‘I can’t stop,’ Tully replied, starting to cry. ‘Even though we’re standing here outside a police station. Even though you’re probably going to leave me and take my children away. Even though I’m a laughing-stock in my community. Sonny, I can’t stop.’ She was sobbing now, so hard she had to stop for breath. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
For a moment, Sonny stared at her, genuinely shocked. Then something changed in his expression. Tully saw the precise moment he got it. It was like a dawning, an awakening. Finally, he understood how powerless she was.
‘All right,’ he said, putting his arms around her and letting her sob into his chest. ‘Shhh. It’s going to be all right.’
52
HEATHER
Heather and Stephen had just returned home from the hospital, the second visit in twelve hours. She lay in bed, staring at the wall.
‘An anembryonic pregnancy,’ the doctor had said. ‘Also known as a blighted ovum.’
The doctor explained that an anembryonic pregnancy meant the sac and placenta had grown, but the baby had not.
‘It’s like the body was tricked into thinking it was pregnant,’ he explained. ‘It stopped your periods, started creating the hormones, but eventually your body figured out it had been tricked and that’s why you started bleeding. It could never have been a baby.’
This information, which perhaps should have come as a comfort to Heather, felt like more of an assault. Not only had she lost the baby, she’d never been pregnant in the first place. She’d been tricked. Her body had been tricked. Why hadn’t she and her body been smarter? It brought on a fresh wave of tears.
‘I’m so sorry, Heather,’ Stephen said.
Now, he sat on the side of their bed, the epitome of a man in pain. It was as though the fact that he hadn’t wanted this baby – the fact that he’d been involved in the death of this un-child – didn’t matter now that it hadn’t been a real baby anyway. And perhaps that was the case? Did it matter if you killed a person who was already dead to begin with? Heather didn’t know anymore.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeated. ‘I know what a loss this must be.’
‘For me,’ she said.
She winced at the sound of her own voice. It sounded flat. Toneless. Lifeless.
‘I won’t pretend that having a baby was something I wanted,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t want it to end this way.’
‘How did you want it to end?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know how to answer that.’
She rolled over onto her back and looked at him. ‘Tell me the truth,’ she said. ‘Those pills . . . did they bring on the miscarriage?’
He reared back, as if not quite believing what he was hearing. ‘I can’t believe you would ask me that.’
‘You didn’t want a baby,’ she said. ‘It makes sense.’
He peered at her, like he was trying to read the fine print at the back of her eyeballs. ‘Heather, people don’t drug women they love to make them have miscarriages, even if they didn’t want the baby. That is just madness!’
She held his gaze. ‘Is it?’
He threw up his hands. ‘I don’t know what to say. Get some rest. I’ll come back and check on you in a little while.’
And he left.
She had to admit, it had worked out well for him. The baby was dead, and he didn’t even have blood on his hands. Now he got to play the role of the grieving father-to-be. It was perfect.
Heather must have fallen asleep, because when she woke up, it was to a knock at the door. By the time she opened her eyes, there was a head poking around the corner.
It was Mary. Stephen’s friend Mary. The lovely dinner party host, Mary.
‘Sorry to barge in, I just wanted to give you these,’ she said, opening the door wider to reveal a large bunch of flowers.
Heather started to sit up, but Mary held up a hand. ‘Stay where you are. You need to rest. Do you mind if I come in?’
Heather shook her head. Oddly, she felt glad to see Mary. There was something comforting about her neatly bobbed hair, her crisp white shirt and the scent of her perfume. Like she was being looked after by a warm, very competent mother or nurse.
Mary sat on the edge of the bed and laid the flowers gently on the bedcovers. ‘I heard about your loss. I’m so, so sorry.’
She did indeed appear to be sorry. The genuine emotion on Mary’s face undid Heather a bit.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Mary said, and then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she wrapped her arms around Heather, enveloping her in her comforting scent. ‘I know. It’s awful. Go ahead and cry.’