The hive, p.9
The Hive, page 9
‘We don’t have time to panic. Her waters have broken and she’s crowning now. Trix, get more towels, bed sheets, anything, and find a way to keep her awake. She can’t pass out otherwise all three of them will die. Move!’ Poppy took charge.
‘Oh fuck. Where the hell is Lincoln? She came here to meet him. What the hell happened?’ Trix’s voice sounded muffled as she disappeared. I felt tender and strange.
‘Everything’s gonna be OK. We’re here; we are not gonna let you die. OK, you’ve got to be strong. I need you to be strong.’
Zaheen was staring at me, her face contorted with worry as Trix returned.
‘Char, please push. Please. If you don’t, your babies will die. Do you hear me? You have to push.’
I heard Trix as my body did something I didn’t think it was capable of and started to push. The strength inside me grew even as my flesh grew weaker.
‘For fuck’s sake I can’t stop the bleeding. What the hell happened to her?’ Zaheen thundered as Poppy handed something to Trix.
It was small. Too small and wrapped in a white towel.
Trix’s face looked terrified. She didn’t speak but moved out of my line of vision. Whatever Poppy gave her was light, like the weight had been removed and there was only a shell left. I could imagine it floating away on the soft breeze like a feather.
I tried to tell Trix that it was OK. I wanted to see what she had in the towel, but she couldn’t hear me. My words were trapped in my head, while everything happened around me.
On hands and knees, Trix worked, her shoulders square and hunched obstructing my view. I didn’t know what she was doing. I couldn’t see from my vantage point on the floor but whatever she was doing she was scared, more scared than I had ever seen her before. I felt a gush of water between my legs and wondered numbly if I’d pissed myself.
I wanted to look down, but my neck was stiff and wouldn’t bend the way I willed it to. Poppy lifted her hands; they were red. The smell of pennies fresh and strong. I felt the metallic tang on my tongue as I breathed in and out.
It was everywhere. The tiles, the cupboard doors. Poppy’s blonde hair. My blood was everywhere.
‘Trix! What’s happening over there?’ Zaheen howled, tearing my attention back to the white towel.
‘Is she breathing? Please tell me she’s breathing.’
Was who breathing? Surely, they could see me breathing. I lifted my arm to wave, so I could show them that I was fine. That I was alive. That I’d survived my fall, but as Trix turned and slumped back beside me, her skin grey, I finally saw what she had buried in the towel.
It was a baby.
My baby.
Except it was too small, its limbs deflated and floppy. Its fingernails barely half a grain of rice. Trix was crying. She held my hand and whispered to me in what I can only describe as a mother’s voice.
‘I’m sorry. She’s gone, Char.’
Every ember inside me wanted to ignite, but I couldn’t, I was too weak to fight back. I collected the little fragments of strength I had left and murmured helplessly.
‘Please save him. Please.’
I felt a tug, followed by pressure from between my legs as Zaheen pushed back her inky hair from her face, covering her cheek with even more red, and resumed trying to staunch the flow from my wound.
I was going to pass out, I thought, as the burning set in and my legs began to shake. I pushed again. Hard. Then there was stillness.
Poppy lay the tiny baby on my chest. He was limp and didn’t cry. His tiny hands, like his sister’s, were blue.
The room fell silent.
Trix knelt down, putting my daughter on the other side of my chest. My twins lay side by side as Poppy, Trix and Zaheen sat beside me.
I kissed their tiny heads and sang softly.
Sleep tight tonight on Rockabye mountain.
Where dreams come true it’s just me and you.
The stars, the sun, even heavens rejoicing.
The angels chose me, then the Lord gave me you.
My reason, my purpose, my beautiful greatness.
Your love is so bright that it lights up the moon.
Sleep tight tonight on Rockabye mountain.
My heartbeat is yours, one day I’ll be with you.
