Beat the Rain Read online

  * * *

  Watching Adam holding Maria after nine hours of labour was one of the most difficult things Louise had ever done. Every inch of him glowed as he cuddled his newborn. The pride burst out of him like a halo on a church mural as he handed her to his parents to hold. Even Adam’s mum Janet seemed to be genuinely taken with this new little bundle of joy. So why did Louise feel so…not empty, that’s not the right word, she was filled with emotions, filled to explosive capacity in fact. Was she scared? Not that either. None of the emotions were how she’d expected to feel. Not how her friends with children had described it to her. Not how anyone describes it. Are there even words for it? Desolate? Removed from reality? A banshee trapped inside skin too tight for her body, like it might split open at any moment.

  She’d read about how amazing breastfeeding was supposed to be, how it made you feel at one with your child, nourishing them. She’d read that it releases hormones in both mother and child that relax and assist with bonding. In Louise’s experience, it hurt. As Maria nestled into her chest, searching desperately for a breast to feed on, Louise had to grit her teeth.

  “Don’t worry, it gets easier,” the nurse said, after Maria’s first breastfeed. But it hadn’t. A yeast infection followed, inflammation of both nipples as well as Maria’s mouth. Before she’d even left the hospital, Louise had decided breastfeeding wasn’t for her. Besides, if she bottle fed, Adam would be able to help her out.

  And he had. Before she knew it, Maria and Adam were a tight unit and Louise felt like some woman who lived with them. An outsider incapable of feeling the things she was supposed to. The things a mother was supposed to.

  When Matthew was born fifteen months later, he was poorly. If Louise strains hard, she can clearly smell the antiseptic smell of incubators and shock of all the tubes down Matthew’s nose and the needles in his arms. He’d swallowed some meconium and the doctors were worried he’d got an infection. When Louise could finally hold him, his puffy hands and feet thrashed about, trying to escape from the hard blue hospital blanket, and his wrist-tag was tightly digging into his whale-fat newborn flesh. His tiny arm was still bandaged, securing a needle firmly in his vein so the doctors could deliver precautionary antibiotics.

  “This is your brother,” Adam had said, cuddling Maria and leaning over so she could see her newborn playmate more clearly. Louise had held him close in case Maria tried to touch him or hurt him.

  “Adam, not so close,” she’d said, staring down into her son’s face.

  “Do you think he looks like Daddy?” Adam had asked Maria, tickling her sides and making her giggle.

  “He’s handsome, like you,” Louise had said, reaching out to squeeze her husband’s hand. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” Adam had replied, jiggling Maria up and down on his knees. “And we love Mummy, don’t we.”

  Matthew’s arrival hadn’t lifted the fog in the way Louise had hoped, though. Somehow, in the midst of all the dark feelings, she’d thought it would be better second time around. But in fact, once Matthew had come along, with her husband channelling everything he had into both of them, she’d ended up even further removed, somewhere on the sidelines, looking in on her own life and family without being able to fully partake.

  And it wasn’t his fault – what was he supposed to do if she wasn’t capable? But shouldn’t that have been her role? If she’d been a real woman, she’d have been the one who emotionally invested everything into her children, even to the exclusion of her husband. This version of perfect motherhood, the soft-voiced, bottomless well of patience and love… It didn’t seem real to Louise. Motherhood was hard, much harder than anyone let on. And it didn’t come naturally to her, not one little bit. Everyone makes out the feelings are there from day one, and you just feel it, but Louise didn’t and she doesn’t know what to do about it. The spectre of her mother weighs heavily around her neck. That’s how her mother had felt about her, she now realises. And in the end, she’d left, incapable of dealing with it any longer. And now here she is, repeating the same pattern with her own children, with her own husband. Sitting staring from the window at the green fields, not caring about her smudged makeup and snotty nose, Louise hates what she’s becoming. But she doesn’t know how to feel anything else, she doesn’t know how to make things better. She is unable to connect with her own children. Here she sits, silently in her hotel bar, the bar and hotel she’s lied to her husband to visit, leaving him at home being Super-dad, like her dad was to her.

