One month later
It’s the dead of night. Cal’s snoring is echoing around the cabin, almost loud enough to make the walls rattle. I can’t sleep. I’m propped up in bed, laser focused on my stomach. I’d already been struggling to get to sleep when I felt it. The twinge. The pulling sensation. Since that first one I’ve felt similar twinges three times. I’m currently trying to figure out just how long I’ve been awake waiting for the feeling to come again, and just how many times I need to feel it before I should wake Cal up.
Now that we’re closer to the birth, I’ve allowed myself to think more about what happens afterwards. About being a mum. Here. It’s something I’ve always wanted, to have kids of my own, but now when I think about it I’m faced with a tremendous sense of loss. I’m grieving for the life we should have.
I’ve not gone anywhere near the garden trunk. It’s risky. The rucksack and notebook are still there, have been for weeks, and if I’m not going to use them I really should put everything back and burn the book just in case he were ever to go snooping. Cal’s warning from the day at the loch has made me realise what I’m up against, how foolish I was to think I could just run away. Not only that, but my plan has gone to shit. The whole point of having another woman here was to distract him, to keep his focus off me so that I’d have more of an opportunity to get away, but she’s been back in the barn for weeks again after her ‘episode’, as Cal likes to put it. Who knows how long she’ll be in there. Even so, putting everything back and getting rid of the notebook would be officially giving up and I can’t bring myself to do it. I refuse to let the last of my hope flicker away. There’s still the doctor. He’s still going to come to the birth and if he does decide to help me at least the rucksack will be there, ready.
I tense as another twinge pulls through my belly. This one is stronger, lasting longer. I slide my legs over the edge of the bed and stand slowly, one hand on my swollen middle. My body feels foreign to me these days, cumbersome and awkward.
I tiptoe across the creaky floorboards, wincing as they groan under my steps. Every step I take sounds thunderous to me. The nerves beneath my skin spasm and shiver. Cal’s snores hitch but don’t falter. I pause in the doorway, listening. When his snores resume their steady rhythm, I slip out into the night.
The cool air raises goosebumps on my skin as I walk to the garden, each step cautious in the dark. I find the trunk by touch and memory, heart thudding. My fingers tremble as I work the clasp and lift the lid. The rucksack sits there patiently, a promise waiting to be fulfilled.
I sink down beside the trunk, one hand still cradling my belly.
‘I haven’t given up,’ I whisper. ‘I will find a way. I promise.’
I sit here for a long while, stroking my stretched skin. The twinges have subsided. Lucky Cal gets to sleep for another couple of hours. Even you have gone still, as if my whispered promises and caresses have lulled you to sleep too.
And then a noise breaks the night. A faint wailing.
I freeze, straining to hear through the stillness. For a long while nothing happens and I think it must have been the wind, but after a few minutes the noise comes again and my stomach lurches. It sounds like an animal. A lamb bleating for its mother, or a vixen calling for her cubs. But it’s not an animal at all. It’s human. Mournful and pleading. Her.
The cry comes again, more insistent now. This time it’s an unmistakably human voice, rising and falling in anguish. I stand, peering into the darkness. The moon casts the farm buildings in silver and shadow.
I don’t know what to do. The sensible voice in my head is telling me to go back inside, pretend I heard nothing. But the woman cries out once more, her voice raw with despair, and I think back to how I did the same. All those months screaming out in the hopes that somebody, anybody, might hear me and help me. Before I can think better of it, I’m following the sound. Past the garden, into the field, to the barn.
Closer now, it’s clearer. A primal, tortured wail that chills my blood. At the barn door I pause, heart hammering. The sound is definitely coming from inside.
‘Hello?’ My voice shakes.
There’s a brief moment of silence, then the wailing resumes, louder now, more desperate.
With shaking hands, I reach for the latch, then curse myself. I don’t have the key. Didn’t even think about it as I made my way over here.
The woman’s cries intensify and I look back towards the cabin, biting my lip. All this noise is going to wake him, I just know it, and then he’ll see me here next to the barn and God knows what he’ll do to me, to both of us.
I shimmy around to the wall I know the cage is pushed up against.
‘Shh, please.’ I knock gently on the wood, hoping she’ll hear me but praying Cal won’t. ‘You need to be quiet. He won’t like it. Please.’
