The Secret World of Maya Alexander

Chapter 2

There had been no visitors to the darkened room where Maya had laid since arriving home from hospital early the next morning. She had not been able to get hold of Stephen when she was first delivered the devastating news, nor later when it was time for her to make her empty journey home. She did not want to burden her mother or sisters, who would have had a long drive from Lancashire to South Wales, so under strict instructions not to drive, she arranged a taxi home.

There was nothing to mark the life that had briefly existed. The baby had stopped growing several weeks ago. Dead inside of her and she hadn't even noticed.

Maya discharged herself to the solitude of the four walls most people called home, contrary to the medical advice she had received. A single second more in that shadowy hospital room on the corridor opposite the labour ward would have been unbearable.

Later that day, Stephen was greeted by a dark mood in the place he called home. The curtains were drawn despite it being late afternoon. Without a great deal of searching, he discovered his wife motionless in their bed, head under the duvet, rigid and unresponsive. His heart sank as the scene confirmed that he had been right all along. She just wasn't emotionally equipped for a baby. Her instability was too much. She was having another of her 'episodes' just because he couldn't make the appointment!

Stephen stormed from the bedroom, slamming the door in his wake. He was a tall, strong figure of a man, quite the contrast to his almost porcelain doll-like wife, and when he slammed a door, the whole house quaked with trepidation. The heat inside him intensified as he entered the kitchen. Maya had not even emptied the washer. He shuddered and tried to quash an uneasiness. The bacteria would be multiplying by the millions on those damp clothes. He set the dial to 90 degrees to try and boil out the germs, added the antibacterial detergent to the machine drawer and set forth a new cycle.

He looked at his watch. 17.56. 17.56. 17.56. He tapped his foot three times.

It was Thursday night. Stephen always took his mother shopping on Thursday night. Maya would usually cook. That was the routine. He stormed around the kitchen, opening and closing doors to see what he might make from the uninspiring contents of their cupboards. At a loss, he decided he would have to get something whilst out shopping. If Maya wanted to sulk in bed that was up to her.

Just as he was about to leave, the light on the telephone blinked frantically at him. Maya never bothered to clear the answerphone messages. She just thought if it were important people would call the mobile. He grabbed at the phone menacingly to retrieve the message that hadn't been sufficiently important for his wife's attention.

'Message received today at 10.31 a.m...Hello Maya, it's Helen from work. I was just calling to check you're okay as we have not heard from you and you haven't arrived here yet. I did warn you about those root canal treatments! I'm guessing the drowsiness has affected you just like it did with my Gwyn. I'll cancel your appointments, but ring me just so we know you're okay. Take care!'

It was very unlike Maya to let one of her moods affect her work. How people thought of her in work was very important to her and she usually managed to pull herself together for her colleagues and the families she helped. Stephen sighed.  Maybe he was in for something far worse than he had ever experienced before. He didn't need this drama. What with all the pressures of work and finances, another person to take care of, and Maya just laying there, unable to take responsibility for her own emotions, let alone consider the stress he was under!

His phone beeped.

It was the alert that was set to sound every Thursday at 18.15 to remind him it was time to set off to do his duty of taking his mother June for her weekly shop. He would usually have already been at the door waiting for the signal when the beep came to set him on his way. Unsettled by his lack of preparation for his weekly chore, the little sense of foreboding that often visited him, clawed at his insides. It lingered heavy.

His eyes shifted to his watch three times in quick succession: 18.15. 18.15. 18.15. Tap. Tap. Tap. He rushed out of the door, checking three times that it was definitely locked.

Dusk had arrived by the time Stephen returned to his locked door. The house remained in darkness. He was hungry, but still needed to confront Maya and get to the bottom of whatever was wrong. The burning inside him rose at yet another of Maya's emotional over-reactions. It baffled him how she managed to do so well in her job, given her own dysfunctional thinking.

His hunger stabbed at his edginess. Maybe eating would mean he would be able to show more tolerance for his wife.

The routine of cooking and satiation of his empty stomach took some of the edge off his mood. It was nearly 9 o'clock by the time he reluctantly headed to the bedroom. He knocked on the door, softly at first, 'Maya, baby? Are you okay?' He tried a gentle enquiry.

His voice was a distant whisper, the sense of which Maya could not quite process. She was far away.

Silence.

Stephen opened the door. Maya's dramatic pose goaded him. Her head still under the duvet, back towards the door, knees tucked up to her tummy. She was not crying, which was unusual. Stephen knew how much Maya enjoyed the added impact of her tears when she was punishing him for his thoughtlessness.

'Maya!' He called again. Louder, firmer, wanting her to take notice.

She did not move.

He sat on the bed beside her. Again in his softer voice, 'Maya, baby...' His hand on her shoulder. She did not resist. She just lay there. Unmoving.

Stephen leaned over his wife and flicked the switch of the bedside lamp. The untidiness of Maya's handbag, thrown open next to the bedside table, glared up at him from the floor.

Various packets of tablets, in packaging that usually came from a hospital pharmacy, and a leaflet were scattered nearby.

Back to his wife.

Held together in a neat ball in linen sheets. Brown and red blood stains suddenly raced to his attention.

Alarm came first. Then fear, anger, guilt, sadness. He shook her. 'Maya!' He raised his voice, a sense of urgency in his tone.

Pulling away the duvet, he leaned in to study her face. Her warm shallow breaths dismissed his worst nightmare. Her eyes were shut tight, but her chest continued to rise and fall. It was  mechanical. As though she did not have the energy or will to prevent it.

His eyes rushed to examine the rest of her body.

The blouse that clung to her frailty jogged his memory. It had been laid out a little crumpled on the chair the previous day. He had been in a rush but had taken the blouse, ironed it, and placed it neatly upon a hanger for her.

Up and down the once again crumpled blouse and beyond, he could not find any wounds on Maya's body. He shifted his frantic gaze back to the handbag to see what tablets she had taken.

The leaflet came into focus and interrupted his search. It shouted at him in bold Times New Roman typeface: Miscarriage Aftercare.

His heart sunk.

Not for the child that he had lost, but for the pain of his wife and for his own inadequate resources to protect her from this or to make things better.

He retreated to the hall. That was when his body took its turn to be still. Frozen. But not for long. With no idea of what a husband should do in this situation, he looked at his watch three times in quick succession. His foot sought comfort in the carpet. He had not even bothered to note the time, so repeated his usually reassuring habit. 21.25. 21.25. 21.25 flashed from the display.

His feet carried his heavy heart downstairs. And in the absence of any other ideas about what to do: ideas about holding his wife, lying with her, talking to her, helping her change into clean and comfortable pyjamas, giving her nourishment, or clean sheets.

He called his mum.