She dug in harder, pulling downwards, until the pain was too much to bear, and then she stopped, and lay on her side as her tears mingled with her blood.

‘Leo,’ she said, her voice a whisper. ‘Leo. I love you. Be happy, my son.’

Saturday, 23 June 2018

No Days to Go

1

It was today.

Maggie picked up the calendar and drew a line through the last date.

Max was three.

He was sleeping next to her, his face turned to the wall. She lay behind him, watching his chest rise and fall. He’d wake soon, and smile, and laugh and ask for a story or to play with his Duplo or do some exercises. And she’d do it, but all the time she would feel heavy, numbed by the knowledge of what was to come.

The scraping sound. The handle turning. The man looking for him.

Where is he?

Her, shaking her head, refusing to say.

The man finding him anyway.

Her fighting. Him overpowering her, choking her into unconsciousness, leaving her lying there while he disappeared with her son.

Her waking up, realizing Max was gone, getting the bleach from under the base of the bath.

Unwrapping the foil. Drinking it.

She imagined a sour, bitter taste that burned as it went down her throat and into her stomach. She saw herself doubled over on the mattress in pain, foam flecking her lips, her body gradually slackening as the life left it.

She pictured the man coming in and seeing her lying there, running over and feeling her pulse, understanding what she had done.

Would he be sad? Did he love her, in some twisted way? Would he kneel by her body and wail in grief?

She doubted it. She thought he would frown, his lips pressing together, thin with anger. And then he would have to get rid of her body. Maybe he would cut it up into pieces which he could remove easily. Or perhaps he would drag her out in the dark of the night and discard her body in some remote place.

She shook her head. That wasn’t going to happen.

Because she had a plan.

Next to her Max twitched. His eyes opened. Slowly they focused on her.

‘Mummy,’ he said.

‘Max. Happy birthday. You’re three!’

Max looked at her for a while before a smile spread over his face.

‘I’m three!’ he said. ‘What comes after three?’

‘Four,’ Maggie said.

‘Will I be four tomorrow?’

‘No,’ Maggie said. ‘You’ll be four in a year.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘A year.’

And he would be. In a year, he would turn four, somewhere far from here.

Because finally she had a plan. It was going to hurt her, to take all the courage and determination she could find, but she would do it, one way or another she would do it.