BooksBarbecue
Back Again, Rachel
Chapters (98)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. 93
  97. 94
  98. Acknowledgements

Then we went home without her.

49

The emptiness howled in me. I stood in the cosy, yellow nursery we’d prepared, touched her crib, the smooth texture of the cotton sheets, the delicately knitted baby blankets, so much softness and innocence. In the corner was a plumply upholstered armchair, reassuringly solid, for me to sit in to do the night feeds. Mobiles dangled above her cot and the room overflowed with toys.

Only days before, I’d bought her a little fuzzy elephant—a giddy impulse purchase because I was simply so excited. There had been a lot of that, me buying her stuff, just because. Luke too. The previous weekend, he’d come home with a miniature ballerina outfit—the full works—a tulle skirt, a pair of satin slippers. (‘Yeah, it’s pink. My bad. Blame Gaz, he’s a sap, even worse than me.’)

It was all over. So long had been spent in intense anticipation of this wonderful event—an entire new person being born. But nothing had come of it and never would.

My head knew but my heart didn’t. And neither did my body—my breasts began leaking milk. Blankly I looked at the two wet patches on my T-shirt. ‘What should I do?’ I asked Luke.

He lunged for the information we’d been sent home with. ‘Ice-packs,’ he read. ‘Ibuprofen for the discomfort. It should stop in a few days.’

But I didn’t want it to stop. It was one way of remaining her mother.

Our phones and laptops were flooded with messages but the words could find no landing place in me, because I couldn’t really believe that this was happening—that I was the person being told, ‘the shock and pain will eventually ease’.

Tragedies could hit anyone, I knew I wasn’t immune, but still, to find myself on the wrong side of the divide, to be the object of everyone’s pity instead of being the one doing the consoling, felt all wrong.

‘Fuck you, man!’ Luke was staring furiously at his phone. ‘ “Everything happens for a reason”? Why do they keep saying that? It’s bullshit!’

His anger was shocking. It dawned on me that Luke and I were at the bottom of an abyss, trapped with each other. No one else could come in or out. Briefly, it was terrifying.

‘Luke. They’re trying to help.’

‘How can they help? We’ve lost everything.’

‘We still have each other.’

‘Yeah.’ Wearily, he gathered me to him. ‘Okay.’

I wasn’t due to finish work for another two weeks but I had to call to say I was taking leave immediately. It was inconvenient for them, but my boss said, ‘Take all the time you need.’