The Missing Husband (23 page)

She felt clumsy when she tried to pick him up, frustrated when he declined to be breastfed and a complete failure when he refused to settle in her arms. He cried and cried, then cried some more and the air of confidence Jo tried to assume each time she stepped into the hospital was stripped away within moments of her son being placed in her arms. Liz had been equally unimpressed with Jo’s aptitude as a new mother and at one point it looked as if she was going to move into the hospital since Jo was still refusing to stay with him. Jo appeased her to some extent by spending more time with her son than she felt entirely comfortable with, but it was Steph who finally persuaded Liz to return home so she didn’t miss out on the pre-Christmas rush at the shop. But before she left, Liz reassured her daughter that she could be back within two hours if needs be. It felt more like a threat than a promise.

Unlike Liz, the midwives had reassured Jo that it wasn’t all second nature or maternal instinct, that every baby was different and that every new mum had to learn along the way. But when Jo handed her screaming son over to the nearest nurse and watched them soothe him within moments, she felt her fragile confidence being eroded further.

Jo felt the shadow of a midwife looming over her now. ‘He’s doing so well, isn’t he? That jaundice has cleared up nicely and he’s feeding much better. As long as he continues to put on weight then I’d say he’ll be home in a couple of days. We wouldn’t want him spending his very first Christmas in hospital and I’m sure Mum wouldn’t want that either.’

Jo looked up, and with the last of her depleted strength, returned the midwife’s beaming smile as if the news was exactly what she had been waiting for rather than dreading. The smile didn’t reach her eyes, which were stinging with tears.

‘He’s ready but are you?’ Heather whispered in Jo’s ear. ‘Do you want me to try for a while?’

The moment she was unburdened, Jo fought the urge to turn tail and run, not stopping until she had left the hospital, got in the car and sped over to Nelson’s head office. That was the only place where the old Jo still existed, someone who was assertive, quick-witted, self-assured and confident. But these were attributes that were beyond her reach for now, not least because when she had last phoned Gary offering to come in for a few hours between hospital visits to help with the ongoing Employment Tribunal case, he had told her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t allowed to set foot on the premises unless it was a social call. With three months’ exclusion ahead of her, Jo had no choice but to face what she suspected was going to be the biggest challenge of her life: convincing her son that she was worthy of his love.

‘Was Max like this?’ she asked her friend. ‘I don’t remember him crying this much.’

Heather put the baby up against her shoulder and as she rocked him from side to side his cries began to subside. ‘You weren’t there at three o’clock in the morning,’ she said. ‘I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you it won’t be tough, especially on your own. It’s bad enough for me as a single parent with a six-year-old, God knows how I would have coped with a newborn on my own.’ For a moment the rocking motion stopped as Heather realized this wasn’t the best way to prepare her friend for the challenges ahead. She gave her an encouraging smile but Jo’s expression remained fixed, her eyes unblinking and her face ashen.

‘There will be times when you’ll think you’re not coping but you will. You’ll get through it,’ she promised softly. ‘If I’ve learnt one thing from being a single mum it’s that you need to be organized and plan ahead. It’ll be a military operation every time you have to go out and then, of course, you won’t be able to leave the house once it’s past baby’s bedtime, no nipping out for a pint of milk or a takeaway because you’re too tired to cook. But if anyone’s organized, it’s you.’ Heather stopped to kiss the top of the baby’s head which was covered in a blue woollen bonnet. He was starting to drift off to sleep but continued to open his milky blue eyes and whimper as he fought against it. ‘And I promise you there will be moments when he’s fast asleep in your arms and you’ll just breathe him in. It may not sound like much but it’ll make all the hard work worth it.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do. You’re going to be a wonderful mum. I don’t doubt it for a second.’

Jo wanted to tell Heather that she was trying to convince the wrong person. Baby Taylor was the one judging her and so far judging her badly.

19

Jo let the emptiness wrap around her. There had been a point earlier in the day when she was convinced there wasn’t enough oxygen in the house to support all the people who had squeezed into it. She had felt the walls closing in around her and her body had tensed as her unwelcome guests flapped and fussed around her. She wanted to release the scream building up inside her, wanted to tell everyone to get the hell out of her house. And yet her face didn’t give even the slightest suggestion of her inner turmoil; the gentle curve of the smile on her face lifted her eyes and the mask she had assumed was becoming such a permanent feature that it felt almost natural.

