My Husband's Wife(112)

‘I couldn’t cope,’ she’d protested.

‘Have some sympathy, Carla. He’s my son and I want him with us.’

Where had the old Ed gone? Yet he was softness itself when it came to calming Poppy, whose lungs now worked full time, day and night.

‘Get some rest,’ Ed would say in a way that suggested it pleased him that Poppy responded to him and not her.

But Carla couldn’t sleep. Instead she tossed and turned and thought about what might have happened if she and Mamma had never had the misfortune to live next to Lily and Ed.

It sometimes takes time to bond with a baby. That was another sentence from one of those baby books which lined the shelves from when Tom had been born. But every time Carla picked up this tiny scrap to latch it on to her breast (the only thing that would soothe her), she felt a terrible, overwhelming sense of panic.

Her initial terror that this child would die had now been replaced by another worry. In the panic of premature labour, she had forgotten temporarily that last note with the spidery writing.

YOU AND YOUR CHILD WILL PAY.



When she had got home from the hospital, Carla found, to her relief, that it was still in her handbag, suggesting that no one else had found it.

‘It will be our secret,’ Carla told the child as it tore into her nipples, making them bleed. ‘You must say nothing.’

As for the letter writer, she was convinced that the spiky writing belonged to a woman. Someone who was on Lily’s side. One of her friends who wanted to get revenge on Lily’s behalf. Her old secretary, perhaps, who had pretended to be kind when her waters had broken. She must trust no one.

‘I am worried about you,’ Ed kept saying. ‘You’re not eating properly. Poppy won’t have enough milk.’

That could be another way for them to die, then. They could both perish from malnutrition. Then they could join Mamma in heaven.

‘She keeps dreaming about a letter,’ she overheard Ed tell the health visitor who’d been called out to check up on her. She always listened outside the door when they thought she’d gone back to bed.

‘Giving birth is a traumatic event, you know,’ came the crisp reply. ‘She’s entitled to a few nightmares.’

Nightmares? They had no idea of the turmoil churning round and round in her head. Another plan was needed. But what? There was no way out. Just an endless blackness ahead that swallowed her up, threatening to suffocate her. A woman in the paper the other day had suffocated her baby. She’d got ten years. It would have been more if she hadn’t had postnatal depression. But Carla didn’t have that. Ed said it was a myth. Lily had been fine when she had had Tom. When you had a baby you just had to accept that life had changed and get on with it.

This meant doing things his way.

‘I’ve cooked us a chicken.’ Ed took her by the elbow and steered her towards the table. ‘It will do you good. Come on, Carla. You know this is your favourite.’

Eat? How could she eat?

He poured another glass of wine.

‘Haven’t you had enough?’ she snapped.

‘What are you going to do about it then? Hit me again, like you did in front of Tom that time?’

‘I didn’t hit you.’ Carla wished he’d stop going on about it. She’d only reached out to stop him from opening another bottle, at the same time as he’d turned towards her. God knows one of them needed to be sane while they looked after Lily’s son.

‘I’m going to have another bloody drink, if only to celebrate my birthday. That’s right. You’d forgotten, hadn’t you?’

No wonder he was cross. But Poppy took up all her time. She couldn’t remember everything!

She went to the sink, pulling on her washing-up gloves, shaking with fear and rage. (‘Always look after your hands,’ Mamma used to say.)

‘Don’t wash up those pans before we’ve eaten. I’ve told you. I’ll do it myself later.’

She ran the hot water, furiously squirting washing-up liquid into the bowl.

Her heart fell at the sound of the doorbell. The man next door again? He had already complained about the rows.

‘You.’

Surely Ed wouldn’t speak that rudely to their neighbour?

‘Rupert!’ Carla felt her face flushing as she turned round to face him.

‘Forgive me for just calling in, but I found myself in the area.’

He held out a beautifully wrapped present: silver paper with curly ribbons.

Carla began to sweat with fear and excitement and terror and hope: all mixed up in an impossible way.

‘May I look at her? It’s a little girl, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Ed crisply. ‘But actually we’re about to eat so –’

‘She’s just here,’ cut in Carla.

Holy mother of God. Her husband was staring at Rupert’s red hair. Surely he wouldn’t be thinking …

Rupert’s face softened. ‘Isn’t she lovely? I hadn’t realized how small they are. Is –’

‘I said we’re about to eat.’

How rude of Ed! Flustered, Carla tried to peel off her washing-up gloves but they wouldn’t come.

‘Would you like to stay too?’ The invitation tumbled out of her mouth. Please, she wanted to say. Please. I need you. When you’ve gone, Ed will say something. There’ll be another row …