‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, feeling bad that I’m abandoning her, but I desperately need a minute alone. ‘Back in a second, okay?’ I make my escape into the hall and up the stairs. I push open the door at the top of the landing, behind which lies a stunning grey and white designer bathroom. The room to the left is a smart single bedroom, which I enter, closing the door behind me. Daisy doesn’t need a clean nappy, it was simply an excuse to get away from Martin and the Parkfields. I’m grateful for a few moments to get myself together.
I sip my drink and gaze out of the window to see if I can get a glimpse of Martin again despite being repulsed by him. Maybe I could go to his house while he’s occupied over here. He might have left a window open. I could climb in and check the basement. This really would be the perfect time. I can’t quite believe I’m considering breaking and entering, but if it’s to discover what’s going on next door, then surely the end justifies the means.
Scanning the guests below to see if I can spot him, I catch sight of Lorna’s two youngest girls sitting cross-legged on the grass, chatting. The music is more muffled up here, but the relentless beat is exacerbating my headache; the dull throbbing inside my skull has become a sharp pounding. My forehead suddenly feels clammy and my head is starting to whirl. I actually don’t feel good at all.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a second, sliding Daisy into my lap, taking slow breaths to try to stop my head spinning. Is this a panic attack? I don’t think so. I’m not short of breath. It feels more like I’m drunk. But that can’t be right. I examine the beer bottle and see that it contains zero per cent alcohol. So definitely not drunk. The bottle falls out of my hand onto the floor, amber liquid pooling on the cream carpet, but I don’t have the strength to lean down and retrieve it. How can this feeling have come on so quickly? Maybe I’m coming down with flu or something. I exhale. I’m not going to be able to check out Martin’s basement, not feeling like this. I think I need to go home. Now.
Making sure I’ve got a firm hold of Daisy, I rise to my feet. The room suddenly swirls, reams of walls scrolling past my eyes. I shuffle towards to the door as a wave of nausea sweeps over me. This is not good.
I put my hands out to steady myself against the wall, bite back another wave of sickness and pull open the door. The noise from the party below hits me. I need to find Dom. Give Daisy to him to look after while I get myself home and lie down. After everything he’s done to persuade me to come to the party today, he’ll think I’m making this up to get out of being here. He won’t believe I genuinely feel ill. Why is this happening to me? I swallow down my panic. I just need to keep it together until I can get home.
The staircase in front of me looks like a precipice. It’s too risky to walk down it while I’m carrying my daughter, so I sit on my bottom and shuffle down, one step at a time, hoping no one sees me. But my hopes are dashed as two giggling women appear at the bottom of the stairs, a blurry mass of shiny hair and bright clothing.
I sense both sets of eyes on me, but I’m too busy concentrating on not falling over or throwing up to worry about what they think.
‘You okay?’ one of them asks while the other splutters with laughter – at me, no doubt.
‘I’m okay.’ The words come out heavy and slow.
‘Oh my God, I know her,’ one hisses to the other.
‘Who is she? What about her poor kid?’
‘Her name’s Kirstie. Looks like she’s pissed out of her head.’
Through another wave of dizziness and nausea, I recognise that voice. I stop my downward shuffle for a moment and look up to see Tamsin Price staring at me with an ill-concealed grin on her face. What’s she doing here? How does she know the Cliffords?
‘Not drunk,’ I slur. ‘Feel ill.’
‘It’s probably better to stay off the booze when you’re supposed to be looking after your baby,’ Tamsin says.
‘You know her?’ the other woman asks Tamsin in a horrified whisper.
‘She never used to behave like this,’ Tamsin says. ‘She was always such a little square at school. Must be having a mid-life crisis.’
‘Why are you here?’ I ask, slurring my words.
‘Dom invited me,’ she says with a smirk. Or at least I think that’s what she said. But that can’t be right, can it? Dom would never do that.
The women step apart as I reach the bottom of the staircase. I don’t have the energy to respond to Tamsin’s lies. I’m too concerned with keeping myself upright and not dropping Daisy. In any case, they allow me to pass, their horrified stares and whispers following me.
