Who We Were Before (20 page)

59

ZOE, JUNE 2013

A
fter a morning of endless rain and desperate attempts to keep Milo entertained so I can get some work done, the sun has finally broken through the clouds. Everything outside is sodden, so I decide to take Milo to the playgroup at the church hall. The way he’s literally bouncing off the walls reminds me of a caged animal, and his restless energy is doing my head in.

‘Come on, Milo. Let’s get your wellies on.’

Milo comes running, then plonks down on the floor as I wrestle on a boot. Whoever made these things so impossible to put on needs a good stint in purgatory. By the time I’ve managed to get on both wellies and his jacket, I’m sweating. I throw on my old mac and jam my feet into trainers, then grab my keys and open the door.

‘Wait for Mummy!’ I call as he races towards the front gate. The hall isn’t far, but the narrow village road twists and turns, with no pavement to speak of. Milo gives me that cheeky grin, but he stops and waits, then holds out his chubby little fingers for me to take them.

I smile as I grip his hand and open the front gate, my mind full of my big news as we head down the grassy track at the side of the road. It’s still hard to believe that this time next year, we’ll have another tiny baby, and Milo will have a brother or sister. I gaze down at him, wondering how he’ll adjust. Some jealousy, I’m sure, since he’s pretty much had the run of the place – and us – since he was born. I slide my free hand down to my stomach, thinking he’ll be a great big brother once the dust settles.

‘Squirrel!’ Milo pulls at my hand as he points to the brown animal streaking across the road. ‘Catch it, catch it!’

Caught off balance by the sudden tugging, I try not to topple
over. ‘Milo, stop!’ I say, tilting like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. A wave of nausea sweeps over me and I swallow hard. ‘Milo, come on now—’

His fingers slip from my grip and he steps onto the road in hot pursuit of the squirrel. I reach out to scoop him up, but my fingers slide off the plastic of his raincoat and I can’t get a grip. ‘Milo!’ I yell as I step out, too, my voice high-pitched and strained. ‘Milo, come back here!’

From the corner of my eye, I see a grey car flying around the bend in the road. Before I can do anything, the car is just feet away, like a monster bearing down. I scream out Milo’s name once more, but it’s too late. He’s cartwheeling through the air, landing silently on
the soaking grass. I can’t move for a second, frozen in shock and absolute horror. Then I race to his side, terrified he won’t be breathing.

‘Milo?’ I grab his fingers, relief swamping me when I feel them twitch.
My baby’s alive. Oh, thank god.
Blood is seeping from behind his head and there are deep gouges in his lips from where he must have bit them. One leg lies at a funny angle, divested of its welly, but other than that . . . well, I can’t see anything.

‘Don’t move, Milo,’ I say, not sure if he can hear me. His eyes are closed, the dark lashes looking even darker against the paleness of his cheeks. ‘You’ve had an accident, but Mummy is here.’ A sob tears at my throat but I force it down again. I can’t let him see how upset I am. I need to be strong for him.

‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Is he all right? I’ve called 999.’ A woman’s voice comes from behind me. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see him. Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

Her voice drones on as we wait for the ambulance, fading into the background. Rain starts to fall in heavy drops from the sky, and I take off my coat to make a makeshift tent for Milo. I can’t feel the cold; I can’t feel the damp. All I can focus on is my son and the rise and fall of his chest, praying it keeps moving.

Praying he stays alive.

60

EDWARD, SUNDAY, 10.30 A.M.

I
pace up and down the concourse, waiting for Fiona’s train. Of course it’s delayed – I’d be surprised if it wasn’t – and I can’t help thinking of Zoe in the hotel room. At least I hope she’s in the hotel room. I’ve tried ringing there several times and there’s no answer, but I suppose she could be sleeping. After the ordeal she’s been through, she deserves a good rest. How strange that the last time I was at this station, I was dreading being alone in the room with her. Now, I can’t wait to get back and make sure she’s all right. I don’t know where we’ll go from there, but I just need to see her. To exchange words, without the bitterness or resentment that’s clouded the past few years.

First things first, though, I have to talk to Fiona. I’ll grab her a coffee and try my best to explain how I messed things up. Fingers crossed she’ll understand.

