I remember doing the test, Amanda waiting outside the toilet, her fingers crossed, my fingers crossed, both of us praying that it wasn’t positive. It was, and the worst thing about it was that I couldn’t remember the name of the father. He was just someone I brought back to the house one night after a crazy session in town.
Mam was okay when I told her. I think she thought it might settle me down at last. And it did. I was a very good mother-to-be. I ate well, I didn’t drink and I turned up to all the appointments at the hospital. Mam came with me every time. Amanda had started a new job that year at Imanage and things were going from good to better for her.
When the baby arrived, everyone was so happy. Jamie, named after my dad, was tiny. I’d never seen anything so small and frail. The first few weeks were tiring. A complete change in my life.
I was taking maternity leave from the nursing home where I worked and had no intention of going back. I liked the job, the old people were lovely to work with, but the hours were far too awkward to facilitate raising a child, especially as a single mum. I planned to get myself a nice nine-to-five job and put Jamie in a crèche, or maybe my mam would take him for a while.
I never got the chance to ask her. Jamie was only six weeks old when it happened. My whole body wants to fall like dust to the ground when I think about it. His tiny head, the dark tuft of hair sticking up on top of his twisted head. His tiny body dressed in a white Baby-Gro. Lying still at the foot of the stairs.
* * *
‘Laura, Laura.’ Conor’s voice drags me back into the room. I shake my head and look around. The light in the kitchen is too bright, it’s hurting my head. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tell him to switch it off, switch off the light.
‘What?’
‘It’s hurting me.’
Conor is confused but he hurries to the light switch by the door and lowers the glare. It’s darker now but I can still see his worried face.
He’s standing in front of me, his hand pushing back his hair. He doesn’t know what to do with me. He kneels back down by my side.
‘Laura, I think it would be better if you go back to bed. We can talk tomorrow – I’ll take the day off and we can talk. You look like you’re going to collapse.’
I consider the offer but it won’t work. I need to tell him now.
‘Conor, sit down.’ I move a tiny bit to the left and pat the cushion on the sofa. ‘I’m okay, Conor. I’m not going to faint.’
A glass of wine sits on the coffee table in front of me. My head would love it but my stomach turns at the sight of it.
‘Will you make me a coffee?’
Conor jumps back up from the sofa and walks over to the coffee machine.
‘Instant will do fine,’ I say, craving the boost. I want to ask him how he found out and why he never confronted me, but not yet. Firstly, I should be the one answering the questions.
Conor arrives back at my side holding two mugs of coffee. I take a sip, then another, and another, nervous but determined to get this over with.
My husband sits, waiting for me to talk to him, to tell him why I kept this secret. I’m hoping for the coffee to perk me up, to give me the strength I need. I turn to look him in the eyes. His troubled eyes.
‘Conor, I’m sorry I never told you. I should have told you at the start that I’d a baby.’
He doesn’t say anything but his gaze moves from my face to the mug which he lifts to his lips. His quivering lips.
‘But the baby died and I… to be honest, I never wanted to think about it again… I found it hard to go there. Remembering took me to a dark place, a very dark place that could take forever to crawl out of. I was so happy with you that… I didn’t want to go down there again. I’m sorry. I should have… I know.’
He’s still looking at his mug. Why isn’t he saying anything?