Never Close Your Eyes (34 page)

She smiled. Teresa's gaze lingered on the turquoise train tracks. Nic was used to it by now. ‘They look a bit silly, don't they?' she said. ‘The braces, I mean. I feel like an overgrown schoolgirl.'

Teresa grinned back, reassured. ‘I'm quite envious, actually. I always wanted braces but I didn't need them. You're right about never having time to get dressed properly. I spend ages getting Archie ready, then I end up throwing on the same things I've worn three days running.'

She took Nic's jacket and led her into her little square drawing room at the front of the house. Nic cast an eye around. Archie was lying on a play mat on the floor underneath an activity centre. Various colourful objects dangled down from the toy, which the baby was batting with his little fists, drumming his legs in the air at the same time.

‘He'll stay there for hours.' Teresa smiled. ‘He loves it. Coffee?'

Nic nodded. There was a strong smell of nappy and biscuits. Her stomach reeled.

‘Can you keep an eye on him while I put the kettle on?' Teresa said, disappearing.

It was hard to find anywhere to sit because the floor, surfaces and every seat were covered in toys and other baby paraphernalia: blankets, toys, items of clothing. Nic picked a stuffed giraffe and an elephant off the armchair under the bay window, put them on the floor and sat down gratefully. The baby gurgled.

‘Who's a gorgeous boy?' she said half-heartedly. She loved babies but today she couldn't move. She was too shaky and fragile. So she sat there, trying to bond from a distance, praying that he wouldn't start crying.

Teresa came back with two mugs of coffee. Nic took a sip and winced. She hated instant coffee. There was no table to put her mug on so she set it down carefully on the carpet at her feet and pulled a notebook from her handbag.

‘Thanks very much for agreeing to the interview,' she started. ‘You know I'm speaking to three women who've had very different experiences of home births? The title will be “Would You Have a Home Birth?” We want to put the pros and cons.'

Her voice sounded awfully shaky. She hoped Teresa wouldn't notice. Teresa didn't seem to. She nodded, clearing a space on the flowery sofa opposite Nic so that she could sit down. The room felt very close. There was no window open. Nic rolled up the sleeves of her blouse.

‘A bit of background first,' she said. ‘Can you tell me what you do, what your husband does, that sort of thing.'

Archie started whimpering. ‘I expect he's hungry.' Teresa bent down to pick him up and latched him on to her breast, where he made happy slurping sounds.

Nic tried to use her shorthand to jot down Teresa's background details before moving on to her home birth story. For some reason she couldn't remember how to write a lot of the words, though, and had to use messy longhand instead.

The other two women she'd interviewed had had good experiences, so Teresa was to represent the opposite view.

‘It's not a happy tale,' Teresa warned, before launching into her account.

‘I woke up at about four fifteen in the morning thinking these contractions were pretty strong but they weren't difficult,' she explained. ‘I dozed for a while then I realised that I wasn't getting that much dozing in between these squeezes so I looked at my watch and found they were every three minutes or so and lasting for about a minute.'

Nic was scribbling furiously but her hand wouldn't seem to go where she wanted.

‘I got up to see if they'd go away when I had a wee, but they didn't. I tried to wake Dave – that's my husband – but he was in a very deep sleep and I didn't have the heart to dig him in the ribs just yet.'

Nic's eyelids felt uncomfortably heavy. She wished that she could close them for a moment.

‘At about four forty-five I thought that, even though this wasn't hard to handle, I possibly should phone my independent midwife, Bronwen, just in case. I hoped she wouldn't try to keep me talking long enough to time a contraction. Midwives see whether you can talk through it, and they use that information to gauge how quickly they need to get to you.'

Nic sat forward in her chair to keep alert. She knew she should ask questions, get to the point, but Teresa was enjoying herself. It seemed rude to stop her.

‘Well,' she continued, ‘even though these contractions weren't that bad, I didn't fancy trying to talk while dealing with one. I was very relieved when Bronwen asked if I wanted her to come now. I said yes. I had another go at waking up Dave but he was basically talking in his sleep! “Get up!” “Why?” “Because we're going to have a baby.” “Can't you wait till morning?” “No I bloody well can't.”'

Teresa transferred Archie to her other breast but he wasn't interested. He'd dropped off and was snoring lightly. All right for some.

‘I decided I needed music to give me something to focus on,' Teresa continued. ‘I had some relaxing birth music tracks. They were very soothing.'

Teresa's voice was soft and crooning, almost like a lullaby.

‘Bronwen arrived at five fifteen and I was starting to have to lean over and sway my hips a bit during contractions, but was fine in between. However, when she arrived the “in between” bit disappeared and I had about four, one after the other.'

Nic felt her head drop. It hurt her neck. She jerked up again immediately and she had to sit back in the armchair. Otherwise she might topple forward on to the floor.

‘Bronwen checked the baby's heart and said it was fine,' Teresa continued, ‘and checked the position and said the head was fully engaged. She asked me if I wanted to go in the birth pool now. Fortunately it was all set up. I had the large, oval pool I'd ordered from
Mums
and it had a heater and filter unit, so the water was all ready . . .'

Something was pushing Nic's shoulder. She snapped her eyes open. Teresa's face was very close to hers.

‘Are you all right?' she was saying, shaking her. ‘Is something wrong?'

Nic sat bolt upright and looked around her. She was dazed, disorientated, and her mouth felt dry. She noticed Archie asleep on the sofa. Christ. She must have been asleep too. She had no idea for how long.

‘No, no, nothing's wrong,' she said, running a hand through her hair. ‘I'm so sorry, I had a bit of a late night . . .' She winked, hoping to make light of it.

