Run, Mummy, Run (12 page)

He stared at her, a mixture of distrust and cynicism in his eyes. ‘What are you trying to say? That your plan wasn’t to leave me now you have the baby? Come off it. Give me some credit. I’m not that daft.’

‘It’s true, Mark,’ she cried in desperation. ‘How could I? I love you. It’s just a story. Thousands of people have read it. It’s not about us. You must believe me. Please, Mark, please.’ Tears were streaming down her face and she was shaking uncontrollably. Her head throbbed and her legs trembled. ‘Come inside and talk. You’ll see it’s a mistake. Really, I promise.’

He hesitated, and in that hesitation she saw the first sign of doubt, a small opening, a window in his previous unshakeable conviction of her guilt.

‘Please,’ she beseeched again, willing to beg if necessary. ‘Please, don’t go. I need you, Mark. So does Sarah. Please. I’m not the woman in the book. I wanted you first, then the baby followed. I want a proper family!’

His gaze went slowly from her to Sarah, then back again, as though he was struggling with what she was saying. His brow furrowed. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t leave that book for me to find? That you didn’t marry me just to have a baby?’

‘I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Oh, Mark, no.’ She buried her fingers in the material of his dressing gown, clinging to his arm and imploring him. ‘Mark, you must believe me. I want us to be together. Always. Our baby is part of that. The product of our love, you said that Mark, please, it’s true.’

His face began to crumple, slowly registering disbelief, and his arm slumped. ‘Aisha, have I really got it wrong?’ he slowly said. ‘Have I made a dreadful mistake? Tell me, please tell me. I need to hear it.’

‘Yes, yes, you have, Mark. Really. It’s just a story. It’s not us. How could it be? I wouldn’t do that. I love you too much. Oh, Mark, please, come here.’

As he finally accepted what she was saying, he appeared for the first time to see the damage to her face. With an agonized moan, he clasped her to him, and burying his head in her hair, cried like a baby. ‘Oh, my little love. What have I done? I’ve never hit anyone before. Now I’ve hurt the person who means more to me than life itself. I’m so sorry, Aisha, I’m so scared. Forgive me, I beg you. Don’t make me go. I’ll do anything if you let me stay, I promise.’

His body shook and his chest heaved as his sobs racked the air. It was an anguish so deep and harrowing that it made her almost as fearful as his previous anger. She held Sarah out to one side as she hugged and comforted him.

‘It’s all right,’ she soothed. ‘You’re not leaving, neither of us is. We’re going to be together always. We’re one. All those months of planning and waiting for the baby have taken their toll. I understand. I know it’s not you. Mark, please don’t cry. Of course I forgive you. Please, Mark, I love you.’

S
arah settled easily in her cot that night, surrounded by a mountain of soft toys and with the night light on low. The nursery and everything in it had suddenly found its purpose now Sarah had arrived, as though on the stroke of midnight a fairy had waved her magic wand and brought it all to life.

Mark and Aisha stood side by side gazing down at her, mesmerized and reluctant to draw themselves away. Sarah was so peaceful and serene in sleep that it was a humbling experience for them, and the indisputable evidence of their love, which they so badly needed.

‘Come on,’ Mark said at last, slipping his arm around Aisha’s waist. ‘You look exhausted. I’ll do the night-time feed.’

She leant against him. ‘I’ll be all right after a few hours’ sleep. She shouldn’t wake again until two.’

‘All right. But for goodness’ sake wake me if you need help. Don’t martyr on all alone.’

She looked up at him. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

Aisha adjusted Sarah’s blanket one last time, then allowed herself to be led from the nursery and into their bedroom. She sighed when she saw her suitcase still unpacked on the bed; she’d forgotten all about it. ‘I suppose I’d better unpack first,’ she said and yawned.

‘No, leave it. Take out what you need and I’ll see to the rest first thing in the morning.’

Relieved that for once their usual orderliness could be overlooked, Aisha opened the case and took out her washbag and nightdress, then began dragging the case off the bed.

‘No,’ Mark said, springing to her side. ‘No lifting, Aisha, you must take care. You’re number one now.’

‘You sound just like Tony,’ she smiled. ‘He was so kind and helpful, although he didn’t stop talking. He told me all about his family and wife, and how you’d sent her flowers after her operation. Only, it was odd, he was convinced you had been with the company four years. I said it was more like eight. That’s right, isn’t it?’

Mark frowned. ‘No. Where did you get that idea from?’

She shrugged. ‘I thought that’s what you said?’ He shook his head. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter.’

She went into the bathroom and closed the door. At the sink she turned on the hot tap and waited for the water to run warm, while avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She’d already sponged the blood from her hair and cleaned up her face earlier, so there was no point in looking again and dwelling on it. After all, it was only a graze to her cheek and a small cut to her bottom lip, it would heal in a couple of days. ‘We don’t make mountains out of molehills,’ her mother used to say to her as a child when she’d come in blubbering from a fall in the garden and had wanted lots of sympathy. It was Mark who needed the help now – to forgive himself and move on. He was beside himself with guilt and self-recrimination and had been apologizing all evening.