But she doesn’t stop. On and on it goes, piercing through the night. I chew down on my lip so hard I taste blood, expecting to see Cal’s silhouette in the cabin doorway any second.
‘Listen, I’m going to help you. I’m not going to leave you in there. But you need to stop screaming, please. I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll be back.’
I scurry back to the cabin, the woman’s wails filtering out the further away I get. Or perhaps she is actually quietening down. Did she hear me? Did she hear my promise? I have no way of knowing.
Cal was still fast asleep when I returned. I lay awake for most of the night, listening intently for any more of the woman’s cries, but there was nothing. Even after eventually falling asleep and having a few troubled hours of rest, I still thought of her as soon as my eyes flicked open, and I haven’t stopped since.
I’ve promised her I’m going to help her. I’ve given her a glimmer of hope. That means I can’t go through with my plan even if he does let her out again.
I think back to seeing her for the first time, that day that Cal led her to the barn under the pretence of it being a safe haven from her abusive husband. The irony. She had no idea what was coming.
I’ve committed myself now. I promised that woman that I would help her. I can’t break that promise. But I have to think of you too. Really, I should have left that evening after we went to the loch, but Cal’s warning scared me into buckling. Now, I fear I’m too far along to attempt an escape. I’m large now, unsteady on my feet, and I get out of breath quickly. I’m not sure I’d be able to get as far as the loch without descending into a wheezy mess, let alone much further. Will it be even harder once you’re born, though? The idea of carrying someone so small and young and vulnerable as I try to get away from here is unthinkable.
The lack of sleep is getting to me. My eyes are sore and my head is scrambled. I get up and make myself a cup of coffee. For a long time I avoided it, but the pregnancy books says that one cup a day is safe, and I need something to get me through, to help me function. I sip it mindlessly, eyeing the gardening trunk through the window. Today, once Cal has gone to work, I need to retrieve the notebook and go over my plan again, then alter it. I’ll need two scenarios: one for trying to escape while pregnant with just the woman by my side, and one for escaping with you in my arms, too. The more I think about it the less doable it seems and I curse myself for hesitating for so long. If I had left when I planned I might be home right now, with my parents, receiving ultrasound scans and buying furniture for the nursery.
My hand flies to my stomach as another twinge twists its way through me, this time more severe than the sensations that woke me in the night. I wince. The coffee churns uneasily in my stomach. It’s not painful, exactly, but it’s there. A niggle that I’ve never felt before. Surely this isn’t the start of labour. It’s too soon. I’ve got three months left.
Trying to control my breathing, more to stop myself from going into a panic than to relieve any discomfort, I pull down the pregnancy book and start flicking through the pages. The book is separated into forty chapters – forty weeks – with each chapter detailing what you could expect and what might go wrong at this stage. I find my week and follow my finger down the tiny text until I come across something called Braxton Hicks contractions. My brow furrows as I concentrate. It certainly sounds like what I’m experiencing, and according to this book it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just a sign that my body is readying itself for labour.
Appeased only slightly, I attempt to distract myself by tidying the cabin, but the sensations continue and before long sweat is breaking out on my forehead. It’s when I go to the toilet I see it. Three tiny red spots in my underwear. Small enough that I would probably have missed them had I not been specifically looking for signs that something might be amiss. I pause, heart hammering in my chest as I stare at the spots of blood in my underwear. This can’t be good. The pregnancy book didn’t say anything about bleeding when it spoke about Braxton Hicks.
I consider my options. I could wait and see if the bleeding gets worse. But what if something is really wrong with you? No, I need to tell Cal. If something is wrong I’ll need help.
Waking Cal up is not something I’ve ever attempted, nor ever wanted, to do. He’s sprawled out on the bed, mouth hanging open. I stand over him for a moment, watching him rise and fall, thinking how easy it would be to plunge a knife into his chest right here, right now, if only I had the nerve.
‘Cal,’ I say softly. No response. I reach out a tentative hand and shake his shoulder. ‘Cal, wake up.’
He stirs, blinking his eyes open. When he sees me standing over him, his face twists.
‘What the bloody hell are ye doin’?’
He sits up abruptly and I take a step back. ‘I’m sorry. But something’s wrong.’
‘What’re ye talkin’ about?’
