The Secrets That Haunt Us

Chapter 1-3

David’s hands whipped to Julia’s shoulders and he spun her round to face him.

‘What is it, love? Are you all right? What’s the matter? Is it the… What is it?’

She just looked straight through him as if he wasn’t in the room – or her life – at all. What was he supposed to do? He never knew what to do anymore. So he shook her.

‘What the hell’s the matter this time?’ The words just slipped past his lips before he had full control of his senses. The scream had completely unnerved him. Was he just not good enough, not worthy enough, for her to think of talking to? Of kissing? Of making love to, unless he begged, blackmailed, or stooped as low as reminding her of her obligations to him as a wife? People still got married nowadays, didn’t they, despite all this feminist s**t. People still made love properly, didn’t they? It was how you made a baby. Wasn’t that what they were meant to be doing together? Wasn’t that what he wanted to touch just now – proof that they had a baby, a marriage, a life together after everything that had happened to him? All for her.

As if straining anti-clockwise at the hands of time, Julia turned her head to look at him. Actually at him. This was it. His heart began to pound, waiting for the words.

But no words came. She just stood there.

His insides turned to giant knots. Would she actually voice the words this time? Was she planning on leaving the babygrow out with a note, saying, ‘Guess what? Surprise!’? Maybe… Bloody hell, how many excuses could he make for her, with her belly sticking out like that and Emmeline telling her she needed to be packing her hospital bag, just in case her grandchild was early? Would she withdraw from the world, pretending everything was like before? Before he’d begged her that night – a beautiful night, Midsummer’s Eve, she’d told him; a perfect night. And when she’d laid there in some kind of dream world and said nothing about opening the drawer, he’d just not opened it and taken out the little packet as usual. And when she curled herself up in a ball afterwards, he’d contented himself with his belief that she was staying still, trying to make his sperm travel where it needed to go. She’d curled up like that every night since then.

He looked straight into her blue eyes. Even as children, he knew her mood, her thoughts, through them. But now they were unreadable to him. Untouchable. Unattainable.

A coldness clamped onto his stomach, and David realised suddenly that he was soaking wet. Julia’s hands were still clutching the tiny garment that separated them, and her index finger rolled round and round the circular metal edging of the press stud at its neck. Round and round, never ending. He grabbed her hand.

‘What are you doing down here this early? Love, can you hear me?’ Nothing permeated her. ‘Julia? Julia, why won’t you talk to me?’ He grabbed her head and pinned it so that her chin almost touched his. No response. He snatched the babygrow and screwed it around in his fingers, soapy water dripping down his arm and onto the lino. ‘What’s this for?’ She gave no response to the question, just offered a hand, reaching out into his palm. For one ecstatic moment, David believed that the hand was searching for him. But her fingers sought beyond his and she pulled the babygrow back, clutching it to her heart. Large tears rolled over her cheekbones.

The previous night’s pots were still on the draining board. He picked up the bowl which had held the ice-cream he’d tried to share with her, and that she’d refused. He gripped the edges of the bowl so tightly that his knuckles went white. He stared into the pattern of concentric circles. The times she’d refused him in the past had never made a difference to him. Even when they’d all been children together – Julia and him, Pete and Sally – and they’d spent one whole summer in the shelter Julia’s Dad had built for his trailer. After Julia’s dad left, Emmeline had got rid of the trailer and so the empty space was done up every morning as a den, a house even.

That summer was when David was going get his turn to play dad. His turn, with Julia as mam. It was all set out in his mind, as he took some spare blankets, and the cups on a tea tray, and cushions from the front room where no one went because it didn’t have a fire like the back room. One day Pete brought a curtain (‘Don’t tell Mam,’ he warned) and they hung it up to make a door. Privacy from Emmeline’s prying eyes as she washed up at the kitchen sink in full view of the games they played.

