Lies Lies Lies. Adele Parks

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СКАЧАТЬ my belly. I’d take her pain if I could. I kiss her forehead and she murmurs, ‘Don’t worry, Mummy. It doesn’t hurt now.’ Then her eyelids drop heavily, like a metal shutter over a shop window.

      I wander into the bathroom. The water is still in the bath. It’s pink with her blood. I’m shocked again as I see her blood smeared on the tiles. It’s obvious where she fell, the blood is most concentrated there. It’s dried hard. There are also small bloody hand prints on the bath edge. I pull the plug and use the hand-held shower to sluice it away.

      ‘What’s going on here?’ Simon is stood in the doorway. He wipes his eyes, clearly he’s been asleep for the entire time we have been at the hospital, four hours. He must have been asleep when she fell.

      ‘Millie slipped as she tried to get herself out of the bath,’ I snap.

      ‘Daisy!’ I hear accusation in his voice. He thinks this is my fault and maybe it is. I can’t trust him. I glare at him.

      ‘I asked you to bath her, or if that was too much, at least to watch her whilst she bathed. She could have drowned.’

      He looks a little shamefaced and then defiant. ‘But she didn’t.’

      ‘She’s badly hurt her head. It’s been glued.’

      ‘Glued?’

      ‘They do that instead of stitches now.’

      ‘So she’s OK?’

      I know what he’s asking but I can’t give him that glib reassurance yet. I’m too angry. ‘No, she’s not OK. I’ve just told you. She cut her head, banged her elbow. She was really upset. There was a lot of blood. A lot of painful bruising.’

      ‘I need a drink.’ He leaves the bathroom and goes downstairs. I’m furious. That was not the response I wanted. But then I sigh. What response did I want? What could he say or do now? I finish cleaning the bathroom. I want it to look spotless by the time Millie sees it next. After washing away all evidence of her fall I also put her dirty clothes in the wash basket. I pop my head around her bedroom door just to check on her, before I go downstairs and join Simon in the kitchen. He’s stood by the breakfast bar in semi-darkness. He has only bothered to put on the small light above the hob. I don’t flick the switch for the overhead lights. I think it would be too garish. The dimness offers us both a cloak which, for reasons I can’t explain or even understand, I feel we need.

      ‘Do you want something to eat? I’m hungry,’ I say. We missed supper. This offer is as conciliatory as I’m capable of being right now. I feel I can’t blame Simon for the fall, at least not entirely. I knew he was less than sober and in a weird mood. I should have unpacked the shopping and then bathed Millie myself. I shouldn’t have allowed her to try to manage and I shouldn’t have relied on him. I’m telling myself all of this to try to stop feeling angry with him, but I just find I’m angry with him for a different reason. Not for the fall but because I can’t rely on him.

      Simon reaches for a bottle of red wine from the wine rack. He slides it out. The sound of the glass bottle scraping against the wooden shelf is a familiar one. Like opening the fridge or the sound of the back door closing, the TV jumping to life; a domestic sound, familiar to our home. ‘Do you want a glass?’

      ‘No, it’s too late for me,’ I say pointedly. Then I dare to add. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’

      ‘No, I don’t.’ He says firmly as he unscrews the cap and reaches for a glass.

      Simon has had enough to drink. Too much. Why can’t he see it? Why can’t I say it?

      This happens from time to time in our marriage. Simon likes a drink and then there comes a point where he drinks too much. Usually I wait it out. After months, maybe a year, he’ll notice he’s over-doing it and cut back. No one is perfect. We all have stuff to deal with. He drank heavily when we were trying to conceive. He drinks heavily if things are stressful at work. I wonder what’s on his mind now? I fear it’s something to do with wanting another child. The visit to the fertility clinic was so peculiar. The way he ran out of the place. Odd. When I asked him what the doctor had said to upset him, he said he never even got the chance to speak to the doctor, that he’d just been left waiting in the consultation room. He said that was what had annoyed him, the lack of manners. The arrogance. ‘I knew you didn’t want to be there, Daisy, so I just gave up. I thought, forget it.’ I don’t really believe him. I suspect it had something to do with his drinking, nearly everything does. Maybe he felt woozy or nauseous, maybe the doctor commented that he didn’t seem quite sober, maybe he suddenly just wanted a drink more than he wanted a baby; he did bolt straight to a pub.

      He’s right about one thing, I didn’t want to be at the fertility clinic. It was a great relief to me when he charged out of the building and I was left to hurriedly collect up Millie and our belongings. I daren’t even ask him if we got a refund. I don’t really care. I want to leave the matter alone. I’m glad he’s stopped talking about a sibling for Millie. Yet, I can’t ignore the fact that Simon is drinking heavily again. It’s not social drinking. It’s not even overindulgent drinking. It’s purposeful, determined drinking. It’s as though he’s trying to find something at the end of the bottle. Oblivion, maybe.

      ‘Simon, you were drunk and therefore late to the recital and then you came home and drank some more so fell asleep instead of looking out for Millie. How could you let her down like that?’

      I steel myself to look at him. I don’t want to because he’s ugly to me right now, he’s in the wrong. Millie got injured, she will still be in pain tomorrow, she’s shocked, scared and it could have been a whole lot worse. That doesn’t bear thinking about. But when I lay eyes on Simon, my fury crashes, dissipates. He’s staring at the counter. He looks sad, confused.

      ‘I didn’t mean to let her down,’ he says with a sigh. He looks out to our garden. My eyes follow his. I think I see a fox by the bins.

      Whoever means to let anyone down? I wonder. ‘Have you got something you want to talk about?’ I ask his reflection in the kitchen window.

      He shakes his head. We stand in silence for a minute. Then he asks my reflection, ‘Have you?’

      ‘No.’

      He picks up the bottle of red wine and pours a second glass and I put two slices of bread in the toaster. We eat and drink in silence.

8

       Chapter 8, Simon

       Saturday, 18th June 2016

      Simon really wanted to make it up to Millie for leaving her alone in the bathroom. When he thought about her battered head, her aching elbow, when he imagined the moment of panic she must have felt when she slipped, the fear, the confusion – he hated himself. He got up early on the Saturday morning and made pancakes with her. The first couple were misshapen, but he told her that they looked like Mickey Mouse’s ears and she was kind enough to agree with him. He got into his groove and then made twice as many as they could possibly eat. They took some up to Daisy in bed because Millie wanted to, even though breakfast in bed was usually only something that occurred on birthdays or Mother’s Day. As it happened, Daisy was already in the СКАЧАТЬ