Darkest (19 page)

I must have stirred because suddenly his attention is on me. His smile is just as warm, though the brand of devotion he reserves for me is somewhat less benign, I suspect.

“Ah, your tired and sleepy mummy’s waking up now. Shall we give her a big kiss to say hello? Who’s going first, me or you?” He hesitates briefly, then, “Right, that’ll be me then, will it?” And he drops a kiss onto Isabella’s little head before leaning across her to kiss my mouth. He leaves off exploring the perfection of Isabella’s tiny toes to tunnel his fingers through my tangled hair, cupping the back of my head. The kiss is deep, exploring, and altogether too involved for an audience, even such a tiny one as our baby.

As if also remembering our parental responsibilities Nathan releases me and sits up. He scoops up Isabella and lays her on his chest as he props himself up against the headboard. Ignoring the fact that I am naked from the waist up I clamber up alongside him and snuggle up. It just seems the natural place to be, especially as his free arm loops around me to pull me in.

He trails one languid hand along my side, lightly stroking the side of my breast. Long companionable moments pass before he uncharacteristically reaches down to tug the duvet up around me. His next words take me by surprise.

“I owe you an apology.” His voice is low, little more than a murmur, and I realise that Isabella is falling asleep on his chest and he obviously doesn’t want to disturb her. Still, an apology from Nathan? Surely that’s the wrong way round…? I start to protest, but he shushes me. His tone is soft, but leaves no room for argument. Totally Dom-like, even now. He continues, his voice low and even, commanding my attention.

“I do. I took advantage of you. I knew you were injured possibly, concussed maybe, shocked definitely. I took advantage of all that to force you to talk to me.”

“It’s okay, I…”

“No, let me explain. Please. I needed you to tell me what happened, why you ran out on me. On us. But you were acting so oddly, I thought if I didn’t get to the bottom of it straight away, while I had you here, I might not get another chance. You were ready to bolt downstairs, in the kitchen. As soon as you got the chance you might have just gone off, disappeared like before, and I thought I might never see you again. So it had to be now. Does that make sense?”

I shrug, not sure I care for his view that I was ‘acting oddly’. I try to deflect him.

“Well, you could have always tied me to your bed to stop me disappearing. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Indeed. But it would be the first time I ever did it without your consent. I want you to stay, Eva, but because you choose to, not because I forced you. I pushed the limits a bit, back there in the bath, but my motives were honourable. More or less. So, am I forgiven?”

I snuggle in closer. Mission accomplished, disaster averted. “Yes, totally. It’s nice to be home.”

“It’s nice to have you back, love.” And, just as I thought it was safe, he nonchalantly goes for the jugular. “But now, we need to talk, sweetheart. About what happened today.”

Every instinct of mine is catapulted back onto red alert, screaming, ‘No! Leave it be. Move on.’ Desperate, I try valiantly to deflect him again. “We already talked, sorted things out, didn’t we? Please, can’t we just forget it all now? Forget about Susanna and all her lies?” Nathan, however, has other ideas.

“Yes, I agree about Susanna. She’s history. But then today… Eva, Grace thought you might have driven into the tarn on purpose. So, I have to ask. Did you?”

I sit bolt upright, genuinely shocked. I never expected this. Shit, shit, shit!

“
No!
Bloody hell, Nathan, no!” Startled by my sudden outburst Isabella starts to whimper. Unfazed, Nathan soothes her, but his attention remains fixed on me.

“Okay, so what did happen?” Despite the gentleness in his voice Nathan’s questioning is calm, and relentless. He will pursue this, it seems. I take a deep breath, reliving those awful few moments again. Those moments when I thought I would die. My answer is positive, certain. There’s no doubt in my mind and I need to make sure that there is none in his.

“It was an accident. A horrible accident. I was driving too fast, I admit that, and it was all my fault. But it
was
an accident. Christ, I thought I was going to die, I was terrified…” And suddenly, out of nowhere, “If I was going to kill myself it wouldn’t be by drowning, I’m too scared of water.”

Long seconds pass, and I forget to breathe. At last he nods, briefly, but it’s enough. “Right. That’s what I thought. I saw your face as your car shot past me and hit the wall, and as it cartwheeled into the water. You looked shit scared. And I could see you under the water, struggling to escape when I reached the car. Even though you were losing consciousness by the time I dived down and got the door open you’d undone your own seatbelt by the time I reached you. I believe you—that you wanted to live. But I had to ask.”