It was a bad move. Teresa's face hardened. ‘I'm sorry if I was boring you . . .'

Nic stood up and pulled down her blouse, which had bunched up round her waist. ‘You weren't boring me at all. It was most interesting. I . . . it was my son's birthday,' she lied. ‘We had a bit of a party.'

Teresa took a step back. ‘A party? On a Thursday night? That's a funny day to have a party.'

Nic tried to smile. ‘You know what it's like, lots of the parents stayed on for a drink . . .'

Teresa shook her head. ‘Look,' she said, ‘Archie will be awake soon and I need to get his lunch ready. I think it would be best if you went.'

Nic put her hand out to touch Teresa's arm but she backed away. ‘Couldn't we just finish the interview?'

Teresa stared at her. Her eyes were cold and judgemental. She was so different from the soft, friendly woman of before. Nic looked away quickly.

‘I don't think you're in any fit state . . .' Teresa started to say.

Nic wrung her hands. ‘Please?'

‘I'd like you to go,' Teresa repeated.

Nic nodded. There was no point arguing. She went into the hall, picked up her jacket and walked past Teresa in silence. She could sense the younger woman's eyes boring into her back. She had a horrible feeling that she knew what Teresa was thinking: lush, drunkard, piss-head. Nic raised her chin, straightened up and marched, as steadily as she could, down the garden path.

She'd find another woman to interview, it would be all right. It was just a bore, that's all, that she'd had a wasted journey. But bloody hell, what if
Mums
found out? She was about to turn, run back up the path and plead with Teresa not to say anything. She was a decent woman, maybe she'd take pity on Nic. Maybe Nic could persuade her that this was a one-off. She swung round at the exact moment that the front door banged shut.

Nic flinched and took a step back. The door was dark blue, with six black, expressionless windowpanes and a thin, letterbox mouth. She staggered slightly, as if she'd been struck.

A nasty feeling crept over her that maybe she wasn't going to get away with it.

She'd really blown it this time.

Chapter Thirty-One

The mobile rang as she turned the corner into her street. Nic pulled over and parked underneath a tree. She needed to know immediately and she'd rather check here than at home. There was no one about. That was lucky, anyway.

It was a voice message. She realised that her hands were trembling as she pressed the button. She recognised the voice immediately.

‘Nic. Can you call as soon as you get this. It's Annabel.'

That was it. No: ‘How's tricks?' or: ‘Hi honey, I've got a juicy fat commission for you.' She sounded formal and professional. There was a job to be done. Nic pressed the hache key to return the call. She counted five rings. Her heart lifted. Maybe she'd gone for a late lunch.

‘Annabel Hadfield speaking.'

Nic could feel the pulse in her temples throbbing. ‘
C'est moi
,' she said, trying to sound cheerful.

‘Nic.' There was no warmth or pleasure in Annabel's voice. ‘What
on earth
happened?' She emphasised the ‘on earth'. Nic felt as if her body were getting smaller. She was crumpling up in her seat; her shoulders were caving in on her.

She swallowed. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I wasn't feeling well. I should have rearranged the interview.'

‘Nic,' Annabel persisted, ‘she said you were pissed. She could smell it on your breath.'

Nic felt sick, but she could use her charm; she'd make a joke of it. It would be all right.

She cleared her throat. ‘Well, I may have had a glass or two last night but—'

‘She said you were trembling and sweaty. You “absolutely reeked”. Her words not mine.'

Nic laughed. ‘It wasn't that bad. I had a bit of a hangover—'

Annabel interrupted again. ‘You fell asleep in a chair with your mouth wide open. In the middle of the interview. Teresa was very upset. She said at first she thought you were ill and she was going to ring her husband. She nearly called an ambulance.'

‘That's a bit of an over-reaction,' Nic chipped in. ‘I only nodded off for a minute.'

Annabel ignored her. ‘Then she realised you were rat-arsed. She said you looked wild and confused. She was actually worried about her baby.'

Nic was shocked. ‘I'd never—'

‘I know.' Annabel sounded softer now, less angry. ‘But that's not the point,' she went on. ‘The point is she was frightened, in her own home, by one of our writers. How do you think that makes us look?'

Nic was silent. She didn't know what to say.

‘I'm afraid I've had to tell Julie.' Julie was the editor.

Nic gasped. ‘But—'

‘I couldn't cover up for you, Nic. It'd be my job on the line if I did.'

‘What did she say?' Nic didn't want to know but she couldn't not ask either.

‘She went ballistic – not surprisingly.'

‘I'm so sorry.' Nic was crying now. Wet, salty tears were running down her cheeks and dribbling into her mouth. She sniffed. ‘You've been so good about giving me work.'

Annabel sighed. ‘Teresa said she bought
Mums
every month. She certainly won't be buying us again. At least she's only one reader.' Annabel laughed humourlessly. ‘But honestly, Nic, what were you thinking of?'

‘I don't know, I was stupid. I thought I'd be all right.'

‘Well, you thought wrong,' said Annabel. ‘What the hell were you doing last night anyway?'

Nic rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. A man walked past the car and peered at her strangely. She looked away.

‘We had a bit of a party at home.' She was hardly going to reveal the truth.

‘Bloody hell, Nic,' Annabel said. ‘You seriously overdid things this time. I can't give you any more work, you know that, don't you?'

‘Yes.' Nic's voice sounded very small. She felt about five years old. ‘Did Julie say that?'

‘She didn't phrase it quite so politely.'

‘Do you think I should write to her?'

‘I don't think that's a good idea.'