Motherlove (28 page)

Blue eyes peeking open, the head stirring as the baby woke from contented sleep.

Like a great slap, it winded her.

Lindy held her Kelly closer, but she knew it was no baby at all. Just a shawl. Kelly had gone. Where?

Panic filled her. Her baby was gone. No. No she wasn't. She was here. Here in the pram. She must have slipped out of the shawl. Pick her up, wrap her up safely again. There she was, safe and sound, heavy against Lindy's breast. Just where she belonged. So quiet. Such a good baby. She probably needed feeding and changing by now. Maybe it was time to go home.

Yes, she'd do that. Take Kelly home. She'd had enough of the park.

iv

Heather

They'd stopped at a Spar, one of the small shops on the periphery of the town centre. Bibs wanted sweets, and Heather was tempted to buy him his usual chocolate buttons, but she had just been to the dentist, and the threat of dental misery was still fresh in her thoughts. She shouldn't be giving him sweets, should she? Fruit maybe. How about a banana? But Bibs didn't want a banana. Never mind that he usually loved bananas, today he wanted sweets. Biscuits then. Were biscuits better for his teeth than sweets? At least they looked more wholesome, so she wouldn't feel so bad. She could have bought him a Penguin or a Kitkat, but she knew that once it had been devoured he would have been pestering for more, so she bought a packet of chocolate digestives. Not intending to give him more, but as long as he knew they were there, in the bag slung from the pram handle, he could be bribed into good behaviour.

A packet of chocolate digestives. Looking back, afterwards, she thought, why didn't I buy him the chocolate buttons?

The park was quiet, a few wanderers distant among the trees or across the lake. A weekday, lunch hour over. A couple of office workers lingered over the last crust of their sandwiches, before hurrying off. The playground was abandoned. She'd been afraid it might be occupied by a mob of truant teenagers, but today they were nowhere in sight. Bibs had it all to himself, the baby swings, the roundabout, the see-saw, the smaller slide.

She was getting good at this, a uniquely maternal form of ambidexterity. Pushing a swing with one hand and rocking a pram with the other. Encouraging words to Bibs and coos to the baby. Wipe the chocolate from round Bibs' mouth while tucking Abigail's blanket round her.

The baby was awake, but not fretful, blue eyes gazing on a world that as yet meant nothing to her. Was it wonder at the sight of the swings, the grass, the trees, the glint of water? Or was it merely contented incomprehension? At least she liked the rocking of the pram, Heather could see that.

‘Come on, Bibs.' He had had his quota of fun, surely. A full half hour of swinging and sliding and spinning, and two biscuits.

‘No!' He was running from her, back to the roundabout.

‘All right. Just this and we go.' She heaved the roundabout into motion for him while he squealed in delight. Nothing else would make his life worthwhile. What would make mine worthwhile, she thought, was a cup of tea. She grabbed Bibs as the roundabout slowed and he prepared to dive off it for the slide.

‘That's it. Time to go home now.'

‘No! No!' Dragging her back.

She wasn't going to have it. ‘No, Bibs. That's enough. You've had a nice play. Now we're going home.'

‘I want—' He was straining, pointing at the slide.

‘You've had plenty of goes on the slide. Now. Don't make me cross. Be a good boy.'

Petulantly, he fell into step beside her. Her grip loosened as he stopped yanking away from her. He was still pouting, but he was holding her hand and trotting beside her, accepting defeat.

Abigail, drifting back into sleep, stirred a little, shifting the blanket, and Heather released Bibs' hand to pat it smooth.

Only a second, but it was enough. They were on the path leading to the back gate and the number 16 bus stop. Bibs had seen the lake, worse, the ducks on the lake, and all else was forgotten – swings, slides, going home. Released from her hold, he gave a shriek and ran tumbling down the grass to the lake's edge.

‘Bibs! Come back! Come here now!' She had a moment of panic. There were railings round the lake, but was he small enough to squeeze through? In a flash, she pictured him falling in, drowning. ‘Come back to Mummy, Bibs. Please. Not down there! Come back and you can have another biscuit.'