Need to find Dom. I somehow make it through the hall and into the kitchen where a sea of faces turn to stare as I stagger and push my way past as though in slow motion, everyone’s expressions a fuzzy mass of wide eyes and open mouths.
My husband is outside somewhere. Need to get out. Need to give Daisy to him. He won’t be happy about that. He won’t be able to enjoy himself properly, not if he has to look after her. As I head outside, I misjudge the step and my right heel catches on the door threshold. My knee gives way and I topple sideways with a scream, throwing myself as far onto my back as I can to keep Daisy from tumbling onto the hard slate patio.
I fall so slowly, like I could right myself at any time. But then, like a switch being flicked, everything speeds up. I desperately try to keep hold of my daughter, terrified I’m squeezing her too tightly, or not tightly enough. But as I hit the ground, landing on my side with a thud, Daisy jolts out of my arms, sliding across the patio onto the grass. Shocked cries and screams are followed by silence, apart from the music, which thumps away, oblivious.
Then Daisy lets out a piercing wail.
‘Oh my God!’
‘Is the baby okay?
‘Are you okay?’
‘She fell over.’
‘Is she drunk?’
‘Is she high?’
‘Her name’s Kirstie.’
‘She dropped her baby.’
The voices swirl around me, but I’m more worried about my daughter than about the party guests. ‘Daisy all right?’ I ask, reaching out for her, but she’s scooped up by a stranger. ‘Is she ’kay?’ I wipe my brow and my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘She ’kay? I… not… I.’ What the hell is wrong with me? I definitely sound drunk. My body is numb, unhurt, even though I know I landed heavily on hard slate.
‘She’s off her face!’
‘Who is she?’
‘Think she’s one of their neighbours.’
‘Kirstie! Are you okay?’
It’s Dom. I crawl up onto my knees. ‘Fell over,’ I manage to say before vomiting across the pristine slate patio.
‘Ew!’ a woman cries.
‘That’s gross.’
‘What the fuck. She’s puked on my shoes!’
Dom’s aftershave cuts through my senses. I feel his arm around me. My head lolls into his chest. His voice in my ear, angry, hissing, ‘Are you drunk, Kirstie? You are. You’re totally shitfaced. How could you? You could have seriously hurt Daisy. Killed her even!’
‘She ’kay?’ I persist. ‘Daisy? She okay?’
‘She’s fine, no thanks to you.’
‘Not drunk. Feel ill.’ I throw up a little bit more, this time all down Dom’s immaculate shirt.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he cries. ‘I’m taking you home.’
‘Bring Daisy,’ I say, my head tipping backwards and then forwards again.
‘No. You’re in no fit state to look after her. I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe it. You’re a mess, Kirstie. There’s no way you should have been drinking. You’re breast feeding, for Christ’s sake. This is so irresponsible.’
‘Daisy,’ I persist. Even though my mind is woozy, I’m paranoid that this could be the perfect opportunity for Martin to snatch her.
‘Daisy’s fine,’ Dom snaps. ‘She’s with Mel.’
I try to tell Dom that I’m not drunk. That I only had two bottles of non-alcoholic beer. That somet
hing else has happened to me. Maybe an allergic reaction or something. But the words won’t come out. My mouth is thick, my brain sluggish. As though I’m not here. Disembodied. It’s no good. I need to close my eyes. I need to sleep.
I blink heavily. Once. Twice. Three times. I catch sight of Rosa’s shocked expression, of Mel with Daisy in her arms, Tamsin, the Parkfields. All of them staring at me like I’m insane.
My eyes close and their faces fade…
Thirty
I wake with a fuzzy head and realise I’m lying on the sofa in the lounge, still wearing yesterday’s red dress, infused with the faint smell of vomit. I try to sit up and the whole of my right side screams in pain while the events of the barbecue tumble into my brain: Martin, the dizziness, the fall. And worst of all – I dropped Daisy! I actually dropped my baby!
‘Dom!’ I try to yell, but it comes out like a croak. My throat is raspy, my stomach hurts, I feel nauseous and my body is in absolute agony. ‘Dom!’ I try again, but it’s no good – I have no strength in my voice whatsoever.
