Shadow Baby (39 page)

‘I like it, Mama,’ Rose said.

‘Thank you, dear.’

‘And so do I,’ said Henry. ‘I am very fond of it, old or not.’

‘You would be. You are always devoted to what you have made.’

There seemed no reply to that. Kissing the girls and then her she did not avoid his kiss, but nor did she kiss in return as usual Henry went to work.

The moment he and then the girls had gone, Leah locked and bolted both the front and back doors, explaining to Clara that there had been robbers about and that from now on the doors were to be made secure at all times even though people were in the house.

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It was March, but more like January this year. The weather had played its usual trick. Glorious sun the first week, all the daffodils in bloom and the magnolia buds thickening and opening against the bluest of skies, but now there was sleet and stingingly cold rain and a general murk hanging over everything. Hazel hated March for its fickleness.

Everyone except her had left the house by nine o’clock, even Conchita, their Spanish au pair. Hazel was in her study, a little room on the first floor, working her way through the dreary details of a wife-beating case. She’d stayed up until after midnight and been back at her desk by 6 am, before either Malcolm or the boys were up. They knew not to disturb her though she could hear the howl of protest from Anthony when Conchita told him he could not, this morning, see his mother, because she was working very hard on a case that was coming to court next day. The boys were used to it, these occasions when she shut herself up late and early every now and again, but they never stopped resenting them. She often thought she might as well come out and see what Anthony or the others needed her for, because while they were yelling she could not concentrate anyway and simply sat staring out of the window until the commotion was over.

But it had been quiet now, the whole house, for nearly an hour. She liked the feeling, the bulk of the house behind her silent and somehow reassuring. In front of her she could see the road through the as yet bare branches of the big old pear tree which bore rotten fruit but magnificent white blossom. It was not exactly a striking or uplifting view but it was faintly rural in a satisfying way - the fruit tree, the shrubs, the chapel roof through them and the general air of

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peace. Few cars passed, fewer still pedestrians. She gathered up all her papers and began stuffing them into different files and was on her feet doing this when she saw a girl turn into the gate. She stopped and stared, curious to know who could be visiting at this time on a weekday morning One of Conchita’s many friends? No, they were all at their language school and this girl did not look Spanish with her auburn hair, quite lovely hair, long and curly. She was carrying a tin but Hazel couldn’t make out what was written on the side. Collecting, though, she was collecting for something, and since she was a girl there was no need to be suspicious.

Hazel was not suspicious. She suspected nothing, there was no need to On the way down the stairs she picked up some change from the hall shelf and had it in her hand as she opened the door. It was the girl who was startled, not she. She jumped and Hazel smiled and said, ‘I saw you from my window upstairs. Here you are, will that do?’ The girl didn’t even hold out the tin. Hazel had to reach out for it and force her three coins through the slot. ‘Save the Children - a good cause I hope you’re doing well,’ she said and made to close the door again. ‘Wait,’ the girl said. Hazel paused, politely. She was a very attractive girl, what with the beautiful hair and very clear, light blue eyes, but she seemed to be in some kind of trance. She was staring so hard it was faintly alarming, even worrying. ‘Was there something you wanted to say? To ask me?’ Hazel said. A spiel, probably. Collectors were meant to convert you to their cause. Well, she had no time for that, she had to get to the office. ‘I’m afraid I must go and get ready,’ she said. ‘Good morning to you, good luck with the collecting,’ and once more she tried to close the front door.

‘No!’ the girl said, and blushed, and then said, ‘Could I come in for a moment, please?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Hazel said, and looked pointedly at her watch. ‘I’m about to go to work. What is it you want?’

‘You.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I mean, to talk to you.’

‘About?’

‘Me. And you.’

There had been enough of them in her working experience, women who looked normal but were unhinged. Police stations were full of them and she’d dealt with her share in the past. The thing to

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do was to be polite and simply side-step them. ‘Look,’ Hazel said, ‘I really must go,’ and she began to push the heavy door shut. But the girl was leaning against it and she was strong. Irritated rather than afraid, Hazel told her to stop being so silly and said she would have to call the police if this nuisance went on.

