Watch Over Me Read Free Page B

later, after many a late-night session in the pub to drown my sorrow – and many a hungover day – she came back.
    I opened the door and there she was. Golden hair, cornflower eyes, like the princess in fairytales. She had driven up from London with a small case full of clothes and laden with paints, canvases and a few paintings.
    She looked scared. She clearly didn’t know how I’d react. I could feel the tension in her body as I held her and kissed her, and then I felt her relaxing in my arms. She looked at me, her face flooded with relief. She could read on my face that I was overjoyed to see her.
    She looked relieved, but she didn’t look happy.
    She wasn’t even in the door. We were still standing on my doorstep as she told me.
    ‘I’m pregnant.’
    Everything spun around me and before my rational mind could process what she had just told me, I broke into a smile. She didn’t smile back. She didn’t look happy.
    She was pregnant and she wasn’t happy.
    * * *
     
    We settled down to this new, unexpected life. At the beginning, it was like being under water, everything was surprising, fluid, unplanned. I cleaned and painted the spare room and turned it into a studio for her. She tried to work but morning sickness – all day sickness really – made it so hard. She was constantly exhausted, lying on the sofa or throwing up in the bathroom. She soon gave up on painting.
    My mum was a godsend. She made Janet feel welcome, she did her utmost to help her settle in. Janet took to her and they became good friends. They would go for tea and a scone in the local cafe, up to Aberdeen shopping, or just sit in my mum’s kitchen and chat while I was at work.
    The local girls had been quite taken aback by the sudden appearance of this London woman, her blonde hair, her designer clothes. They weren’t as ready as my mum to befriend her. My sister Shona pointed out to me that it wasn’t nice for them to see one of the few eligible bachelors in the area snatched by a newcomer. Of course, I hadn’t thought of that. My sister commented that men are useless that way – they never notice these things. My mum seemed to be the only person that Janet truly trusted. It goes against the stereotype of the wicked mother-in-law, I suppose.
    Still, Janet was miserable. It was as simple as that.
    I could see it, my mum and sister could see it, everyone could. People would wonder what on earth she had to be so miserable about – a man who adored her and couldn’t wait to marry her, a baby on the way, a lovely home.
    But I understood. The pregnancy had taken everything out of her; the baby was sapping every ounce of her strength. Because her art required all her energy – emotional, physical, and mental – the two things just couldn’t coexist, for her. She was drained.
    I didn’t know much about pregnancies, I had only seen my sister whenever she was down from Aberdeen, and apart from being a bit tired and nauseous, she seemed fine. Happy. I didn’t want to start discussing Janet behind her back but I had to ask my mum for advice. I was at a loss.
    ‘It happens sometimes. I was fine with you but with Shona … I was sick throughout, as big as a house and totally exhausted! She was my first – I just wasn’t prepared. But then, when the baby came, I was so happy I forgot all about it. Sometimes your dad and I tried to stay awake all night just to look at her …’
    It didn’t happen that way for Janet. When the baby came, she didn’t seem better. Maisie was born after more than twenty-four hours of labour, she was in so much pain and I couldn’t help her. When it finished, Janet was exhausted, but rules were that I had to leave her there and come back the next day. Maisie must have been quite traumatised by the ordeal too, so she wouldn’t settle in Janet’s arms or at her breast. I left her holding the baby, sitting upright in her bed on the ward, and when I came back the following morning, she was in the same position,