Chapter 14
‘How was the mum and baby group?’ Jay asks when Kate arrives home, having taken the long route back to the village along the river path. The walk has sent Rosie to sleep and her arms and legs dangle limply out of the sides of the carrier.
‘Not great,’ replies Kate, struggling to kick off her shoes without disturbing Rosie. ‘It was kind of weird – all the other mums introduced their babies but not themselves.’
‘Hmm, that does sound weird.’
‘It was as though they’d forgotten they existed too and it made me feel pretty awkward when I went right ahead and said my own name. They were all perfectly nice, but it just didn’t feel like my crowd.’
‘I’m sorry it wasn’t what you were hoping for. I thought it might be a nice chance to make some new friends.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘I’m sure there will be other groups you could try, though.’
Kate knows he means mum and baby groups – maybe a music class or baby sign language or something – but all she can think about is the poster advertising the river swimming club.
‘Hmm, maybe …’
‘I know you miss your friends in London, but you will settle in here. You just need to give it time.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry, I know it was me who persuaded you to move here with me.’
It’s something she thinks about all the time. On days when she misses London so badly it’s like a toothache, she sharply reminds herself that she chose this. All of it.
‘Hey, I know I was reluctant at first, but we made this decision together. And I’m loving having my studio to work on, I’m really excited about how it’s coming together. We haven’t been here for long. It will start feeling like home soon.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
It’s only once her shoes are off and she’s hung her jacket on the coat rack that she notices the pile of Jay’s camera bags in the hallway.
‘Oh, it’s your shoot today. I’d forgotten.’
‘Yeah, I wanted to wait until you got back so I could say goodbye, but I should really get going now. I’ll be back around seven. Are you sure you’re going to be OK on your own?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Kate replies with a forced smile. ‘I had to do this eventually.’
Jay reaches for his bags but stops before picking them up, glancing over at Kate with a serious expression on his face. ‘I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you both.’ His voice sounds strained and it hits Kate that perhaps Jay has been dreading this day just as much as she has. She can’t help but think that if she were in his position, she’d be running out that door.
‘Everything’s going to be fine, honestly,’ she says, as much to herself as to him. ‘I’m going to take Rosie to the supermarket – we’re nearly out of nappies and bread. And chocolate.’
‘Essential items, then.’
‘Exactly. Now you really should go, otherwise you’ll miss your train.’
‘OK. I love you, both of you.’
He lingers for longer in their kiss than Kate was expecting. She tenses as his lips soften open. What is wrong with her? She used to love nothing more than kissing him, but recently her skin has prickled every time he has reached out to touch her. After what feels like a reasonable amount of time, she lets herself pull away. If Jay notices her unease, then he does his best to hide it.
‘OK then, sweetie,’ he says, leaning to kiss Rosie’s cheek. ‘You look after your mum. I’ll miss you, both of you.’
As soon as the door closes behind Jay, Rosie opens her eyes and begins to cry. Loudly. The walls of the cottage suddenly feel as though they’re pressing in on her and Kate finds herself thinking back to the freedom and fresh air of the river.
‘Come on, let’s get you fed and go out and get the things we need,’ she says in a sing-song voice.
One feed and two nappy changes later, Kate is bundling Rosie into the car seat. Once Rosie is settled, a striped hat hand-knitted by Hope on her head, Kate takes a quick photo and sends it to Jay. His reply comes immediately.
Ahh, our girl, look at her! On the train safely. Good luck and have a good day. I love you xx
When Kate arrives at the supermarket car park, she hesitates for a moment before pulling into a parent and child bay, feeling a bit like a fraud as she does so, despite the baby grizzling in the back seat.
‘Right. How do we get this car seat out then?’
She tries one of the buttons, but nothing happens. There’s another on the other side, but however much pushing and wiggling she tries, the seat doesn’t shift. Grabbing the handle on the top does nothing either. Rosie looks up at her with wide, questioning eyes.
‘It’s OK, sweetie. I just need to figure this out …’
But the harder she tries, the more determinedly the car seat remains fixed in the back. Her skin begins to prickle. Could she simply carry Rosie in her arms around the store? But then how would she push the trolley?
‘I suppose I could leave you in the car for a minute, I won’t be long …’ But as soon as she thinks it, she shakes herself. ‘No, of course not.’
It’s only the start of her first day alone with her daughter and already Kate wishes Jay was here. Why can’t she just do these things?
‘Come on, you bastard!’ she shouts, giving the seat another vigorous wiggle.
A passing shopper turns in her direction with a frown, glancing from Kate to Rosie and back again.
‘I didn’t mean …’ she begins, but the woman shakes her head and continues pushing her trolley at a brisk pace.
Finally, a specific push of the button and a wiggle of the handle manages to get the car seat free. ‘Right! Let’s go get the things we need.’
There are only a few items on Kate’s shopping list, but it takes longer than she had expected, because every few minutes, she is stopped by someone wanting to peer and coo into the trolley and ask Kate for a name (the baby’s, not hers, of course). They are usually older and always smiling, the good intentions audible in the softness of their voices.