  “Who are you, Louise?” she whispers to herself. She’s always felt so sure of herself; even in the midst of grief, she’s had an inner strength, an ability to stand up and carry on. But the helplessness she feels as a mother is crippling, it’s attacking her from the inside, making her doubt everything. Her self-confidence, the only thing she’s had to rely on at some points in her life, is gone. Maybe it had only ever been an illusion anyway. Either way, it had helped her, propped her up and enabled her to carry on going after so much loss. But now? What is she doing here? Why isn’t she at home with her children? The honest answer is because if she’d stayed at home with Adam and the kids for one more second, she’d have stood in the hallways and started screaming and screaming and she doesn’t think she’d ever have been able to stop. So she ran away, like her mother had before her. And she kept running until she’d arrived here, a nameless hotel in a nameless English town. Where even is she? The Midlands somewhere? The landscape is flat and non-descript enough. She twirls her glass, white fingers, pale pink nail paint. Her hands are still young, she still has so much life ahead of her. But she’s the same age her own mother was when she left and that terrifies her beyond belief. But is she leaving? Are they splitting up? She doesn’t think they’re even doing that, they’re just…coasting along, side by side. Two people who share a life without actually sharing each other’s lives any more.

  It’s not fair to blame Adam for it, but she keeps thinking back to their beginning and the thing she can’t get out of her head is this: she pressed rewind on Tom’s DVD the day Adam arrived to profess his love. Not stop, not pause. Rewind. Like she wanted to re-live Tom over and over again, so she’d never have to let him go, never have to forget him or move on. She’s watched his DVD a million times, mostly when Adam is in bed. Maybe she’ll never be able to let him go?

  Until the children arrived, she hadn’t questioned her relationship with Adam at all, they’d been so happy, she’s sure of it. But recently, a new thought has occurred to her, and now the idea has taken hold it is hard to shake: she only wanted him because he looked like Tom. Is that how she sees Adam? As a poor copy of his brother? A replacement? If Tom had been alive, would she ever have chosen Adam? Some days, Louise feels like she married some sort of grotesque doppelganger, an imperfect mirror of the man she truly loved. Tom would have understood how she was feeling, he’d have found a way to fix things, to make her feel the way she was supposed to about her children. But Tom’s not here, Adam is. And he barely seems to have noticed she’s struggling at all.

  And now, the real truth is this: Adam has begun to irritate her. The little things, things she used to find funny or sweet or interesting just…annoy. For example:

  “Why do you bother?” Adam asked her one day, laying down on the sofa and putting his head on her lap as she painted her nails.

  “What?” Louise replied, squinting at the television as the sun shone onto the screen, obscuring her view slightly.

  “Painting your nails with clear nail varnish?”

  “It protects them.”

  “From what?” he asked, stroking her leg lightly.

  “Chipping, breaking, that kind of thing,” she said impatiently, more concerned with the fact she couldn’t see the TV properly.

  “You broke one last week,” he said, stroking her thigh lightly, his fingers teasing under her skirt.

  “So,” she’d said, shifting her leg away from his hand.

  “So…
It doesn’t work,” he’d said, sitting back up.

  “It does, it’s good,” she’d replied, blowing on her fingers to speed the drying process and holding her hand out in front of her, surveying them.

  “It doesn’t. You broke one last week so it clearly doesn’t work.”

  “Oh fuck off, Adam,” she’d snapped.

  Once upon a time she’d had understood he was being playful. Not anymore. Nowadays she resents him so much, she can barely see or feel anything else.