I gingerly rise to my feet. Once I’m upright, I hitch up my dress to examine my body. My right leg is a mass of red and black bruises. My hip is swollen and tender to the touch. My arm is in the same knocked-about shape. I really took a tumble. But I can’t even think about that now. I need to find out if Daisy is okay.
Flashbacks of yesterday evening assault me like a stop-motion video. Dom telling me I was drunk, and bruised down one side, but not seriously hurt. I remember trying to explain that I wasn’t drunk, that I hadn’t even been drinking, but my words were slurred. I felt and sounded drunk to myself, so why would anyone else believe me?
I make my way into the kitchen to try to find my husband. To apologise and tell him that I wasn’t myself. That something else is going on here. Something I can’t explain. Every step sends a volley of sharp knives into my side, and every movement feels as though my brain is becoming dislodged, like it’s sloshing about in my head. Dom is not in the kitchen. The time on the cooker clock says 8.05 a.m. Early for a Sunday, but he’s an early riser. Perhaps he overslept. I rinse out an empty glass from the draining board and fill it with water. Take a few sips to ease my throat.
Everyone thinks I got drunk yesterday. But I didn’t knowingly have one single sip of alcohol. Could somebody have spiked my drink? I think back to the party. All I drank were a couple of bottles of alcohol-free beer that Rosa opened in front of me. I left one on the table behind me for a while. How long was it there? Could someone have slipped something into it? I don’t know. Could it have been an allergic reaction to something? I drain the glass of water and set it back on the counter.
Through the kitchen window I see that it’s another glorious day out there, a day for picnics and families and fun and relaxing. I can’t see my day turning out anything like that. I make my way up the stairs and enter Daisy’s room. My pulse quickens when I see she’s not in her cot. It’s okay, she’s probably in with Dom. I go to our bedroom next, but there’s no sign of either of them. He must have taken her out. I tell myself not to panic.
As long as Daisy is okay. But what if she’s not? What if that’s why Dom isn’t here? What if he’s had to take her to the hospital? She could have hit her head yesterday and had a delayed reaction. She could be in intensive care.
Stumbling out of the bedroom, I head back downstairs. I need my phone. I need to call Dom to make sure Daisy’s okay. But I can’t see my bag anywhere. I frantically search for it, hoping I didn’t leave it at the Cliffords’ place. There’s no way I’m going back over there to retrieve it. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to show my face in the street again. I pick up the landline handset and call my mobile. There! It’s ringing! I follow the sound of the ringtone into the lounge where, thankfully, I find my bag wedged under a sofa cushion.
I call Dom and he answers almost straight away.
‘Is Daisy okay?’ I pant.
‘She’s fine,’ he says tersely.
Relief floods my body and I sit on the sofa getting my breath back. ‘Where are you?’
‘Mel’s.’
‘Mel’s?’ A sudden chill coats my spine. ‘What are you doing over there?’
‘She messaged me this morning to see how you were. You were still asleep so I decided to come over here for a coffee.’
‘With Daisy?’
‘Yes, with Daisy. You were asleep. And anyway you were pissed out of your head last night. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to have you breathing your alcoholic fumes all over our daughter first thing this morning.’
‘You didn’t think it would be appropriate?’ My chest is thumping with anger, with outrage. ‘I wasn’t pissed, Dom. You probably drank more than I did.’
‘You were off your face, Kirstie. I saw you. Everyone saw you.’
‘It was non-alcoholic beer. You know that.’
‘It obviously wasn’t. And anyway, you were inside for ages. I wasn’t exactly keeping tabs on you. But whatever it was you did or didn’t drink, you were totally out of order. You could have done some serious damage to Daisy, dropping her like that.’
‘Someone spiked my drink!’
‘Who would do that at a neighbour’s barbecue, Kirst?’
‘I’m coming over there,’ I say, rising to my feet, my whole body trembling with rage.
‘Don’t bother. I’m coming home now.’
‘Bring Daisy.’ I end the call with a stab of my finger, throw my phone onto the sofa and pace the living room, trying to calm down, trying to work out how I can convince my husband that he’s got it all wrong. I know it must have looked really bad with me falling over, and slurring my words and vomiting all over him, but surely he knows me better than that? He knows how careful I am around our daughter. How I would never endanger her in such a reckless way.
