City of Night

Desdemona

DESDEMONA

The shriek, inevitable yet unexpected, split the darkness and my skull along with it.

I gritted my teeth, staring at the pictures moving on the television screen. Nothing registered except the crying. The sound swelled down through the ceiling even after I reached over to switch the baby monitor off.

'Dee?' he called from the kitchen, adjacent. I stiffened slightly. 'Dee, he's crying.'

Quietly as possible, I lay my head down on the red arm of the sofa. The rough woven cotton fabric rasped audibly against my cheek.

Footsteps sounded from the kitchen. A shadow fell behind my closed eyelids. He came closer, and I fought the urge to synchronize my deep, slow breathing with his. I hoped my eyelids weren't twitching along with the crying.

A few seconds passed with his breath washing across my face, stifling. With a quiet laugh he straightened up, pulling the throw tangled around my feet to my chin.

The gesture touched me. I considered fluttering my eyes open, pretending to wake and tending to the baby like I should have done in the first place, but the incessant crying stalled me, and he was too quick for my deliberation.

I heard him stomp out of the room. Five minutes later the crying ceased.

I opened my eyes and went back to staring at the television. I didn't bother to sit up.

I knew it would start up again soon.

* * * *

Forcing a cheerful hum, I wafted a duster over the sleek brown surface of the side table. Dust motes swirled in vague patterns around the gorgeous yellow blooms he had brought me yesterday. The thought made me smile. I wanted to glance at the clock, but I quashed the urge and carried on cleaning.

The baby gurgled from behind me, and I turned around, grateful for the distraction. He was sitting up against the sofa, clean dusting cloth in hand. I watched as he smacked it over and over against the red fabric, obviously pleased with himself.

'Are you helping me clean?' I said in my bright baby voice.

He didn't reply, but he looked up, grinning wider.

'Helping mummy clean? Get on with it, then,' I said as he stopped messing around with the duster. 'No? Oh, well. Plenty of time when you're older.'

He didn't protest, occupied with groping at the fibers of the maroon carpet. I'd just hovered, so didn't worry too much about what he might find.

The clock ticked on, and I carried on waving my duster around, shooting looks at the telephone every now and again. The phone never rings whilst you're watching it.

Eventually, there were ten minutes to go. I put the duster down. I'd put it back later.

'Baby,' I cooed. He was kicking his legs around now, one fat hand clutched against the wooden sofa foot. 'Let's go.'

Picking him up, I left the room.

* * * *

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Hands shaking, I stood up. It took a few more rings for me to gather the courage to pick it up, but when I did, my voice was steady.

'James?' I whispered into the receiver.

'It's me,' came the reply, mock-whispered, and I gripped the phone harder. 'Why are you whispering?'

A trembling laugh burst out of my chest, and I stood a little straighter. 'I don't know.'