But he was not listening. The ducks had his full attention and, seeing him approach, they turned in the water like a well-trained cavalry charge, heading for him and whatever bread, buns or bird food he might have to offer.

She would have to fetch him back. She turned the pram, felt its wheels skid in the mud that edged the tarmac path. There had been so much rain lately. Today's weak sun wasn't enough to dry out the waterlogged grass. She didn't want to get bogged down, wrestling with the pram as well as Bibs. Abigail was sleeping, peaceful and oblivious; she would be all right. Heather parked the pram up on the path, in the shelter of a bush, slipped the brake on, grabbed the packet of biscuits and hurried down the slippery grass to retrieve her son.

Bibs was reaching through the railings offering grass to the ducks. A dozen were waddling out, up the bank to investigate. He laughed in delight. What child would not, at the absurd sight, the waddling bottoms, the thunderous chorus of quacks, the eagerness? Heather couldn't be cross with him.

‘Come on now.' She crouched down beside him. ‘They'll nibble your fingers. You don't want that, do you?'

But there was nothing that Bibs wanted more than having his fingers nibbled by ducks.

Heather glanced back. The pram, partly concealed by the bush, was safe enough. There was no sound of crying. Abigail would sleep on unaware. ‘All right, but they don't want grass.' The ducks were already telling Bibs that in no uncertain terms. ‘Here, see if they'd like this.' She had brought the biscuits as a lure for her son, to bribe him to follow her back, but now she broke pieces off a digestive, and let him toss them through the bars to a raucous clientele. Grass no, biscuits yes. The ducks liked them. Oh yes, very much, indeed.

‘There.' The biscuit was finished. And then another.

Bibs stamped his foot and grabbed the railings. This spectacle was too good to leave.

‘All right, one more, but just one.' She was going to make sure he understood this time. ‘Just two pieces, Bibs, and then we're going.' The armada of ducks was being followed by a small flotilla of swans, gliding disdainfully towards the source of the excitement. Ducks she could cope with, even in Hitchcock numbers, but swans were alarming. Beautiful at a distance, but far too frightening close up. ‘Last piece, Bibs. And I mean it, this is the last one. Who are you going to give it to? What about that poor one at the back?' She held his hand, helped him throw the last crumb to a lone drake, and on cue the horde of ducks turned and speed-waddled in pursuit. That would do.

‘Come along now. No! No arguing. Be a good boy. I let you feed the ducks, now we're going back to Gigi.' A pout, a show of resistance, but he bowed to her superior strength, trotting with her back up the slope to the waiting pram.

Afterwards, she thought, had there been a time warp down by the lake? Had hours flown past, while they had fed the ducks? She could have sworn it was a minute, two, three at most.

The pram was where she had left it, brake still on, the bag suspended from its handle. Inside, the blanket was pulled loose, rumpled. There was no baby.

v

Lindy

It was such a long way home, back to Nelson Road. It had seemed no distance this morning, but Kelly had grown heavier. And more fretful. Cradled in Lindy's arms, she had slept at first, but now she was showing distress. She needed changing. Well, she'd have to wait until they got home.

So long, Nelson Road! 128 was a million miles away. But she was there at last, as Kelly began to bawl in earnest. Let the door be open, please. She didn't want to have to thump and get Tyler to open it.

It was ajar.

‘Miss Crowe. Ah good, I caught you. I was disappointed to find you'd gone out. I said I'd call, remember?'

That woman, Caroline Rothsay, with her smart jacket and her smart shoes. Wanting to take Kelly. Lindy clasped the baby tighter to her.

‘What you want?'

‘I just want to talk, my dear, to see how you're coping with little Kelly there. To see what help we can offer.'

‘Well, I can't talk now.' Edge in through the door, hope the woman would go away. ‘She's wet. I've got to change her.'

‘Of course, Rosalind.' She was following. ‘You see to Kelly. Don't worry about me. I can wait.' Coming up the stairs after her. ‘When you've changed her, we'll have our little talk.'