‘Please,’ the girl said, ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance, I just want to tell you something and I can’t do it on the doorstep, it’s too personal. I’m not mad or anything, I promise. It’s just, you know me. You don’t know you do, but you do, and I want to explain and tell you who I am. I haven’t come to make trouble, I promise.’

There was nothing to do but let the girl in. Hazel, walking stiffly, and not looking back, led the way not into the living-room but into the kitchen. She had to be occupied, do some small mechanical tasks. She prepared to make coffee, without asking the girl if she wanted any. She would grind beans, a good, loud noise. She filled the pot with water, another hearty sound as she turned the tap on. Clatter the cups, tinkle the teaspoons, fill the silence. She did not speak. Her back to the girl, she busied herself and tried to think. She had always said it was bound to happen. She could hear herself later on, when Malcolm came home, saying she had always known it would happen. But not like this, she hadn’t thought it would happen like this, without warning. She’d imagined a letter or a phone call and could have dealt with those. Most of all, she hated being taken by surprise. It was an affront to all that was organised and efficient and prepared about her.

She had to turn eventually and put the steaming coffee pot on the table. ‘Milk?’ she asked, pleased at her steady, flat voice, ‘Sugar?’ The girl nodded. She seemed overcome now that she was actually inside the house. Hazel poured two cups, added milk to her own, pushed milk jug and sugar bowl across the table to the girl. She was not going to help her by telling her she knew now who she was. Let her do the telling since it was she who wanted to. She sipped the coffee and waited, imagining the girl as a client. Patience, that was the secret, and a relaxed atmosphere. But the girl across the table was far from relaxed. She was tense and nervous, biting her lip constantly, playing with the rings, little silver things, on her hands and not ever raising her eyes from the table. Nothing like me, Hazel thought, and felt unaccountably relieved.

‘It’s difficult,’ the girl said. ‘My name is Shona, Shona Mclndoe. I’m a student, a law student at UCL.’ Hazel noted how she did look

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up quickly at this point, checking to see if there was any reaction and, failing to see it, being disappointed. ‘I don’t know how to get to the point without maybe shocking you.’ She paused, but Hazel kept silent, interested, in spite of the turmoil in her head, to see how this child of hers would go on. ‘I’ve no wish to distress you, none at all.’ Another pause and since no help was forthcoming the plunge had to be taken. ‘I was born in Norway, in 1956,’ she said. After that, it would have been stupid to pretend to be still unenlightened. ‘So you are my daughter,’ Hazel said, calmly, ‘I see.’ Not another word. Instead, she found she had to get up and do something. She walked to the telephone, back to Shona, and dialled her office number, her finger steady. She spoke to her secretary and said something important had come up and she would not be in for a while, she didn’t know how long. Then she said, ‘Let’s move somewhere more comfortable.’

The living-room was messy, not yet cleaned up by Mrs Hedley. The boys had left Lego all over the floor and comics covered the battered sofa. Hazel swept them into a bundle and then opened the still drawn curtains. ‘What a day,’ she said, standing looking into the sodden, gale-buffeted garden.

‘My birthday,’ Shona said.

‘Is it? 16 March, yes.’

‘I thought maybe you always …’

‘No. I didn’t, never. I promised myself I wouldn’t and I didn’t. It seemed - mawkish, somehow. I didn’t want to do it for ever. I deliberately blanked out the date very successfully.’

‘I suppose you were too unhappy, you just wanted to forget me and all about it.’

Hazel turned, unable any longer to avoid looking at the girl. There she stood, her hands in the pockets of her green cape-like raincoat, uneasy but also defiant, clearly bracing herself to face whatever was to come, bravely coming out with the theory she wanted to believe was true. Carefully, Hazel said, ‘Unhappy? Yes, I was, of course. And I did want to forget but it took a long time. Forgetting the date you were born was nothing, but forgetting the rest, it was difficult. Impossible, really. But I tried very hard.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Hazel allowed herself a little laugh. ‘Shall we sit down?’ she said, and sat herself, on the only straight-backed chair, leaving the girl with the choice of sofa or easy-chairs. She chose the sofa, but only

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perched on its arm. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who ought to be.’

