Soothing back her wet hair. Sweat and heat and that strain you can feel at your fingertips. She has to get up again to change her tampon and pad. The doctor said there’d be a lot of blood. He didn’t say it would mean changing every hour or so. Miscarriage after three months. We named the baby ‘Grace’ even though we didn’t know what it was. I get up to pour more scotch in my glass. I’m not going to sleep until she is asleep. It’s 2am and she’ll pass out soon. Her clenched brow, red and wet, I wipe the tears that just keep searing out from the edges of her tight eyes. She breathes in in that staccato rapid one two three four five six way, breathes out sloppily through her lips like it’s therapy. Poor thing, got the sheets all bunched up so I pull them out from under her and from amongst her arms and let the fresh air come back in as I lay them back across her. I keep kissing her hot cheek and telling her how much I love her. She is not here with me, somewhere else between life and sleep and the future. I sip the scotch and the slinking of the ice is the only thing soothing me. It’s hard for the man. I have to just sit here. Next to her as she squirms and cries, it’s hard because she’s so quite. Scary, really. I tell her that she shouldn’t go to work tomorrow. She probably hears me. I’m sure she won’t go. I don’t think I should leave her either. The soft woody scotch, small cold sips, seems to make me able to do this, pull her hair back, wet, so wet. I kiss her burning ear, suck some tears off her face, “Salty” I say. I get a towel out and put it under her hips. She lets me do it moving slightly so I push it under one side, then pull it further under from the other side. I hold her hand and she squeezes it tight. I kiss her hand and leave her there for a moment…taking my scotch and a cigarette out into the night. The air is so still and dead. The sound of my fingers rummaging in the near empty pack is all scratches and pathetic. I light the thing and it feels good, selfishly good like I only have this one responsibility for the next few minutes. Smoking, sipping, blowing smoke out. Can I just think of this, the dead baby where, in a bin? In a pile of bloody white bandages? Other clichés that are too sick to let in. So I lasted three breaths. Three. And she is in there I can feel, body clenched. And we told everybody. We had so many smiles and congratulations and conversations about “I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad/mum!” stuff and I even allowed myself to admit “you know, I’d be a good dad”. Actually admitted it, thought about it, realised it. Fucking god damned fucking life. What the fuck? Why the fuck do we have to deal with this? Ahhhh, so a deep breath, swallow some of that cheap scotch, it hurts, it’s good, pull on that cigarette, it hurts, it feels harsh. The smoke comes out and I play with it through my lips. Blow. Blow out. Suck another one in. That’s all I can do. Two minutes. It is only two minutes. I open the door to the dark room. The bed is over in the corner and the streetlight through the venetians is all I need to be able to see. Kick my shoes off, undo my jeans and pull them off, throw my socks and t-shirt into the hamper and lie next to her. She seems to be asleep, at least, she seems to be actually breathing in and out. I rub her shoulders and back softly, trying to give her my love through whatever kind of spirituality exists in this world between bodies. Urging my love through my arms and muscles, trying to make the trembling and intensity communicate, push it all into her,  so she can have some peace and know that I am here and that I will always be here. I kiss her neck but don’t want to disturb her so lie away from her way over on my side of the bed, hands massaging my stomach so I can sleep. Pushing the pains and movements through my organs. I see her face, her small face. I say a prayer, like I did last night. Like I did only since we found out our baby dies inside of her. What a disgusting thing to hear. That your baby is dead inside you. Now it’s my turn to cry and I know that I will fall asleep like this. Like her. We lie there apart, and I hope she is sleeping.

*                              *                              *

Sun is soft and the sky is blue. I pull the venetians away from the window and look at what I can of such a nice day. She is already up and the towel on the bed is bloody. I did fall asleep. I check my mobile phone and it’s 7:11. “Honey?” I call out and I hear the sink turn on and she says “Ye-eah”. “Are you ok, honey?” I ask. “I’m ok” she calls back, washing something in the bathroom.
“I love you” I call back and she is just washing her face or hands or something. There’s something missing. I turn the TV on and someone from a morning show is saying something so stupid and I turn it off again. “Turn it on” she says, poking her head out of the bathroom, so I do. I lie there watching these two idiot presenters talking about something but I can’t pay attention, I’m just waiting for her to do something and she comes out looking beautiful. “What are you doing?” I ask wondering why she is dressed and has her hair and make up done.

