The Angel - Katerina Diamond

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he had made her feel ugly, both during the pregnancy and since the baby had been born. She knew she wasn’t ugly and so maybe this flirtation would be enough to boost her confidence, encourage her to start making an effort again. She sprayed herself with Opium and opted for a green chiffon dress; the red was maybe a little too daring but the green made her brown eyes look like creamy dark chocolate. She looked at herself in the mirror and reached for the lipstick that was the right colour for her; she had read in Cosmo that you should wear a lipstick the same colour as your nipples if you wanted to attract someone – as if they would even know, but the user surveys assured her it worked.

      The doorbell rang and Martina answered it, her heart beating fast. It was still glowing outside even though the sun had gone down, the snow reflecting the street lamps. Satisfaction crept over Martina as she saw a flicker in Charlie’s eye, a recognition that she was a beautiful woman. She hadn’t seen that look for a while, least of all from her husband. He handed her the baby formula. She looked at the tin in her hand, confused for a moment, almost forgetting why she had invited him over. Smiling, she walked inside, leaving the door open and without even asking the question. She put the formula next to the sink and turned to see Charlie standing behind her, a little too close. She could see him concentrating on making sure his eyes stayed fixed on her face; no glancing down.

      ‘Would you like some wine?’

      ‘Yes please, that sounds perfect. Can I put the baby down somewhere? He’s just nodded off.’

      ‘Sure, put him in the cot with Jamie.’

      Charlie disappeared upstairs and Martina adjusted her breasts, undoing one more button on her dress. She took the roasted chicken she had made in the afternoon out of the oven and placed it on the table, then set the table for two and took a bottle of white wine out of the fridge.

      Charlie appeared again and smoothed down his trousers nervously before sitting at the table. Martina served him some salad and a leg of chicken while he poured the wine for them both. She cleared her throat. This felt like a date, which hadn’t really been her intention. Or had it?

      She tried to think about Sophie laid up in bed, or her husband stuck at work, kept away by the snow. The smaller villages outside the city were never really a priority for the salt that the council sometimes provided to keep the roads clear.

      They ate together, making small talk while the babies remained asleep. Martina opened a second bottle of wine, aware that she was feeling tipsy, a welcome warmth in her belly that only came when she was drunk. It had been so long since she had relaxed, it hadn’t even occurred to her before how tense she felt usually. Being in a conversation with a different man awakened her to how bad the conversations she had with her husband were, with him always making her feel stupid or shutting her down before she had even started.

      His obsession with their son had taken over their lives; she had become someone who only existed to make sure the baby got everything he needed. She didn’t begrudge Jamie, but she did begrudge the change he had made in her husband – who was now only ever interested in the world as it affected his son. It was as though it were the first time he was feeling love, and the intensity of that had driven him slightly insane. She wondered what he had felt for her, if his professions of love were more to do with lust and the fact that she was desired by others.

      She needed to shake this feeling; she needed Charlie to leave. It was closing in on eight o’clock and somehow this had become something real, something dangerous. As they finished the second bottle of wine she caught Charlie looking at her; within half an hour she had seen his eyes rest on her knee, her breasts, her eyes and now her mouth. Slowly, he leaned forward to kiss her, she leaned in too and they met halfway. The line had been crossed, now there was nothing to stop them as they moved in clumsily, crashing into each other, standing and pawing at the buttons and zips, frantically searching for a way to an intimate connection.

      As Martina’s dress dropped to the ground she felt the wetness of Charlie’s lips on her breasts; unfamiliar, not her husband’s, not better or worse, just different. She couldn’t pretend she was the faithful one anymore, though she was aware that her husband wasn’t innocent. Maybe he was snuggled in front of a different fire with some other woman right now. She refused to feel bad. He showed her no affection and so this was his fault. That’s what she would keep telling herself anyway.

      Charlie moved with her and against her; this was the first time she’d had intercourse since the baby, it had been months and it felt good. She was an attractive woman, a mantra she told herself every time her husband grunted at a new outfit she wore, a new haircut, new lingerie. She had ceased to exist for him, it was just the baby and whoever else he was seeing behind her back. He would never know about this though. This would be her little secret.

      She wouldn’t do it again, she told herself. She would knock this on the head straight away. If her husband ever found out about Charlie she would be in big trouble and he would probably kill him. She had seen him do things that had shocked and repulsed her, his assurances that they were unusual instances rang less and less true each time. She pushed thoughts of her husband aside and dragged Charlie towards the sofa, sitting down while he climbed on top. The way his hands grabbed at her, the way he pushed her back and moved her legs so he could climb between them, it was all different.

      Charlie was frantic now, her nails dug into his back and he buried his mouth in her neck as he moved faster. She had never been with another man before and she was surprised at how good it felt. They crashed together until finally he let out a groan. Almost simultaneously, the baby started crying. Charlie collapsed onto her and they both laughed. For her it was a nervous laugh, it was the acknowledgment that they were back in the present and they had done something unforgivable. After a minute or two, Charlie climbed off her and pulled his trousers on properly, surveying the floor for his shirt. She could tell he was shocked; he hadn’t come over here with this in mind. Now it had happened there was no reversing it.

      ‘That’s yours,’ she said.

      ‘Excuse me?’ he answered, his face flushed, the full weight of his guilt now evident.

      ‘That’s not Jamie’s cry.’

      ‘Oh … OK.’ Grateful, she assumed, for the distraction, he pulled his boots on and rushed upstairs. She took the opportunity to search for her own clothes, buttoning her chiffon dress up quickly.

      ‘Martina! Oh, my God, Martina!’ Charlie’s voice rang out over his baby’s cries.

      ‘What?’ She ran up the stairs and into the baby’s room. Charlie was holding his child, staring into the cot in horror. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. Before she even looked inside, she was holding her breath. Jamie, her little boy, the child she and her husband had so desperately wanted, was blue. Her heart stopped.

      ‘What do I do?’

      Charlie handed her his own son and took Jamie out of the cot, rushing to the bathroom. ‘Call an ambulance,’ he shouted. She ran upstairs with the phone in time to see Charlie run warm water into the bath. He lay Jamie in the tub and scooped warm water over him until he warmed up, then pulled his little body out of the bath and wrapped a towel around him, massaging his chest. Within moments, Jamie was crying again. It wasn’t his usual cry though. It was a soft, tentative cry. She felt so helpless.

      It wasn’t long before they heard the sirens; nothing got the ambulance moving faster than a baby in distress and not even snow could stop them, there were chains on the tyres. Charlie was covered in water and Martina just stood there helplessly, watching as two paramedics wrapped her child in blankets and hurried him out to the ambulance.

      ‘Is he OK? Is my baby OK?’ she said frantically.

      ‘We need to get him assessed properly, it depends how long he was without oxygen. There may be permanent brain damage, but it’s impossible to know at this point.’ One of the paramedics made eye contact with her, the other wouldn’t meet her gaze.

      Charlie grabbed his son and followed as Martina hastily did the rest of her dress buttons up and grabbed her coat. That’s when she saw her husband’s car, pulling into the drive just as the

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