Aisha quickly showered, then dressed into a clean nightdress and tucked the breast pads into her bra. She was beginning to feel like a dairy cow with all the milk slopping around; no sooner were her breasts empty from one feed than they began to refill, then leak. Irene, the nurse at the hospital, had said it was perfectly normal, and that the problem arose when mothers didn’t make enough milk. That wasn’t going to be her worry for sure, she thought, and the formula Mark had bought would certainly go to waste.

‘All right?’ Mark asked attentively as she returned to the bedroom.

‘Yes, I can’t wait to get into my own bed.’

She sat on the edge of the bed and unwound her plait, while Mark took his turn in the bathroom. Aisha gave her hair a quick brush rather than the fifty strokes she usually gave it, and then eased back the covers and climbed in. She felt the soft down of the duvet mould luxuriously around her; a blissful contrast to the starched sheets of the hospital, which had crinkled like wrapping paper each time she’d turned over. She heard the rush of water as the tank in the loft refilled and Mark showered, then it stopped, and he returned to the bedroom, naked.

Aisha instinctively looked away. She doubted she would ever feel as comfortable about nakedness as he did, although she was getting better. She didn’t immediately grab her clothes when he caught her dressing, or cover herself when he walked in on her in the bath or shower. When they’d been on their honeymoon, Aisha had explained that in her family they never walked around undressed as her parents considered it improper. Mark had laughed, but kindly, and had told her not to worry, then added he found her coyness quite endearing – a turn-on, he said.

Now Mark took a pair of clean boxer shorts from the drawer, pulled them on and slipped into bed beside her. He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her; she saw the pain reappear in his eyes. She knew he was about to apologize again, as he had being doing all evening: tell her how ashamed he was, that he didn’t know what had come over him, then ask if she could truly forgive him, for he was so dreadfully, dreadfully sorry.

Aisha didn’t want to hear it anymore: she knew his reaction had been completely out of character, and had probably been brought on by all the anxiety surrounding the conception and birth of Sarah, and possibly also because of the way he had been treated by women in the past. Aisha knew that they had to put it behind them now, there was too much at stake and they had so much to be grateful for with Sarah. Mark opened his mouth to speak, but she laid a finger lightly across his lips. ‘It’s all right,’ she said softly. ‘I know. I forgive you, forget it now, please.’

With a silent nod of gratitude he kissed the tip of her finger, then reached over and switched off both their lamps. ‘Spoons,’ he said in the dark, snuggling up to her. She laughed and turned over. He nestled into the small of her back and draped his right arm over her hips. She closed her eyes, and to the familiar comfort of his warm breath falling lightly on her neck, very quickly drifted into sleep.

Aisha didn’t know what time it was when she awoke. She came to with a start, her senses immediately alert. She thought she must have subconsciously heard Sarah wake for her feed – a sixth sense mothers seemed to acquire from very early on. Aisha lay in the dark, still half-asleep, and listened for Sarah’s next cry, when she would leave the bed and go round to the nursery. Mark was still asleep, nestled behind her, his arm lying along her leg. His hips were pressed into the small of her back and through his cotton boxer shorts she could feel his erection. She knew now it was natural for this to happen sometimes when he was asleep, or first thing in the morning as he woke. Like his nakedness, it had caused her some embarrassment at the start of their marriage, but now it was another shared joke: ‘Sorry,’ Mark would say when he woke. ‘Henry has a mind of his own. Ignore him and he’ll go away.’ Unless, of course, they were going to make love, when she would turn over and into his arms.

Aisha shifted slightly towards the edge of the bed and listened for Sarah’s cry. Maybe it wasn’t time for her feed yet, although her engorged breasts told her it must be getting very close. She tried to see the clock on his bedside cabinet but it was facing away. Mark’s breathing faltered, then she heard him swallow. Taking up the little space between them, his hand closed around her leg.

‘Mark?’ she whispered in the dark. ‘Are you awake?’

‘Yes, sorry. I wanted a cuddle. I’ve missed you so much, Aisha.’

‘I’ve missed you too,’ she said, and reached down and held his hand. ‘I thought I heard Sarah. I’d better take a look.’

‘No, I think I woke you. Sorry. I can’t sleep. I need you, Aisha. I need to be close to you, to feel you.’ She heard the longing in his voice, the heavy edge of urgency which normally preceded their lovemaking. But now, as in the last month of her pregnancy, he would have to be satisfied with a cuddle and their mutual promises of making up for it when they could. She went to turn over to face him but he stayed where he was, his body curled into hers, his erection pressing through his shorts against her back. He unwound his hand from hers and slowly slid it under her nightdress, so that his hand now rested on the bare skin of her stomach, between her pants and bra.

‘You’re so warm and inviting, Aisha,’ he breathed. ‘Just to touch you is wonderful after all this time. I love you so much.’

She felt his breath warm and moist on the nape of her neck as his lips gently rested against her skin. He began kissing her neck, soft little caresses, that despite the ravages of childbirth made her body tingle with desire.

