disgusted me. I didn’t want to take the baby when one of the nurses handed it to me. It was bloody and slippery and smelled foul. I only took it in my arms because Alex was standing there, tears of joy in his eyes.

He never cried for me.

‘We’ll call her Nicole, shall we?’ he whispered.

I looked down at Nicole lying in my arms. I was so revolted I could feel my stomach churning.

‘Isn’t she perfect?’ Alex beamed. ‘Look, she’s got your eyes. She’s got my nose though. Isn’t she lovely?’

Everyone around me was telling me what a lovely baby I had. Wasn’t she an angel? Adorable? I looked down at her scrunched-up, screaming face and I couldn’t see it. I really couldn’t see it.

And I think … I think Alex knew I couldn’t.

She doesn’t even look like Alex. She looks like me. The same almond-shaped eyes tilting up slightly at the outer corners and extra long fingers and toes. Alex has short, pudgy digits. Nicole couldn’t even get that right.

I shut the book slowly, put it carefully back in its place and picked up the next one in line: a full-sized A4 diary with a blue vinyl cover.

12 May

I feed her when I have to, clothe her when I have to, change her nappy when I have to – that’s it. Alex, of course, is the complete opposite. He worships the ground Nicole crawls on. If she starts crying at night, he’s up and at her side in an instant, her first sob somehow penetrating even his deepest sleep. But his snores deafen me if I cry at his side.

Every day he tells Nicole how beautiful she is and how much he loves her. Humiliated, I said to him tonight, ‘Why don’t you say that to me any more?’

‘But, Lily, you know that already,’ he replied.

I’ll never ask that again.

It’s all her fault. I’ll never forgive Nicole for spoiling
what
Alex and I had. She’s turned me into the invisible woman.

I shut the diary and let it drop from my hand. For several moments I sat still, staring at one diary in particular, the diary which marked my thirtieth year and Nicole’s sixth.

‘I can’t …’ I muttered. Yet even as I spoke, I reached out to the grey-leather-bound, paperback-sized diary which I’d sworn I would never touch again.

1 December

What am I going to do? I’m losing it.

Today I lost my temper with Nicole. ‘Mum, is Dad going to die?’ she asked me.

It was as if every muscle in my body was immediately pulled taut. God forgive me, but I slapped her. She looked up at me as if she’d never seen me before. I didn’t mean to do it. It’s just that … she put into words something that I wouldn’t even let myself think. Silent tears spilled down her cheeks.

‘Nicole, I’m sorry …’ I started to say.

She turned her back on me and walked out of the living room.

Alex, don’t you dare die. What will I do without you? You’re only forty, for God’s sake. No one has a heart attack at forty. What am I going to do?

23 December

Nicole’s sixth birthday.

I wish I was dead.

I stared down at the blue ink on the yellowing page, smudged by my tears all those years ago. Fresh tears splashed down the page. My life hadn’t been so bad. There had been good times, happy times. So why were all the clues tied up in the moments of despair and misery? It didn’t make sense. I closed the book and put it back in its place, then allowed my fingers to skim over the covers of the next few diaries. It was all coming back now. The years of carrying on, though I never knew why. The years spent burying grief, living my life on autopilot. The years of shutting out my daughter until, at eighteen, Nicole had left home, never looking back. Then the slowly building guilt and shame and loneliness.

I looked at the diaries at the end of the line. The ones that covered the previous three years of my life.

The last two years of my life.

These diaries contained the final clues. The pointers that had been there, ready to be acted upon had I but noticed them. I picked up the diary of two years ago.

25 December

I have always dreaded Christmas, but I must admit, I was really looking forward to this one. And I wasn’t disappointed.

It was wonderful.

My first Christmas with my grandchildren. Nicole still hasn’t told me what happened between her and her ex-husband Robert, and of course I can’t ask. It’s not my place to ask Nicole her business. I’m just grateful that she turned to me three months ago. I realized I was her last resort but I didn’t mind about that. I feel I have so much to make up to her, but I haven’t a clue where to begin. I don’t think we’ll ever have the mother–daughter relationship that most of the women I know seem to enjoy, but if we could at least be friends then I’d happily settle for that.