  * * *

  Louise doesn’t even know why she lied to Adam about the conference. She’s not up to anything underhand, she’s using the time to step outside of her life and switch off. No business, no children, no husband. Just to be herself for a few days with no dependents, with nothing pulling her this way and that. But there is something fundamentally wrong with her marriage, Louise knows. If things were okay, she’d be able to tell him she fancies a few days away on her own to reflect, to recharge. But she doesn’t feel she can tell him that. Why? Probably because she can’t offer him same thing in return. The idea of a week alone with the kids, in sole charge of them terrifies her. Adam does most of the childcare. He did all of the night feeds when they were babies and now he still manages to fit in freelance writing work and novel writing around the edges. She’s running the café, helping out with Maria and Matthew where she can. Some days, she thinks nothing gives her any pleasure of any kind – not work, not Maria, not Matthew and not Adam. Her life seems…bleak. And it shouldn’t feel like that.

  Everything her marriage once was, she no longer feels. At some point, they stopped noticing each other like they used to. Maybe when Adam’s first novel was published. Maybe when Louise bought the café to run. They are growing, changing, becoming different people. But they are moving apart, not together. Of course, Louise is lying to herself, like always, not wanting to admit the truth. She knows exactly when it started to happen. They both know, but neither wants to acknowledge it: it was the day Maria was born.

  How can she be a good mother if she doesn’t feel what she should? The weight of expectation doesn’t help. She can see the way people look at her, the way Adam’s mum looks at her. Everyone expects a mother to love their babies, look after them, hold down a job, smile, lose the baby weight, fit into that dress again, paint some lipstick on, look amazing and enjoy every moment of it, even if she hasn’t slept for three months. But it isn’t like that for Louise. When her daughter was born, she could lose hours sitting staring at the wall, holding Maria in her arms and hating herself, wondering what was wrong with her, what had died inside that made her so emotionless?

  She quickly became adept at smiling in the right places, laughing and chatting, painting a picture of happiness and contentment. But mostly, she felt alone. No, not alone, segregated. Separate from Adam and Maria, like they existed on some parallel plane. She could see them and interact with them but she couldn’t quite touch them or feel.

  Gradually, without them even discussing it, Adam had taken over fully with Maria and she’d gone back to work. At first, it was only supposed to be a temporary measure. Adam had wanted her to see a doctor, to get help. He’d been trying to help, to be a supportive husband.

  “I know you’re feeling down,” Adam said to her shortly after Matthew was born. “Just go and talk to someone, Louise,” he’d say. “Lots of women feel like you, you’re aren’t alone.”

  If she’d been a violent person, she’d have punched him in the mouth.

  “What would you know about being a woman!” she’d have screamed at him. “What the fuck would you know about what I’m feeling!” As it was, she’d waved him off, refusing to engage with it, retreating from him further, unwilling or unable to accept his support. So she’d gone back to running her little café and had thrown herself into that, leaving Adam to become her children’s mother and father. His lack of understanding was almost the hardest thing to bear. When he asks her if she’s okay, she doesn’t ever say “desolate”, she doesn’t say “I’m worried I don’t connect with my children” and she doesn’t say “I’m drowning here, I need some support, I need to feel like part of this family”. Instead, she says: “I’m fine” because she knows that in reality, that’s what he wants to hear. But deep down, she’d love it if he noticed, if he pushed through the surface to find the woman he used to love hiding underneath, knees tucked to her chin and crying.

  Chapter Ten

  It upsets Adam that Louise doesn’t feel she can tell him she needs some space, that she’s finding life hard and she needs a bit of time out – God knows he’d love that himself. He respects her need for space and he’d never have stood in her way. So why has she lied to him?

  The way he sees it, Louise’s ‘catering conference’ is, at best, a euphemism for ‘I’m taking a break because I might want to leave you’. At worst, she’s having an affair and it’s a dirty week away. Neither version leaves Adam knowing what to do next. Sitting with Imogen in his living room as the sun fades outside, flicking its dim fingers through the window at him, time slows down for Adam. What if Louise is not going to come back at all? What will he and the kids do then? If she does come back, how is he going to handle it? What’s the best approach? Say nothing and wait for her to talk to him? Confront her and ask what’s going on?

