Be Careful What You Hear (4 page)

‘Sounds
intriguing.’

She placed it
back on the “Fast Backs” shelf. ‘I might come and pick it up
another day.’

‘I’m sorry for
running off on you like that,’ I said, as Sophie turned back to
face me. ‘I guess I’m feeling a bit defensive, and upset, about
what happened last night.’

‘You mean,
you’re worried that…’

We paused
briefly as a couple of mothers passed by, including Archie’s mum,
who I nodded a goodbye to.

Sophie lowered
her voice. ‘You think you might have imagined it?’

We moved
outside to a quiet spot just around the corner. Grace appeared
content in her pram, playing with her favourite toy of the moment –
a small mouse that squeaked when you squeezed it. I stroked her
hair gently. ‘I guess I am a bit, yes.’

Sophie mulled
that over. ‘Did you mention anything to James? About what you
heard.’

‘No, of course
not. Why, you think I should?’

‘Probably not.
I mean, it’s up to you, of course. But I don’t think it’s a good
idea at this stage.’

‘At this
stage?’

‘Before you’ve
had chance to rationalise things.’

‘So you do
think I’m imagining things?’

‘No, I didn’t
say that. I just don’t want you, or James, to get hurt, over
something for which there’s probably an innocent explanation.’

‘Which is?’

‘You said it
yourself – you were as good as asleep when you thought you heard
what you heard. It was most likely part of a dream, mixed up with
what you could really hear over the baby monitor. Things like that
have happened to me before – you know, the radio comes on in the
morning while I’m still asleep, or just waking, and I dream of
something that they’re talking about. Hasn’t that ever happened to
you?’

‘Yes, it
has.’

‘If you
approach James, he might be okay about it, but you know how upset
he was when you weren’t well. He might worry that you
are
slipping back into something bad – the paranoia, the lack of
trust.’

I nodded.
Sophie was making sense. What good would it do to talk to James
about it, if I had already made up my mind that there was really
nothing to worry about?

‘And for the
record, I
don’t
think you are slipping back, Georgina.’ She
placed a comforting hand on my arm.

‘Thank you,’ I
smiled. ‘So what do you suggest I do?’

‘Try to forget
about last night. And try and get some rest. I know it’s hard, with
the little princess there to tend to, but if you’re falling asleep
downstairs on the sofa like that so early in the evening, then you
really need more sleep.’

I laughed. ‘I
wish.’

‘Don’t become
like Michael,’ she warned. ‘If you don’t respect the need for
sleep, then you’re asking for big trouble – your body might just
decide to do something that you don’t really want it to.’

‘He’s still got
the insomnia?’

‘Oh yes. He’s
hardly slept for weeks. Mostly he sits downstairs, watching night
time television. Goodness knows what he watches when I’m
asleep.’

‘And he still
won’t see the doctor about it?’

‘No. As I’ve
said before, he doesn’t do doctors. It was bad enough before, but
after the, you know…’

I’d never heard
Sophie say the word miscarriage.

‘…well, that’s
it for him and the medical profession I think.’

‘I hope he
changes his mind,’ I said. ‘Surely he can’t go on like this for
much longer.’ I had fears that one day Sophie would call, saying
that Michael had fallen asleep at the wheel and killed himself – he
had to do a large amount of driving in his role for
Aspire
,
including visiting their other main office in Leeds.

‘I hope he gets
help too,’ she replied. ‘But I feel like I’ve done all I can. It
really needs to come from him. He has to
want
to be helped,
and I’m just not convinced he does.’

5

The rest of
the day flew by – a trip to the supermarket, various household
tasks, feeding Grace, and dealing with the results at the other
end. Sometimes I wondered what I did with my life before Grace came
along. How did I fill my time? But it was easy to forget that
before our daughter was born, I had been working full time. And
long hours at that. The one problem about working with your spouse
is that it can be easy to spend too much time at work. It was usual
for both James and I to only return home after eight. Once we had
eaten and washed up it was frequently pushing nine thirty – leaving
about half an hour, an hour tops, to grab some time to relax,
before retiring to bed.

