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After a while she poured herself a coffee because if ever she had needed one it was now, walking into the sitting room and sinking down on one of the sofas. She sat for some time. It had started to rain outside, big drops splattering against the window, and she shivered. The weather was changing at last. Winter was round the corner.
It was the following evening when her phone rang just as she was finishing dinner. She hadn’t felt like a meal, but had forced herself to cook a cheese omelette after she’d had her bath and changed into her pyjamas, conscious that she had to eat healthily now. To that end she’d had a glass of milk with the omelette and finished with an apple crumble and custard. Shop-bought but tasty nonetheless.
Her heart thudded as she picked up the phone but it wasn’t Forde. Instead a woman’s voice said, ‘Can I speak to Mrs Masterson, please?’
‘Speaking.’ This had to be the woman Forde had mentioned.
‘This is Miriam Cotton. Forde asked me to give you a ring.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Melanie suddenly felt ridiculously nervous. She didn’t want to go and see a stranger and talk about her innermost feelings, but she had made a bargain with Forde that he’d leave her alone if she did so. ‘I—I need to make an appointment, Mrs Cotton. I’m sure you’re very busy so I quite understand it might not be for a while.’
It was another minute or two before she put down the phone and her head was spinning. She was going to see Miriam Cotton after work the next day. She didn’t doubt that Forde had pulled strings to make it happen; ‘strike while the iron was hot’ was his style.
She sat and brooded for a good hour, looking at the address and telephone number Miriam had given her and wondering whether to call her back and cancel the appointment. It would mean she would have to take a change of clothes to work and get ready before she left Forde’s mother’s house, but that wasn’t really the issue.
She was frightened. Scared stiff.
As the thoug
ht hit she realised her hands were clenched into fists in her lap and she concentrated on relaxing her fingers slowly. Forde had said she would have to find the courage to dig deep. Why should she put herself through that? What if it did no good? What if it made her feel even worse?
Panic rose, hot and strong, and then she remembered something else Forde had said, something she’d tried to put out of her mind, but which had only been relegated to the subconscious, waiting to jump out the minute she let it. He’d said she’d been expecting the bubble of their marriage to burst all along, that it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy and she was the only one who could change that. It had made her so mad she could have cheerfully strangled him, and she’d told herself at the time that was because it was untrue and terribly unfair.
She shut her eyes tightly. But it wasn’t.
Opening her eyes, she stood up. She was exhausted; she couldn’t think of this any more. She was going to bed and in the morning she would decide what she was going to do. But even as she thought it she knew her decision had already been made. Because something else Forde had said had cut deep. She had to do this for the sake of the baby. She had to try. It might be a lot of pain and anguish for nothing, and in digging up the past she might open a can of worms that was best left closed, but if she didn’t try she would never know, would she?
She didn’t even bother to brush her teeth before getting into bed, so physically and emotionally tired her limbs felt like dead weights, but in the split second before she fell asleep she acknowledged it wasn’t just for the baby she was going to see Miriam tomorrow. It was for Forde too.
Miriam Cotton wasn’t at all what Melanie had expected. For one thing her consulting room was part of her home, a cosy, friendly extension to the original Edwardian terrace overlooking the narrow walled garden consisting of a neat lawn and flowerbeds with an enormous cherry tree in the centre of it. And Miriam herself was something of a revelation, her thick white hair trimmed into an urchin cut with vivid red highlights and her slim figure clothed in jeans and a loose blue shirt. She had a wide smile, big blue eyes and lines where you would expect lines for someone of her age on her clear complexion. Altogether she gave the impression of someone who was at peace with herself. Melanie liked her immediately.
Once sitting in a plump armchair next to the glowing fire—artificial, Miriam informed her cheerfully, but the most realistic Melanie had ever seen—and with no consulting couch, which she had been preparing herself for all day and dreading, Melanie began to relax a little. There was something about Forde’s friend’s mother that inspired trust.
Miriam smiled at her from the other armchair. ‘Before we go any further I must make one thing perfectly clear. Anything we talk about, anything you tell me is strictly between the two of us. Forde is a dear man but he will not be party to anything which is said in this room, not unless you wish to confide in him, of course. You have my absolute word on that.’
‘Thank you.’ Melanie nodded and relaxed a little more. She didn’t want to have any secrets from Forde, it wasn’t that, but knowing she still retained some control was nonetheless reassuring. It made her feel safe.
‘Forde tells me you’re expecting another baby?’ Miriam said quietly.
Melanie nodded again. She was glad Miriam had said ‘another’ and not pretended Matthew hadn’t been born. ‘Yes, in the spring.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose that’s the main reason— No.’ She paused, shaking her head. ‘That’s not right. It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I guess falling for another baby has brought everything to a head.’
‘Everything?’ Miriam said even more quietly.
Melanie looked into the gentle face opposite her. There were family photographs covering one wall of the room and she had noticed one little girl was in a wheelchair. This woman knew about trouble and heartache, she thought, biting her lower lip. She would have known that even without the photographs. It was in Miriam’s eyes. ‘Shall—shall I start at the beginning?’ she asked. ‘My childhood, I mean.’
‘That would be good,’ Miriam said softly. ‘And take your time. You can come to see me here as often as you like, every evening if you wish, until you feel ready to stop. Forde has been a wonderful friend to my son and you take priority right now. All right?’
Melanie left the house at seven o’clock feeling like a wet rag. She, who prided herself on not wearing her heart on her sleeve, had wept and wailed through the last two hours in a manner that horrified her now she thought about it.
She climbed into the pickup, which she’d parked a few metres from Miriam’s front door. It looked somewhat incongruous in the line of mostly expensive cars the well-to-do street held, but Melanie didn’t notice.
She took several deep breaths before she started the engine. She was far from convinced all this was a good idea, she told herself grimly. She felt worse, much worse if anything, after all the emotion of the last hours. Admittedly Miriam had seemed to guess how she was feeling and had assured her it was the same for everyone initially. She had to persevere to come out of the other end of the dark tunnel, according to Miriam. But what if she got stuck in the tunnel? What then?
She drew out of the parking space into the road, a deep weariness making her limbs feel heavy.
Then she straightened her back and lifted her chin. She had promised Forde and she would keep her end of the bargain. She would come back tomorrow and all the other tomorrows until this thing was done.
Melanie drove home slowly, aware she was totally exhausted and needed to be ultra careful. Once at the cottage she fixed herself a quick meal before falling into bed. She was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.
