The Missing Husband (21 page)

Taking a couple of deep breaths to settle her nerves, Jo returned her attention to the stage. Within moments, Lauren was back in the fray but Jo couldn’t be distracted this time. Rather than her neck, Jo began to rub her chest, which felt tight. Her breathing was becoming shallow, more so when she realized how clammy she felt. Her hands were damp with sweat and the tide of panic she had been trying to ignore since the lights went down swelled deep within her. She had an all-consuming urge to run and checked the row of seats on both sides of her to plan her escape. Steph and her mum were to her left with at least another ten people beyond them. To her right there was Gerry and a marginally shorter route to the central aisle.

There was a chorus of boos from the audience as Lauren delivered another cutting remark. She was really building up her part, but rather than revelling in her niece’s success, Jo couldn’t wait for her to storm off stage again. If Lauren didn’t leave soon she would be distracted by her aunt stumbling out of the hall. Jo didn’t want to do that, but the growing pressure against her chest was making it almost impossible to breathe.

Jo grabbed her handbag and tensed her already taut muscles as she prepared to stand up.

‘You will not go the ball!’ Lauren yelled. ‘Now get to work polishing every pot and pan in this kitchen. I want to be able to see my beautiful face in the bottom of them all by the time I return.’

Jo stood up without warning and had the perfect view of Lauren’s back as her niece raced off stage. Jo moved just as quickly. ‘I need to get some fresh air,’ she said to Gerry. ‘Make them stay here.’

There were mutterings and a few notes of concern as Jo shuffled down the row, trying to keep her balance with the extra weight she didn’t think she’d ever get used to carrying. She kept her head down as she rushed down the aisle, only to face interminable sets of double doors before she was out. She came to a stumbling stop in the middle of the forecourt, gasping for air. Through the ghostly clouds of her own breath, Jo’s eyes darted from one exit door to another, expecting someone to rush out of the school at any moment. She wasn’t sure if she was more terrified of that ‘someone’ appearing or not appearing so she ran from her fears and hurried towards the side of the school building to huddle in a corner. Pain bloomed in her chest and stars danced across her vision. Each breath became a battle and at first she was convinced that this latest attack might be her last. She was surprised how much she wanted to survive. She still needed answers and, even though she was loath to admit it, she still needed David. She couldn’t stop loving him no matter how much she wanted to hate him. He had been her anchor, the calm that would help her survive any storm. If he was out there now, she needed him more than ever.

Although Jo hadn’t suffered full-blown anxiety attacks since her teens, she had come close. Those early days of travelling with David had certainly brought her to the brink, starting with their honeymoon. She had been frantically trying to pack and had a bikini clamped in one hand, a pair of flip-flops in the other when her chest began to tighten. She had stood in front of her suitcase, completely frozen by fear when David came up behind her. He had known instinctively what to do.

‘Hey, it’s all right,’ he said, placing the palms of his hands on her diaphragm, ‘there’s nothing to panic about. I’m here. I’m going to keep you safe, I promise. Now take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Breathe with me, Jo.’

It may have only been the heat from her own body as she dealt with this latest assault but she felt now as if the warmth was coming from David’s arms. Jo closed her eyes and imagined him rocking her gently until her breathing slowed and she was able to face the world alone …

‘Are you all right?’

Jo peeled her eyes open slowly as if clinging on to the hope that little bit longer that it had been David speaking, but she had already recognized the man’s voice.

‘Hi, Gerry,’ she said, deftly avoiding the question.

‘I should warn you that Steph and your mum won’t be too far behind unless you think you can make it back inside with me.’

Shuddering at the thought, Jo said, ‘I don’t think I can. It’s so hot in there and I’m feeling a bit queasy. Delayed morning sickness, probably.’

‘Oh, OK,’ Gerry said. He looked unsure about what to do next, but it didn’t look as if leaving was an option he was considering.

Taking a deep, juddering breath, Jo straightened up, rubbed her back, and put on her best smile. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you go back in and calm the others down. Tell them mother and baby are doing fine but that I’d rather stay out here. I’ll sit in the car and wait for you all.’

