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The baby won’t stop crying.
A crying baby is never a pleasant sound, but the cry of your own child is so much worse. It crawls under your skin, burrows into your brain, unbearable and undeniable, until nothing else in the world exists.
Kara had forgotten that. She has realised in the last ten weeks how much she had forgotten about caring for a baby. The relentless treadmill of feeding and changing and soothing. Maybe the blurring of memories is a genetic instinct, coded to ensure the survival of the species - otherwise what mother would have more than one child?
Still, she doesn’t remember Ben’s early days being quite this hard. He had cried, of course he had, but once she had figured out his cues, whether he was tired or hungry or needed changing, he had been fairly easy to soothe.
This baby will not be soothed. The day is turning out the same as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that, endless hours of screaming and crying.
The baby is crying when Lee leaves for work, dropping Ben at school on his way, so Kara feeds her. She sucks at the milk desperately, obviously hungry, but as soon as she is full, the crying starts again. Kara walks up and down the living room with the baby on her shoulder, burping her. The crying gradually subsides, but as soon as she stops walking, it starts up again.
Kara is eventually forced to put the baby down in her basket so she can run to the bathroom. She can still hear the screaming, echoing through the house. Kara leans her head against the cool tiled wall and closes her eyes. She can’t have slept more than a few hours last night, in between all the feedings. Lee offered to do one, but she wouldn’t let him. He has to be at the office, he needs his sleep.
She shouldn’t need him anyway. She did all this with Ben without any help at all.
Kara decides to go for a walk. The fresh air and sunshine will be good for them both, and the baby often stops crying in the pram. She screams angrily for the first five minutes, while passers-by look at Kara disapprovingly. She glares back at them, almost hoping one of them will say something, so she has an excuse to yell. Gradually the baby’s cries lessen into murmurs and gurgles, and peace descends. Kara takes long deep breaths, desperately drinking in the silence. She can finally think again.
She’s so tired. Her legs are aching. She reaches a bench in the park and sits down.
The baby stirs. Within minutes she is screaming, and she doesn’t stop until Kara wearily gets to her feet and starts moving again.
Back home, Kara leaves the baby in the pram in the hallway, and creeps towards the kitchen, hoping she can make a sandwich before she wakes. She looks at the clock and her heart sinks. Only midday. Hours before Lee or Ben get home, before she has someone else to talk to. She makes the sandwich, and has taken two bites when the baby wakes, and the crying starts again.
Kara chokes down the rest of the sandwich, and goes to her. She tries everything. Feeds her, changes her, burps her, but nothing works for long. Every time Kara puts her down, the crying starts again. She can’t carry the baby any longer, she can’t, her arms are aching and her back is hurting and her head is throbbing.
She needs to close her eyes, she needs some peace, she needs just one second of quiet…
“Shut up!” She screams at the baby, wailing in her basket, all her anger and frustration bursting out of her like a volcano. “Frakking shut up!”
There is one moment of absolute, terrible silence.
Then the baby screws up her face and howls even louder. Kara stands frozen, staring down at her hands.
She backs away. Keeps moving until her body thuds into the wall and sinks to the floor, shaking.
After a while - she’s not sure how long - she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She finds his number with fumbling hands, praying that he picks up. That he’s not in a meeting. When she hears his familiar voice, she almost sobs in relief.
“Lee. I need you to come home. Now.”
She can hear him asking worried questions, but she can’t respond. It’s all she can do to get out those bare words.
“I need you to come home now.”
Something in her voice must reach him, because his tone changes. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he says, and hangs up.
He’s there in fifteen. He must have broken the speed limit getting here, and Kara wonders how bad she must have sounded.
She waits for him in the hallway, not daring to go back in the living room, although she keeps looking through the doorway to make sure the baby is safely in her basket. She’s still crying.
When Lee comes through the door, she immediately starts moving, pulling on her shoes and coat.
“I need you to take her for a while,” she says, grabbing her keys.
“Kara, what happened?” He reaches out to her, but she pulls back. She can’t look at him.
“I can’t...I need to get out of here, Lee. Please?”