“Let’s go out” she says.

“Okay…let me…get dressed” I say, throwing back the sheets and moving to get up.

“Wait” she says, smiling and holding up a hand as to say ‘halt’, “Do you want a coffee and some, I don’t know, toast?”

“Toast? Ummm, well, I’ll have coffee”

“OK…stay there…I’m going to make you a coffee”

And so I sit back, turn the volume down a bit and watch her in the kitchen, her back to me, beautiful hair moving left to right with her swift movements making coffee and some breakfast stuff. I even check out her ass in those tight jeans. Is that okay? I guess it is. I mean, for me to think she is hot. I feel my cock getting hard, you know like it can in the morning, but I’m not sure where it’s coming from or what she’s going to think seeing my lie in here waiting for coffee with a hard on. I push it down and sit up so my bent knees cover the lump in the sheets.

“What do you want to do today? It’s a gorgeous day” she asks, flashing her smile over her shoulder at me.

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I want to go to the beach, I want to walk on the beach”

“Ok, sounds good. I’m going to call work” and I do, use my mobile to send a text to my boss (which I have to rewrite three times. Eventually I put something like ‘personal problems’ and fuck them if they have an issue with that). I grab up the towel because it’s the only thing out of place for this new day she is trying to make and throw it into the hamper before she turns around.

“How are you feeling today honey?” I ask… after a minute (or probably less) of domestic silence.

“I’m ok…I’m ok. I have a huge tampon in and a nighttimes pad…I’m, well…we’ll see. We’re going to have to take a whole pack of them with us. God, it’s like I’m sixty”

“Sixty? What you mean like with an incontinence problem?” I laugh. It’s good to laugh.

“Ha. Yeah. Well, I guess it’s older these days. Older than sixty….ok, coffee’s coming”

“Lovely. Oh god a hot fresh coffee in bed on a nice free day off. What is better? Nothing”

“There you go my dear” and we kiss and it’s simple and even though we are both pretending and we know it, it is really nice. It’s hard to look each others in the eyes. Breaks the spell of what she’s doing. I love her so much. She can do this, she can make this happen. I sip my coffee, pretend to watch the TV, maybe comment on something and she responds. She gets back into bed with me with her coffee and jam on toast and eats it and I don’t care about the crumbs or that she might spill coffee and for fucks sake I hope she does because I’ll love her even more and we sit and sip and say nothing and watch absolute crap and it’s wonderful.

*                              *                              *

The bus has so many people we watch. So many other lifes make us feel normal, part of the world. There’s the older people who I tell her must have gone through so much and she puts her hand on my leg and I can tell it makes her upset and I put her head on my shoulder and kiss her head and tell her we are one of them and she closes her eyes. I don’t want to pretend we are so unaffected but I want us to talk about it and feel it and be together. “I love you” I tell her again and she gives me her other hand and we are as close as two people can be on a bus seat. I rub her back and look out onto the street and this time think how pathetic they all are, just going on, working and driving with there petty shit and here we are. Ah but none of this, this is not good. The bus jerks and throbs and I close my eyes and sway with her, let us coalesce in the way this transport can do. Rocking in a womb. No don’t think that, I tell myself. Breathe in, out. Ok, look around again. God it’s hard. Can’t go five seconds. She looks up at me, sensing something, I smile and kiss her forehead, say something pointless like “there soon” and she closes her eyes and lies back on my chest. I like that, like her there. A few more blocks and I get up and help her off the bus. We walk down the street, not so many people on a Wednesday. The ocean sprawls out, a flat blue line to lock onto and we head towards it. We’re walking in slow, hard, plodding steps, no energy, just human necessity of moving, I feel so close to her and so apart from the rest of them. Down the long stairs, take our shoes off and I take them in my hand and lead her out onto the sand. She smiles again and it makes me feel so much better. Smile! I say in my head. Smile my beautiful one! We walk hand in hand out onto the beach, fall to the same and she shuffles in front of me, not caring anymore about her blood or pain of body. Moving, like a free happy child in the sand, lies quickly back on my lap and I adjust to accommodate her head. She lies down eyes closed and I lie back on my elbows and let the sun burn my face. The sun and the sound of the sea. Fade away. Fade away. Please.