Megan 3 (14 page)

‘Could you give us a hand, old chap?’ Mark asked pleasantly.

The driver hesitated.

‘It’s a bit difficult with the baby and all,’ Mark added. ‘That’d be great if you could.’

Mr Creep was spurred into action. ‘Certainly,’ he said.

‘I expect you’re wondering what I’m here for,’ Mark began when we were all settled in and he was about to move off.

The driver’s eyes looked shiftily at me and I could see he was wondering what was coming next.

‘What it is – I’m hoping to do a regular piece for the local paper. It’s going to be called
Familiar Faces
.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘It’ll feature local people who are working in the community: nurses, milkmen, postmen, taxi drivers… people who make a difference to our everyday lives. People who do a service or who help others in some way.’

The driver nodded warily.

‘I want to make you a bit of a star!’ Mark went on. ‘I’ll take down some details and write a little piece on you. Perhaps you can give me some stories about the sort of people you help in your day-to-day life.’ He smiled pleasantly. ‘Because I’m sure you do help people who perhaps don’t have the advantages that you have. And then I’ll take a few photographs of you in your cab – and perhaps one of you helping this young lady with her stuff at the other end. Just to give readers the flavour of the job.’

‘Oh. Right,’ Mr Creep said, settling back in his seat. He smiled rather smugly. ‘I’m going to be a star, am I?’

‘It might not appear in the paper for a month or so, of course – not until I’ve got half a dozen other interviews under my belt. And during that time I’ll be in touch with this young lady…’ He turned to me. ‘Sorry, what did you say your first name was again?’

‘Megan,’ I said, deadpan.

‘I’ll be in touch with Megan to find out if there have been any changes in circumstances,’ Mark said. He paused. ‘If you see what I mean.’

‘Right,’ the driver said. ‘Okey doke.’

Mark nudged me and I nudged him back, and then we both stared out of our respective windows or made polite conversation as if we’d never met before in our lives.

I left them outside Poppies. Mark was setting things up to shoot some pictures and the driver was posing in his cab, smiling fatly and falsely. I grinned to myself: Mark was
brilliant
!

About noon, when some of us were in the nursery giving our babies their lunch, I had another visitor.

‘Guess who?’ someone said, putting their hand on my shoulder, and I turned and Kirsty was standing there smiling at me. She looked much better, her hair clean and shiny and her face smiley instead of strained. She had Stella with her in a little straw carrycot.

‘You’ve come back!’ I gave her a hug and I looked at Stella. ‘And Stella’s back as well. How are you getting on?’

‘All right,’ Kirsty said. ‘Fine!’ She sat down,
breathing happiness. ‘I got her back two days ago. They’ve done all the tests and there’s nothing wrong with her – they’ve just changed her milk formula.’ She moved the plaid blanket in the cot so that I could see Stella better. ‘Look! Isn’t she beautiful?’

I nodded. ‘Lovely!’ She did look lovely: her eyes were shiny bright, her cheeks pink and her hair brushed and fluffy.

Kirsty heaved a blissful sigh, gazing down at her. ‘I’ve got her back! I was really worried they wouldn’t let me have her.’

‘It’s brilliant,’ I said. I looked to see if she had her books with her. ‘Have you come back here for a class?’

She shook her head. ‘Only to see you and the girls. Vicki hasn’t been able to arrange a taxi run yet because I’m out of the area. It took me three buses! I couldn’t come every day.’

‘Are you still at the foster mother’s place? How is it?’

‘It’s OK now. She’s not a bad old stick.’ Kirsty smiled. ‘I get on better with her than I did with my own mum, actually.’

‘And are you allowed to stay there with her?’

She nodded. ‘Until I’m eighteen. Then I’ll get a
flat.’ She pointed at Jack – while I was talking to Kirsty he’d taken the opportunity to creep up on little Lloyd and pinch a crisp. ‘Isn’t he walking well! What’s been happening to you, then?’

‘Oh, you know,’ I said. ‘Celeb parties, clubs, a Barbados beach holiday – the usual things. But we’re going to move soon. That’s quite exciting.’

‘You and Jack?’ she asked, surprised.

‘I wish. Me and my mum and sister – and my mum’s bloke. We’re moving from our flat to a house nearby. Jack’s going to have his own bedroom and so am I.’

‘Brilliant!’ Kirsty said. ‘Perhaps I can come over and see you.’