I wince as the pain in my head starts up again, even stronger now as the painkillers wear off.
Only two more minutes,
I think as I glance up at the arrivals board, and then her train will be here. I lean against a post and close my eyes for a second, then scan the stream of passengers swarming off the train.

There she is.
Her blonde head bobs up, and I start towards her.

‘Hello! You finally made it.’ I smile in what I hope is a friends-only way, and she reels me in for a kiss on the cheek.

‘Christ, what happened to you?’ she asks when she pulls away. I give her full credit for not wrinkling her nose at my alcoholic aftershave.

I shake my head, taking her case. ‘I know. Don’t ask.’

‘Well, don’t worry, I’m here now. I’ll sort you out.’ She throws me a flirtatious grin, and my heart sinks.

‘Let’s go grab some coffee,’ I say, then I lead her through the
crowd and over to the nearest café. I buy us two cups and a croissant,
then grab the last empty table.

As we settle into our chairs, Fiona reaches out to touch the wound on my head, then pulls me in for a hug. ‘So what
did
happen?’ she asks, moving back. ‘Are you okay?’

I close my eyes for a second, the events of the past day running through my head. Where to start? I sigh and force my lids open, and that’s when I see her.

‘Zoe!’ The word burst from me, and Fiona turns to follow my
stare.

‘Zoe? Did you see Zoe?’ she asks, brow furrowed. There’s nothing there but a sea of faces.

I shake my head, unsure for a second if I really did see her or if that knock on the head is causing hallucinations. But no, I’m certain it was her, although what she’s doing at the station is a mystery. I spin frantically in all directions, trying to catch sight of her again, but the sea of travellers has swallowed her up.

Shit.
I gulp air, trying to keep a grip on the emotions prickling my insides. If she saw me and Fiona together, what the hell must she be thinking right now? I can only imagine.

‘I’ve got to get back to the hotel,’ I say to Fiona, my voice tight with urgency, ‘and see if that’s where she’s gone.’ If I wanted to see Zoe before, now every bit of me is vibrating with desperation. I can’t let her think I’m having an affair – although I came close to it, I know now that’s not what I want. And I don’t want her to think I didn’t give a fuck about her being missing, and invited another woman out here to take her place. No one could take her place, even if things have changed, even if things can never be the same again. No one can, and right now, I don’t even want to try.

Fiona’s staring up at me, her face creased in confusion. ‘What is Zoe doing here?’

I sigh and put a hand on her arm. Christ, what a mess. What an absolute
arse
I am. ‘It’s a long story. Look, I’m really sorry. I’ll fill you in on everything, I promise. But right now, I need to find Zoe.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Her voice is tight, and I can tell by the tense set of her shoulders she’s not exactly happy with this turn of events. Not that I can blame her.

‘No!’ The word comes out a bit too forcefully, and I clear my throat. ‘I mean, no, thanks. Look, Fiona . . .’

She puts a hand on my arm. ‘It’s all right, Edward. Well, sort of.’ She stands, then grabs the handle of her case. ‘I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed. This weekend could have been a lot of fun.
We
could be a lot of fun. I always have a good time when I’m with you. But if that’s not what you’re looking for . . .’ She shrugs. ‘You’re a great bloke, but it’s obvious you and your wife still have some issues to sort out. I don’t fancy getting caught in the middle of all that.’

Relief courses through me, and I let out my breath. ‘Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to get you a ticket for the next train back?’

She lifts an eyebrow. ‘After everything I’ve gone through to get here? I’m not going to turn around and head home now! Nope, I’m going to see Paris.’ She waves a hand in the air. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll hop on one of those naff city tour buses and I’ll be fine.’

I nod, then kiss her quickly on the cheek. ‘All right. I’m sorry, Fiona.’ I am, too. She’s a wonderful woman, but I realise now she’s not what I’ve been looking for.

‘It’s okay, Edward,’ she responds, swinging the case around in front of her as if she’s ready to take off. ‘Now, go.’ She gives me a gentle shove. ‘Go find your wife.’

61

ZOE, SUNDAY, 10.45 A.M.