But thank you, God, for my grandchildren – they’re so perfect. I’m totally besotted with them. Why? Maybe it’s because I didn’t carry them. Writing that makes me feel uneasy, but if I can’t be truthful in my own diary, then where can I?

I remember the very first time I saw them. A jolt of happy recognition rippled through me. Julian is a miniature Alex. Even Judith looks like Alex; a small, sleek, feminine version. They both have his cat-like eyes, his lazy, crooked smile. They’re seven-year-old angels. The resemblance to their grandfather really is uncanny. He would have adored them. That thought makes me a bit sad, but I really feel I can’t be too unhappy today, even though I still miss Alex terribly.

This morning was the best. I was in the kitchen when I heard the twins crashing down the stairs. Thinking that Nicole was still in bed, I went into the living room to be with them. They were so enthusiastic and eager they made me laugh. They knelt down in front of the Christmas tree.

‘What is it, Nan? What is it?’ Judith asked. She sniffed at the large box-shaped present I had bought them.

‘Open it and you’ll find out,’ I said.

Nicole came into the room and sat down on the sofa, watching them. I knelt down next to Judith and Julian as they tore off the wrapping paper.

They did everything together.

When the wrapping paper was strewn all over the floor, Julian sat back on his heels.

‘It’s a cage,’ he said, surprised.

‘It’s a hutch,’ I said. ‘And you’ll find what goes in it in a cardboard pet carrier in the cupboard under the sink.’

The twins almost knocked me over in their haste to get to the kitchen. ‘Be careful with it,’ I called after them.

The living room was eerily silent after they had left. The hair on my nape began to prickle. With a frown, I turned. Nicole’s eyes were narrowed slits as she regarded me.

‘Why, Mum?’ she said.

‘Why what?’ I asked.

‘Why do you …?’ Nicole’s voice trailed off.

‘Go on,’ I prompted.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

I don’t know which one of us felt more frustrated. Nicole turned away from me.

‘You’ve got lots of photographs on your windowsill,’ she said. The subject change was too abrupt to be even remotely subtle. I turned to look at the windowsill as well. There was the wedding photo of Alex and me, Alex by himself and two photos of Julian and Judy, hugging each other and pulling faces for the camera. Terribly sentimental, I know, but I
love
looking at my photographs – especially when I’m alone.

‘Look, Mum, look!’ Julian ran into the room. He was closely followed by Judy, who walked with measured, careful steps, a grey rabbit cradled in her arms.

‘Nan, it’s a rabbit,’ Judy said, her eyes sparkling.

‘I know, dear. I bought it for you – remember?’ I teased.

‘What’s his name?’ Julian asked.

‘Her name is up to you and your sister,’ I told him. ‘You choose.’

‘Let’s call her …’

Julian and Judy looked at each other.

‘Cloudy,’ they said in unison.

‘She’s just the colour …’ began Julian.

‘Of a cloudy day,’ finished Judy.

They’re always doing things like that. Sometimes I’d swear they can read each other’s minds.

Nicole had bought each of them a burgundy turtleneck jumper, some puzzle books and one of those pocket computer games, but they spent all day playing with the rabbit. I was a bit uncomfortable about that. I caught Nicole looking at me once or twice, but she didn’t say anything. She looked disapprovingly at the rabbit as the children played with it. I tried to get them to play with the things Nicole had bought them, but she stopped me, saying, ‘Let them play with Cloudy if they want to. They can play with my stuff any time.’

I do hope Nicole didn’t feel too badly. That certainly wasn’t my intention.

Well, that’s Christmas Day over. All in all it hasn’t been too bad.

30 December

Chaos reigned in the house this morning. For some reason, Cloudy bit Julian. I think Julian was more scared than seriously hurt, but he was crying and Judy was crying and their mother was panicking like a good ’un. Nicole kept insisting that she should take Julian to the local hospital for a tetanus injection. Have you ever heard the like? For a little rabbit nip!

