‘It’s chaos in here,’ Olly shouts, and I stiffen, bracing myself for the onslaught. Olly used to love me. He caught me when I fell. Now, my many weaknesses are abhorrent to him.
This is how it goes: peace for a while. Then a flare-up, followed by heartfelt apologies. One big cycle. Only the cycle is getting tighter.
I keep telling myself he’ll change when the baby comes. Only a few weeks now. Or it might come early. They say stress does that.
Sometimes, I think about leaving Olly, but I know I’m not strong enough to have a baby alone. My mother has drummed it into me since my own birth. How weak I am.
So I’m trapped.
We’re in Olly’s apartment and it is a mess. It’s hard to tidy because I never know where Olly wants anything and he keeps buying new things – vinyl records, an electric toothbrush, a Velcro strap for his leg, snowboarding DVDs.
It’s worse than usual, the stuff. And for my part, I’m struggling to throw anything of my own away.
The terror I feel at being pregnant has made me verge on hoarding. What if we need those magazines when the baby comes? What if we need those leaflets about double-glazing?
Even things that are clearly rubbish, like the many takeaway pizza boxes littering the flat, give me a sort of hysterical feeling. If I tidy those, what else will I need to organise? The kitchen? The bedroom? My life?
Right now, I’m standing at the island sink, paralysed, not knowing where to start, how to begin to tackle this mess.
‘I’m trying,’ I tell Olly, my heart beginning to race.
‘You’re at home all day,’ says Olly. ‘Doing nothing.’
But I’m not doing nothing. I’m thinking obsessively, worrying about when this baby comes. The anxiety is crippling. So much so, I can barely get out of bed some days. Doesn’t he understand how his behaviour affects me?
‘I’ve tried to get a job in a hospital,’ I say. ‘But it’s hard now I’m pregnant. And since I didn’t finish my training …’
Olly limps into the kitchen area. ‘Meaning?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I know it’s tough,’ says Olly. ‘Time for both of us to grow up, right? You’re a wife now.’
We’re married now, did I mention?
Olly took me to a 1960s diner in Soho, then kneeled in front of my half-eaten Caesar salad and offered me a turquoise diamond ring.
I said yes.
Of course I did.
How could I say no in front of a restaurant of people?
And anyway, Olly is the father of my child. Who else is going to support me when this baby comes? I’m not qualified for anything.
Yes, Olly shouts and rages. And sometimes other things happen. Things I just want to shut away and pretend never happened. Things that cannot be acknowledged, for my own sanity.
After I accepted Olly’s proposal, I threw up in the toilet.
Hormones, probably.
The wedding ceremony took place the next day, after a short interview at the registry office.
A thunderbolt wedding, Olly called it.
Exciting. Romantic. Just like us.
Except I’ve never liked thunder and lightning.
None of my friends were there, since the only friends I have are ex-boyfriends and Olly is jealous. My father died when I was sixteen, so I had nobody to walk me down the aisle. But my mother came.
Mum turned up in a cream dress and matching pillar-box hat, smiling like a velociraptor.
‘But I’m a terrible stay-at-home wife,’ I say.
‘You just need practice,’ says Olly. ‘Try harder at being organised.’
‘Olly, I’m so down right now,’ I say, gesturing to the messy kitchen. ‘This baby wasn’t planned. I get anxious. You shouting at me doesn’t help.’
‘You’re going to be a mother,’ Olly says. ‘You have to work all this out, Lizzie. This self-obsession. Someone else is going to come first soon.’
‘I’m self-obsessed?’ I laugh, and it sounds like knives. ‘I moved into your house. I gave up my nursing course. I’m having our baby—’
‘Oh, don’t give me that. You didn’t give up your nursing course for me. You were failing exams left, right and centre. You were happy to give it up.’
‘Nursing gave me a sense of … a sense of something. That I’m more than just a shadow. I feel that way sometimes, Olly. Invisible. Like I’m nothing in my own right. That I’m only real as part of someone else.’
‘You’re not a shadow.’
‘Yes. I am. My mother’s little shadow, that’s what she used to call me.’ Tears well up. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to cope with this baby.’
‘Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.’ Olly grabs my arms. ‘Do you hear me?’
‘But I’m scared. I feel trapped.’
Olly looks at me then, his eyes clicking back and forth. ‘Just admit it.’
‘Admit what?’
‘Tell the truth. Admit you don’t want this baby. That this is a mistake.’
‘I love you. I just …’
‘Just what?’
‘It’s not how I would have planned things, that’s all.’
‘You don’t plan anything. That’s the trouble.’
‘And your life is so much better?’ I say. ‘With all your planning and your ambition and your Olympic dream? Life happened and where did planning get you?’
It’s a low blow and I know it. But I’m fed up with Olly criticising who I am. Picking away, forcing me to admit all my failings over and over again.
‘Shut up!’ Olly’s fingers tighten. ‘Do you hear me? Just shut up! What do you know about anything? You made me worse. If it weren’t for you, I’d be able to walk normally. You did everything wrong. You’ve ruined my life.’
I stumble sideways, adopting my usual duck and cower position. But there is no onslaught.
When I look up, I see Olly limping in circles around the living area.
I grip the marble counter, shaking.
Olly will get better. He’ll calm down when the baby comes.
If he doesn’t … oh God, that doesn’t even bear thinking about. A single mother with no money or support. I couldn’t bear it. I’ve always been so certain I’d give my children a better upbringing than the one I had. Stability. Happiness.
Olly will change. He has to change and this has to work out.
What else can I hope for?