I
follow the tide of people down an endless escalator and through a smelly corridor, and then I bump up against a ticket barrier. This must be the metro; I’m in such a daze I didn’t even see the signs. A man crashes into my back as I stop, and I step aside, watching person after person feed their ticket into the slot and the doors slide open and shut, open and shut.

‘Madame?’ I blink as a woman with kind eyes and a huge camera looped around her neck holds a ticket out towards me. ‘I’m finished with this ticket and it has some extra journeys on it. Would you like it?’ I struggle to make out the words with her heavy German accent, but I nod my thanks, take the ticket and slide it into the slot. The doors open with a clang and I push through them, trailing along another corridor until I come to a packed platform.

I stand in a trance as the trains whoosh by, feeling the grimy air smack my face just like those countless times in the days after Milo’s death – like I still do, actually. But nothing, no matter how long I stand here and wish for an alternate reality, will change what happened.

There was a moment in the ambulance, right after the paramedics gently gathered up my boy and secured him to a rigid board, when it looked like he would pull through. One broken leg, the paramedics said, and a knock on the head, but all his vital signs seemed stable.

A lucky escape, I imagined Edward and I saying later, when Milo was tucked up home safely in bed, leg encased in plaster. I pictured one hand cradling my stomach and the baby nestling inside, the other entwined with my son’s fingers. A reminder of how much we have, of how much we need to cherish. A reminder that we can’t control life, but we can embrace all that we do have.

And then Milo crashed. By the time he got to the hospital, his heart had stopped beating. A massive internal bleed, the consultant said, after they’d tried and tried to resuscitate him. I stood beside my son, holding his hand, unable to let go . . . even when they said they needed to transfer him to the morgue. My phone rang and rang, and I knew I should answer, that Edward needed to know, but I couldn’t. I was frozen, locked together with my son, unable to break the grip because I knew that once I did, he really would be gone.

The hot wind and clatter of another train passing by brings me back to where I am, and I shake my head.
Embrace all that we have.

All I have right now is . . . nothing.

62

ZOE, SEPTEMBER 2013

I
t’s almost three months since Milo’s accident. Three months, and yet it feels like it was yesterday and also years ago. The only thing keeping me tethered to time, to the passing of minutes and days, is the baby inside me – the baby Edward still doesn’t know about.

I know it’s crazy that I haven’t told him. I know I need to. It would give him hope, it would lift him up, even though he seems to be doing okay. He’s functioning, and that’s more than you can say about me. He gets up in the morning, he puts on his clothes . . . he even went back to work last week. I stay in bed for hours until hunger and the need to pee get the better of me. I wolf down whatever casserole or endless dish of lasagne is still piled up in the freezer, then crawl back into bed and sink into sleep. Sleep is my saviour right now, blotting out the world and everything in it. Everything except the life growing inside of me, cushioned inside my limp body.

This baby is my secret, the only part of me that’s truly alive. I suppose that’s why I want to keep her to myself – because for some reason, I know it’s a girl. Once I tell Edward, the baby is out in the world, part of the fabric of our family. I can’t bear that the fabric of our family no longer includes Milo. I don’t want to give Edward another reason to move us on, either, away from the memory of the one we lost. He seems determined enough to do that already.

I wince at the thought of Milo’s empty room, of my husband’s blank face as he packed our son’s belongings – moving back and forth, back and forth, robotically filling each box as if the objects meant nothing. I try to imagine placing those boxes on a shelf, then resuming daily life, daily
routine
, as if nothing has happened . . . like my husband has. God, just yesterday he asked what we needed at the supermarket. How the hell do I know? How the hell can I
care
? I can barely remember to breathe, let alone focus on loo-roll supplies.

A sharp pain goes through me and I roll onto my side in the bed, letting out a groan. The house is thankfully silent – Edward’s at work, and my parents have given themselves the morning off from watching over me for once. I draw my knees up as the pain continues, gripping my abdomen and twisting it like someone wringing out a washcloth.

Ah, shit, that hurts!

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pad down the hallway to the toilet for some paracetamol, and that’s when I feel it: wetness between my legs, liquid trickling down the inside of my thigh. In a panic, I tear down my knickers, catching my breath at the blood staining the lining. I sink down on the toilet, feeling the
drip
drip
drip
of more blood leaving my womb, as my baby drains away and the very last piece of life inside of me dies.