Grace’s
appearance changed all that, and gave me a new perspective on life.
I used to wonder how I would cope when I wasn’t working full time
in my chosen profession of dentistry. Now, I often wondered how I
would cope on returning – in the first four months, I put this down
to my anxious state of mind, and my rock bottom sense of
self-worth. But in the past two months, in the good times, work
seemed even less appealing. Things had never felt so right, and I
wanted it to be like this forever.

I hadn’t
mentioned these thoughts to James.

‘Hey, George.’
James curled an arm around my waist and kissed me hello as he
entered the kitchen. ‘Is Grace asleep?’

‘Half an hour
ago,’ I replied, glancing up at the wall clock and clicking off the
oven. It had just gone eight. The lasagne had been on a low light
for half an hour.

He pulled an
apologetic face. ‘Sorry, I wanted to be earlier.’

‘It’s okay, she
was good going down.’ I’d noticed that since my recovery, James had
started to return home that little bit later than in the dark
times. I wasn’t angry that he had missed Grace’s bath and bedtime.
James was normalising his routine, which was a good thing, as it
meant that things were getting back to normal. For a time, he would
be coming back around half past five, having cut his clinic short.
It had just made me feel even guiltier.

He pulled out
some plates and slid them under the grill for warming. ‘Yes, but I
promised myself that I’d always try to be there for it.’

‘You are most
days.’

‘It’s a
slippery slope though. I don’t want this to become the new
routine.’

‘It won’t,’ I
said, returning the kiss. I gestured towards the dining table,
which was already laid. ‘You sit down. I can handle this.’

He held up
hands in mock surrender, took a seat and sighed.

It got my
attention. ‘Tough day? Sorry, I didn’t ask.’

‘Not
particularly; I’m just tired.’

I spooned out
the lasagne onto the now-warm plates and added the vegetables from
the steamer. ‘Maybe you should get an early night.’

‘Maybe
we
should get an early night,’ James smiled.

‘Maybe,’ I
smiled. I’d missed that mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Our love
life had recently picked up, although it still wasn’t back to how
it had been. I wasn’t sure whether that was more about having a
young child, rather than any after effects of my mental health
problems, and the resulting strain in our relationship.

‘Let’s do
that,’ he replied. ‘How about we open a bottle?’

I thought for a
second. ‘Why not?’ I wasn’t breastfeeding, so it was okay to drink
– I’d had problems with breastfeeding from day one, seemingly
unable to produce milk properly, and I had developed extremely
painful mastitis in the second week. One of my theories was that it
was this inability to feed my child that had sparked the postnatal
depression. I had so desperately wanted to do it, and was
devastated the first time Grace drank formula milk. I knew it
wasn’t my fault, but I felt like I’d let her down terribly, and was
ashamed and upset. I cried and cried. And then, my tears for not
being able to breastfeed became tears for not being a good mother,
then tears for not being a good wife, or a good person.

James grabbed a
bottle of our favourite white, from
Three Choirs Vineyards
in Gloucestershire.

‘To the
future!’ James said.

‘The
future!’

Just as we
clinked glasses, I remembered what Max, our neighbour, had told me
this morning. I considered leaving it until later, not wanting to
spoil the mood, but I didn’t want to risk forgetting again. ‘Max
came around this morning.’

James wanted to
speak, but had just forked in a slice of lasagne. ‘You look like
you’re about to tell me something bad,’ he said finally.

‘Not bad, just
a bit strange. He wasn’t even sure himself.’

‘Of what?’

‘He thought he
might have seen someone in our back garden last night.’

James was
horrified. ‘What?
Someone
was in
our
back garden. Why
didn’t you tell me sooner?’

I was caught
off guard by the strength of his reaction, and felt the need to
defend my actions. ‘He wasn’t one hundred percent sure.’

‘But he said he
thought he saw somebody?’

‘Yes.’

James pushed
away from his chair and strode across the kitchen towards the patio
doors. He swept the blinds across, and cupped his face against the
glass, but the back was in pitch darkness. ‘Did he say what they
looked like?’