There was no mask now as Jo stood in the middle of the living room and let the empty spaces stretch the house back to its proper proportions. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind howling through the trees outside, which made the calm that had settled in the house all the more reassuring. Alone at last, she thought to herself, as she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The house was a mess but she didn’t mind: here was a problem she could solve and she immediately set about putting everything back in order.

From the kitchen she grabbed a bin bag and then went through each room gathering discarded wrapping paper and abandoned scraps of food. There were even a couple of empty beer cans amongst the debris of what had somehow become a party, even though none of the visitors had been invited. She had returned from the hospital with only her mum and dad and then the whole world had descended on her.

School had broken up so Steph and Lauren had nowhere else to be on a cold and wet Friday afternoon; Irene couldn’t keep away and had brought along not only Sally and Steve but Luke too. When Heather heard what was happening, she rushed over to give Jo some moral support and of course she had no choice but to bring Max with her. Next the midwife arrived, and to top it all, Mary Jenkins had turned up to reassure Jo that even though David had yet to react to the birth of his son which had now made national news, they would be following up any leads from the public; leads that so far hadn’t materialized – much like her husband.

Jo couldn’t help wondering why on earth her house invaders didn’t have better things to do two days before Christmas and she dropped enough hints to that effect. When that didn’t work, she began to feign tiredness and eventually it was her midwife who made a firm suggestion that Jo should be given some space. Even her mum and dad were persuaded to start on the long journey home, although they were the last to leave.

But it was only when the mess had been cleared and every surface wiped down or polished that Jo was ready to slump down on to the sofa where she intended to stay for as long as she possibly could, which was all of five minutes.

The noise that disturbed Jo’s longed-for peace began as tiny gasps for air, followed by the gentle whisper of cotton as the tiny form on the other side of the room began to struggle against its covers. Jo held her breath and waited for the noise to settle but next came a pitiful mewl that made her skin crawl. Panic rose like a wave and the next gasp came from Jo as she struggled to draw air into her lungs while her chest tightened.

‘Shush,’ she said, her words a gentle hiss that were meant to replicate the sounds she had heard others use to appease her son but the noise she made had a hint of desperation that was unique to Jo. ‘Please, shush.’

Rather than stand up, Jo pushed further back against the sofa, extending the distance between herself and the bassinet, dipping her body lower so she couldn’t even see over its sides. The whimpering continued and became progressively louder and more urgent. Jo put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes tightly. When that didn’t work, she jumped up but rather than run to her son, she rushed out of the room.

When she reached the dining room, Jo closed the door behind her. The baby’s cries were muffled as she began to pace the floor. The midwives at the hospital had warned her it might feel a little overwhelming once she brought him home. There were no specialist nurses on hand at the touch of a button to take over his care or reassure Jo that they were both doing fine. It was up to her now to keep her son warm and safe and satiated. Feeding, changing, soothing; that’s all there was to it, she told herself. It was hardly rocket science. The Jo Taylor of old would have thrived on such a challenge, but that old inner calm had deserted her and the person cowering in the kitchen from a nine-day-old baby was someone Jo didn’t recognize.

Gripping the kitchen counter, Jo was determined to calm herself before the sense of panic overwhelmed her. She needed to believe she still had some control over her life. Feeding off her determination, she emptied her mind and took deep, cleansing breaths. To her surprise, her pulse began to slow as she eased the tension from her body. After a couple of minutes, she slowly stood up straight and held out one of her hands in front of her; the tremble was barely noticeable.

The baby’s cries were heart-rending but Jo tried not to let them unsettle her as she returned to the living room. She set down the feeding bottle she had just warmed up before picking up the writhing bundle of cotton and flesh. With one hand under her son’s head, the other supporting his padded bottom, Jo scrutinized the product of the love she had once shared with her husband. Her son’s face was scrunched up and wrinkly and his eyes squeezed tightly shut with the effort of expelling each lungful of air in long, piercing screeches. How could one little baby be so beautiful and yet so terrifying, she asked herself as she lifted him on to her shoulder and began to rock him.

