Untold

The glass seemed to fall in slow motion before shattering into crystal chards, decorating the uneaten croissant and the floor in carefree abandonment of who or what they hit.

“Sorry, Chloe, I wanted to tell you sooner. I’m only nine weeks. It’s not public knowledge yet. It’s just our secret, well yours, mine and Tony’s of course,” Laura uttered as she started to carefully gather the broken glass. She was shaking a little, from the adrenaline, she supposed. She felt as though she was walking down from a very steep climb. She’d said it now. The words struck the air, irretrievable, like etches in a tree trunk.

Chloe watched as the waitress and her mother cleared the ice-like fragments. “That’s wonderful, Mum. I mean, congratulations!”

“Thank you!” Laura stood up and flung her arms wide in expectation of a hug. Chloe’s fragile frame leaned towards her mother; her paper-light arms fluttered into an embrace. It was about the sixth hug of the weekend, Chloe noted. She was in the habit, now, ever since her mother had come off the mood stabilisers, of collecting observations about her patterns of affection and withdrawal. Moods swirled around, in a chaotic blur of tantrums and kindness, and home would feel like an empty, cold cave. When the happy moods came it was like bouncing on a bouncy castle, trying to keep up and jump as high as Laura.

“I’ll order you another croissant, as a celebration?” Laura asked in a slightly feigned, sweet voice. The thought of a croissant loomed, like an intimidating chore, neither attractive, nor rewarding. Chloe shook her head. Although she did feel hungry – she’d skipped breakfast – she couldn’t bring herself to eat.

Tony was waiting for them at home and was knocked off balance by Chloe’s exuberant hug; a rare burst of energy.

‘Congrats, Tony!”

“Hey, it’s early days still. But hopefully we’ll be welcoming the sibling you’ve always wanted.”

It was true. Chloe had been aching for a brother or sister since her earliest memories. She had desperately envied her school friends, the ones who swapped clothes with their sisters, whose older brother would occasionally give them a lift. The sense of longing pervaded her psyche; it almost felt as though a piece of her body was missing. At two years of age, she’d had the habit of requesting an extra fork and spoon be laid out next to her own. On her sixth birthday, she’d requested two cakes, one for her and one for Sarah, her imaginary sister.

Since emerging into adolescence, she could not seem to shrug off the feeling that something important in her life was missing, but she didn’t know what to look for or where to find it. Often, an undefinable guilt gnawed at her mind, eating away slowly at her sense of identity. Her counsellor had linked these feelings to her eating disorder. She was trying to find control.  

*******

The evening fell softly around Tony and Laura as they took their evening stroll. Laura’s stomach churned. She knew, now was the moment to tell him. Tony placed a hand over her slender tummy. “I’m nervous,” she murmured, her breath visible in the chilly air.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t!” Her voice broke a little. She drew away and began to cry. Tony felt the wet patch bleed into his shoulder.

“It’s early days but the doctor would have said if there had been cause for concern,” Tony said, attempting to reassure her.

“I need to show you something.” Laura swallowed down her tears and led Tony to the meadow. The empty, shimmering silver and green stretched out before them, an untouched, moonlit carpet. Laura shivered and took Tony’s hand. Her eyesight veiled by tears, she thought she saw a lonely rabbit scurry away. She couldn’t be sure.  They were by the corner now, where some overgrown shrubs lay twisted and sprawled.

The grey stone slab of the grave lay illuminated in the moonlight. “I didn’t mean to do it, it was an accident, I… I…” her voice trailed off as she fell into a helpless huddle, her body bent over, sobbing. Tony rested the palm of his hand on her back. “Tell me about it, Laura. For heaven’s sake, just tell me what happened!”

Laura’s mind pictured the evening that it happened as fresh as yesterday, sometimes playing it over and over, like a clip on a broken cinea film, stuck on one scene. The wrinkled folds of the bedclothes, the trapped heat under the duvet, the scent of Johnson’s baby lotion. Chloe and Carrie had been three months old. She had folded the baby grows neatly in the draws. Chloe had been tired and taken only a few suckles before falling asleep, snuggled in her strawberry-patterned pyjamas. Carrie, however, had cried inconsolably for hours that evening, as she had the preceding evenings. Laura didn’t know if was trapped wind that had kept her up the previous nights, rocking poor Carrie to sleep. The cloak of night had enveloped them and ever since, the darkness had enshrined Laura’s mind. It was the uninvited guest who would never leave.

