Rebecca Thornton - The Fallout

‘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.’

We both laugh again. I remember how we’d both spent hours working out how to use the damn thing when we’d first brought Jack home. I see Gav shaking his head, as though ridding himself of the darker memories that followed. I wonder when it got so bad between us. We’d managed, in spite of everything. But then he’d snapped after Thea was born, around the time she reached the three-week mark. All those memories of what happened with Jack had surfaced again. I tell myself to focus on the now. I go through the things I’d been taught when Jack was tiny. Focus on things you can see, touch, smell and hear. I watch the rise and fall of my son’s small chest, thankful that Gav’s earlier rage has dissipated. This morning, I had been braced for his harsh remarks and his sharp temper but, so far, he’s managed to contain it and I’ve managed to keep the mood buoyant. Somehow . It’s exhausting, but my focus now is on keeping things calm for Jack. My son is here. He’s alive .

When both bottles are half-full of milk, I hear my phone vibrate.

‘Shit.’ I shuffle my hip towards Gav. ‘Sorry about this. Can you just …’

He reaches over and slides out the phone from my pocket. I notice how careful he is not to touch me – whether he can’t bear to, or he doesn’t want to give me the wrong impression, I don’t know.

‘God, this old thing. Never could work your bloody keypad.’ He presses in my code – Jack and Thea’s birthdays – and I watch his eyes flicker over the screen.

‘Well, there are about a million messages from school parents from about two hours ago. And there’s one here from …’ he squints and brings the handset close up to his eyes. ‘Unknown number?’

‘Weird. What’s it say?’ This feels so like how we used to be. Comfortable and free. My heart aches again. ‘Go on, read it then.’ I almost drop the bottles of milk as I lean over, willing him to hurry.

‘Wow. This is something else.’

‘What?’ I wonder what on earth he’s talking about.

‘But there’s no name. It’s just a random number.’

‘Read it out then. Come on.’

‘It says: Dear Liza. I’m so sorry about Jack. I’ve paid for a maternity nurse to come and watch Thea for the next two days and nights, whilst you get adjusted. She’s called Mary. We had her after both Felix and Wolf were born and she’s a saint. I had some problems after Wolf and she still managed beautifully. Here’s her number. She’ll start today. Please text her your address .’

For a minute, I have absolutely no idea who has texted. Who would be so generous and do something so extraordinarily kind? But then the names Felix and Wolf ring a bell. Felix. Wolf. I had heard that only yesterday. Who could forget the name Wolf? And bam , out of nowhere, I know. It’s her.

No explanation of how she’d found out what happened, nothing to indicate how she’d got my number. It’s so like her, I think, from what I know of her. How she was at NCT: so confident in her choices. I think of those grey eyes. The way they’d scanned the drinks menu in the café. Her long limbs, supple and loose. The strong line of her nose and pale skin. And then I think about when I’d seen her after Jack had been born, in the street – she’d been kind to me then, offered a hand of friendship as I’d stood in the street, shivering, unaware of who I was – but I’d just pushed it to the back of my mind. I think about Sarah – how her body had gone rigid the minute she saw Ella Bradby in the corner of the room yesterday. The slackness of her mouth. And then afterwards, when they had both walked over together into the soft-play, after checking on Jack. The way Sarah’s eyes had darted around the room. Look at me. Look at who I’m with . And then, the conspiratorial apologetic look she had given me, which I had studiously chosen to ignore.