He nods, but she’s already brushing past him, out into the sunshine and the blessed silence. She gets into her truck and drives almost blindly. When she emerges from her mental fog, she realises she’s reached the airfield where she teaches.
Of course. Her subconscious knows where to go. She parks with a shuddering breath of relief. Climbs onto the bonnet, leans back against the windscreen and watches the planes above, tiny dots in that expanse of blue.
Her breath begins to calm. Her muscles relax. She drifts.
---
Time loses all meaning, until Kara realises with a shock that the daylight has almost drained from the sky.
Lee will be going mad with worry. She pulls out her phone to call him, but at that moment she hears the approaching noise of an engine, and a familiar car parks next to hers.
She wonders how Lee knew she was here, and then realises that’s a stupid question.
Lee gets out of the car. Fifteen years ago, maybe even five years ago, he would have been fuming, would have started yelling at her, and she would have yelled back, burying anything else they felt with anger. Now, he can walk over and say “Are you okay? I was worried,” and she can say, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. I lost track of the time.”
Lee boosts himself up to sit beside her.
“Where are the kids?” she asks.
“I left Ben eating pizza. No doubt he’s taking the opportunity to watch some horror film he’s too young to see.”
“And Amy?”
“Amelia’s in the car.” Kara glances over, and can see her through the window, asleep in her car seat. “I thought she’d wake up as soon as I turned the engine off, but we seem to be safe so far.”
“Maybe she’s finally worn herself out.”
“Maybe.” Lee shifts, turning to look at her. “It’s the first time she’s stopped crying since you left her with me. Is it always this bad?”
Kara’s immediate reflex is to deny it, but Lee’s eyes demand the truth. “Most days.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I should be able to deal with it! It’s only crying.” Kara’s guilt floods her again. “I managed with Ben.”
“Ben didn’t have colic, did he?” Lee sighs. “It’s relentless, Kara. There’s no shame in finding it tough to deal with.”
“That’s not all of it.” Kara knows she has to tell him, but she can’t look at him as she does it. She lies back, looking up at the sky. The stars are beginning to come out, and she holds on to their comforting presence. “I yelled at her, Lee. I screamed at her because she wouldn’t stop crying. She’s only a baby.”
“Kara…” She feels his hand close hard about her own. “Anyone would get frustrated. I do myself, and I’m not with her all day.”
“It was more than that.” She forces down the tears burning in her throat. “I was so angry with her. Not just angry, furious. For a moment I...I was afraid I would hurt her.”
She chokes, and Lee’s hand tightens so hard that it almost hurts.
“You didn’t though, did you?” he says, quiet and firm. “You stepped back, and you called me for help. That was the right thing to do, Kara.”
“I shouldn’t have needed to do it.” He shouldn’t absolve her of this. She can’t bear to think of what might have happened.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Shall I remind you of something you once said to me? All you have to do as a parent is your best.”
“Today wasn’t my best.” She tries to pull her hand away, but he won’t let her.
“Then tomorrow will be better.” His voice is gentle, in contrast to his vice-like grip on her hand. “Another thing you said to me was that I wouldn’t turn into my parents, because you hadn’t turned into yours. I think you need reminding of that as well.”
“Maybe I was wrong.” Kara stares up at the stars again, her vision blurring.
“You’ve never hurt Ben.”
“Ben wasn’t a girl.”
The words tumble out of her before she can stop them. Kara freezes, horrified, and hears Lee sigh, as if the final piece of a puzzle has fallen into place.
“So that’s it. I knew there was something. You’ve been on edge ever since she was born. At first I thought it was simply all the stress of having a newborn, but…”
“I know it’s ridiculous.” Kara can feel a tear trickling down her cheek. “It shouldn’t make any difference, but it does. I don’t know...I don’t know how to be a good mother to a daughter.”
“It’s not ridiculous.” Lee moves closer, and kisses the tear away. “I was incredibly relieved she wasn’t a boy.” Kara turns her head to look at him, startled, and he smiles ruefully. “I would not have dealt well with being the father of two sons.”
There is no anger or condemnation in his face, only understanding. Kara realises how foolish she was to expect anything else. Lee understands exactly how childhood demons can rear up and sink their teeth into you when you least expect it. All the years of space and time and therapy will never free her from them entirely.