‘That rabbit is dangerous!’ she shouted. ‘It ought to be put down.’

I didn’t mean to but I laughed in her face. Anyone would think we were talking about a ten-ton Rottweiler, not a two-pound rabbit. In the end I lent her my car and she drove Julian to the hospital. Judy insisted on being with her brother, of course. I was alone in the house of the first time since Christmas Eve. For the first ten minutes I cherished the peace and quiet, but after that I just wanted them all back. I missed them terribly. They have only been in my life for a few months, but already it feels like they’ve always been here. I just wish that Nicole and I had been closer when she was younger. Then Judy and Julian would’ve been a part of my life from the time they were born. When I think of what I missed, I feel a kind of ache inside. But then I think of all the future years we’ll have together and that’s enough to make me smile with contentment.

31 December

When I went down to breakfast this morning, Nicole and the twins were already in the kitchen. They weren’t exactly whispering, but their voices were very low. They
went
silent the moment they realized I was in the room.

‘Mum … I’ve got some bad news,’ Nicole said slowly.

‘What is it?’ My heart started to beat faster.

Please, God, don’t let them leave, not now I’ve found them.

‘It’s … it’s just that … Cloudy is dead,’ said Nicole. ‘I came downstairs this morning and she was lying on her side in the cage. I don’t know what she died of …’

Relief washed through me, followed by a backwash of guilt. Cloudy’s death didn’t begin to compare with losing my family. I looked Julian and Judy.

‘Are you two all right?’ I asked.

They nodded.

‘But our rabbit is dead,’ sniffed Judy.

‘Never mind. I’ll get you another one. We’ll pick it out next week, as soon as the pet shop is open,’ I said.

‘Promise, Nan?’ Julian said.

‘Promise.’ With a smile, I crossed my heart and hoped to die.

Luckily it seemed that the twins hadn’t grown too attached to Cloudy in the few days they’d had her.

I looked at Nicole. To my surprise, she lowered her gaze and turned away from me. I hadn’t seen that look in a long, long time but I still recognized it. She was hiding something.

‘Where’s Cloudy now?’ I asked.

‘In the garden,’ Nicole said. ‘I thought we should bury her.’

‘Yes please.’

‘Oh let’s.’

The twins hopped up and down with excitement.

‘You two got over your grief quickly.’ I frowned.

‘Well, Cloudy is dead now …’ Judy said very seriously.

‘And we can’t bring her back.’ Julian shook his head.

‘She was dead when we came downstairs for our breakfast. Wasn’t she, Julian?’ Judy asked her brother.

Julian nodded.

I looked at Nicole. She was glaring at her children, her face set. Sometimes Nicole is too hard on them. I must admit, I did think it was a bit gruesome of them to be so eager to see Cloudy buried, but children bounce back so quickly, don’t they? And besides, they’ve probably never seen anything buried before. Poor Cloudy. I wonder what happened to her?

Nicole took me to one side later on in the day and asked me not to buy another rabbit. God forgive me, but sometimes I can’t help thinking that she can’t stand to see her children happy. She’s always watching them. She doesn’t even trust me enough to let me look after them for more than a couple of hours at a time.

I placed the diary, face down, on my lap. I reached for the next one. A big, black leather-bound diary that had been a present from my work colleagues when I’d taken early retirement. This diary would be the most damning of all. All last year’s secrets were contained within its pages – secrets which I had written out but which, paradoxically, I’d been unaware of – until now.

23 December

I just had to give it to them today. Besides, a puppy isn’t like a rabbit. I couldn’t hide it in a box under the sink until Christmas Day. So as soon as Julian and Judy had come downstairs for their breakfast, I told them what I’d bought them.

‘OK, you two,’ I began. ‘You remember what happened to Cloudy last year?’

‘Cloudy?’ Julian frowned.

‘The rabbit I bought you,’ I reminded him.

Their memories sure were short!

Judy and Julian looked at each other before turning back to me and nodding slowly.