‘This isn’t exactly how I imagined it would be,’ she said when it seemed as if he had quietened enough to hear her voice. ‘I thought your dad would be here and that we would meld naturally into the perfect family. But he isn’t and I still don’t understand why, not really. It wasn’t as if David didn’t want to be a dad, he did! He was just too scared, I suppose, and I frightened him off and now you’re left with me which I know you’re not happy about.’

As the delicate bundle in her arms began to relax, so did Jo. ‘And here’s the thing, Baby Taylor – whose mum isn’t even capable of picking a name for you – after destroying my marriage so I could become a mother, it turns out that I’m not mother material after all. I’m a fraud.’ She had to clear her throat before adding, ‘But I brought you into this mess and it’s my job to make the best of it. I know I haven’t done very well so far and that it’s my fault you were born too early – I should have taken better care of both of us – but I promise I won’t let you down again. All I ask is that you cut me some slack and who knows? Maybe one day you’ll forgive me and I’ll be able to forgive myself.’

Jo lifted the baby off her shoulder so they were face to face. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, ‘I’m your mum.’

The baby began squirm as if he objected to the idea. Jo rose above the slight and made herself comfortable in the armchair before attempting to plug the source of more whimpering with a feeding bottle. His face contorted as he stubbornly refused the teat she was attempting to thrust into his mouth. She was still supposed to make some feeble attempt at breastfeeding but she knew from experience he would reject that too and there were some battles she was happy to concede. Persevering with the bottle, Jo waited until the first cry escaped and when the baby’s mouth opened wide, she inserted the teat with perfect precision. For a moment it looked as if he would suckle but then he broke free. What her son didn’t know was that Jo could be stubborn too. She was prepared to repeat the process for as long as it took. Ten minutes later only a single ounce of milk had been drained from the bottle, most of which was dribbling down the side of the baby’s cheek leaving a damp puddle on Jo’s T-shirt, but rather than giving in to the panic that threatened to consume her again, Jo had stiffened in firm resolve. She would not be defeated by her son.

Before continuing with round two, Jo set about changing him. Baby supplies had been heaped behind one of the armchairs and Jo concentrated her mind on thinking up new storage options rather than looking at the baby’s face which was bright red, the heat of his anger burning through her confidence.

She tried putting him back on her shoulder but his body was so rigid that he felt more like a plastic doll than flesh and blood. ‘I know you have a right to hate me, but I’m doing the best I can. Please, sweetheart,’ she said through gritted teeth that made the term of endearment sound anything but.

Jo wasn’t sure how it happened, but when the baby was sleeping contentedly in his bassinet again, she felt a huge sense of relief and not a little pride. She hadn’t given into her emotions and she had also fought off an anxiety attack. But it had been a hard-fought battle and one that had left her utterly exhausted. She hoped it would get easier, because she didn’t know how long she could keep fighting him – or how long she could wait before giving up on the idea that she could ever love him as a real mother should …

Forced cheer blared from the radio as Jo set about cleaning her already pristine kitchen. As she mopped the floor she fell into the kind of robotic trance that had seen her through the first twenty-four hours at home with her new charge. She and her son seemed to have reached an understanding. If Jo could feed and change him and otherwise see to his needs without holding or pawing him too much, the baby would give her a temporary reprieve from motherly duties.

During one such break, Jo was so intent on adding another layer of sparkle to the house that the first knock at the door didn’t register in her consciousness. When it became more persistent, her heart began to hammer out an echo. She had tortured herself often enough with visions of David appearing on her doorstep and what better time than on Christmas Eve? It was their favourite time of year and they had always stayed in together, sharing little pre-Christmas presents and watching cheesy films. In her imaginings, she would fling open the door ready to beat her fist against his chest while he would prepare to explain himself, but they would do neither. They would lock eyes without saying a word until the tears obscured her vision and then, terrified that he was disappearing again, Jo would wrap her arms and, for that matter, her legs around him and hold on as if her life depended on it.