Flashing lights was all I remember after that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I
THOUGHT A LOT ABOUT MY mother after I lost the twins. I had certain problems with the way she died. Not the physical aspect of her suicide. I was perfectly content with her reasons for wanting to kill herself. I actually thought I was better off without her. I knew that my life would have been much worse if she’d remained in it. But that’s not what infuriated me about my mother’s death. It wasn’t the cheap hotel room in the belly of Forest Gate she was found in, or the fact she clutched on to a photo of my father like a lovesick teenager who still harboured hope.
It was the vodka. Glen’s vodka. A pathetic final drink for a drunk who couldn’t even be bothered to leave a note for her only daughter.
Five days had passed when I woke up in the Royal Free Hospital. I’d had an emergency hysterectomy and, although that was the worst of it, it wasn’t the end of it. The tubes tethered to me were the only thing keeping me anchored to what no longer felt like the real world.
I felt numb.
Linc had decided he wanted nothing to do with me. The five days I spent hulled up in intensive care fighting for my life changed his mind about a lot of things. Starting with us.
On day two of my stay in ICU, Linc had unceremoniously dropped all my things to Trix’s, telling her it was too painful for him to be around me. He said he needed some space and time to heal.
When I first came round days later, he wasn’t returning my calls. I called him again praying he would answer. This time, he did.
‘You need to stop calling me, Charlotte.’
‘How can you even say that to me? I just lost our children. You haven’t even been to the hospital.’
‘Charlotte, I’ve been dealing with the police. The kitchen was a crime scene. They don’t believe this was an accident. Especially after you told them you saw two people in the house.’
‘I did see two people. They had masks on. I tried to get away. That’s how I got hurt. It was a terrible accident. You have to believe me, Linc,’ I breathed, filtering back my mounting tears. ‘Linc, please just come to the hospital. Please, I need you. I love you. My heart is broken.’
‘Charlotte, I can’t. I’m so sorry for everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t at home when it happened, but you need help. Professional help, counselling. I’ll pay for it, I don’t mind, but I can’t be with you. The media will find out. It will tarnish my career. I’m sorry but I just can’t.’
‘You don’t mean that. I’ve lost everything. I’ll never have any more children. They are and will forever be my only babies. I can’t get through this without you. Please, don’t leave me. Not now. Not like this. I need you.’
Everyone mourns in their own way, so I understood Linc’s misgivings about seeing me. I just didn’t care. We both lost our son and daughter, we needed to be there for one another. This wasn’t the time to fall apart.
‘Charlotte, please accept the counselling. Get better and move on. My solicitor will be in touch regarding a non-disclosure agreement. I’m sorry but this can’t get out. If you ever loved me or our children, then you’ll sign it. Let’s not let the media use this to ruin me. Please, Charlotte, sign the papers.’
They speak of the catalyst, the trigger that ignites the fuse. The night I had my accident was the spark.
The line went dead. Linc was gone.
*
‘I had a feeling you’d be here.’ Trix’s voice was soft, docile like the wind, but I didn’t lift my head to meet her eyes, instead I let her voice float away on the breeze as she trod up the steep hill.
‘Here, put this on.’
She slung a hoodie over my shoulders, taking the chill off my neck. I hadn’t realised I was shivering and couldn’t tell her how long I had been on the marshes. I just knew it had been a long time. The sun was setting and the blood that had leaked from my burst stitches on my stomach had dried.
‘Could have picked a better outfit for a trip down memory lane, Char.’
Trix plonked herself down next to me. It was cold, most of the light had blenched from the day into dusk. The blue and orange had combined into swirls above London’s skyline far in the distance.
It was almost beautiful, in a tragic way.
Or maybe it wasn’t the view that was tragic, but the person who was admiring it.
‘You feeling OK out here?’ Trix asked, but there was no point in answering. I was far from OK. Trix knew that better than anyone. Instead of reprimanding me for discharging myself from hospital – I suspected they had called her hours ago, worried about my fragile state of mind – she sat next to me and produced a hand-rolled blunt that was thick from roach to base. I guess she thought weed would be more beneficial than a therapy session where they asked you how much you wanted to harm yourself on a scale of one to ten.
