The Stranger in Our Bed. Samantha Lee Howe

The white sheets glared red. The whole lower half of my body was covered in blood. I tried to calm my breathing, but the room began to spin as I realized what this macabre sight might mean.

      ‘Oh my god!’ Tom said.

      I was vaguely aware of him rushing across the room and picking up his phone. Swearing as he pressed three numbers.

      ‘I need an ambulance,’ he said.

      ***

      I was bundled onto a trolley after they mopped up the mess. I knew without looking that the mattress had to be ruined, just as the white bedding most certainly was. Just as my life was. It crossed my mind that the purple satin set wouldn’t have shown the damage so boldly. And then it occurred to me that this was a strange moment to think of that bedding. I should instead have been thinking about my baby.

      Much to the excitement of our neighbours, I was wheeled into the back of the ambulance.

      ‘I’ll follow in my car,’ said Tom, as they hooked me up to an IV and placed monitors on my heart.

      When they closed the doors on him, to continue their work in peace, one of the paramedics, a woman with kind eyes, said, ‘It’s already too late. I’m afraid the baby is gone. Normally we wouldn’t take you in for that. But your husband is very concerned about you due to your accident.’

      I closed my eyes and felt tears running down my face. I didn’t know why. Was it sadness for the loss of this tiny, yet unformed thing inside me? Or was it relief?

      ‘The pregnancy may not have been viable to begin with,’ the doctor said. ‘It happens sometimes with a first one. Like a trial run.’

      ‘But the accident?’ Tom said.

      Why oh why did he keep labouring this? Didn’t he realize I felt bad enough?

      ‘I doubt it was responsible, but it’s possible. Most pregnancies are robust. They can withstand all sorts of trauma. That’s how the human race has survived through the worst periods of our history. Your wife will be fine. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t have another healthy pregnancy in a few months’ time. But for now, I think she needs rest.’

      I lay in the bed, Isadora holding my hand, as these two men talked about me as though I wasn’t present, or capable of understanding anything. But it was only later, when I realized things had to change or else I would lose my sanity, that I looked back and remembered all of this with clarity.

       Chapter Five

      Tom and I had been married ten years and for most of that time I couldn’t imagine my life turning out any better. I’d been orphaned when I was sixteen. It had been hard for me financially and emotionally. I’d had to be independent and strong, but all I’d ever wanted was to be safe and secure. Tom gave that to me. I was grateful, and I felt privileged too. I never wanted this amazing life he offered to change me. But it did despite my best efforts.

      We never discussed the fact that I had, effectively, squandered the amazing opportunity I’d had in getting into Oxford. Nor that I had gained a first – and Tom a 2:1. For Tom, such a privilege was a given and he could have worked harder, he just didn’t need to. But that wasn’t the way he was with the firm. No, that was his real obsession. His life – above all else, even me – was about running the company. As for me, I didn’t mind someone taking care of me for a change. Tom gave me more security than I’d had in years and it was a relief to no longer worry that I might not be able to pay the rent, or buy food that week.

      You can only appreciate having money when you’ve truly had none. For years I’d been completely broke. And, when you’ve seen life from both ends of the spectrum, you also know which side your bread is buttered.

      You see, I knew my life wasn’t perfect, but I accepted it.

      Sometimes I was bored. Oh, I didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but at times I had to recognize how my intelligence had been wasted. It frustrated me. I tried to do what the other wives did: lunches, charity benefits, hair and beauty appointments and the obligatory gym membership. We, as the wives of men such as Tom, had to keep our figures and looks regardless of anything else.

      I had friends of course. Some I genuinely liked, but none had carried over from the old days. When I took my certificate on graduation day and then didn’t accept that all-important job offer, I dropped off everyone’s radar. Instead Tom and I went on a cruise. Looking back on it now, I realized that my life was mapped out from the day I met him.

      I had been lucky in many ways. The Carlisles were snobs, and they valued my education as much as my looks, thankfully, and this, I suppose, allowed them to ignore my humble beginnings. Isadora groomed me. Smoothing away any final rough edges, teaching me the ways of the corporate wife and all the duties it entailed. It was like marrying into royalty, only marginally less public.

      Our wedding was featured in a top business magazine and was full of embellishments about Tom’s business acumen – all important for the shareholders to see. My only embellishment was the most expensive designer dress Isadora could find. And my looks. My looks were, I think, the most important of all. The wedding took place at Isadora and Conrad’s manor house in Surrey. A beautiful old and huge building that sat in several acres of land and had been passed down through generations of Carlisles.

      Of course, I didn’t mind Isadora’s detailed planning of our special day, down to who would be bridesmaids – wives of important people in their world, because I had no sisters or cousins to fit the bill. I’d been an only child, long since orphaned, and Isadora’s attentions pleased me at first. She became my surrogate mother, even though I was fully aware that everything she did was not for my sake, but for Tom’s.

      After the wedding, Isadora started to ask about grandchildren. We avoided it for the first few years, telling her we had to find our feet, that Tom’s long working hours would mean he’d have no time for me, let alone a new baby.

      When I turned 30 we ran out of excuses.

      ‘Everyone else in your peer group has children, Charlotte dear,’ Isadora had said. ‘Don’t you think it’s time?’

      She always called me ‘Charlotte dear’ when she wanted to manipulate me in some way. I knew what she was doing but didn’t really mind. I’d learnt early on that Isadora always got her way and it sometimes wasn’t worth the argument.

      ‘It’s not easy when Tom works so hard, comes back home late and tired,’ I had said. ‘But, I’ll talk to him on our anniversary trip. Who knows, we may well start there!’

      Isadora had been pleased that we were ‘potentially’ on the way to parenthood and I had effectively appeased my mother-in-law again. I don’t know what it was, but I wasn’t that concerned about having children. I enjoyed our life as it was – maybe that was selfish of me. But we had everything that money could buy and I loved to travel. I knew that babies would limit our freedom, perhaps even change our relationship. I’d seen that happen too many times with some of the other corporate wives.

      ‘I hope you’re feeling frisky. Your mother wants grandkids!’ I had told Tom.

      Tom had laughed, but never took it too seriously: he only wanted me to come home to and had no immediate desire to be a father. That was why it had surprised me when he told me to stop taking my contraceptives before our trip to Iceland.

      I guessed, in the end, Isadora had applied enough pressure on him too.

      Two months after the miscarriage my life resumed its normal pattern. Even the wives of Tom’s colleagues stopped asking me how I felt. I was able now to meet them for lunch and I had resumed my gym sessions, carefully, after six weeks.

      To avoid a pregnancy too soon, I had restarted my contraceptives. Tom and I fell back into our life as if nothing had happened. I didn’t fall back into my usual pattern with Isadora though. I felt different