Sometimes it feels as though I’m being watched. The rational part of my brain – yes, it’s still there somewhere – tells me this is ridiculous, yet I often feel a presence with me when I’m alone with Kayla, a constant reminder of something I want to forget.
For days now I’ve expected Mum to mention the incident in the park to Aiden, but she hasn’t. She hasn’t even spoken of it to me; it’s as if her memory has completely erased any record of it. She was more distressed about forgetting her student’s piano lesson that day.
I should be thankful for this, but of course I’m not. It means that Mum is worse than I suspected. I’ve let my own troubles push her issue to the side, but I can no longer ignore it. Something is wrong with her and I need to help her. She won’t listen to me, though, and insists she’s fine, that she doesn’t need to see the doctor. So for now all I can do is monitor her closely.
‘How come I’m getting daily calls?’ she’ll ask.
‘I’m a new mum,’ I explain. ‘I just need to hear an adult voice.’
She laughs, and then I do too, even though I’m crumbling inside. This is how our phone calls go more often than not.
Sophie is coming round with the twins today. Both of us being parents should have made us closer than ever, yet I couldn’t be further away from her. Talking to her is like being with a virtual stranger, someone I might have just met at a baby group.
It’s a ripple effect. One thing happening that disperses and eviscerates everything else in your life. Sinister and silent.
Kayla is sleeping well today; she’s settled in her Moses basket and I’m sitting on the floor beside her, knowing I should make the most of this rare moment to myself, yet unable to summon the energy to move. Even when I’m having an easier time of it, there is no difference. I still can’t feel a thing when I look at her peaceful tiny face.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I whisper. ‘You didn’t ask to be here. None of this is your fault.’ I say this over and over, hoping the repetition will seep into my brain and manifest love. But there’s nothing but disconnection from the tiny being I brought into the world.
‘Oh, you look awful!’ Sophie says, bounding into the house with the twins clutching her hands. ‘Are you sick?’
Sophie has just given me the perfect excuse. ‘Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I should have told you not to come. I don’t want to pass anything on to any of you.’
‘Don’t worry about us. The twins seem to have superhero immunity, and I can’t remember the last time I had even a cold.’ She hesitates and frowns. ‘Unless you’re not up to company? The twins can be rowdy devils, so I’ll totally understand if you’d rather we go.’
I look at Sophie and I’m torn. Company of any sort is the last thing I want, but she’s made the effort to come and see me. How can I turn her away now? The me before – that’s how I’ve become accustomed to thinking of myself now: two different versions of Eve, before and after – would never entertain the idea of telling her to leave, even if I was genuinely ill. But I’m not that person. I will never again be that person. I’m the after Eve and I can’t bear to be around Sophie, or anyone else, now.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, ‘but I might just need to sleep while Kayla’s napping.’
Sophie hugs me. ‘No need to apologise. We’ll catch up when you’re feeling better. Come on, boys, we have to go home now.’
At least the twins are too young to understand why they’ve been here for less than two minutes.
From the upstairs window, I watch while Sophie bundles them into the car. I’m a terrible friend, a terrible mother, and no kind of wife to Aiden at the moment.
Lying down on the bed, I let myself believe I’m alone, that the house is silent because Aiden and I are yet to start a family. I’m not sure if I manage to sleep, but when Kayla’s shriek penetrates my ears, I feel as though I haven’t had a second of peace.
Later, when I’m carrying her downstairs after changing her nappy, I imagine myself tumbling down the stairs, crashing to the bottom. Would I be okay? Would Kayla survive such an awful fall?
And every time after this, it’s impossible to carry her downstairs without this thought in my head.