‘’Course you can,’ I said, squashing the thought of what George would say about
two
babies in the house. ‘Come any time you like.’

Later that afternoon, as I went along the corridor to the flat, the phone was ringing. It stopped just as I put my key in the lock.

‘Missed it! See you tomorrow?’ said Mr Creep – who had actually come with me,
up to the door
– carrying Jack’s little chair and some large, messy red and blue ‘paintings’ that he’d done that day.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I said, hiding a grin. ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘Not at all,’ he said, trying to outdo me in politeness.

By the time I was indoors with all my stuff the phone was ringing again. I put Jack on the floor and picked it up.

‘Told you I’d ring,’ a voice said. It was Jon.

‘I can’t really talk now,’ I said, and was pleased with myself. I could be cool because I’d given up hope of him ever ringing; had trained myself not to think about him. ‘I’ve only just come through the door and I’ve got a million things to do.’

‘Aaah, that’s a shame, because I was going to chat you up,’ Jon said.

I heard a crash as Jack reached the kitchen cupboard and pulled out the saucepans. ‘Well, you can if you’re quick about it,’ I said.

‘So what’s the hurry?’

‘If you must know – we’ve got the people coming round who’re buying this flat,’ I said. ‘And I promised my mum I’d make the beds.’

‘Where are you moving to, then?’

I told him and he said it was much nearer to where he lived. ‘So I’ll be able to see you properly.’

‘Maybe,’ I said, thinking that I wasn’t going to get too excited.

‘What I was thinking about was us going out on a Saturday during the day. We could go into town, take a walk, have a bite to eat.’

‘When?’ I asked guardedly.

‘Next Saturday? I could meet you in town. By the station, say.’

‘Can I bring Jack?’ I asked. ‘He likes going for walks.’ I didn’t
have
to bring Jack, I might have been able to leave him with Ellie, but it was a test.

‘Mmm,’ Jon said.

‘What’s that mean?’

‘It means I’m thinking about it. It wasn’t what I had in mind, quite honestly.’

‘What did you have in mind, then?’ From the kitchen I heard a rhythmic
bang-bang-bang
as Jack crashed two lids together.

‘Well, I was thinking of walking you back to my place. I’ve got the house to myself for the weekend.’

‘Aaah,’ I said, and red
DANGER
flags started flapping in my head. ‘That’s not a walk and a bite to eat, is it? I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’

‘I hardly know you.’

‘So? I’m not suggesting anything. Just an afternoon to ourselves and a chat, that’s all.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got anyone to look after Jack, and a jolly day out with a baby obviously isn’t what you had in mind.’

There was a silence – apart from all the noise from Jack – and then Jon said, ‘Well, if you change your mind.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Otherwise – see you.’

‘See you,’ he echoed.

But it was obvious that I wouldn’t.

When George came in, he was still in a bad mood. I didn’t care, though, because I was in a bad mood, too. Mostly this was because what Mark and Michelle had both warned me of had turned out to be right. Jon, spelled J-O-N, was only after one thing. Was everyone, I wondered? Was I ever going to meet someone who wasn’t? Why didn’t someone love me obsessively and blindly and passionately, like Heathcliff had loved Cathy? Or didn’t people love other people like that any more?

‘That child’s table manners are appalling,’ George said when we were in the kitchen having tea.

‘Give him a chance,’ I said. ‘He’s only just started to feed himself.’

As Jack gnawed on a piece of half-chewed rusk, dribble all down his face, George looked away in disgust. ‘Perhaps in the new house, children’s mealtimes could be at a different time from those of adults.’

‘When you first came you wanted us all to eat
together,’ I pointed out. ‘And anyway, Jack’s had his tea. I’m just keeping him quiet with that rusk.’

Mum said, ‘Oh come on, George – Jack’s not that bad. And children grow up so quickly.’

‘One of
yours
has had a child of her own before she’s grown up!’ George retorted. ‘It means we – you and I – have got to raise two generations.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ I said, ‘I’ll be getting my own place as soon as I possibly can.’

‘That’s enough!’ Mum said. ‘Now, I’ve bought an apple crumble. Custard or ice cream with it?’

After we’d eaten Ellie went off to her friend’s house to watch a video and I decided to write to Luke – Jack’s daddy – and send him some of the latest photos of his son. Luke might not be earning any money now but when he’d finished at uni he would, and I wanted to make sure Jack was in with a chance when it came to getting some.