I stand at the window, staring at Mel’s place, all yesterday’s warm feelings of friendship hardening into a frozen lump of hatred. How could she take Dom’s side in this? She didn’t even come over to see if I was all right. She just assumes that I’m guilty. Same as Dom. Like she’s so perfect. Like either of them are.
Finally, Mel’s front door opens and Dom steps out onto the pathway, like a toy figure. I reach out my hand as though to hold him in my fingers. Mel stands in the doorway wearing a short dressing gown, talking to him with my baby in her arms. How bloody dare she think she can keep hold of Daisy without my permission? I drop my hand back down by my side. She closes the door and Dom heads over this way without our daughter. My emotions bubble over.
I march outside, the morning air tinged with the scent of burnt charcoal. Dom is walking down the drive, and I stride up the path to meet him. ‘I thought you were bringing Daisy,’ I cry.
‘She’s with Mel.’
‘I know she’s with Mel, but she should be with me!’
‘We need to talk about this, Kirst. Let’s go inside.’ He takes hold of my good arm but I shake him off.
‘I’m not going inside. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve got my daughter back.’ I try to push past him, but he bars my way with his body. How did it come to this? To me and Dom arguing in the street like this. Like people you see on TV soaps. We’re not those kinds of people.
‘Kirstie, please,’ he says, trying to sound reasonable, like I’m the one who’s out of line. ‘You haven’t been yourself. I know you’re anxious about things, but you can’t put our daughter’s safety at risk like that.’
His words come like slaps. ‘Me put my daughter’s safety at risk?’ I spit. ‘I’ve thought of nothing but Daisy’s safety for weeks!’ I’m trying to keep from screaming. Trying to stay calm, but it’s almost impossible; the volume rises of its own accord. ‘You didn’t seem bothered when I heard those baby snatchers in the monitor, or when I got that threatening phone call, or when I told you about Martin’s creepy basement. And even now, when I’m telling you that someone did something to my drink yesterday, you’re still not listening. You prefer to blame me than bel
ieve me.’
‘Look at it from my point of view, Kirstie.’ Dom inhales and releases a breath out slowly through his mouth. ‘You’ve been paranoid, anxious, moody… and yesterday you were out of control at that party.’
‘You don’t believe me,’ I say. ‘You actually don’t believe me.’
‘I want to believe you, Kirst. There’s nothing more I’d like than to believe you, but I don’t think that going along with your… delusions, is going to do us any favours.’
‘Delusions? Fucking hell, Dom. I don’t believe this.’ I sit on the path cross-legged, letting my head fall into my hands. My husband thinks I’m deluded. He thinks I’m crazy.
‘I’m sorry, Kirstie.’ Dom crouches down in front of me. ‘I hate seeing you like this. Honestly, it kills me. I sat up all night with you last night, making sure you were still breathing, making sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit. But I can’t tread on eggshells any more. I think you should go back to the doctor’s. Maybe… Maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe you’re depressed or something.’ His voice cracks.
My husband is a good man. He loves me, I know he does. Which is why I’m so gutted that he isn’t taking my word for what happened yesterday. He’s clearly upset, but I don’t know how to convince him that something else is going on here. That someone has it in for me. I just need to work out who.
‘Why did you invite Tamsin Price to the barbecue?’ I ask.
‘What?’ He frowns. ‘I would never invite her to anything. I saw her there, but it was nothing to do with me. And I didn’t even speak to the woman. Why would I?’
‘She told me you invited her.’
‘Is that what all this is about? Is that why you got so drunk?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you, Dom, I didn’t touch any alcohol.’
‘Look, Kirst,’ Dom says gently, ‘I haven’t spoken to Tamsin in years, and I was as surprised to see her there as you were. I think it’s best if you take some time to get yourself straight. Go and see your doctor tomorrow. Rest, sleep. In the meantime, I’ll go and stay with my mum and dad for a few days.’ He pauses, ‘And, Kirst, I’m going to take Daisy with me.’