Joanne Sefton - The Mother’s Lies

The feeling of the blade on her thigh was delicious for an instant, and even after that first golden moment, when the loathing began to pour back in, the sense of satisfaction remained. Now she was steady, now she was in control once more. The blood ran into the shower tray, her anxiety seeping away with it.

She cleaned up quickly, feeling the silvering of old scars under her fingertips as she pressed and wiped the wound.

Later, in bed, Neil’s fingers found the neat row of steri-strips.

‘Oh, love,’ he sighed.

‘I’m okay. I won’t need to do it again.’

He’d always had a vampire’s sense for her blood, and a haemophobe’s aversion to it. He drew his hand away abruptly and nestled it in her hair, stroking and soothing – although she was the one who had to do the reassuring. She’d known she would struggle with the baby in the house. These days, she didn’t cut often, and she was disappointed in herself that it had come to this, but she’d done what she needed to do. Neil thought the world was about gardens and beauty and patience rewarded. Barbara liked that about him, but in her heart she believed it came down to much less than that – just people doing what they needed to do.

A few hours later they made love, when they’d both been asleep and could pretend more or less to be sleeping still. It was the first time in many weeks, and, in the morning, when the memory of their silent and familiar coupling came back to Barbara, it made her smile. She recalled bittersweet moments from their past, and the fact that Neil was perhaps not so much of a haemophobe as he liked to have her believe.

Helen

The next morning, Darren took Barney to meet his other grandparents. They would all be going over for dinner, but Helen’s day had been going since four a.m., not counting the two a.m. feed. His suggestion that she try to grab a nap had been welcome, but sleep didn’t come easily – partly because Barney wasn’t nearby. And it wasn’t helping that dawn had been hours ago. Again, she felt the endless daylight was stalking her.

Eventually, Barbara stuck her head around the door. ‘Shall I bring you up a cuppa?’

‘No. Hopefully I’ll get to sleep. Thanks, anyway.’

Ten minutes later she was still lying there. It was bright outside and the closed curtains cast a jaundiced glow about the room without achieving any semblance of darkness. She heard the kettle go on, and the steps on the staircase shortly after.

Barbara edged round the door with a mug in each hand, peering at Helen to check if her eyes were open before speaking.

‘I thought I’d make two, just in case you were still awake.’

‘Thanks.’ Helen gave up and pushed herself up against the headboard. She was slightly unnerved by her mother’s thoughtfulness. Barbara was efficient, witty and even generous, but in Helen’s experience, her admirable qualities didn’t usually extend to anything resembling tenderness. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any headache pills?’

Barbara quickly fetched a pack from her own bedroom, and a glass of water.

‘Are you coping, Helen? I hope you’d tell me.’

Helen went to shake her head but stopped because it hurt.

‘It’s okay – tiring. Everyone struggles a bit, though – it’s normal.’

‘Of course it’s normal,’ Barbara said, even though Helen had not meant it as a question. ‘God knows I’ve never been one for newborns—’

‘Haven’t you?’ asked Helen. She couldn’t remember seeing her mother fuss over a baby, but then she couldn’t remember there being many babies around. And Barbara wasn’t a fusser over anything.

‘Better when they grow up a bit … By mid-thirties it’s much easier!’

Barbara’s laughter sounded forced, as though she felt this should be an intimate moment and was working desperately to make it happen. Helen laughed along, but a little cautiously.

‘You know, Helen, I’ll admit I found it difficult to feel close to you when you were younger. Your dad found it much easier, and then you two were so natural together … Anyway, I want you to know I’m not judging you.’ Now Barbara gave a sharp laugh. ‘I’m the last person to judge anyone.’

There was a lump in Helen’s throat. It was as much to do with her mother’s rarely spoken of pride in her, with a vague sense of Barbara’s own missed opportunities, as with the fact Helen was knackered, but most of all it was grief for the shared understanding she should have had with this woman, her mother, that they’d somehow missed out on along the way.

Helen wanted to reassure her mother that she did care about her, that she’d always cared about her, even though Barbara had made it as hard as she could. The thoughts and words buzzed in Helen’s head but she couldn’t marshal them; she couldn’t trust herself. She’d always felt somehow that her birth had spoiled things for her mother. That was the conclusion she’d drawn from the never-spoken-about gaps in Barbara’s past. And that was why, she reasoned, Barbara could never feel about Helen the way Helen felt about Barney.

Helen

Barbara had still been on her laptop when Neil was ready to leave for the hospital. He’d put her bag in the boot, checked the admissions letter twice and was now shuffling by the front door.

‘I’m just tying up loose ends. You don’t want me taking it with me, do you?’ Barbara called down to them.

‘What’s she doing on it these days, anyway – I thought she’d pretty much retired?’ Helen asked her father.

He shrugged. ‘Open data. Citizen journalism. Crowd science. None of it makes a jot of sense to me, but she’s always got something going on. Keeps her sharp, she says, and I suppose it seems to work.’

They heard the computer power down and then Barbara emerged on the stairs. She and Neil went out to the car. Helen took the children to wave at the window. Neil’s face was strained and she regretted not taking the chance to ask him how he was whilst Barbara was busy. Still, it underlined Barbara’s point about the notes: he wasn’t a man who needed anything extra to worry about.

Pat from next door rushed over to the car with a card in her hand and both Neil and Barbara looked to be trying hard to seem pleased to see her, without managing to succeed.

Normally, Helen only insisted the kids come to the window to wave when the grandparents had been staying with them and were leaving to drive home. Barney was clearly bored by waiting for them to actually get into the car and couldn’t get back to CBeebies quickly enough. Alys, though, was confused.

‘Granddad Neil and Nana Barbara go to our house?’ she asked, as the car finally pulled away.

‘No, Nana is going to hospital for a few days. Granddad will be back later.’

‘And Nana.’

‘No, just Granddad.’

‘Granddad can come to our house.’ She was nodding firmly, as if that decided it.

‘No, we need to stay here a bit longer. We need to wait for Nana to come home.’

‘Daddy come here.’

God , thought Helen, please don’t start this now. ‘No …’ she began patiently, getting ready to explain once again.

‘Not no!’ Alys shouted. ‘Daddy come now!’

She was pointing out of the window. Helen hadn’t even registered the car that had pulled into the cul-de-sac a few moments after Neil’s Nissan had turned out of it. It was a silver Astra, badged up by a hire company.

Fuck . Alys was right. He was three days early.

Darren jumped out of the driver’s seat and bounded onto the drive, before catching sight of them in the window and veering across the lawn, waving at Alys.

Frantically, Helen strained to see if there was anyone else in the car, but he seemed to be alone. Alys’s voice rose to a clamour and by this time Barney had left the television and was hauling himself up to stand on the sofa and see what was going on.