The Fallout. Rebecca Thornton
mums VIP business
Members: Charlotte G, Bella
Charlotte G: Was that the ‘incident’ I heard about at The Vale Club? Do you know? Apparently someone wasn’t watching their kid and they had a fall? There’d better be an investigation of some sorts.
Bella: I don’t know. Maybe. Awful.
Charlotte G: Must be. I’ll try and find out. They shut the club apparently. I wasn’t there, of course. Had all three kids at home crafting. But by the sounds of it, someone’s head’s going to roll.
Bella: *rolling heads emoji*.
The next morning, I meet Gav in the hospital café. I’d slept on a guest bed next to Jack, whilst he’d gone home to get some rest. I’d barely shut my eyes, listening out all night for any change in the rhythm of Jack’s breath.
‘Ready?’ I hand Gav a black coffee. Two espresso shots, just as he likes it. He nods and takes the cup without a thank you. We get the lift up to floor three, Paediatrics. I shield my eyes from the other patients in wheelchairs and trolleys. I can’t stand any more heartache right now. Selfish, I know.
We stand close to each other as we walk towards Jack’s hospital bed. My little boy is there, his head on the pillow, stilled by a foam neck brace. I’d only been away from him for about ten minutes whilst I went to meet Gav but I’m already overcome with the feelings I’d been battling all night – fear, guilt, sorrow, relief that he’s alive. There’s a flickering halogen bulb to the side of him, the blue concertinaed curtains drawn so that I can only see half his sleepy face. It all feels a bit eerie now the lights have been switched on, especially when I see the cannula tape, puckered over his small arm. There’s a plastic jug of squash next to him, still full with a bunch of limp-looking straws next to it.
‘You OK?’ Gav takes my arm and pulls me forward. For some reason this small act of kindness makes me want to cry all over again, until he seems to physically push me forward with the palm of his hand on my back. He wasn’t being kind after all – he was just steering me into the right direction, I think. My feelings can’t keep up with his actions and my throat constricts. It seems that neither of us knows how to behave in light of this trauma. ‘Just …’ I manage.
‘Come on. Let’s not let him see us upset when he’s fully awake.’ Gav grabs two plastic chairs and places them next to Jack. There’s an awkward moment, when neither of us knows who should sit first, but I go ahead and lean over to my son.
‘Jack? My little one? It’s OK. Mummy and Daddy are here.’ His eyes look all droopy and a small tear rolls its way down his cheek. I feel the heat of his breath on my hand. A lone, thick eyelash has made its way onto his cheek. ‘We love you so much. We’re so proud of you.’ I lick my finger and press it over the eyelash. ‘I’m doing it for you. The wish. OK?’ I shut my eyes and blow as hard as I can. Please, please make him better.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I didn’t mean to be a bad boy.’
‘Oh darling, you could never, ever be a bad boy. It was an accident. A dreadful accident.’
I would never, ever admit this to Gav, but I think about the fact that I had been inside The Vale Club. That I should have been with Jack, watching him. How easy it had been for me to be sitting in the warmth, as he had climbed higher and higher up that post. How poor Sarah would probably feel guilty for the rest of her life that had she checked on him just minutes later, she might – just might have seen him. Too high. Not that she should feel bad. Of course, she couldn’t have changed a thing. But – I know Sarah. I know how she is, she’ll obsess over this. My stomach feels like it’s about to fall out of my body.
‘Never let me hear you say that again, darling.’ I smooth back his hair. His eyes look glassy. ‘You’re OK. You’re going to be all OK. I promise.’
I hear the creak of Gav’s leather jacket as he leans forward and wraps both of his arms around Jack’s small legs.
‘I love you, big guy,’ he says, his voice muffled by the sheets. ‘I love you so much. You are my hero. Always remember that.’
A small smile hovers on one side of Jack’s mouth. I look at Gav, who is chewing the inside of his lip, eyes closed.
‘It’s OK,’ I tell him too. ‘He’s OK. He is.’
By the time we both look back at Jack, he’s fast asleep again. It’s only then that I feel drops of liquid pouring out from my boobs.
‘Shit.’ I look down at two, large damp bullseyes on my Breton tee. ‘Shit. Thea.’
‘Is she OK?’ Gav snaps his head up. ‘She’s with Sarah – are you sure that’s the right person to—’
‘Yes, yes of course. It’s just that,’ I point to my chest. The movement seems grotesquely intimate, embarrassing even, given Gav hasn’t been anywhere near that area since Thea was conceived.
‘Do you reckon you could just go to the maternity ward?’ I think back to when we’d last set foot in there only eight weeks ago. My bladder feeling like it was going to explode as I bounced up and down on that purple, rubber ball. ‘Just explain the situation and ask one of the midwives if I can borrow a pump? That nice girl, Lucie. See if she’s on shift? She’ll remember us.’
Gav lets out a deep sigh. ‘I’ll go and see. Anything else?’
I look up at his brown eyes. I want to ask him why he had felt the need to separate from me in the first place. How if he could explain it to me fully, perhaps I could help, do something. Anything, to make it better. But he’ll shut down. As he usually does. Say that things have changed since Jack had been born, and that’s that. Then why did you have another child with me, I want to shout. Why?
‘No thanks. Nothing.’ My whole face hurts with the effort of trying not to cry. My chin feels numb.
Why didn’t you love me enough to stay with me? To try and work things out, I want to ask, even though, deep down, I know the answer.
He’s gone for a long time. I watch the other kids in the ward. Listen to the shuffle of feet and swish of mops. A tall male nurse with a sharp face comes over to take Jack’s blood pressure and temperature.
‘Lovely boy.’ He breaks into a grin. I nod but can’t say anything. By the time Gav gets back, Jack is still asleep. He wheels in a large yellow hospital-grade pumping machine. We both smile, thankful that the distraction – and size of it – has broken the tension. ‘Jesus,’ I say, as he pushes it around the bed and moves his chair out of the way. ‘Looks like it could milk an elephant.’ I try and be light-hearted for Gav. Make jokes so that he might recognise the old me. The one he fell in love with and perhaps, then, things would be all right.
‘Someone’s coming,’ he says. ‘With all the other … you know,’ he waves his hands around his own chest, ‘stuff.’
We sit and wait. Eventually someone arrives and hooks me up with all the bottles and tubes. Both boobs are stuffed unceremoniously into two rubbery cones.
‘Let me,’ says the midwife, ramping up the dial. Almost instantly, the drrrr drrrr sound starts up.
‘That noise,’ Gav says, mimicking the sound of the machine and placing his palms over his eyes. ‘Gives me nightmares.’
We both laugh again. I remember how we’d both spent hours working out how to use the damn thing when we’d first brought Jack home. I see Gav shaking his head, as though ridding himself of the darker memories that followed. I wonder when it got so bad between us. We’d managed, in spite of everything. But then he’d snapped after Thea was born, around the time she reached the three-week mark. All those memories of what happened with Jack had surfaced again. I tell myself to focus on the now. I go through