If Truth Be Told

It’s time. Laura has been counting the ticks of the clock. He is always punctual. The door upstairs creaks open. She lies still and waits.

Footsteps across the floor above her bed. Slow, dragging steps, heading to the kitchen as always. The cupboard door opens and closes softly, and the water gurgles in the old pipes, followed by a moment’s silence after the tap is turned off.

She waits for the sound of the glass set down on the kitchen counter. There it is. It won’t be long now.

The footsteps shuffle back out of the kitchen. The creaking door and footsteps on the upstairs landing. Then, they descend.

She can tell how far down he is from the sound each stair makes.

When he reaches halfway, she waits for the cries of the baby. Woken from his peaceful sleep, the alarmed cries of the young child rise from the cot by the window in her room.

The feet on the stairs pause, then move faster. Cold air drifts into the room when the bedroom door opens. The draught is left outside when the door closes softly.

One, two, three, four, steps. He is standing next to the cot. Laura keeps her eyes closed and doesn’t move when he picks the baby up, soothes him with whispered words. Words that send shivers down her spine.

The baby quietens, and he lays him gently back down. The rustle of the bedclothes as he tucks the sleeping child back into the cot.

He sighs and tiptoes around the bed. Unbuckles his belt. Takes off his trousers and shirt. Lays them neatly on the chair beside the bed.

Another rush of cold air. This time, it invades her bed as he lifts the cover. Her side of the bed lifts a fraction as he lays his heavier body next to her. Her pulse races, but she cannot breathe for the pain and memories that hold her heart still. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter, capturing her tears, waiting for the touch of a warm hand on her skin.

When the morning light comes, there is no sign of him. No clothes on the chair and no indentation on the bed. The pillow next to her is plump and cold. It's like he was never there.

Laura waits for the familiar song from the bathroom, for the rush of water as the shower is turned on. For the footsteps taking the stairs two at a time and drawers and cupboards opening and closing as he rushes about making breakfast.

But the house is silent and empty. Even the cot next to her bed is empty, with the bedclothes carefully folded in a pile at the foot of the mattress. She is alone.

The loud buzzing at the door makes her jump. She pulls the duvet over her head. Maybe it will go away if she ignores it. But it won’t. It rings again. Long and persistent. Again and again. It’s message loud and clear. It will not go away.

She sits up. Her head aches from the lack of rest and her eyes from the tears unleashed. The doorbell rings again.

Then she remembers. It’s her mum. She had Ben last night, so Laura could try to sleep through the night. If her mum is here, it must be later than she had thought. The sleeping pills must have done their job, eventually. She struggles out of bed and climbs the bed of her upside-down house.

She lets her mum and Ben in. Ben greets her with open arms and snotty kisses as she picks him up for a cuddle. She turns her back to her mum’s unspoken questions. Her mum’s sad sigh and tired footsteps follow her and Ben into the kitchen. She sits Ben in his highchair and switches the coffeemaker on to give herself something to do. Besides, she needs the caffeine to clear her head.

“Did you manage to get some sleep last night?” her mum asks when they sit around the kitchen table with steaming cups of coffee.

“I must have done. I only woke up moments before you rang the doorbell.”

“That’s good. Although you don’t look very rested. I mean, look at the bags under your eyes.”

“Cheers, Mum. You don’t have to always say it how it is.” She manages a lopsided smile at her mum. “Although, truthfully, I don’t feel very rested.”

She sips her coffee. The extra sleeping pill she took last night is still doing its job. She rests her elbows on the table and presses her palms against her closed eyes. Her mind drifts into a blissful darkness where no memories exist. Her elbows nearly sliding off the table brings her back to the present.

“Laura,” her mum reaches out for her hand. “I can stay with Ben for a couple more hours if you want me to. They won’t need me at the shop until the afternoon. You could try to catch some more sleep.”

“Could you? That would be really great, but I shouldn’t keep you. You have already done so much. And Ben needs me.”

“Yes, he does, but what good are you to Ben if you cannot stay awake? Get yourself back to bed.”

“Thanks, Mum.” She pushes her half-drunk coffee away from her and stands up. Her eyes glimpse the picture of the three of them. Ben, Luke, and her.

It sends her head spinning and she holds onto the chair for support. Breathing deep like her therapist has advised, she steadies her heart and drags her tired body to the door. She stops, watching her mum lift Ben out of his chair and bounce him on her knee.

As grateful as Laura is for her mum, the picture is all wrong. It should be her and Luke playing with Ben. The unfairness of it all twists and turns her guts like the smell of tomatoes did when she was pregnant with Ben. This is not how it was supposed to go. Not at all like she had imagined their lives to unfold.

“Mum.” She stops. Hesitates.

“Yes, darling?” Mum carries on bouncing Ben who giggles.

“He came again last night.”

“I thought we agreed and your therapist agrees, too, that you mustn’t let him in.”

“How can I stop it when I want him here so desperately?”

“Laura. He is dead. Has been for six months. You need to let go.”

She fights the urge to shout she knows. Instead, she gives her mum a wobbly smile and blows a kiss to Ben.

“I know,” she whispers, but if truth be told, she is already waiting for Luke to come back in her dreams to look after her and Ben again.