Julia was voted in as mam. But when the votes were cast for dad, it was Pete who got the job. Perfect Pete, with his ash blonde hair and his deep and meaningful older boy eyes and his well-formed torso. There was no little rubber tyre around his. Puppy fat, Mam called it. In front of Julia. He didn’t care if Sally heard, but Julia…

Pete wanted it to be bedtime a lot when they played now. Sally wanted to play kiss chase while mam and dad played slap and tickle under the blankets. That must be what they did, because Perfect Pete was an older boy who knew things. Things he wouldn’t tell David. He knew how to play slap and tickle while David just pretended he knew. So while Sally tried to grab him around the middle and put a smacker on his lips, he was the child who couldn’t sleep, Mam, stroke my head; needed a drink Mam, come with me to pour it; had a bad dream Mam, need you to lay with me on my bed. And Pete would hiss, ‘Bugger off, squirt, it’s my turn,’ in his ear and, ‘Mam and Dad are sleeping, lad. Go play outside,’ out loud, so that Sally could hear, and she would giggle. Sally was one to watch, some of the older boys said; Pete had said it, but David hadn’t really known what he meant. Why would he want to watch Sally if he could watch Julia?

Then Pete told them he had a girlfriend, and he didn’t play anymore. Julia said that Sally and David could be mam and dad for the rest of the summer. And she spent a lot of time with the curtain open, staring at the fence, and was silent when Pete’s girlfriend giggled on the other side. She looked so sad when David appeared alone to play in their den. How David hated his brother that summer. Perfect bloody Pete.

Yes, the times Julia had refused him had made no difference – until now. And this time, he couldn’t stand it. The bowl hit the wall and smashed. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing with this?’ He snatched the tiny garment and, as he pulled it and flung it down, he heard it rip. A long, high-pitched screech like a slaughtered sow left Julia’s lips as she fell to the floor, rocking back and forth, back and forth, nursing the babygrow.

David stood, helpless, while his wife rocked herself to a half-dead passivity. She inched herself, rock by rock, towards a silent stillness then, to his surprise, looked up at him accusingly.

‘Mother can’t ring. The phone’s not working properly again. You know she’ll try to. It’s Saturday.’

There she went again, blocking it all out, pretending everything was back to normal.

‘Christ, woman, do you want a baby or not?’

What a bloody stupid, rash, leading question that was. He cringed, waiting for her response – if she gave one at all. Julia’s reply slipped out so quietly that David could barely hear, or believe, what she said.

‘I want my baby.’

He squatted down beside her. As he took her hand which held the tiny, soggy clothing, she looked up at him with a startled expression, a signal that she’d returned from wherever she’d been, back to the north of England, to the two-bed semi on the outskirts of Hull, to their kitchen floor.

‘I want my baby. And I can’t go on like this – waiting…’ Julia put her hand over the split stitches of the babygrow’s seam and pressed it into her palm. ‘…waiting to see my baby.’ She looked straight at him, anguish shaking through her. ‘Is it a boy or a girl? Can you tell me?’

He took her in his arms and rocked her. She let him. ‘No, my darling, I can’t. But it doesn’t matter, does it?’

They remained there, minute after minute, Julia’s heartbeat barely detectable. It startled him when it began to bang against him, and she said, ‘I want to go. Spend the weekend with Mother. If that’s all right?’

‘Um…’ He didn’t want to let her out of his arms, never mind drive her to Emmeline’s. But she freed herself and sat there, staring at him. To be honest, it hadn’t even entered his head that she might want to do that, ever. It was rare Julia and Emmeline could be in the same space at all without the tension filling the room enough to suffocate in. ‘Do you really want to go spend the weekend with your mam?’

‘Yes. Just her and me. I have some things I need to say to her. Before the…’ She touched her belly. ‘But you told me not to go anywhere. You said so.’

Her words hit him hard. He hadn’t meant to sound so domineering. He was just trying to keep her safe. Just as he’d always tried to do. And trying to keep his mother-in-law off his back. ‘Of course you can go, if it’s what you really want. Your mam will look after you.’ He didn’t want anyone else looking after her, but what could he do? Emmeline would ring if there was a problem. After all, she’d paid to have their phone put in for them three or four months earlier. He looked at the clock. ‘I can get you round there this morning.’

