24. She would never cry again – 1984
Anton was doing something noisy in one of the other bedrooms, Ursula had no idea what. She could get out of bed and look but that would have taken some effort. Besides, she was on the phone.
‘Shall I come over today?’ said her mum.
‘No need, Anton’s here.’ The call had been going on for about ten minutes and she’d had enough. Everything was too much these days. Especially when she knew what was bound to be coming next.
And out it came, precisely as she’d predicted, the inevitable ‘are you going to pull yourself together’ question: ‘Does that mean you’re going to get out of bed?’
‘I dunno. Later maybe.’
‘It’s been six months now, love.’
She knew that. She’d been counting every single day since it happened.
Not that any of them mattered. Autumn, winter, Christmas and the new year had come and gone in one long stretch of nothingness.
Only one date mattered to her and that was the day she’d expected her son to be born, 16th February.
But it had passed without commemoration.
It was as if he’d been packed away in a neat little box marked ‘Unmentionable’.
Or, ‘Forgettable’. Ursula wasn’t sure which, but she did know there would never be a time when she’d put him into either of them.
The absence of any acknowledgement of the day had been almost as bad as the reminder of what she’d lost and it took her to a new low.
The sorrow filled her up. It was immeasurable and interminable.
Two weeks later, she’d crawled into bed and stayed there for hours, days, weeks, months, only getting out when absolutely necessary.
As time went on, the necessary got less and less.
Six months. Not since the day she lost her child, but since the day she lost the desire to live.
‘Do you think you should see someone? They have people who can help you these days.’
‘Help me with what?’
‘Your grief. They’ll help you let it go.’
Her grief? She almost laughed. Why would she want to let it go when it was all she had left of her little boy?
‘I’m all right as I am. Stop worrying. I’ve got to go.
Anton wants to talk to me about something.
’ It was a lie. Anton didn’t want to talk to her.
It had been months since he’d done anything with her other than feed her.
He’d even stopped sleeping in the same bed.
The smell of her was disgusting, apparently.
Something clattered against the door and made her jump.
His footsteps on the stairs were heavy, like he was carrying something.
He was in the garage now. She heard the car door slam and curiosity finally dragged her out of bed.
The room spun as she stood up, one of the disadvantages of spending all your time lying down.
Ursula steadied herself against the wall and waited for the room to right itself.
As soon as she was out of the bedroom, she could see there was only one door open, the one to the baby’s room.
He must have been in there, moving things around, changing things.
Something piercing suddenly caught her lungs and left her gasping for breath.
She closed her eyes and swallowed. The air burned her windpipe as it came in, as if it was unused to being there.
She opened her eyes again and leaned over the landing banister to ease the discomfort.
From here she could see down to the dining area.
From here, she could throw herself into oblivion.
Another noise, the garage door closing, brought her back to her senses.
She turned away and took slow steps towards the nursery.
The first thing she saw was the sewing machine on the floor.
Anton must have been dismantling the table it had been on.
Ursula pushed the door further open, the memories of the last time she’d been in here still raw.
Her feet stepped onto a clear plastic sheet that was covering the wooden floor.
They moved awkwardly, like there were new to walking, and came to a stop at the place where she’d first seen the blood running down her legs.
The splashes had been scrubbed off the floor now but if she looked very, very closely, she could see a patch that was lighter than the rest. Over scrubbing, probably.
Their son had left his mark whether Anton liked it or not.
The pretty lemon walls were back to white.
For a few short months, this had been on the way to becoming a nursery for a living, breathing baby and now it was as sterile as an operating theatre.
Just like every other room in this house.
She touched one of the walls and came away with white fingertips.
It was still wet. Aside from the sewing machine, the furniture was gone. And so was the christening gown.
She felt Anton behind her and swung round. ‘You’ve got rid of him.’
His expression reminded her of that first time she saw him, her first day at Talulah. Curiosity. He’d probably seen her as a strange creature then. He probably still did. ‘I have simply redecorated. Is Gillian coming to see you?’
‘No. I told her not to.’
‘Then I will take the machine to her.’
‘What have you done with his christening gown? Have you got rid of that as well?’
‘Of course not.’ He went into the room he’d been sleeping in and brought it back.
She seized it from him, sobbing and weeping. He gave her a look. A new one. Pity? Disdain? Contempt. Yes, contempt. He picked up the sewing machine. ‘I’ll be back in time for lunch. Take a shower.’
From the window, she watched him drive away.
How easy it was for him to redecorate and move on.
She lay the gown across her arm and tried to sing, but she couldn’t remember the words to the lullaby.
Anyway, it didn’t feel right. She couldn’t imagine a baby in it anymore, just as she could no longer imagine a baby in this room.
She went back out, already needing the safety of her bed.
But then she remembered the look he’d given her.
They couldn’t go on like this. Something had to change.
Perhaps he knew that already and that was why he’d painted the room.
He was trying to bring her to her senses.
He’d done it to help her. She could see that now.
Ursula closed the door on the newly painted room.
The next time they could start fresh with a new colour and things would be different.
There was a spot of blood on the gown. She’d have to ask her mum how to get that out.
By the time Anton returned, she’d showered and brushed her teeth, tidied her hair and put on clean clothes.
The bed linen had been changed and she was making lunch.
They sat opposite each other at the table to eat it, the sound of cutlery scraping against the plates and creating an echo in the open space above them.
It was obvious he wasn’t going to be the first to hold out an olive branch so it was up to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
He put down his knife and fork. ‘We must never do this again.’
‘Agreed. Next time we’ll be more prepared. I’ll take extra care and if it happens again, we’ll be stronger.’
He shook his head. ‘You misunderstand me, Ursula. There will not be a next time. I do not want children. I would make a bad father. I was prepared to go along with it this time because I had no choice, but now I’m telling you. There will be no more pregnancies.’
A bubble of laughter came from somewhere within Ursula.
Anton glared at her as if she was mad. She was of course.
Mad with grief. But not so mad that she couldn’t see he meant it.
He really didn’t want children. Despair was threatening to wash over her again.
All hope was gone, just when she thought she’d seen a tiny spark of it shining in the distance.
Her eyes were already full with tears before she reached the top of the stairs but she forced them to stop.
She locked herself in the bathroom, washed her face and waited for the red blotches to die down.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she’d been crying again.
She would never give him that satisfaction because she would never cry again. Not unless he changed his mind.
Before going back down she fetched the christening gown from her wardrobe. Anton was still at the table. She threw the gown at him. ‘You may as well get rid of this then, seeing as we won’t be needing it.’