“What a pair we make, huh?” she says, trying to make a joke of it, but she can’t quite manage it, not yet.
“Yes. We’re a pair.” Lee’s thumb strokes the palm of her hand. “So when one of us struggles, the other one steps up. You aren’t doing this alone.”
“I know.” She does, but accepting help will never come easily to her. “Thanks for coming when I called.”
“I’ll always come when you need me.” Their eyes meet. Kara sighs, and leans her head against his.
“What would help with all this?” Lee asks. “What does your therapist say?”
Kara inwardly braces herself. “I haven’t been to see her since Amy was born.” Lee doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes is enough. “I know, I know. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Good. Why don’t we get someone to help out, too? With Amelia?”
Kara stiffens, instinctively rejecting the idea. “I don’t want someone else looking after her. I should do it, like I did with Ben. I’m her mother.” As she says it, she feels a spark of protectiveness rising inside her, the way she always has with Ben, and for the first time, the words feel real to her.
She is Amy’s mother. Amy is her daughter.
“I didn’t mean all the time. Maybe for a couple of hours a day, so you can get some sleep. I know everyone says nap when the baby naps, but she doesn’t, does she? Unless you’re driving, or pushing her in the pram, or holding her on your shoulder, and that means you can’t sleep.”
Kara nods reluctantly. It would help. It goes against the grain to admit it, but she thinks she has to, after today.
“And I’ll take her one day a week,” says Lee.
“How are you going to do that?”
“I’ll work a four day week.”
Kara looks at him sceptically. “Are your firm going to allow that?”
“I think so.” Lee grins smugly. “Since I won that class action suit, I’ve brought in a lot more clients. They don’t want me to move elsewhere.”
“And what will I do with that day?”
“Come here,” says Lee. “Fly, teach a lesson, anything that will get you in the air. That’s what you need, isn’t it?”
It is. The fact that he understands her so well used to scare her, but now she is glad of it. She kisses him, long and hard, showing the gratitude she can’t speak.
They’re silent for a while, staring up at the stars.
“Ben got upset with me this afternoon,” Lee says. “He accused me of not trusting him with Amelia. Why does he think that?”
Kara rolls her eyes inwardly, but she tries to be as careful as he was with her earlier. “Because every time he tries to feed her or carry her, you swoop in and tell him he doesn’t have to do that, it’s not his job, and take her away.”
“Oh.” Awareness dawns in Lee’s face. “I didn’t realise I was doing that. I only meant-”
“I know. I know why you’re doing it, but Ben doesn’t. It’s a different situation, and it’s going to cause the exact problem you’re trying to avoid.”
Lee nods. “Point taken. I’ll try to stop. Tell me if I slip back into it.”
“We’d better go home,” Kara says, although she wishes she could stay here in the quiet dark with him for ever. “Before Ben empties the fridge. And Amy shouldn’t be in the car seat too long.”
“Amelia.”
“Amy.”
Lee grunts with irritation. “Amelia. It was your idea that I should name her!”
“It was only fair. I got to name Ben.”
“What was the point if you’re going to call her a completely different name?”
“It’s not a different name. It’s a shortened version.”
“You could have said if you hated it that much.”
Kara chuckles. “Lee, I would have disliked anything you picked. We don’t have the same taste in names. You don’t like Benjamin.” Lee’s mouth falls open, and she grins. He obviously thought she didn’t know that. “So you call her Amelia, and I’ll call her Amy, and we’ll both be happy.”
Lee’s mouth sets in a mutinous line. He’s not happy, and Kara knows why; it’s because everyone else has followed her example and started using Amy too. Lee is going to be the only one who ever calls his daughter by her full name.
He opens the car door, and looks down at their daughter, still asleep. “She looks very peaceful.”
She does. Kara knows it won’t last, that the screaming will start again all too soon, but it’s still good to see. She feels that protective spark grow into a steady flame, and puts out a tentative finger to stroke Amy’s head.
“Lee...can I drive her home?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” They swap keys. Kara climbs behind the wheel, and turns round to smile again at Amy before she starts the engine. Lee’s right. Tomorrow she can start again, and do better. She’ll figure this out, being Amy’s mother.