‘No, he could
only see shadows,’ I said, moving up to him. ‘As I said, he didn’t
seem that convinced.’

James looked me
straight in the eye. ‘Convinced enough to come around and tell us
first thing this morning.’

‘But he didn’t
call the police,’ I countered. ‘If he’d have been that sure…’

‘Maybe,’ he
conceded. He cupped his hands again, trying to see, but the glass
was already steaming up from his breath. He gave up looking, and
instead just stood there for a moment, thinking.

‘Do you want to
call the police?’ I asked.

He bit down on
his lip, thinking some more. ‘No, it would be a waste of time.
First thing tomorrow, I’ll check the back to see if anything is
missing.’

‘I already
checked,’ I said. ‘The shed is still padlocked. I couldn’t see
anything out of place.’

That seemed to
settle him. ‘Then maybe Max did just imagine it. But I’ll still
take a look myself in the morning. Come on, that lovely meal is
getting cold.’

***

James still
seemed unsettled during the rest of the meal, and the atmosphere,
although friendly, was definitely not romantic. We made polite
conversation, about our respective days, but I could see that he
was brooding on the thought that there had been an intruder in our
back garden.

‘Maybe we
should get a security light,’ he said finally, as he gulped down
the last wine in his glass.

‘Maybe. But
what about the cats? And foxes? We decided it would be more trouble
than it was worth – with the light going off all the time.’

He nodded.
Coincidentally we’d talked about it just a month ago. The
suggestion had been James’, and had come out of nowhere. But he’d
quickly been convinced that the number of domestic and wild animals
that frequented our garden, meant that a motion sensor light would
be forever being triggered. ‘But things have changed,’ he said
eventually. ‘That was before we suspected someone has been prowling
around outside.’

‘You don’t
think it’s a bit over the top? That it might just make us more
anxious, every time the light comes on?’

James shrugged.
‘Maybe. But it’s only like the baby monitor we have for Grace –
it’s just something extra to give a little bit of reassurance.’

The mention of
the baby monitor brought back the events of the previous evening.
For a split second I thought of mentioning it to James, but Sophie
was right – it would serve no purpose except to worry him. It also
would potentially jeopardise our healing relationship. So, I just
said: ‘If you think it would help, maybe we should look into it
again. Maybe they do systems that only activate when larger things
are detected.’

‘How about
CCTV?’

I didn’t like
the sound of CCTV – one of my all-time favourite books was George
Orwell’s
1984
, and it just felt too much like that. That’s
why I had rejected the idea of a video monitor for Grace. ‘Let’s
sleep on it.’

***

I prepared
Grace’s last milk of the day, and went upstairs to feed her. James
said he was staying downstairs for a few minutes, but would be up
soon. I didn’t ask him what he was planning to do, and why he’d
obviously decided against the idea of an early night. Maybe he just
needed time alone to brood over the prowler issue.

I stood over
the cot, gazing down at Grace, who was fast asleep. My love for her
was like that of the majority of mothers – total. It had always
been that way, even in the depths of my despair. The one
consolation that I could take from all that had happened, was that
I never let go of her – the emotional bond between Grace and myself
remained unbroken. Yes, I had needed help, in particular from James
and Sophie, and I had sometimes not been what I considered to be
the best mother. There had also been times when I’d been too
protective of our relationship, such as when I believed James and
the locum dentist were planning to run off with her. But I had been
there for her. And I knew that if we had survived that, then we
could survive anything.

I gathered her
up in my arms, careful not to wake her, and cradled her against my
bosom. She was getting heavier week by week, but was still a
relatively fragile bundle of joy. I moved across to the area of her
room that we had set up as a feeding station – a comfy chair, side
table and a nappy changing platform. She fed from the bottle,
guzzling down the milk hungrily.

This was my
time with Grace. James did take his turn with feeding, but for the
most part I liked to do it, and he obliged – correctly sensing that
my desire to feed Grace was related to my inability to
breastfeed.