“I know.” My whispered response is almost inaudible.

“So now, we just need to haul poor old Miranda out of there, too. Can’t do with polluting Tom’s nice tarn with a load of scrap metal. Jack’s got a winch sorted for tomorrow, and I’ll get my scuba gear fixed up ready.”

I cringe at the mention of my faithful little mini still upended on the bottom of the tarn. Poor Miranda, she didn’t deserve that.

“Maybe we can give her a decent burial…”

But Nathan’s a little more optimistic than me, it seems. “Well, let’s not be too hasty. We’ll dry her out first and then let Jack have a look. You never know…”

I’m just settling back, a satisfied, grateful smile on my face, when the next salvo arrives.

“I’ve asked Gillian to call later, have a look at you, make sure you’re okay.”

“Gillian?”
I remember this was one of the name’s mentioned earlier but who the hell’s Gillian?

“Gillian Barnes, GP from the medical centre down in Haworth. She sorted out Rosie’s chickenpox. She’s very good.”

“Chickenpox? I don’t think…”

“I know, I know, you don’t have chickenpox. But you have crashed your car and you have nearly drowned. In mucky water. I’d be happier if you had a medical check-up, just to make sure everything’s okay.”

“You weren’t so solicitous about my health earlier, when you were tormenting me in the bath. And later, in bed…” Unworthy of me, I know, but I’m on the back foot here and grasping at anything. Nathan’s not biting, though.

“Fair point, Eva, but I’ve explained my reasons. On reflection not the most considerate approach I could have taken. Definitely not my most chivalrous hour. All I can say in my defence is that I was desperate. It’d been a long time.” He tightens his arm round me and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “But still, I want Gillian to have a look at you now, if that’s all right.”

I’ve learnt the importance of picking my battles, and this one doesn’t seem worth dying in a ditch for, if you’ll pardon the pun. The good doctor might try to get me to hospital, but I’ll just scream the place down again. That seems to work. “Well, I don’t suppose it’ll do any harm. But I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re probably right, about there being no lasting damage from the crash. Physically. But you’re not fine, are you? Not really?”

My defensive hackles are suddenly on end and I’m trying to straighten up, to pull out of his arms. “What do you mean? I just told you, I’m fine. And it
was
an accident. Christ, I’m not suicidal. I’m not a headcase.”

“No, I know that. But you
are
struggling. You’re not your normal self. With Isabella, I mean.”

“I don’t… I don’t…”

“Grace says you told her you couldn’t cope, that you wanted to leave Isabella here, permanently. That you were giving her to me. Is that right, Eva? Did you intend to just leave her and go?”

“I don’t— I think maybe I…”

“Eva?”

“Yes.” My voice is small now. I’m starting to feel so deeply ashamed of what I did. And I’m confused, scared. If I’m staying, and I do so much want to stay, and if Isabella’s staying too—which obviously she is—then I’m going to have to try to be a mother again. And I just can’t. I’ve already failed once, and this time I’ll have Nathan the super-dad watching me screw up. I sit up, pulling the duvet up to my chin, and stare at my hands clenched in front of me. This isn’t going to work. I just can’t do what I should be doing—be the caring, competent mother Nathan will obviously want for his beloved little baby. Tears of bitterness and disappointment are rolling unchecked down my cheeks.

I feel the bed move as Nathan stands up. He’s leaving now, disgusted with me, no doubt, unable to comprehend how, why, I can’t love such a beautiful, perfect little baby girl. The truth is, I’m just as disgusted, just as dismayed. I hate myself, even more, I think, than he will when he has time to reflect on what a waste of space I am. He’d have been better off leaving me in that car this afternoon.

He doesn’t go. Instead he tucks Isabella safely between two pillows beside me on the bed and comes round to sit at my side. He takes my cold fists in his and gently unfurls my fingers, which had been clenched into claws. Taking both my hands in one of his, with the other he tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. He wipes the tears away from my cheeks with his thumb, watching me solemnly with his gorgeous, slightly lopsided smile.

“This has been hard for you, I know. Can you tell me about Isabella?”

