Before She Was Mine (22 page)

By the time we arrived at Love Lane, I’d worked myself up into a state of nerves. I didn’t know how I was going to face her. I knew I shouldn’t have left it
so long.

‘You go in first,’ I told Michael.

Perhaps I was expecting the place to have been blasted apart by grief, but thank God everything looked normal. Melody herself was dressed soberly, in a long navy cardigan and an ankle-length
black skirt, and she’d pulled her hair back into a simple ponytail which didn’t really suit her. But her figure seemed back to its usual shape. She looked OK, at first glance.

‘Freya!’ she said, and the quaver of gratitude in her voice was like a knife through my guts.

I went to give her a shy hug. She clung to me so hard I could feel her heart beating.
What next?
I thought.
What do I say?

‘I’ll make us a drink,’ she murmured, detaching herself at last.

It was so odd to see her without all her jewellery and scarves. She wore no make-up, either, the first time in all our acquaintance I’d seen her without. When she walked ahead of me to the
kitchen, it struck me she was moving differently, too: more deliberately, the way someone might step along an icy footpath.

‘You sit down, I can sort it.’

‘There’s no milk, though,’ she said hopelessly.

Michael tutted. ‘You noodle, Mel. Why didn’t you give me a ring? I could have picked some up on the way.’

‘Shall I go out for some?’ I asked.

‘Nah. I’ll nip up the road. I’ll only be gone five minutes. You girls put your feet up, have a gossip.’

He was gone before I could protest. Melody went over to the sofa and sat down, waiting for me to join her.

I settled myself awkwardly at the other end. ‘You look different. I’ve not seen you like, with no make-up on.’

The insides of her eyes were habitually lined with black kohl, but now I could see the naked wet pinkness of the rims. Stripped of mascara, her natural lashes were a gentle brown. Her cheeks and
nose were more freckly than I’d realised, and her lower lip dry and flaky. It made her look shockingly young – easy just now to imagine the fifteen-year-old Melody – except for
the faint crow’s feet, the two small vertical lines between her brows. And the hard expression to the eyes and mouth: that was recent.

Examining her like this reminded me of Liv, the way I’d so recently stood behind her in the wig room and gazed into the mirror at the familiar face beneath the unfamiliar hair. Liv’s
lines were deeper, deep creases running between the sides of her nostrils and the corners of her mouth, crêpeyness at her neck, frown marks carved into her forehead from years of squinting
after wildlife. I had no lines on my face yet, only a blank elasticity.

‘It’s good to see you, Frey. I thought you might have come before.’

‘I texted every day.’

She gave a grudging nod.

‘Mainly I’ve been helping Liv.’

Melody sniffed. ‘She has Geraint to do that.’

‘You’ve got Michael.’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Excuse me, but who was that just walked out the door on a mission to refill your fridge?’ I tried to keep my tone light, but she was so near the edge.

‘It’s
not
the same, Freya! I haven’t “got” him. I haven’t got anyone. Michael’s not mine. He’s just around.’

I didn’t dare speak.

‘God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying.’ She put her hands over her face, and when she took them away she looked stricken.
‘I’m sorry about Liv, too. I really am. How is she?’

‘She’s sent you a letter, here. Plus she wanted me to give you this.’ I reached into my bag and pulled out a white angora shrug Liv had bought off one of her hippy friends.
‘It’s knitted out of rabbit combings. The woman who made it breeds them, she’s got hundreds. They’re well cute. Feel how soft it is.’

Melody put out a hand and stroked the shrug gently, as though it were alive. I had a sudden memory of her spotting the model wasp nest hung up by our back door and asking if it was Liv’s
best hat.

‘That’s nice of her.’

‘She said it was the nearest she could get to giving you a hug at the moment. She sends her love.’

‘Tell her . . . thanks.’

In a series of painful movements, Melody dragged off the cardigan and pulled the shrug up over her arms. It looked strange and frivolous over her other clothes, but it clearly felt good because
she kept tilting her head to feel the wool against her cheek.

‘How is Liv?’

I took a breath, to consider. ‘Tired. Funny about her food. She’s eating raw green beans by the bucketful. Some book she’s read – no, an article you sent, actually
– about raising your white blood-cell count. So she sits in the corner, chomping.’

‘Her hair?’

‘All right for now, but she’s been told she’ll lose it soon.’

‘That’s bad.’

‘Yeah. I’m on standby to cut it off when it starts to fall out.’