‘I’m bleeding. And I’ve been having these pains all morning. I think something might be wrong with the baby.’
Cal scrubs a hand over his face. ‘It’s probably nothin’. You’re overreactin’.’
‘But what if it’s not? What if something is really wrong?’ My voice rises in panic.
He glares at me. ‘An’ what exactly do yous expect me to do about it, eh?’
I stare at him helplessly.
‘You need to get the doctor here. We can’t wait until the birth. We need him here now.’
Cal’s eyebrows flick up. The muscle in his temple pulses, as if there’s a living creature in there trying to break free.
‘Oh, I do, do I?’
I chew down on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay quiet. There’s a fine balancing act to be done. I can’t be too forceful.
When he’s satisfied that I’m not going to attempt to retort, he swings his legs out of bed and makes a meal out of stretching, groaning as he reaches up above his head and circles his wrists and ankles.
I wonder what you’d be like if you’d been stuck in a cage for months, I think, but of course I don’t say it. I remain quite still and silent while he clicks and cracks each joint. He’s taking his time on purpose. Making me wait.
Finally, he stands and edges past me, which is quite a feat now that my belly is ballooning across the width of the space at the end of our bed, and goes out to the kitchen where he pours himself a cup of coffee. I follow, fists clenched, heat prickling beneath my skin.
‘Cal,’ I venture, hovering in the doorway.
‘Aye?’
‘Please.’
His coffee is slammed down with such ferocity it sloshes over the edges of the cup. ‘For God’s sake, woman! I’ve only just woken up. I’ve got te be at work in an hour. Can you at least let me drink my coffee without naggin’ at me?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. The words taste sour on my tongue.
He rolls his eyes, as if my very presence is annoying him. ‘Clean that up,’ he says, jabbing a finger at the drips of coffee working their way down the cupboard door. Hatred and annoyance bite, but I do as he says and grab a cloth to wipe up the spillage. He disappears back into the bedroom with his cup and slams the door behind him. Once he’s gone I place a hand on my stomach and pray that you can feel me, can sense my reassurance. ‘Just hold on, little one,’ I whisper. ‘Stay strong for me.’
After a moment, once it seems as if Cal is going to be locked in the bedroom for some time, I consider stepping out into the garden to start coming up with a Plan B. But just as I make a move to do so he calls through the closed door.
‘Mary. Come ’ere.’
I sigh and walk into the bedroom. He’s shirtless, and my eye flicks to the scar on his shoulder where Mary Two stabbed him. He never got it looked at properly. I did my best dousing it in alcohol, sewing it back up, but the scar is thick and raised. He doesn’t look at me as I enter.
‘So happens that first garden I’m working on today isnae far from the doctor. If you’re good I’ll ask him to come back with me once I’m finished. I want this place spick and span when I get home, you hear. Not a single grain of dust or I’ll be sendin’ him home. And for Christ’s sake, make yourself look presentable. You’re s’posed to be a wife, not a maid.’
‘Of course.’
His eyes glint and he waves his hand at me. ‘Off with you then. Let me get ready.’
Cal goes to work without even so much as a goodbye and I immediately get to work on my chores. The twinges have stopped, and I’m not sure if that’s because they really are just Braxton Hicks contractions or if it’s because I’m distracted, but I want the doctor here nonetheless. There was still the blood.
I grab a duster and polish the living room furniture, working my way clockwise around the room. As I’m doing the fireplace my eye drifts, as it always does these days, to the barn. I should go down there today while he’s gone. Try to talk through the wall to her again. Just the thought that someone is on her side could be enough to keep her going.
As I’m polishing, the big problem with my escape plan glares at me. The cameras mean I’m really only going to be able to try to leave while he’s at work. He’ll know I’ve left but it will take him however long it takes to drive back before he can catch up to me. But if I’m to get that woman out I’ll need the keys, both to the barn and to the cage, but the keys are only ever here when Cal is, which means I’ll only be able to escape with her if he’s home. There’s also the issue of not knowing what kind of state the woman is going to be in by the time I can get to her. If she’s dehydrated, starved, weak, is she going to be able to run?
One problem at a time. I need to figure out the key situation first. Perhaps there’s a spare set somewhere, a set that I can use even if he’s got the originals at work.
And just like that, I have my plan for the day. I need to search this place from top to bottom.