‘You OK?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ began Sam automatically.
‘Ted phoned me. He said you won’t talk to him and he’s worried sick. What’s up, lovie?’
Finally, the automatic pilot that had kept her pretending for so long went off the grid.
‘Nooo,’ Sam said in a noise that was half-moan, half-sob. ‘I’m not OK. I don’t know what’s wrong.’
It disturbed India, who wriggled.
Expertly, Joanne took the baby and laid her in her crib.
‘She never goes back to sleep when I do that,’ said Sam.
‘I am a baby whisperer or a baby witch,’ said Joanne. ‘One or the other.’ She switched on India’s crib mobile, little coloured butterflies that whirled slowly to gentle music. ‘Come on.’
The sisters sat halfway down the stairs, the way they used to as children.
‘Spill,’ said Joanne, ‘and don’t give me any rubbish about how you’re just tired. It’s more than that.’
Sam spilled and as she did, she began to cry, relating the dreams and the fears and the terrible darkness that was waiting for her. Tears and snot mixed and eventually Joanne, who refused to move from her position holding her sister, handed over a scrunched-up tissue to dry the tears.
‘You poor darling. It’s going to be fine, I promise you. You’re not going crazy, Sam, really. I’d say it’s textbook post-natal depression,’ said Joanne. ‘Lots of women get it after pregnancy. You should have said something, lovie, but at least now that you have, it’s going to be easier. We’ll get you sorted. It’s a chemical imbalance and antidepressant tablets will sort you out.’
‘You never went through any of this with your babies,’ said Sam miserably. ‘I’ve failed India and Ted.’
She began to cry again at the thought of how she’d shut him out.
‘For a start, all women are different,’ pointed out Joanne. ‘Plus, having a baby after a lot of infertility treatment can be difficult.’ She looked carefully at her sister. ‘I’ve read up on this and it’s quite normal for people who have had a lot of treatments to get post-natal depression once they actually have a baby.’
‘Really?’ asked Sam, thinking of the social worker in the hospital and how she’d asked if Sam had ever had either depression or any previous pregnancy problems.
Joanne looked at her with wet eyes.
‘Oh lovie, I should have said something, I should have said it to Ted. I just never thought ... Yes, it’s incredibly common. And you had to go through it all alone. I thought we were soul sisters forever and you were going to tell me everything, always.’
Sam managed a sort of a laugh finally.
‘It came on me and I got lost in it. I—’ She searched for the right words. ‘It came out of nowhere and was so frightening. Like I would never be happy again and the fear and pain of that – thinking that when I had India to take care of, when I’d longed for her for so many years.’
The sisters sat quietly.
Sam realised she was holding the little cuddly donkey Vera had bought for India. It was as soft as velvet and, as yet, India had no real interest in it, but it seemed so precious now.
She closed her eyes at the thought of her pregnancy and how she’d felt those moments of huge joy, and then those dark nights when she was too hot, her back hurt and her mind raced with all the fears she could never speak out loud. Not to Ted, not to Joanne, not to anyone.
At the time, she’d feared that she would never actually give birth, that something would go wrong, because she was not meant to be a mother.
Her genes were her mother’s genes. Those genes were not meant to be passed on. Plus, she didn’t knowhowto mother. She’d sit up those nights and remind herself tearfully that, yes, she could nurture and care. She had Ted, and her sister, her father, her darling nieces ... so many people she loved and who loved her.
But the needling little voice went on.
‘I thought I couldn’t do it—’ she began.
‘Yes, you can,’ said Joanne fiercely. ‘You were scared. Scared of this older mother thing that you’ve glued onto yourself like a piece of gum stuck to your shoe.’
‘Well I am an older mother,’ said Sam, ‘although that wasn’t the thing that knocked me down into this hole.’