‘Can we go soon? I need a bag. Could you get me a bag?’

David smiled at the altering expression which swept across her face. He couldn’t read it. He’d never seen it before. But at least it was different from her indifference to him. Different was good.

‘Anything you want. I’ll try not to blow up a can of beans in the oven at tea-time, like Mick did.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll empty it into a saucepan, promise.’

David spotted the glance that Julia gave her bulging nightie. ‘Don’t worry.’ He forced a laugh. ‘Still a few weeks to go yet. I don’t reckon your mam’s got anything to get worked up about.’ He stroked her hair. ‘Why don’t you go and sort out the stuff you need to take? You won’t need much, will you? Overnight stuff.’ His eyes felt wet. David blinked hard. ‘Might be just what you need.’

Julia gave him a look that he couldn’t quite comprehend, as she echoed, ‘Just what I need… You’re letting me go.’ It wasn’t a question. She seemed stunned.

‘Of course, if that’s what’ll make you happy. Might even mend a few bridges with your mam. I’ll do some jobs here this weekend. Get that spare room finished for…’

Julia took hold of David’s chin. He could barely remember the last time she’d reached out to him. He allowed himself to be pulled closer until her lips touched his. In that one kiss – tenderness, appeal, gratefulness, desperation – all of those. Was there love, too?

‘Thank you, David.’

He was unsure what exactly she was thanking him for and, as he felt her head lean into his shoulder, he daren’t ask. He loved her, and she knew it, and all he wanted was his wife and his child, and he would do anything – anything – to make sure they were fine. And he knew that she knew that above all else, even though they’d never spoken about what happened by the river that day. Why bring it up now? It was over.

He held her there, limp, wet with soapy water, her chin heavy on his collar bone. Maybe she would come back to bed after all, and afterwards they could go and look at the pram that Emmeline had placed a deposit on. Eventually, when she showed no signs of movement other than a rise and fall as she breathed, he sighed. ‘Why don’t you get dressed then, love, and I’ll nip up in the roof and find you a bag. I’ll take you round as soon as you’re ready.’

‘I want to mend this before I go. Then I’ll dry it with the hairdryer.’ She tried to smile at the babygrow, but it failed, and her bottom lip protruded and quivered. ‘It won’t take long. It’s so tiny.’

‘Whatever you want, love.’

She looked at him, a huge frown darkening her face. ‘The car’s got no MOT, David. You’re not driving me anywhere. I’ll get the bus to Mother’s. It’s only twenty minutes. And if she’s not in, or not awake, I’ve got my key.’

Guilt swamped him. What else could he do but agree? ‘All right, but I’m carrying the bag to the bus stop. At least you’ll get dropped off outside your mam’s house. Come upstairs, love.’ At the fear that filled her eyes from nowhere, he added, ‘So I can get the bag for you and you can pack. That’s all.’ He forced a smile.

David knocked the loft lid with the pole they’d found in the house. Presumably someone else must have struggled to reach it at one time or other. No wonder they stopped building houses like this one. No one, except those servants who walked round their employers’ houses years ago with a ladder installed up their backside all day, could damn well reach anything at all. One of the best things he’d done when they moved in was to make a decent loft ladder so it was easy for Julia to get up there. It was a shame there had been no money left to put in a decent light up there as well.

He crept up the rungs and poked his head up into the blanket of blackness in the roof space, grabbing the nearest bag he could reach. Pathetic, wasn’t it? A grown man being scared of spiders. Not something he’d ever let slip to his mates in the building trade, that was for sure.

‘Damn it!’ As he pulled one bag, a bundle of other bags and cases all moved. A couple fell out, one hitting him across the forehead as it careered to the floor. ‘Ow, s**t!’

Julia appeared at the bottom of the loft hatch. David stood ready on the ladder to pretend he was fine, even though his head felt like it had been caved in with a swinging ball on a bulldozer. But she said nothing. She didn’t even look at him; just picked up the smallest bag and carried it into the bedroom.

David’s bravado withered, leaving him suspended there between earth and sky, and very alone.