I was at twelve and climbing.
‘I never liked him, you know.’
If Trix decided she hated you, then not even an act of God could redeem you in her eyes. I channelled the anger I felt for the world, Linc and myself but still couldn’t find any words to say. The only person I had to blame was myself. I was the one that had fallen through the glass door. I was the one who’d lost them.
‘I didn’t like him either. That prick has far more muscles than brains, and don’t even get me started on the way he speaks.’
We both turned in the direction of Poppy, who, like Trix, was ignoring doctors’ orders and handed me a bottle of pineapple-flavoured CÎROC as she sat down on the other side of me.
‘Did you get a chaser?’ Trix asked, tentatively addressing Poppy.
‘Nope, we’re all Irish today. No excuses I’m afraid.’
‘I wasn’t objecting, but it would have been nice,’ Trix responded, sparking the blunt, which filled the air with a dense cloud of smoke. We sat there, passing it between us in silence before I spoke.
‘I’ve always liked this place – ever since school. We spent so much of our lesson time out here. Ditching PE. Doing things we weren’t supposed to be doing. Who’d have thought this would have happened? Who’d have seen this coming back then?’
‘Char, I’m—’
I lifted my head to meet Poppy’s blue eyes and knew what she was about to say but couldn’t bear to hear her say it.
‘I know, Pops. Me too,’ I managed, cutting her off but taking her hand, knowing how sorry she was.
‘Room for one more?’ Zaheen said, slouching down on the other side of Trix.
All four of us sat in a row taking in the view. It had been quite some time since we were all here together, yet somehow it felt like we’d never left. This was one of our favourite spots to bunk school and spend the day lounging in the sun, discussing boys or what we would be when we grew up.
*
‘Dr Leigh. You’ve got to admit it does have a ring to it.’
‘With your GCSEs I think you can be just about anything you want. I’m so proud of you,’ I said, poorly braiding her hair into two French plaits.
That day, Poppy had been sad. Her brother, a businessman famed for bringing cocaine to Ireland in crates of potatoes, had been stabbed to death in jail. It had taken the police nearly a decade to catch Shane Leigh and his crew. Operation Gemini was what the police called it, although entrapment was Poppy’s description. Her beloved brother was subsequently arrested and later sentenced by the special criminal court to eighteen years behind bars. This had all happened by the time Poppy moved to the estate at the age of seven. Perhaps if Shane didn’t go to prison, leaving Poppy and her mother, then the terrible beatings her father gave her wouldn’t have happened. Perhaps I wouldn’t have had to drop the brick on Poppy’s father, paralysing him from the neck down. Perhaps losing the twins was my karma, my sins coming back to haunt me.
We sat on the grass waiting for Trix to make the hour-long journey from the sixth form open day she was attending in Westminster.
‘You know I don’t get why we bother with Beatrix.’
‘Come on, Zee, you know she hates that name. Can you just try?’
‘Sorry, I mean Trix. Although my point still remains. She’s not exactly one of us.’
Zaheen rested her chin on her knee. Her rich skin golden under the midday sun. She had cut her raven hair into a pixie bob the last term of secondary school but it still hadn’t grown back over the summer.
‘You mean she’s not poor like us?’ Poppy winced.
‘Hey, I threw some corn, I didn’t call any fowls to eat it.’ Zaheen held up both hands in protest.
‘Look, she’s our friend. And so what if she has more money than us, or that she has a “proper family”? She’s one of us. Trix has a good heart.’
I finished Poppy’s braid as Trix came marching up the hill. Tears trickled down her sallow cheeks and she looked pale and bewildered. Her body was tense.
‘What’s wrong? What happened?’ I asked, dusting the grass off my knees before I approached her. Poppy and Zaheen stayed a foot or so behind.
‘It’s all gone wrong. This isn’t supposed to be happening. This isn’t the way my life was supposed to go.’
Poppy looked from Zaheen to me then back again.
