No One But You (Imperfect Hearts Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Alexandra Silva

  Cover Design by Tickle MEdia

  Editing by Lit Chicks

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  To all the women who make life happen, and all the men who are there to support and lend a helping hand when we need it.

  Author’s Note

  This story deals with delicate subjects.

  * * *

  Stillbirth happens in around 1 in every 200 births in England.

  Stillbirth and neonatal death is a sensitive subject that many people can find difficult to discuss publicly, and even reading about it can be harrowing. It’s not a topic that can be accurately portrayed or emotionally explained to suit or indeed demonstrate how it affects everyone who has gone through it.

  The death of a baby has a profound and lasting impact on the parents and even the wider family.

  1 in 3 stillbirths is described as unexplained. The exact reason for the baby’s death is unclear and this is because we don’t fully understand the causes of stillbirth. More research is needed.

  There are many organisations worldwide that aim to help raise awareness and offer support to those affected by this tragedy. Although it may be difficult to reach out, support is never too far.

  * * *

  You are not alone.

  * * *

  https://www.sands.org.uk/

  * * *

  https://babyloss-awareness.org/

  * * *

  https://www.lilymaefoundation.org/

  * * *

  http://www.littlefingers.org.uk/

  * * *

  http://www.sands.org.au/

  * * *

  http://stillbirthfoundation.org.au/

  * * *

  https://sanda.psanz.com.au/

  * * *

  http://starlegacyfoundation.org/

  * * *

  http://www.pregnancylossdirectory.com/

  * * *

  https://www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org/

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Jamie

  2. Quincy

  3. Jamie

  4. Quincy

  5. Jamie

  6. Quincy

  7. Jamie

  8. Quincy

  9. Jamie

  10. Quincy

  11. Jamie

  12. Quincy

  13. Jamie

  14. Quincy

  15. Jamie

  16. Quincy

  17. Jamie

  18. Quincy

  19. Jamie

  20. Quincy

  21. Jamie

  22. Quincy

  23. Jamie

  24. Quincy

  25. Jamie

  26. Quincy

  27. Jamie

  28. Quincy

  29. Jamie

  30. Quincy

  31. Jamie

  32. Quincy

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  "Tragedy is more important than love. Out of all human events, it is tragedy alone that brings people out of their own petty desires and into awareness of other humans' suffering. Tragedy occurs in human lives so that we will learn to reach out and comfort others"

  —C. S. Lewis

  Quincy

  Seven years earlier…

  * * *

  I stood in the darkened room. My hands strangling the side of the empty white cot bed. My eyes searched the pale blue sheets with the grey elephants. Although it was too dark for me to make out all the detail, I knew exactly what those sheets looked like. I’d memorised the random pattern in which the elephants rotated. Trunk up, trunk down, trunk to the left and trunk to the right. And then every other run had the trunk up elephant half faded. At the time I thought it was cute, even though he’d wanted to return them. I liked that it made the cot look lived in and cosy. Even if it had never had a baby in it.

  The dark blue grey sky looked clear, bathing the room in a solitary and cold midnight tinge. I knew that I should’ve stopped going in that room. I knew that it would make me relive every moment of that god-awful day. I kept going over the weeks before it in my head, analysing everything I’d done. Because I must have done something wrong.

  How had this happened? Why me?

  I’d done everything right. I’d followed every rule. Down to every miniscule detail.

  I’d cooked everything to within an inch of its life. My yolks had been hard. The fish had been the bare minimum. No Sushi. No alcohol. No cigarettes.

  So why me? Why my baby?

  My life felt like a sick game. I wasn’t ready to do it again. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this baby, I wanted the one I’d held in my arms. My little boy. The one who never got to feel my love but had taken it all with him.

  I had nothing left to give. I was an emotionally barren waste land. I was a sinking ship in the middle of a cold dark ocean. Although there were other ships around me, there was nothing that could be done, unless I dragged them down with me.

  I could feel him watching me. I knew he was stood there with his sorry guilt and useless apologies, and I knew what was coming. He often stood just outside the room. It was like there was some invisible barrier keeping him out. Until tonight.

  His shadow on the floor grew shorter as he came closer. Physically.

  Things had changed.

  The funny thing about things changing is that unlike what people told you, you can’t always go back. Sometimes things change, and they don’t make things better. Change doesn’t always equate to good.

  I’d changed, and he’d changed, and it hadn’t made us better. It hadn’t made us stronger. It hadn’t brought us together.