“What do you want to know?”
Her favourite nursery rhyme? Her favourite brand of baby milk? Her favourite toy? How her perfect little face scrunches up when she’s lonely and wants a cuddle?

“Did you know you were pregnant when you left me?”

“What? No. No. I found out pretty much immediately, though. I went to Boots and got a test kit, but I knew.”

“I see. You were on the pill, though. So how did you get pregnant? And why didn’t you just have a termination? If you didn’t want to be a mother, you didn’t have to be one.”

“I never, never even considered that. I
did
want her. I did. I suppose I thought, well, I thought I’d probably never get another chance to have a baby of my own so I wasn’t about to throw this one away. I
did
want her…” My voice trails away as I recall the fierce, protective love I felt for my unborn baby all through my pregnancy, how I looked forward to meeting her properly for the first time, though I felt I’d known her forever by the time she came squalling red-faced into the world one wet Wednesday afternoon.

“I asked the midwife about how I could have got pregnant while I was on the pill. It seems if you’re sick when you take it, it can reduce the effectiveness. I was very, very sick that first day in Leeds, you remember? The day I passed out when we were, when you…”

He raises one sardonic eyebrow. “I remember that day very well. I daresay it will be etched on my memory till the day I die. But I didn’t know you’d been ill.”

“When I came round, in your bed. The second time, after I sent you away. I woke up and you weren’t there. I threw up. A lot. Sort of delayed shock, probably. And the rest of that weekend was a bit haphazard, not the normal routine.” His grin suggests that he remembers it that way as well. “I was a bit, well, casual, I suppose, about taking my pill at the right time each day. I might have missed one. Or two. So I guess it was then that it happened. The dates seem about right for that. I’m sorry, it was careless of me. But I didn’t do it on purpose. I just never thought. God, what an idiot you must think I am.” When I would have dropped my eyes he tightens his grip on my chin, holding my gaze. He is still smiling.

“It
was
a turbulent few days. And I’m not complaining. Just curious. And a bit horrified. Christ, when I think back to all the things I did to you then, that weekend, and over the next few weeks. And all the time you were pregnant. Bloody hell…” He stops for a moment, his eyes closed as he contemplates the implications. Then, “So, you wanted Isabella?”

“Yes. I did. And I loved her so much. At first.”

“At first?”

“When she was first born I was so delighted, I couldn’t put her down, couldn’t stop staring at her. I didn’t know how I could have produced something so wonderful and perfect and…and… Precious. I was so happy. Then, after a couple of days, I just sort of, just suddenly…changed. Or she did, I’m not sure. But I think it was me. I didn’t love her anymore. I didn’t like her. I resented all her demands on me, I felt—inadequate. And I blamed her for making me feel like that, for showing up all my faults. I even blamed her because she reminded me of you. As time went on I expected to snap out of it, that it would just turn out to be a phase. But it isn’t. I’m just not cut out to be a mother. I don’t feel maternal at all, whatever that is.”

“And you’ve felt like this since she was a few days old?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “And I feel so guilty. I know I should love her, but I don’t. That’s why I brought her here. Because I knew you would and she needs that. She needs you.”

“She needs you too, Eva. She needs her mum.” His eyes are boring into mine, as if he can see into my sad, guilt-ridden soul. I squirm, uncomfortable at the exposure. I shake my head, unable to speak, but wishing it was as he says.

“She needs her mum. She needs to get her mummy back. Did you talk to anyone about how you were feeling, Eva?”

My incredulous snort is all the answer he needs. It’s not exactly the sort of thing you’d mention in passing at the bus stop or in the corner shop, is it? “Can I have a bottle of milk and a box of tissues, please? And by the way, I don’t love my baby, isn’t that interesting?”

He ignores my attempt at flippancy, probably wisely. “I mean, did you talk to the midwife? Or your doctor? Or your mother?”

“No, why would I? There’s nothing the matter with me. And my mum just keeps saying it’s a phase, but she’s wrong. It’s not getting any better. If anything, it’s worse.”

“Maybe it’s a phase, maybe not. But you
are
ill, Eva. I’m sure of it. I reckon you’re depressed.”

I stare at him, my eyes wide—how can he be so stupid? “I’m not depressed, just out of my depth. I just need you to look after Isabella, then I’ll be okay.”