‘Tell us what’s going on, Trix?’ Poppy stressed her name taking a step forward.
‘I—I’m—’
‘Oh, spit it out already, princess.’ Zaheen rolled her eyes.
‘I’m pregnant with Michael’s baby.’
*
As I remembered Trix sharing her news at this very spot, I felt a pang in my stomach for my son and daughter. They would never get to grow up like Kera or Kyle. They would never have a first kiss, or a wedding. I would never get to see them smile or take their first steps. All of that had been taken from me and would always be taken from me. I would never experience motherhood. I would never know that joy.
I wanted to go back to a time and place where I was happy, when life was carefree and full of possibilities, but we convened today for an entirely different reason. I was in mourning. My feelings for Linc and our children didn’t just go away, they festered, rotting me from the inside out. I was angry, but I could forgive him, we could still be together. I just needed Linc to try. Although the man I loved wasn’t sitting beside me, these three women were, and I was more grateful to them than anyone could imagine. After all, they had saved my life.
Even if I couldn’t regress back to happiness, they would be my reflection of a time when I had been happy.
‘This weed’s strong, innit?’ Zaheen coughed.
‘You know we should get you back to the hospital. Get your scar cleaned up before you catch an infection.’ Poppy produced a tender smile, the nurse in her screaming beneath it.
I was fully aware that what I was doing was dangerous to my health, I just didn’t care.
‘Ten more minutes?’ I asked, knowing there was no point in protesting but hoping to delay the inevitable.
‘How about fifteen?’ Trix said, taking my hand.
I wanted this moment frozen forever.
A field, a lullaby and blurry memories of my children, and the three women who had tried to save them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
P
OPPY’S IVORY HANDS WIPED MY delicate skin in a circular motion. She planted a kiss on my forehead before removing me from the warmth of the bath and handing me over to Trix, who bundled me into a towel. I was ushered on from the bathroom to the stool in front of Trix’s dressing table. The bright bulbs illuminated my face and I watched as drops of blood dripped down my shin. Faintly, I heard Poppy whisper to Zaheen, ‘I cut her leg while shaving by accident, but I’m really worried, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t feel a thing.’
‘Let’s just try and make it through today, Pops.’
Zaheen positioned herself in front of me as she applied my makeup, blending together honey foundation with the vacant tears that streamed down my face.
I didn’t name my children.
I had always said once I saw their faces then I would decide on their names. But after what happened I didn’t feel like there was much point in them having names. It didn’t matter that one was a boy or that the other was a girl. Or that they had dark hair and dimpled chins.
They both became the same thing in the end. Bones and dust.
Death isn’t supposed to come in small sizes. Death is for old people who have lived their lives, made mistakes, regretted them. Then made mistakes all over again. Life is an endless ebb and flow of ups and downs, love and losses, but what happened to me meant my happiness was frozen in two almost-formed bodies.
I’d had ideas. Dreams about who my children would’ve grown up to look like, what they could’ve gone on to be. Sometimes in the still of the night when traffic has given up and the only noise that penetrates the walls is the sound of wind and insects, I hear them cry. Soft and distant, like I can reach out and touch them if I try hard enough.
I know it’s not real. That it can’t be real, but for a split second when I wake and my mind hasn’t processed what’s reality and what isn’t, I think they’re still with me.
I buried them on a Wednesday afternoon. It was a beautiful day, the sun burned high in the sky by noon, surrounded by nothing but an ocean of blue. It was so unseasonably warm the smell of fresh dirt raised up around me and rested heavily in the air along with the scent of blossom – life and death are never far apart. An unyielding reminder of where we were, and what we were doing there.
Four women dressed in white. It was Poppy’s idea. She said it would be a nice tribute, because I wasn’t saying goodbye, but saying that I’d see them one sweet day. It was touching. Not that touching tributes and small attentions to detail made things any easier, but the solidarity helped in some small way.
No woman should have to bury her children. Especially alone. Which I wasn’t, my girls were by my side, but without Linc I may as well have been.