Gerry seemed reassured and when Jo promised to phone if she felt worse he handed over the keys and returned to the school hall to catch his daughter’s show-stopping finale.

Sitting in the back of Gerry’s four-wheel drive, Jo’s body ached in much the same way as it did after an intensive workout or a long run. Her legs trembled and her lungs burned, but it was her heart that hurt the most. She was too tense to cry; that would come later when she had used up the last of her willpower to convince her family that she was well enough to be dropped off back at home and left without supervision.

17

When Jo awoke, her bedclothes were sodden. She couldn’t recall the dream that had chased her through the night so concentrated instead on releasing the tension from her body as she raised herself into consciousness. Every muscle still ached from her anxiety attack the night before.

As she tried to summon the energy to get up, the radio came on and headlining the news was the dwindling shopping days left until Christmas. Jo would normally have all the presents wrapped up with neat edges and elaborate bows by now but she had given little thought to the festive season other than accepting she could afford only token gestures this year rather than the extravagant gifts she and David had enjoyed giving. Jo wondered if she should at least start writing out some Christmas cards at the weekend but the thought of that blank space where David’s name should be appended to hers made her body twist in pain. She groaned and reminded herself that she wouldn’t even be able to afford cards if she didn’t get to work.

Jo’s aches and pains intensified as she hauled herself up into a sitting position and spent a moment rubbing her stomach until the discomfort ebbed away. Fifteen minutes later, when she stepped out of the shower, her body was hit by yet another aftershock from the previous night’s trauma. She ignored her ghostly reflection in the steamed-up mirror and leant against the washbasin, waiting for the dull pain running across her abdomen to ease.

Too exhausted to dress, Jo wrapped a bathrobe around her tremulous body and went downstairs to make a drink. The coffee was strong and its warmth soothed her but the house was colder than she was used to. In a cost-cutting exercise she had not only lowered the thermostat but switched off radiators in unused rooms. After years of rebelling against her mother’s frugality, Jo was being forced to follow her example. This new surge of hopelessness was accompanied by another wave of pain and the cup trembled in her hand. She looked at the clock on the microwave and then forced herself to pick up the phone.

‘Do you think it’s too early for me to be in labour?’ she asked, already feeling silly and hoping her sister would talk some sense into her.

‘Why? What’s happened? Are you having contractions?’

In the background, Jo could hear a clamour of familiar voices rise up in response to Steph’s questions. Her mother’s was loudest, adding more questions to the ones Steph had just posed. As Jo began to explain about the pains that had been slicing across her abdomen at regular intervals, snatches of her dream came back to her. She had been caught up in a gigantic spider’s web. Strands of spun silk had tightened around her, pulling her into its lair. ‘I think I might have been having pains during the night too. Do you think it’ll be all right for me to go to work?’

‘No, Jo, you most certainly cannot go to work, not until you’ve been checked out,’ Steph said. She was doing her best to remain calm despite the commotion erupting around her. A moment later the phone was pulled from her grasp.

‘I’m on my way over,’ Liz said. ‘Pack a bag and be ready to leave in ten minutes.’

A wave of panic washed over Jo but this wasn’t like the paralysing fear of the unknown she had suffered the day before. She had a pretty good idea of what was happening and what she needed to do. She cut off the call only to dial another number and this time Gary answered.

‘Don’t worry, Jo, you’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Keep me informed when you can but otherwise don’t give work a second thought.’

Jo sounded almost petulant when she asked, ‘But what if I have to start my maternity leave now? I was about to start preparing for the O’Dowd case next week.’ She wanted to go to work. She didn’t want to give up the one part of her life that still functioned relatively normally; she didn’t want things to change.

‘I can manage an Employment Tribunal and Kelly will help,’ he insisted. ‘Your most important job now is to make sure that you and the baby are safe and well. I hope everything goes OK. I’ll be thinking of you.’

