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Nineteen
Milly
I tell myself I am going to try. Even if I feel as if I am living underwater, everything muted and distant, the smallest tasks feeling impossible, I can still try. And so, the next morning, I wake up, shower and dress, and go to my daughter.
She is downstairs with Matt; he has her in the crook of his arm as he gives her a bottle. He was the one who got up with her in the night; I heard her thin cry and the rustle of bedcovers but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The bed felt as if it were made of wet concrete and I was entombed in it; it could have been my own grave.
But that was in the exhausted blur of a troubled night, and now it is morning, the day bright and wintry. I am determined things are going to be different. I’m going to be. Alice is six days old and I am going to start being the mother I want and need to be, the mother I intended to be all along.
‘Why don’t I give her the bottle?’ I suggest. Matt hasn’t brought up breastfeeding again, and I don’t suggest it now even though my milk has come in and my breasts are heavy and aching.
‘Sure.’ He pats the seat next to him on the sofa, and I sit down. Gently, he hands Alice to me, and I gaze down at her, willing myself to feel that warm rush of love. And for a second I do – a faint flicker at least, like the ghost of an emotion. It is gone before I can catch hold of it.
Matt hands me the bottle, and I fit it to Alice’s tiny mouth, her little lips pursing around it expectantly. It should be easy, but it’s not.
‘Careful,’ he says, as the milk comes out too quickly and Alice starts to sputter and choke. ‘She can only manage a little at a time. If you hold the bottle at less of an angle…’
I adjust the bottle, but after only a few seconds she turns her face away, screwing up her features, before letting out a bleating cry of protest. I can’t even do this.
‘Try again, Mills,’ Matt urges, and I take a deep breath. I’m not going to give up right away. I’m not.
‘Come on, Alice,’ I say, and although I meant to sound encouraging, I hear an edge to my voice. I try to fit the bottle into her mouth, but she’s having none of it now. Her fists flail and her face turns red as her cries become rattling screams that make my whole body tense. I thrust her at Matt. ‘You do it.’
‘If you just try, Milly—’
‘She’s upset. It’s not going to work.’ I get up from the sofa, not looking at him or Alice. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’
When I look back, Matt has Alice cradled in his arms, and he is giving the bottle to her easily. My eyes sting and smart and I focus on the kettle, the canister of coffee. This, at least, is something I know how to do.
‘The health visitor is coming by later today,’ Matt says when I am sitting at the table, my mug cradled between my hands. He has finished feeding Alice and she is settled in her car seat, drowsy and content, a milk bubble frothing at her lips.
‘Okay.’
‘I was wondering… maybe you should talk to her. About… about this.’
I turn slowly to look at him. ‘This?’
‘Just that it’s hard, Milly, harder than e
ither of us expected it to be—’
‘It’s not hard for you.’ My voice is equal parts anger and self-pity.
‘All I’m saying, there’s no shame in admitting you’re having a rough time. Maybe even getting something for it.’
‘You mean pills? You think I need to be medicated?’ Now I feel insulted, although I’m not sure why. Something is wrong with me, clearly. Even I can admit that.
‘No shame,’ Matt repeats feebly.
I make a sound of disgust – but it’s aimed at myself. Yes, there is most certainly shame. What sort of mother can’t feed her own child? What sort of mother doesn’t even want to?
‘Anna said she could come over as well, if you like,’ he continues after a moment. ‘Help out a bit.’
‘Oh, did she?’ I hear the acid in my voice and I wonder at it. I need Anna now, because I know I can’t take care of Alice on my own, and clearly Matt knows it as well. He’s going back to work in a few days. ‘That’s nice of her.’
‘She just wants to help. Whatever you need…’
But I don’t know what I need. I feel as if I could claw at my own skin, scream inside my head, but nothing helps. Anna certainly won’t. And yet I say what I know I need to, because I don’t really have any choice. ‘That’s great. It will be good to see her.’ I know Matt doesn’t believe me; he just pretends to. We’re both becoming experts at this masquerade.
