Читать книгу The Fallout - Rebecca Thornton - Страница 16

The next morning, I meet Gav in the hospital café. I’d slept on a guest bed next to Jack, whilst he’d gone home to get some rest. I’d barely shut my eyes, listening out all night for any change in the rhythm of Jack’s breath.

‘Ready?’ I hand Gav a black coffee. Two espresso shots, just as he likes it. He nods and takes the cup without a thank you. We get the lift up to floor three, Paediatrics. I shield my eyes from the other patients in wheelchairs and trolleys. I can’t stand any more heartache right now. Selfish, I know.

We stand close to each other as we walk towards Jack’s hospital bed. My little boy is there, his head on the pillow, stilled by a foam neck brace. I’d only been away from him for about ten minutes whilst I went to meet Gav but I’m already overcome with the feelings I’d been battling all night – fear, guilt, sorrow, relief that he’s alive. There’s a flickering halogen bulb to the side of him, the blue concertinaed curtains drawn so that I can only see half his sleepy face. It all feels a bit eerie now the lights have been switched on, especially when I see the cannula tape, puckered over his small arm. There’s a plastic jug of squash next to him, still full with a bunch of limp-looking straws next to it.

‘You OK?’ Gav takes my arm and pulls me forward. For some reason this small act of kindness makes me want to cry all over again, until he seems to physically push me forward with the palm of his hand on my back. He wasn’t being kind after all – he was just steering me into the right direction, I think. My feelings can’t keep up with his actions and my throat constricts. It seems that neither of us knows how to behave in light of this trauma. ‘Just …’ I manage.

‘Come on. Let’s not let him see us upset when he’s fully awake.’ Gav grabs two plastic chairs and places them next to Jack. There’s an awkward moment, when neither of us knows who should sit first, but I go ahead and lean over to my son.

‘Jack? My little one? It’s OK. Mummy and Daddy are here.’ His eyes look all droopy and a small tear rolls its way down his cheek. I feel the heat of his breath on my hand. A lone, thick eyelash has made its way onto his cheek. ‘We love you so much. We’re so proud of you.’ I lick my finger and press it over the eyelash. ‘I’m doing it for you. The wish. OK?’ I shut my eyes and blow as hard as I can. Please, please make him better.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I didn’t mean to be a bad boy.’

‘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.

I’d felt suspicious then, but maybe I had just been jealous? Maybe I had thought badly of Ella all this time and actually the problem was with me and the association of when I had last seen her – when everything started to fall apart.

‘Ella,’ I say to Gav. ‘Oh my God. It’s Ella. Remember her? NCT?’

In fact, I know he does. No one could forget her.

‘I do,’ he replies. ‘I totally do. She went AWOL, yeah?’

‘Yes. No one knew why. But well, I bumped into her yesterday. Just before … Anyway. Her kid is at school with Jack but not in the same class. And neither me nor Sarah have ever laid eyes on her at the school gates. Guess she’s back and nicer than we thought.’

‘Oh. I’m surprised you didn’t mention it. I know Sarah was obsessed with her. Anyway – it appears that yes, she is back,’ says Gav. He looks over at Jack and nods his head. ‘And two days’ maternity nurse? Wow. I think she might just be our fairy godmother. It will be good to have an extra set of eyes on everything.’

I guess, despite everything that’s happened in the last two days, despite the fact my son is lying in a hospital bed next to me, despite me wanting to shake Gav to come to his senses, we’ve agreed on one thing, at last.

West London Gazette editorial notes, October 2019

J Roper interview transcript: Faye Hollis, witness, The Vale Club

Are you sure this is anonymous? I mean, my job could be on the line. I’ve been with my family for three years now: two little girls. I’m a live-out. But I still know them back to front because I babysit twice a week and I’ve been on holiday with them. They employed me fresh out of Norland College for Nannies. They expect full loyalty – so, they must never, ever find out I’ve been speaking to you. It’s this code of conduct thing. They know we all gossip about them behind their backs. For us it’s work, you see?

‘Oh, you must hate us,’ they say. ‘And talk about how awful we are to all your other nanny friends. I hope you don’t think our children are too bratty.’ But they don’t mean it. Really, they’re just looking for reassurance that we haven’t been discussing their children – or their parenting habits. But of course, we have.

So I was there. When it happened. I didn’t see the actual fall. For me it was just a normal day. Pretty intense because it’s half-term but a group of us had met that morning. It was the same as it normally is, just on hyper-mode; all the parents competing all the time. Perfect little children, perfectly dressed up. And if one of their children starts to have a meltdown, they speak extra loudly – just so everyone knows they’re disciplining their child. ‘Maximilian, do we do that at home? No we don’t.’ (And let me tell you, Maximilian definitely does do that at home.) Or they just give in to save face – ‘Here, Maximilian of course you can have ten chocolate bars,’ whilst hissing at him on the sly that he’s going to have his favourite toy taken away later on.

But anyway – it was all a bit busy. We were going about our business, when we heard this terrible scream. Everyone froze for a minute. Then I saw this one woman – she had brown hair and was in leggings – rush outside. I thought she looked like she was going to faint. It must have been her son because when we looked outside she was sobbing over him. She was at the table where you can see outside into the playground, so I suppose she must have been watching but, you know – if it had been one of us nannies in charge, it would have been a totally different ballgame. For a start, we would never have been sitting there, we would have been outside. It’s an unspoken rule at the club, that that table is reserved only for mums and dads.

Because, you know – there’s a list of rules us nannies have to stick to. No phone during working hours. Engaging with the kids at all times. Always be next to them. Healthy food. Consistency with discipline. All the things we’d do anyway. But – it’s like, we’re held to a totally different set of standards to the parents.

I spend all day with my two charges – seven a.m. to seven p.m., doing exactly what their mum and dad ask me to do – and I work hard to do it. But then the parents get back from work and undo everything I’ve achieved that day. They sit there on their phones as soon as they get back from their jobs. Slumped on the sofa and then they wonder why their kids are jumping all over them, demanding their attention. And then – the cheek of it, I’ve spent hours preparing freshly pressed juices, fresh salmon and the likes – the parents let them eat what they like. ‘Yes of course you can have a bowl of Coco Pops.’

I tell Mum and Dad, ‘They’ve already had a very healthy dinner,’ and you were the ones that implemented that bloody rule anyway, I want to shout, but they look at me and then they look directly at their child, and say, ‘It’s OK. Mummy said you could.’ It drives all of us nannies wild.

I’m not saying anything shady went on, just that – well – if it had been us nannies on patrol, then I doubt this would ever have happened. And if it did? You’d find us on the front page of the paper, wouldn’t you? I said as much to my boss and she didn’t seem very happy with me. Mumbled something about mums being exhausted all the time and ‘mental load’ – whatever that is. Does she not think I’m exhausted, taking care of her kids?

As I said – it’s one set of rules for them, and one set of rules for us.

But please, I’ll lose my job if anyone finds out I’ve been talking. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m too awful. It’s just that this is exactly the way it is. And our rule would have been very clear. We would have been outside, all that time. Rain or shine. We would have been watching that poor little boy, and so really – he never would have fallen in the first place.