‘You can wear these caps with ice in, I saw it in a magazine.’ Melody cast about vaguely, as if the article might somehow manifest itself and float into her hand.

‘She knows about those. They’re supposed to protect the follicles. But they’re pretty horrid to wear, and I think Liv just wanted to get on with the treatment. She’s
chosen a wig, though – amazing, really, there were all these wig blocks, like decapitated heads. Rows and rows of them, different shades. The NHS wig woman was saying you could style some of
them, you know, with tongs and stuff, but Liv never styled her own hair so she’s not going to start now, is she? In the end she went for a bob. Fairish. It looks OK.’

Melody’s eyes had glazed over.

I said, ‘Oh, and my bridesmaid’s dress is ready, we’ve had the final fitting. It’s vile. You’ll laugh like a drain when you see me in it.’

She was watching a space on the wall where nothing was.

I said, ‘Oggy sends his regards.’

I said, ‘Do you fancy a glass of wine while we wait for the milk?’

She came back to me, her eyes re-focusing. She looked so lost and bewildered.

‘Melody?’

‘Do you know what my mother came out with last time she phoned? She said, “You can always try for another.” As if babies are inter-fucking-changeable! As if, oh, that one
doesn’t matter. As if I can just put it behind me and move straight on. Forget her. Like she didn’t count.’

‘I’m sure Abby didn’t mean it like that.’

‘No understanding that my baby was a person, and that person’s gone. You can’t replace her! It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t full term. She was real, and now
she’s not here and I had to leave her in that hospital and go home alone. Abandon her. Do you know how that feels? All the things I’ll never get to tell her. Cuddle her. And she’s
still lying there—’

I knew we were waiting for test results on the body. ‘Michael says the hospital holds memorial services. You can plan a lovely one.’

‘But you don’t associate birth with death, do you? It’s all wrong. And what I don’t get is that everyone seems to be carrying on as normal, and I think, How?
How
can you be doing that? Just getting on with your lives? I blamed the house, you know,’ she said, her gaze flicking upwards. ‘I made Michael change the spare room back. I thought it was
my fault because I’d been getting ready,
presuming
. I’d even bought a few little pieces, a knitted jacket off a market stall, a blanket, scratch mittens. Idiot! That was asking
for trouble, wasn’t it?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘I must have done something wrong. There must be a reason.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Never let yourself love anyone, Frey. They always get taken away from you in the end.’

I wondered where Michael was, hoped to God he’d be back soon.

‘And then I step outside—’ She shivered. ‘There are pregnant women everywhere, and babies and prams and toddlers. Every bloody woman in Nantwich seems to have a kid in
tow, or be expecting. They come and stand behind you in the newsagent’s, or the queue for the cash machine. They smile at you. It’s like a slap in the face. Why my baby and not theirs?
I know that sounds evil, but it’s what goes through my head, I can’t help it. So fucking
unfair.
’

At last, here was something I could identify with. ‘Yeah, I’ve felt that too,’ I began.

‘No, no. You can’t understand unless it’s happened to you. It’s one of those events – no one else gets it, at all. There’s this huge, huge loss, and it
separates you off from everyone. You’re completely on your own. It’s like, it’s like bleeding to death in the middle of a great flat desert.’

‘Michael says there’s a support group that meets at the hospital.’

Her eyes were wide and full of pain. She’d clasped her hands on her lap in a kind of beseeching gesture. ‘
Nothing
will help! Don’t you get it?
Nothing’s
going to bring Elizabeth back. That’s all I want, and nothing else will do. All us bereaved mums can sit round and share our stories but the one thing I really need—’

The front-door key rattled in the lock, startlingly loud. Oh thank Christ, I thought. It’s Michael, come to save me.

He stepped into the room and lowered a plastic bag onto the coffee table in front of us. As he bent forward, his hair fell across his eyes and when he straightened up he had to flick it out of
the way with his fingertips. Watching, I felt a spasm of fondness, because I knew that gesture so well; it was part of him. And I thought about what Melody had been saying, how Michael wasn’t
anyone’s, just himself. I wondered who he went to when he was fed up, or angry, or wanted to off-load. There must be someone. Maybe I’d ask him, on another day. Bog off, Frey,
he’d probably say. Mind your own business.

He nodded at the bag. ‘From Lindy next door.’

‘What is it?’ said Melody.

‘Some comedy DVDs. A box set. She said she thought you’d find them funny.’

