‘Shall I pop over after school?’
It’s lunchtime, and I can tell from the chatter in the background that Sophie is calling me from the staffroom. Her voice is full of enthusiasm; Kayla is eight weeks old now, and Sophie’s only laid eyes on her once. I’ve become a master at making up excuses to avoid leaving the house, to avoid other people. ‘Kayla’s a bit poorly,’ I tell her. ‘I think she’s picked up a cold from somewhere. She’s been sleeping a lot today, probably just needs to rest.’ It sounds ridiculous: what else can an eight-week-old baby do?
‘Oh, no – poor little poppet. You won’t want visitors then. Maybe next week? It will be great to see you both again. I feel like it’s been a very long time, Eve.’
I force myself to believe that by next week I will feel okay, that I will want to be around people, to lose myself in chatter, to feel normal again. It will take a lot more than just hope, though. ‘Definitely,’ I say, filling my voice with forced confidence.
‘Well, I’d better go, I really need some food and I still have to set up the classroom for my rowdy Year 8s. Lord help me!’
I promise that I’ll call her, and when I hang up relief floods over me; keeping up the pretence gets harder with each day. How much longer will I be able to fool people?
Kayla’s asleep on our bed – the only place she would settle this afternoon. I’m still not dressed and desperately need to shower and wash my hair, but I can’t leave her here alone. She’s showing no signs of rolling over yet, but the second I rush to the bathroom could be the exact moment she decides to attempt it for the first time. Our bed is too far from the floor, too, so there is no way she would be okay if she fell. I’m sure at this age her skull isn’t even fused together yet.
Picking her up to transfer her to the cot is not an option either; her eyes are bound to pop open the second I try to lift her. No, I’ll have to wait for my shower, like I always do, until Aiden gets home. He thinks I prefer to have them in the evening when I’ve got more time, even though for as long as he’s known me I’ve had my showers in the morning. It was a ritual I never deviated from until Kayla was born.
Kneeling beside the bed, I watch the rise and fall of Kayla’s tiny chest, take in the calming sound of each breath she takes. With her eyes closed she looks so peaceful that it’s impossible to believe what a monster she can be at times. I know none of it’s her fault; she didn’t ask to be here. I made that decision for her, and now I don’t know what I’ve done. Even though I’m the one who carried her inside me, it is Aiden she has bonded with. The second he picks her up she is calm and soothed, until he hands her to me. It’s as if she despises me. My rational brain tells me that this is impossible, that there is no way for her to understand this emotion, yet that is exactly what it feels like. A cruel and deliberate hoax.
I lie down on the bed next to Kayla and continue to stare at her, trying to force myself to feel love – or anything positive – for this tiny helpless being, but the truth is I just want her to keep sleeping. I don’t want her to wake up; I want to live in this moment forever. A permanent pause.
The next thing I’m aware of is being woken by deafening shrieks, close to my ear. Kayla’s still in the middle of the bed, exactly where I placed her, and I’m right up against her. My heart thuds and I struggle to breathe. I could have crushed her. She could have suffocated under my weight.
Quickly I scoop her up and take her downstairs for a feed, trying to push aside my fear and guilt over what could have happened. For a few hours, I am extra caring towards her, ignoring her constant squirming, as if she is desperate to be out of my arms. Grateful that she’s not crying at least, I place her on her play mat and sing to her. Kayla seems to like this and stops groaning to listen to me. Finally, I have found something that calms her.
‘How was your day?’ Aiden asks.
We’re sitting at the table eating a meal I managed to throw together once Aiden came home and took over with Kayla. He offered to cook, but the thought of even just another half hour of holding the baby or singing to her felt like something I couldn’t manage. At least while I was preparing beef chilli, I was free, a different person somehow, albeit temporarily.
And now Kayla is fast asleep in Aiden’s arms while he eats, peaceful and content, as if she is right where she belongs and she has everything she needs right there with him.
‘It was good,’ I tell him. ‘I got some cleaning done too.’ There is no need for me to have added this untruth, and I also should tell him about the dangerous situation I put Kayla in. I have become a deceitful liar, while Aiden was always the person I could tell anything. What am I afraid of? He would never judge me. For anything. He would only try to help.
And he would also realise that I’m not the woman he thought I was. That he doesn’t know me. I don’t even know myself. All I know is that everything is wrong and sooner or later something terrible will happen. The walls will close in on me.
Aiden puts down his knife and fork and smiles. ‘D’you know what? I don’t think I knew what true happiness was until this little one came along. I just feel so… content.’
A switch flicks inside my head, and I picture myself screaming at him. You’re not the one who has her all day. You come home in the evening and see the best of her. You don’t have to deal with the relentless slog, the isolation and monotony. The crushing fear.
But in a moment of clarity which comes immediately after this thought, I understand why I’m silently attacking him. It is my guilt. Because I can’t change what happened.
Aiden watches me, waiting for me to agree. This is another opportunity for me to explain how much I’m struggling, but I let it die. There is no way I can start talking about it. Not now. Not ever.
Later, I stand under the shower with the too-hot water burning my skin. Even though it hurts, the pain is somehow comforting. In here, I am in a bubble, separate from all that exists outside of this door. I close my eyes and pretend I’m no longer here, or anywhere. It is a comforting thought.
And then, without any warning, I am wondering what it would be like if Kayla was the one who didn’t exist.