They grow up so fast. Just you wait until they’re walking/talking/a teenager… And the most common of them all, the phrase that is the mantra of well-meaning strangers to new mothers everywhere: cherish every moment. It’s a message that was also written in so many of the cards that she was sent when Rosie was born. The kindest of words that still manage to stab her right in the heart.
As each new person stops her, Kate smiles and grits her teeth, nodding politely.
By the time she has selected nappies, a few ready meals and an emergency stash of chocolate, she is exhausted. Rosie is clearly tired from the attention too as she has fallen asleep, her eyelids flickering gently. Kate stands in the bread aisle in front of the wall of plastic-packaged loaves, overwhelmed by the selection. When did buying bread become so difficult?
One of the things she grew to love the most about London was the endless choice, all the foods she could eat and places she could go, but right now she doesn’t want to have to decide between white and wholemeal or half-and-half, regular or thick-sliced. She just wants someone to tell her what to buy. And perhaps how on earth to be a good mother, too.
‘Oh, she’s lovely,’ comes a voice at her side and Kate braces herself as she looks up to see a woman a little older than her peering at Rosie with a faint smile on her face.
‘Thanks.’ She just has to pick a loaf and then she can get out of here.
‘How old is she?’
‘Three months.’ Kate doesn’t mean to be short, but she really needs to get home. She never thought that a quick food shop could feel so overwhelming.
‘Oh wow, so very new still then,’ replies the woman with a smile. ‘My own daughter is nearly ten. I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone.’
Kate nods silently, bracing herself for the woman to tell her that she must – she absolutely must – savour every single second of it. It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t slept for more than a two-hour stretch in three months or that many of the seconds she should be savouring are spent changing nappies or listening to her baby screaming and having no idea what to do about it. None of that matters. If she is not enjoying it, cherishing it, then she is doing it all wrong.
But, to her surprise, the woman doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she tilts her head slightly. ‘Of course, it doesn’t feel quick at the time, does it? The days can feel absolutely bloody endless.’
‘I …’ Kate is so startled that it takes her a moment to think of what to say. She glances at the woman more closely this time. Her expression is sympathetic and thoughtful and makes her feel she can open up a little. ‘They can sometimes,’ she admits.
‘God, I remember that early bit so well. It’s so, so hard, but everyone tells you how much you should be enjoying it, don’t they? But what are you actually supposed to enjoy? Having a newborn is like having a tiny dictator ruling your life – a cute one, sure, but still. It’s absolutely relentless. You’re amazing to be out and about, I don’t think I left the house for months. And when I did, I was definitely still in my pyjamas.’
‘I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call this a chic outfit,’ Kate replies, gesturing at her tracksuit bottoms and top with its pale sick stain on one shoulder. The woman laughs slightly, but in a way that doesn’t make Kate feel as though she’s in any way a joke.
‘So, how are you doing?’ the woman says more seriously now, looking at Kate intently. As she does, Kate realises that although the woman glanced in at Rosie to begin with, for the rest of the time her eyes have been on her. Kate. For the first time since arriving in the shop, she feels seen. As though she’s been a ghost but has finally found someone who can see the woman who used to exist and maybe still does.
‘It’s hard,’ she says carefully. ‘It’s been really hard.’
A lump expands in her throat as she finally says aloud the words she has been wanting to say to her husband and family ever since Rosie’s birth. She has tried several times, buoying herself up to start the conversation but always losing confidence at the last minute, reminded of all the messages from all those well-meaning people telling her how happy she must be. Of her sister’s words when Kate told her she was pregnant, reminding her of how lucky she is.
The woman nods in understanding. ‘And I bet that’s an understatement, right?’
Kate blinks rapidly.
‘I didn’t think it would be like this,’ she says after a moment’s pause. She knows that the obvious question is, what did she think it would be like? Was she na?ve to expect motherhood to be any less overwhelming? But then she thinks back to the stacks of books she read and the swathe of working mothers she followed on Instagram when she found out she was pregnant. Journalists like her who made the juggle of work and family life look chaotic but ultimately rewarding. Over recent months, she’s found herself going back to their accounts, obsessively trying to find something of her own experience in the photos, but seeing nothing she can relate to in the tired but smiling faces and tastefully decorated nurseries. She has tried to recall conversations with her own mum and sister too, but they had both talked so glowingly about motherhood. Yes, they warned her, she would be tired. But she would be so happy too.
‘I remember that feeling,’ replies the woman in the supermarket, nodding knowingly. ‘I felt like I had been sold a lie, to begin with. But I promise you, it gets so much better. I know that might not help right now, but it gets so, so much better. Anyway, sorry, I didn’t mean to ambush you, especially when you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll leave you to it.’ The woman steps away, but then pauses, reaching out a hand and resting it for a second on Kate’s arm. ‘Don’t forget to look after yourself. It can feel hard, selfish even. But you deserve to do things that are for you, not just for her.’ She smiles again and then turns away before Kate has time to say anything in reply. She is left standing alone with her baby in the aisle of the supermarket, holding onto the stranger’s words like a lifeline that is keeping her afloat.
It’s only when she arrives home later that she realises she forgot to buy any bread.