‘Yeah, right. Because I’m so in the mood for laughter.’

‘Oh, give them a go, Mel. People just want to help.’ He nodded at the shrug. ‘Nice cardi, by the way.’

I got up and followed him through to the kitchen, where I closed the door behind us and switched the kettle on. Under the rumble of its boiling I said, ‘She’s still in a state,
isn’t she?’

Michael blew out his breath in a long, disappointed sigh. ‘I thought she was getting better. Better than she’s been, anyway.’

What the hell scenes had he witnessed to make him think that?

‘How long do you reckon it’ll take for her to get over it?’

‘As long as it takes. Ages. And there’ll be good days and bad days.’

He picked at the milk bottle’s plastic lid.

‘Oggy was upset for months after his grandma died. At least a term.’

‘What’s Oggy got to do with anything?’

‘Just saying.’

The plastic ring tore free and Michael unscrewed the cap. As it came loose, he glanced across at me. ‘Oh, Frey. You’re not back with him, are you?’

‘It’s none of your business who I go out with. Why are you always so judgemental?’

The kettle clicked off.

Michael sloshed near-boiling water into the mugs, then fished the tea bags out with his asbestos fingers and flung them into the sink. Tannin splattered up the steel sides and pooled round the
plughole.

‘More fool me. It’s called caring. Or would you rather I didn’t bother?’

He slopped the milk into the tea angrily, so that half of it spilled across the worktop.

‘You’ve never liked Oggy.’

‘No. Because he’s a tosser.’

I didn’t feel I could argue with that, so I took a mug and followed him out.

To our surprise, Melody was on her knees in front of the television, sliding a DVD into the player. ‘Might as well,’ she said, hauling herself back up and dropping against the sofa,
her cheeks framed by a fuzz of angora. We sat down with her and she zapped the remote at the screen.

After a moment, cheery pizzicato music started up, and a graphic of floating, interlocking squares. ‘Oh,’ I cried, ‘
Coupling
! This show’s brilliant. Haven’t
you seen it? No? Oh, you’ll love it. It’ll really take your mind off things.’

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps
, went the opening song.

The first shot showed two perky young women walking down a city street, chatting about boyfriends. The camera then cut to two fittish blokes making their way down a different street, discussing
their girlfriends. It looked as though they were all converging on the same wine bar. One of the girls was very petite, like Melody, her clothes smart and chic, and that gave me an idea. By the
window, draped across a footstool, was Melody’s beloved Union Jack blazer. I longed to see her slip it on again, on her way out to the pub.

‘Hey,’ I said, speaking across the script. ‘I’ve thought of something that might cheer you up.’

Both of them turned to look at me. In the back of my mind was Liv and the way she’d been so consoled by getting someone to supervise her bog insects.

I said, ‘Obviously you’re feeling pretty low right now, Mel, but there is a bright side. You’ll be able to get back into your favourite jacket a whole lot sooner than
anticipated. I mean, that’s got to be good, yeah?’

There followed a hideous silence. The characters on the TV screen kissed and snarled and waved their arms about; their lips moved but their words had no meaning. Melody’s face was
frozen.

‘What, though?’ I said. ‘What? What?’

Michael put his head in his hands. ‘Nice one, Freya,’ he said.

There is a bus between Melody’s and Liv’s, but it’s actually easier to go by rail as Melody lives right near the station. A short, slow train comes out of
Crewe and plods its way through Shropshire down to the South Wales coast, stopping at all points in between. Seconds after Melody fled upstairs, shedding long white angora hairs in her wake,
I’d grabbed my coat and walked straight out the door.
Of course I wasn’t saying the baby didn’t matter. You’re taking it the wrong way. I was only trying to cheer her up,
you must see that.

I crossed over the roundabout at the bottom of the road, passed the Railway Arms, and slipped through the station entrance to climb the old iron footbridge onto the Shrewsbury platform. At the
top I halted. If I flung myself off, I might stand a chance of silencing the howls of indignation roaring round my brain.
I only want her to be her old self. Why is that so wrong? It might
actually help her if she thought about getting back to normal.
The tracks below me gleamed, briars reached out pleadingly from the embankment. It had become a sweltering-hot day, prickly and
close, asking for a thunderstorm. Let it pour down. Let it sweep me away, drown me, wash me up like roadkill on the side of some deserted lane.
You try and do a good turn and all that happens
is you get beaten up for it.