Lindy knew women like this. No keeping them out. But she had to think about Kelly, poor wet little thing, still bawling. Lindy grabbed a clean nappy from the cupboard then took the baby upstairs, locked the bathroom door on them. Could she stay here until the woman had had enough and left? Maybe, if she took her time. Not that she wanted to linger here. She was the only one who ever gave the bathroom any sort of a clean, and it stank. The floor was wet with shaving water and pee. The bath was okay though. Old green stains under the tap and round the plughole, but no one ever used it, so it could be worse. Lindy laid the baby down in the bath, unwrapping the shawl to let her little arms thrash around. Stripped off her clothes. Lindy didn't like those clothes. They looked all wrong. Stripped off the sodden nappy, dropped it into the plastic bag she left tucked out of sight.

The baby was gurgling now. Was there any hot water? Sometimes, someone put money in the meter. She let it run. Not hot, but lukewarm. She'd have liked it hotter but it would have to do. Tenderly, she wiped the baby down. There was baby talc on the shelf. Just a tiny bit left. Where had the rest gone? Some wanker had been using her baby talc.

Kelly was quiet now, letting Lindy dress her in the newly washed clothes that had been wrapped in the shawl with her. There, she was almost like her old self. A bit bigger. A little bit more fair fuzzy hair. But babies were like that. They changed every day.

‘There you are, Kelly. My little Kelly.'

The baby looked at her. No recognition. Well, of course not, she was too young for that. But there was something she would recognise, surely. Lindy put the lid down and settled on the toilet, lifting the child to her breast. She still wasn't used to this, the bottle felt more decent, but this would keep her here, in the bathroom, away from that woman.

Then the baby was asleep again. She couldn't sit here forever, rocking Kelly in her arms. She'd have to go down. Maybe the woman would have gone by now. She stuffed the old clothes out of sight in the bag with the dirty nappy. Deal with them later. The shawl would need a wash. She snatched it up and headed downstairs.

Caroline Rothsay was waiting for her. Poking round the bedsit, prodding at the window frame. Who did she think she was? Lindy ignored her, laying Kelly in the Moses basket, covered her up, put her little pink mouse next to her.

When she turned, Caroline was smiling as if she had just witnessed a cute nativity play. ‘I'm sure you take great care of her. But we do need to consider—'

‘No you don't. I don't need your help. I can look after her. You're not taking her.'

‘I am sure you are a wonderful mother.' The woman was trying to reassure her. ‘But we need to think about other things. Are you receiving the proper benefits you're entitled to, for instance? And is this really the best environment for your baby? I am sure you and – Gary, was it? – are doing your best, but perhaps we could find you somewhere better to live.' Her glance was taking in every facet of the miserable room – the mattress on the floor, the rotting window, the peeling wallpaper, the seeping damp stains on the ceiling. ‘I can help you apply to the council. Wouldn't you like that? A nice clean council flat maybe on the Nanwell estate?'

Lindy's fingers clenched on the shawl. A real flat, somewhere proper for her and Kelly to live. Enough benefits so she wouldn't have to keep nicking things and a home when Gary kicked her out. But it was a trap. It had to be. They'd say things like this so she wouldn't make a fuss and the moment she complied, they'd have Kelly in care.

‘Let me just take a few details,' Caroline was saying, opening a case full of papers. ‘You are Rosalind Crowe…yes? I have your date of birth and Kelly's details. Your partner, Gary. His name is?'

‘Gary Bagwell,' said Lindy reluctantly. She didn't want to be answering this woman's questions. Certainly not questions about Gary.

‘Is he employed?'

What was she to say? Yes, he's doing a job for Carver upstairs? Next it would be all about his mother, and where she lived, and how she could help with the baby. Then this woman would be off investigating and find there was no mother.

‘What's it to you?'

‘I just need to know what help you need, Rosalind. If Gary is supporting you both—'

‘I'm not staying here.'

‘Ah?'