  I hated change. I hated it because it had offered me so much. It had promised me a future I didn’t even know I’d wanted so badly until it was put in front of me.

  It hadn’t delivered.

  “Quincy.”

  I squeezed the soft wood harder. My rings digging into it. I could hear the grain of the wood wince as the metal gauged it.

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  I swallowed back the scream that was trying to claw out of my chest.

  He couldn’t do this anymore. I didn’t want him to do it any more either.

  “I know.”

  “I can’t watch you do this to yourself.”

  “That’s ok.”

  “This person. You. You’re just not who I fell in love with anymore.”

  No Shit.

  “I don’t know who you are.”

  I’m the mother who never got to mother her child. I’m the mother who was robbed in plain sight.

  “I’ve packed a bag...”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t stay in this house any more. I don’t know what to do with all the silence and weeping.” His soft voice wavered. He was hurting too. I knew that, but he’d been happy to pretend that life simply went on.

  It didn’t.

  He’d packed up all the other baby stuff. The steriliser was gone from next to the coffee machine. The bottles weren’t next to the glasses. The Moses basket wasn’t next to the bed. The baby toiletries weren’t on the edge of the bath. This room was all that was left.

  “I wish I was enough to bring you back. I’ve tried every way I know how. I tried loving you more but that wasn’t enough either. I wish I was strong enough to just watch and wait for you to deal with it all. It’s been almost a year, Quincy.”

  “I know.” I’d counted all 287 days since I’d held our boy. My boy. I’d scratched all 274 days into the tally in my chest since I’d buried him in the dirt.

  “You won’t even talk to me.”

  My eyes searched the quiet and picturesque London street outside. The Georgian townhouses and their window boxes. The flowers had been replaced with winter shrubbery.

  “Goodbye Quincy, let me know when you’re ready to say more than I know or that’s ok, because it’s not. You’re not okay. I don’t think you want to be either.” I saw his arm raise toward me in his shadow and I stepped farther away. He sighed, defeated, “I’ll be at mum’s.”

  He left. He didn’t wait for a reply. Good, because I had nothing to say. I didn’t want to talk to him. I had tried, but he never actually listened.

  I didn’t want him anymore.

  He’d used my baby to excuse his failings and his sins.

  My little boy.

  I wanted to break everything around me so that my brokenness fit.

  I was furious at life for taking my baby, and he was happy to move on. He wanted to carry on like it had never happened.

  I was angry at myself for not being aware of what had happened inside my own body.

  Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference like everyone liked to point out. But I should’ve known when it happened. I should’ve felt it.

  I should’ve felt my little boy’s heart stop.

  I hadn’t.

  I didn’t.

  What kind of mother doesn’t realise that their child is gone?

  Jamie

  “Listen Jamie, I need you to be there. I know you’re a busy guy and all
, but please, just be there before it starts.”

  “Listen Jenna, I’m in theatre for the next six hours at the very least. Can you call me back after? I know this is important. I won’t miss it. Not for the world.”

  What people don’t tell you about divorce is that it’s not just messy and difficult…it’s a political war field. Everything has to be said carefully to keep the “peace”.

  “You’ve said that before.”

  “Yeah, well, please forgive me if I think that saving someone’s life is more important than a ballet recital in which our daughter is the fucking tree.”

  “Don’t be an ass. You told her you would be there. You promised her, don’t break it. It’s a big day.”

  How ironic…promises and big days.

  “You want to talk about promises and sticking to them?” I grabbed my wallet out of my inside coat pocket and touched my credit card to the reader as I got out of the black cab and nodded my thanks to the driver. “Speaking of big days when’s the wedding again?”

  “You know what Jamie? I don’t have time for your shaming shit today.”

  “Fine. Let me talk to her.” I heard her calling for Molly in a strained and riled yell.

  There had been a time that I really loved Jenna. Or at least I thought I did. There had also been a time when I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with her. Until she fucked my best mate. My best man.

  Turns out that a piece of paper doesn’t mean shit, much less promises and feelings. There was only one good thing that came out of our short-lived marriage…

  “Daddy!”

  “Hey munchkin. Are you ready for your big moment?”

  “I’m a tree, daddy.” Her disappointment cut me in two, and suddenly I felt guilty for making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal—even if she was just a tree.

  Honestly, I just liked to point those things out to annoy Jenna. She had a massive stick lodged up her arse. She wanted perfection in everything. Trouble was, I wasn’t perfect and much like me, our daughter wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped either. Not that she ever said anything, or even hinted at being disappointed with who our daughter had taken after.

  That apple didn’t fall too far from this tree.