‘I need you,’ he sighed again. ‘I need something to ease the longing. I think part of my problem earlier was all that pent-up emotion.’

‘I need you too,’ she murmured and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

‘Can you give me something?’ he whispered. ‘I know we can’t do it properly, but to have you close would be wonderful. And it would show me you have truly forgiven me.’

Aisha thought Mark meant masturbation, although he’d never asked her before and probably didn’t like to ask direct out of respect for her. She had overheard two girls at the antenatal class laughing about a ‘handjob’ being the only way to get some peace when they were too big to make love. If this was what Mark needed to relieve the frustration and show him that she had really forgiven him, then she would do it for him. In the dark, below the covers. She was a married woman, she could masturbate her husband.

Aisha moved her hand round so that it rested on the outside of his shorts. She felt him stir, hard and warm, as he gave a little groan of pleasure. She would have to turn over to face him, but he was still pressed into the small of her back. Then his hand slid from her stomach to the top of her pants; looping in his fingers, he began to ease them down.

‘Mark,’ she said, slightly taken aback. ‘We can’t, not yet.’

‘No, I know. It’s OK, don’t worry. I wasn’t thinking of that.’

He continued to lower her pants to just under the cheeks of her bottom. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Then he released himself from his shorts and she felt him stand hard and erect against her skin. The tip of his penis was resting lightly on her bottom, then suddenly it was between her cheeks.

‘Mark,’ she said again.

‘Sshh,’ he soothed. ‘Trust me. I won’t hurt you. Please.’

He began gently rubbing himself against her, a steady rocking motion up and down, using the crease of her bottom for stimulation. He moaned softly and she kept very still, her eyes unfocused in the dark. Was he going to masturbate himself this way, she thought, rather than her turning over and holding him? She was reminded again of her lack of experience, her ignorance of sexual matters; for all she knew this was something all married couples did, it was probably the norm. And although she would rather have been facing him, kissing and cuddling him, while she brought him satisfaction, if he wanted to enjoy her like this until they could make love properly then she would do her best to help him.

His breathing increased as his excitement grew until it was coming fast and shallow. As he moved up and down behind her, she pressed one hand on the front of her pants to keep the sanitary towel in place. Then he was holding the cheeks of her bottom and easing them apart. She felt the tip of his penis pressed hard against her back passage and she tensed.

‘Mark!’

‘Relax,’ he breathed. ‘I won’t hurt you. Keep still. It won’t hurt, I promise.’

He was pushing harder now, spreading her cheeks and pushing. It was difficult to relax, nearly impossible, for not only was it uncomfortable, but this was the place that ejected the body’s waste, the very mention of which was considered dirty in her family. Harder still now, rubbing, pushing, trying to gain entry where he should not. Her muscles involuntarily contracted and fought to keep him out. It was more than uncomfortable now, it was starting to hurt. Should she tell him? He probably didn’t realize he was hurting her. Then the pressure eased and one of his hands left her cheeks, and she momentarily relaxed. He was doing something behind her now, sucking, his fingers were in his mouth. Then his fingers returned to her bottom, now moistened with saliva, and he smeared it round the opening. He was hard up against her again, harder, and even more insistent now. He spread her cheeks wide apart then pushed, hard, harder still, and at last found entry. She cried out in pain.

‘Relax!’ he panted. ‘For Christ’s sake, relax!’

She tried. She tried to relax. She tried to think of something else as she had done in childbirth. But the dry grating pain drove into her and seemed to pierce her very being. Now, as when she was in labour, she tried to concentrate on her breathing and told herself it would soon be over and would be worth it in the end. But unlike before, she didn’t have Mark to comfort and reassure her, for now he was working against, not with her. She thought of pulling away, telling him to stop; that it was hurting too much and was unnatural. But their peace was still tenuous, their emotion raw, and if she stopped him now he might see it as another rejection, and who knew where that would end? She grabbed the edge of the pillow and stuffed it in her mouth. She clenched the cotton between her teeth and ground down on it to stop herself from crying out. Then, just as she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, that the pain was too much, and she would have to tell him to stop, he climaxed and his body froze. There was a second’s pause and he withdrew. She felt the warm fluid trickle out and over her cheeks as he flopped onto his back with a sigh of satisfaction.

‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he groaned. ‘I love you so much.’ He reached for her hand and squeezed it but Aisha stayed very still, quiet, sore and humiliated.

She knew she had to say something, she knew she had to tell him that although she understood his needs she couldn’t ever do that again. It wasn’t a criticism of him, she was sure lots of couples did it, but it hurt too much and it wasn’t right for her. She had to say something and she tried to formulate the words. But the opportunity to speak darts like a moonbeam and as quickly disappears. And once gone it cannot easily be retrieved without a confrontation or much, much worse.

At that moment they both heard Sarah cry.

‘I’ll have a wash while you feed her,’ Mark said, getting out of bed. ‘Give me a shout if you need anything. Love you.’