I went to rummage around in my bedroom for some decent writing paper, leaving Mum and George in the kitchen discussing what to say about moving dates to the people who were buying the flat. Jack was in the sitting room with some of his toys and I was going to try to keep him awake until the buyers had been.

Finding a writing pad took longer than I thought, so I was away from him for five or six minutes. Witch’s Brew called, wanting to talk to Mum about when we were moving, and Mum was still at the door chatting to her when I heard a noise like a slap – well, it
was
a slap – and George saying, ‘Get off, you bloody kid!’

I ran into the sitting-room. George was standing by the window and Jack was on the floor with some screwed up paper beside him. Jack look startled, pale and shocked.

‘What have you done?’ I shouted at George, and I snatched up Jack. Lifting him suddenly made him take in a great gasp of air so that he began screaming.

‘What have you done?’ I shouted again at George. I looked carefully along Jack’s arms, face and legs and then I saw it: on his bare leg was a red weal, a raised handprint. ‘You beast! You’ve really hurt him!’ I said, and began crying myself.

‘He deserved it. Look what he’s done!’ George said, his voice shaking with rage. ‘He – that blasted child – got into my briefcase. He’s destroyed some important legal documents that arrived this morning.’

‘So?’

‘So he’s got to be taught. Got to understand the meaning of the word “no”.’

‘He’s just a baby! How… how dare you smack him! He’s
my
baby. He’s nothing to do with you!’

‘Is that right? Nothing to do with me? How come I’m paying for his food and clothing and the roof over his head, then?’

There was no answer to this and I just stood there, Jack sobbing on my shoulder, frightened and hurt. Mum came in from the hall. ‘What on earth’s going on? Why are you two rowing again?’

‘He hit Jack!’ I said.

‘It was just a smack,’ George said. ‘The child got into my briefcase – destroyed some important papers. It was an instinctive reaction.’

‘You smacked him?’ Mum asked.

‘I gave him a bit of a fright, that’s all,’ George said. ‘It was nothing. He was crying before he was hurt.’

I hugged Jack to me, tears running down my cheeks. My mind was going full-pelt but I was aware that there was a whole lot at stake here. If I spoke now, said what I ought to, everything could change. I stood to lose my precious new room, and Jack’s room, too. The space, privacy and new life I’d been so looking forward to might never happen.

I brushed away the tears. ‘Oh, he hit him all right,’
I said to Mum, and I carried Jack over to her to show her the red weal.

Mum gasped. ‘You did this?’ she asked George.

‘I told you – the kid’s got to learn.’

‘And that’s not all,’ I said. ‘You kicked him the other day, didn’t you? I wasn’t sure at first, but I am now.’

‘What rubbish,’ George blustered.

‘You did. And he’s terrified of you. That’s why he always plays up when you’re around.’

Jack took in a great shuddering breath, resting his head on my shoulder. I felt my anger rise again. ‘If you ever… ever… touch him again I’ll kill you!’ I said.

There was a long silence and then Mum said, rather shakily, ‘I don’t believe it.’

My heart sank. I felt sick. ‘You don’t believe it! How can you say that?’ I cried. ‘Who d’you think made that big mark on his leg, then?’

‘Oh, I believe George did it,’ Mum said quietly. ‘I just can’t believe it of
him
. For a man to hit a
baby
…’

George looked shifty. ‘OK, I maybe tapped him a bit hard,’ he said. ‘What’s all the fuss about?’

‘Mum…’ I pleaded. Don’t let me down, Mum, I said silently.

‘It won’t happen again,’ George said.

‘No, it won’t.’ Mum held out her arms for Jack and
I let her take him and cuddle him. After a moment she said, ‘I’m sorry, George,’ in a very calm and reasonable voice.

‘What d’you mean – you’re sorry? What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I’m sorry but I won’t be moving into that house with you after all.’

My eyes filled with fresh tears.
Oh, cheers, Mum
…

‘But… but we’re buying it together,’ George said. ‘We’re engaged.’

‘No, we’re not,’ Mum said, twisting off the ring and pushing it towards him. ‘I’m sorry but I couldn’t live with you. You’re not the man I thought you were. My first duty is to my children, and if I can’t trust you with them, then that’s the end of it.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this!’ George shouted. ‘I’ve left my wife for you! I’m buying a house with you – helping you out of this pigsty!’