  “You know, trees are a big deal…”

  “Not like princesses.”

  “Baby, you are a princess. You’re my princess, and I promise I’ll be there in the front row. I love you Molls.”

  “I love you too daddy.” She sighed, as Jenna’s less than calm voice cut through our chat. “I have to go.”

  “Have a good day at school, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks.” I heard all the ruffling as she handed the phone back to her mother.

  There were moments that I really had no choice but to let go of my anger and resentment, and in those moments, I wished that we weren’t another split family statistic. I wished I could find it in myself to let all the bad shit go and look past the hurt and the distrust.

  I wanted nothing more than to be there every day for my daughter. It was such a pity that life had another plan for us altogether.

  “Jamie, we’re running late. I’ve got to go, good luck with the surgery.”

  “Jenna?”

  “Yeah?” She sighed like she was readying herself for another dig.

  “Save me a seat.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be there, I promise. I’ve booked this afternoon off.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. Bye.” I hung up and stuck the phone in my coat pocket as I walked through St. Ermin’s sliding glass doors.

  The hospital was pleasantly quiet. The hallways weren’t packed with overflowing patients on gurneys. It felt like it was going to be an easy day.

  It was like a deserted scene in one of those Wild West movies where the tumble weeds roll around aimlessly and pointlessly.

  Even the staff seemed to be gone. I swiped my card on the staff changing room security reader—nothing.

  “Come on you piece of…”

  “You know, talking to it isn’t going to make it work. Much less insulting it.” She laughed.

  “No, but it makes me feel better.” I moved out of the way as she swiped her staff ID and pushed the door open with her hip.

  In one hand she held a coffee cup that looked like it’d had most of its contents spilled along the way. Her handbag hung from her arm and two overflowing note files were tucked into her elbow crease.

  Typical Quincy.

  I held the door open for her to go through, she barely managed to hold on to everything as she typed on her phone, her card now between her teeth.

  I followed in after her, avoiding the trail of black coffee on the floor.

  “Jesus, Quincy, could you possibly carry anymore?”

  “No. Probably not.” She replied as she looked at her arms. “I got stuck in traffic and I thought it would be a great idea to get my notes out from the surgery yesterday, but it turns out that the moment I got them out the taxi driver decided to take a different route. A quicker one. Why he hadn’t thought of taking it in the first place, I have no idea. I mean is it so difficult to just be decent enough and take your client where they asked the quickest and most efficient route?”

  “Not hard, but I’m guessing a lot less profitable for them. You’re rambling by the way and it’s far too early for that. My exceptional brain can’t take it.” I laughed as she peered around her locker door.

  Her big blue eyes wide with mirth. They were so clear and sharp like glass.

  “I’m exhausted.” She downed what was left of her coffee before putting her lab coat on. “I was here till three in the morning. I contemplated sleeping in one of the on-call rooms, but I needed to get a real change of clothes for later.”

  “I heard about your Mitral Valve repair on the newborn.”

  “It was touch and go for a moment.” She sighed. “Are you going?”

  This is where things should have been weird and messy between us. But somehow, we just ignored the fact that my ex-wife was marrying her ex-husband. We’d talked about it once and decided to never talk about it again. Not that it was awkward, mostly because she didn’t want there to be an us and a them.

  Quincy Cavendish had always been the peacemaker. We’d known each other from birth. Her brother had been one of my best friends. He’d been one of the best men at mine and Jenna’s wedding, before he got blown up by a landmine in Angola. He’d gone to help with the Yellow Fever outbreak and ended up in pieces. That’s life for you.

  Phillip had been a brother to me and every time I looked at Quincy, I could see him. Well, a beautiful and dainty copy of him with blue eyes instead of the yellowish brown of his and marginally fairer skin.

  “I’m out of here at three, tops. I’ve already had Jenna on the phone this morning.”

  She laughed, “Yeah, Richard said she’d already told Mrs. Frost to reserve the front row. Do you think that’s why the girls always get the crappy parts?”

  “I reckon she gets a kick out of making Jenna squirm. I can’t blame her.”

  “I wish she wouldn’t use the girls for that. Want to share a cab?”

  “Yes and yes.” I slammed my locker door shut. “I’ll meet you back here at half two. Keep your phone on loud, I’ll check in with you during my break.”

  “I have rounds at ten, but they’re all pretty straight forward. I was actually planning on monitoring the Spencer baby today. I have this feeling…” She paused staring blankly at the vinyl flooring for a moment before she looked up at me from tying her laces.