  “Adam, are you listening?” Imogen’s voice, grating on him, breaking through once more. She’s enjoying the drama a little bit too much.

  “She needed some space, Imogen,” he finds himself saying. “You know what it’s like having children, it’s so full on. And since she bought the café, she doesn’t get a minute to herself.”

  “So you knew?” Imogen says, her hand leaving his knee. “Oh, Adam, that is a relief. I was so worried about the two of you, I didn’t know what to do for the best.”

  “Honestly, we’re fine. But thanks for your concern, you’re a good friend.”

  “I would have asked Louise myself, but she’s not answering her phone,” Imogen says. “And then I thought to myself, there must be a simple explanation. But why,” Imogen says, leaning back into the sofa for the first time and sipping her wine, “did she tell all of us she was going to a catering conference.”

  “Oh, you know Louise, she didn’t want people worrying,” Adam answers, desperate for Imogen to finish her wine and leave, his stomach is churning.

  “But are you sure that—”

  “Imogen,” Adam says firmly. “It’s fine. She needed a break and didn’t want everyone to know about it.”

  “I should call her,” Imogen says. “See how she is. Except I tried and she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Really, I think it’s best if you leave it,” Adam says, closing his eyes tightly for a moment. “Now,” he says, opening them again, “are you sure you won’t stay for some of your casserole, it’ll be done shortly?”

  “Oh no, I’ve got to get back. Heaven knows what state Gavin and Timmy are in by now. I bet he won’t be sleeping soundly in bed like your two, Adam. You are good, you know. Most men wouldn’t put up with what you do.” Imogen stands and puts her glass on the coffee table. “Well, maybe another glass of wine. Is it a Pinot? I prefer something with more body myself, but I don’t mind if that’s all you’ve got.”

  Adam stands up, ignoring her comments, and takes her glass, scuffing his feet along the hallway carpet as he walks to the kitchen.

  * * *

  Adam, Louise and the children went on a day trip to London once and found a hidden little garden with a fountain and a restaurant in to have lunch. He and Louise both ordered a luscious baguette with ham, cheese and salad with fries on the side. The kids’ lunch consisted of a floppy, soggy cheese-and-onion roll, with no actual onion in it, a biscuit and a yoghurt, but they both seemed happy. After eating, the kids had run around a small fountain in the courtyard. It consisted of a small stone tablet, circular and about two feet in diameter. Water jetted from the centre of the circle.

  “Some things have a centre,” Loui
se said, her voice wavering a little. The water ran down over the stone tablet creating a small waterfall, falling a short distance to a pool filled with pebbles.

  “What are you on about?” Adam smiled.

  “Nothing,” she replied, toying with her baguette thoughtfully for a moment. Adam sat back, contentedly watching the children laugh and play chase, round and round in circles. Their endless energy was both inspirational and exhausting to watch.

  “I’ve got to go away for a few days,” Louise said abruptly.

  “Oh yeah?” Adam replied.

  “Yeah, just a catering conference, but I think it’ll be really useful.”

  “Okay, cool,” Adam said. “When’s that?”

  “Oh I can’t remember; a couple of weeks’ time, I think.”

  “No problem,” Adam said. “Me and the kids will be fine.”

  “I know you will,” she said quietly.

  “You okay?” Adam asked, sensing something was troubling her.

  “Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” Louise smiled at him. “Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

  And stupidly, he believed her.

  * * *

  Adam pours both himself and Imogen another glass of wine, lost in his memories. How much has he been not picking up on? Are there other signs he’s missed? Has Louise been crying out for attention or help and he hasn’t noticed? He glances at the oven timer, seeing that in a couple of minutes, it’ll beep and tell him Imogen’s casserole is warm enough to eat.