“I killed her. I killed my own baby,” the words hurled into the moonlight with nowhere to go but the stars. “I… I… was so tired, she stayed in bed with me that night, I… I… fell asleep and then…” Laura remembered how Carrie had felt cool and still. How she had slipped away at some point in the night, as calmly and seamlessly as a setting sun. Even now, 14 years later, she tries to dissect the memory of the night, the position of the pillow in relation to Carrie, the bluey hue around Carrie’s rosebud lips. She tries to retrace the steps, but the details run together like pools of watery paint on a canvas. The twins’ father had found them both; one’s new life rising and falling in her chest, the other on her side, rhythmless. He’d seemed to tuck his grief neatly away, as though folding paper into a briefcase. Later, he’d said it’s rare, but it happens, these unexplained infant deaths.

Tony ran his fingers through his tired hair, ashen grey and at the stage where it had outgrown the style of the cut. He pulled Laura close, tucking her tightly under his arm, his body vibrating under Laura’s sobs.

**********

The next morning, Chloe woke with a start. In her dream she had been taking care of a baby, whose cries awoke her. She had protected the baby from being taken, stolen, but the details were sketchy. The baby was no longer in the pram where she’d left her. Only the cries lingered, drifting over to the conscious. Hunger gnawed and boiled away in her stomach. She mustn’t eat breakfast. To her delight, her weight had been going down. She got ready to meet Johanna for their walk to school.

“Hey, whatsup?” Johanna chirped, her usual merry self.

“Oh, hey, not much. Some good news but all will be revealed in due course.” Chloe was not going to let it slip about the pregnancy. She didn’t hold her mother in the highest of regards, but she would never, ever be disloyal.

“You been having any of those twin dreams again?” Johanna asked. “You look kind of tired.”

“Something like that. Have you done the Maths homework?” Chloe changed the topic.

As they reached the school’s entrance, Johanna handed Chloe a slightly torn magazine. “Good article in this month’s Mizz. Check it out – she writes about twins,” Johanna called as she ran for tutor time. Chloe tucked the magazine into her bag. She’d read it over lunch. 

That evening, Chloe helped Tony with the dishes. Laura had gone out for some fresh air.

“Dad, do you hope for a girl or a boy?” she asked.

“Well, I think I am better prepared for girls, but I’ve been longing for a fellow cricketer,” came the half-joking reply. She added a fresh squirt of washing-up liquid, filling the air with the scent of cleanliness.

“Dad, I read a really interesting article about twins earlier. This woman was an identical twin but lost her twin sister in the womb. She writes about how this loss has impacted her, you know, now she’s older.”

“Oh, yes, sounds interesting. Oh, it’s time for Top Gear. Want to watch it with me? Tony replied. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood for further conversation, Chloe thought to herself, feeling a little slighted.

Chloe slumped on the sofa, next to Tony. She picked up the magazine, the one with the article about the twins. The latch unhooked at the front door and then a quiet tiptoe; whoever had just come in didn’t want to be heard.

“Mum?” called Chloe. Laura hesitated in the doorway. Chloe noticed mud on the carpet. She saw Laura’s swollen, tear-bruised eyes.

Oh dear, thought Laura. We’re headed for a downward mood spiral.

“Mum, are you ok? Where have you been?”

Laura’s eyes caught sight of the magazine article.

“Nowhere. I mean, somewhere. Oh, it doesn’t matter. I need an early night.”

Laura stooped, lips poised. Chloe felt the kiss, shrivelled and dry, as though the crying had rinsed Laura of all available bodily waters. Laura trembled a little, the air seemed to wait for her next utterance. She turned away, breathing the words, “I’m tired. Sleep well, my darling.”

Word count: 1572