After Jo had finished the call she stood still for a moment and let Gary’s concern for her unborn child bleed into her consciousness. The baby was early; seven weeks early and she didn’t have a clue how serious that could be. She had been wishing it away often enough in the last two months and now she could be losing it. Was this her punishment for wicked thoughts? Fear crawled down her spine and wrapped itself in a tight knot, bringing forth the now familiar pulling sensation around her abdomen.

Baby Taylor arrived in the world two days later with little more than a whimper. It was Liz who cried like the proverbial baby.

‘Is everything all right?’ Jo asked faintly, as a group of nurses and the doctor crowded around the small, limp body that had been delivered moments earlier.

‘They’re just going to give him a little help with his breathing,’ the midwife said as she gave Jo’s hand a comforting squeeze.

‘Him? It’s a boy?’ Liz gulped.

‘Will he be all right?’ Jo asked again. During the long, slow labour, Jo’s conviction that her child was being punished for his mother’s sins had grown in strength, much like her contractions. She didn’t know how to react to this latest development, but her heart was in her throat as she watched the team work on her baby.

The minutes ticked by and Jo held her breath, releasing it all in one dizzying rush as she heard a squawk and then a cry from a pair of tiny lungs.

The doctor brought the baby over and rested him on his mother’s chest for a brief moment. ‘We’re going to have to give him some extra help for a while. He’s weighing in at three pounds fourteen ounces which might sound small but it’s good for his dates and he looks like a fighter to me.’

Jo placed a trembling lip on her son’s tiny head. She couldn’t believe she was holding the baby she had always longed for. He was finally here and she felt such a rush of love that she wanted to burst into tears, but the baby let out the briefest cry as he fought against his mother’s embrace. He was obviously aware of her failings and Jo felt the full force of his rejection. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

‘Have you decided on a name yet?’ Irene asked, her voice rising softly over the gentle hum of machinery that kept the tiny miracles in the special care unit safe and warm.

Jo wasn’t looking at her mother-in-law. She couldn’t take her eyes from the impossibly small baby lying in his incubator. There was a web of threadlike veins visible beneath his bright red, downy skin. He was fast asleep but flinched occasionally as if he sensed his mother’s gaze upon him. Jo, still stunned by the fact that she had just given birth, felt that naming her child without David was beyond her. All she had to help in her deliberations was a snatch of a conversation two years earlier.

‘How about Matilda for a girl or Archibald for a boy?’ David had suggested back then.

‘Archibald?’ Jo asked, and shook her head. ‘It sounds way too pompous, although I do like the sound of Archie.’

‘OK, if you want something more average, how about Barry? Or Tracy for a girl?’

They were on holiday in Vietnam and had wandered off from a guided tour of a Hindu sanctuary to ramble through its scattering of ancient ruins alone. It wasn’t how Jo had envisaged celebrating her thirtieth year but now they were disconnected from the realities of life back home and being immersed in the past, she thought it might be a good time to tempt David to look at the future from a safe distance. It wasn’t working. ‘There’s no point talking to you about babies until you’re mature enough to take it seriously,’ she said before hitting her husband with the palm leaf she had been using to fan herself. She had intended the strike to be playful but it had been impossible to hold back all her frustrations.

She was ready to stomp off back to the tour guide but David grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. He slipped his arms around her waist and waited for her to stop wrestling and look at him. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I do want kids one day, honestly, Jo. But I want to get it right and that means waiting for the right time.’

‘Steve and Sally had problems long before Luke came along. We’re nothing like them,’ she said, responding to the argument he was alluding to.

‘I know and I thank God for it.’

‘So?’

David relaxed his grip on her but didn’t answer.

‘This has something to do with your dad as well, doesn’t it?’

David’s dad had only been fifty-eight when he had suffered a massive stroke, severely affecting him mentally as well as physically. The larger-than-life and seemingly indestructible fireman had vanished in the blink of an eye and the dying man Irene and her sons cared for through his final months was all but a stranger to them. Alan had been frustrated and humiliated by his incapacity, devastated at the prospect of having his life cut short and angry with the world in general. Jo suspected that David had been affected more by his dad’s final months than by his actual death, but the pain was still too raw for him to talk about openly.