You were perfect; unblemished. Innocent of ill thought, with a light that radiated from you like sunlight. You brought meaning to everything, and, with you in it, my world had become a warmer place. Until I went and ruined it all.
The house was silent, and for a while it was just you and me, alone, without the distractions and noise of the others to unsettle our peace. You were special, and from the first time I held you I knew we had a connection that could never be put into plain words or easily broken. Everyone said I was spoiling you, that I should stop with all the little presents – spend my money on myself instead – but they didn’t understand that all I ever wanted to do was make you happy. And to protect you. That evening I sat in the lounge for an age, staring beyond the muted movements of the television screen, willing you to wake for a while, so I could fill my eyes with your love, feel the reassuring thump of your heartbeat against mine.
‘Try not to wake her,’ James had said as they headed off for their party earlier that evening, dressed up in their black-tie best, looking quite the glamorous pair. ‘Just pop your head in every now and then – but don’t pick her up straight away if she wakes! She’ll drop off again if you leave her for a few minutes.’ At the front door I saw her button up her neat fawn coat and whisper something to him – and he’d rushed back in with a tub of chocolates, sliding them across the coffee table towards me. ‘Babysitter’s perks!’ he’d said, and, checking his reflection in the mantle mirror one last time, he’d dashed from the room and out into the night.
At some point it felt as though hours had passed, but I’d started to feel strange by then, and it was hard to know if my sense of time was out, as so often happens. The clock said it was gone one in the morning, but that couldn’t be right, could it? Surely I hadn’t been sitting here alone for that long? I was certain I had heard you cry out, and, although I remembered your dad’s words and knew I mustn’t go to you yet, I couldn’t help myself and I rushed up to fetch you down. You were so pleased to see me, waving your soft arms and grabbing at the air, and I scooped you up and brought you into the kitchen, strapping you into your high chair so you could watch me make up your warm milk. I dropped a couple of bread sticks on to your tray and you babbled and waved them in the air, and I felt light-headed with the joy of you. I was hungry too, and as your milk warmed in the bowl I made myself a sandwich, carving the last of the turkey breast from the Christmas joint, and laying it out in a slow, careful pattern on a slice of the crumbly organic loaf that James always insisted on. I often wondered if he’d be so popular with the women if they knew what a fusspot he really was – and in an instant I lost my appetite and I tossed the sandwich at the dog bowl, where it flopped open and spilled messily over the polished floor. The kitchen lights overhead felt suddenly too brash and I flinched, swallowing my anger as I snatched up your bottle and slopped milk across the counter. I was so cross, I reached over to the light switch, flicking them off so I didn’t need to squint any more, and as I did so my arm swept across the worktop, sending the breadboard and meat knife hurtling into the sink with a clatter. When I heard you gasp in the dimness, I was sorry again, so sorry, and I reached out to put my hand on your shoulder, to soothe you and let you know I was there. I paused, my pulse racing, as I listened out for any signs of them coming home, as by now I had no grasp of time and it seemed possible they could be back at any moment, ticking me off for getting you up, for waking you unnecessarily. But the silence remained, broken by nothing more than the gentle whistle of wind passing the windows that looked out across the drive. They wouldn’t understand: all I wanted to do was hold you. I felt shaky as I stood beside your high chair in the half-light, watching the whites of your eyes blinking up at me, marvelling at the porcelain perfection of your dimpled fingers and rounded cheeks. And then, as I went to lift you up, I heard the sound of tyres on the gravel outside and the room grew instantly brighter, briefly bathing you in light, and in the seconds before the lights dipped I saw your closed eyes and the blood on your sleep suit – fresh blood, bright and wet. I cried out – screamed – staggering in my panic to get to you, to save you. But I couldn’t save you, could I?
The great gulf of darkness opened up again like a silent roar, wrapping its weight around me and crushing my breaths as I went under.