‘But you’re not,’ the girl said quickly, without a hint of a query in the words.

Hazel said nothing for a moment, studying her face. It was so hard to measure the degree of distress which might be under the controlled surface calm. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said finally, ‘as you might expect. I’m sorry, or I was sorry, about a lot of things. But nineteen years is a long time.’ She wanted to say as little as possible. That was surely the right decision. She knew perfectly well that every word she said, every expression that crossed her features, would be analysed and reflected upon. It was cruel, perhaps, to make the girl take the lead, it would be kinder to help her by launching into a string of lively questions, but she did not intend to. And as for the gestures that would be even kinder, the warm embrace or tender kiss, she was incapable of them, which the girl would already have sensed.

‘I shouldn’t have come,’ the girl said, and stood up again.

‘Please,’ Hazel said, surprised at herself as she stood too, and not knowing quite what she meant by this plea. The girl took it to mean that she had no need to apologise. ‘No, really,’ she said, ‘I see now it was stupid. You’ve got your own life. It was just I couldn’t resist it, I had silly ideas. But I’ll go now and I won’t trouble you again.’ She was on the edge of tears, trying, Hazel could see, to contain them for a few more minutes until she was out of the house.

‘Please,’ Hazel repeated, ‘you’re upset. Sit down. I don’t want you to leave like this. You’ll go away with all the wrong conclusions. Give yourself time. And me, give me time. I’m more shocked than I perhaps look.’

‘You don’t look shocked at all. You don’t even look surprised,’ the girl said, and Hazel was relieved to hear at last the resentment.

‘No,’ she agreed, ‘but then you don’t know me, so you wouldn’t be able to tell, would you?’

‘I thought there would be some reaction. There’s none. I could have been telling you what time it was for all the notice you took.’

‘Oh, I took notice. I was thinking, but you can’t see thinking, can you? I was thinking that I had always expected this, but I didn’t know how it would happen.’

‘Not like this.’

‘Not like this, no.’

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‘But you dreaded it, you’ve always dreaded it.’

‘No. What I’ve dreaded is not knowing what to do, or how you would be, whether you’d come full of hate or merely in a spirit of curiosity, and I suppose I hoped for curiosity.’ She had said far more than she had meant to, but felt herself pleased with what had come out.

The girl was not pleased, though. She had flushed and was biting her lip quite savagely enough to draw blood if she continued. ‘I don’t hate you,’ the girl said, ‘and I don’t blame you, but you aren’t what I thought you’d be, I mean you aren’t how I imagined my mother to be.’ She stammered over the word ‘mother’. Hazel knew she was expected to ask in what way she was different but was determined not to fall into that trap. ‘I thought,’ the girl was saying, ‘I thought it would actually be a relief to you to find I’d been so well brought up and happy.’

‘It is,’ Hazel said quickly.

‘It isn’t. You just don’t care. I’m nothing to you and the sooner I accept that the better.’

She picked up the shoulder bag she’d dropped and rushed to the door in a whirl of green coat, hair pushed angrily back but Hazel was as quick and reached the door at the same time. She would have to use the girl’s name, but it was a struggle to do so. ‘Shona,’ she said, ‘don’t leave like this.’ She couldn’t let her go with so much unresolved and this feeling had nothing to do with concern for Shona. It was all to do with concern for herself and a sense of another solution being possible which would free both of them from each other. ‘No, don’t go,’ she said again, ‘not like this. You will only regret it and the disappointment will get worse.’

‘It isn’t disappointment. I knew that you’d probably …’

‘It is disappointment, only deeper. I’m letting you down, of course.’

‘You can’t help it, I told you, I know, I can see, I can feel. I mean nothing to you.’

‘Oh, you mean something.’ Hazel smiled, tried to look ironically at the girl and pull her into a shared sense of amusement. But the eyes were swimming and there was no possibility of irony being recognised. ‘Sit down again,’ she urged, ‘at least let me satisfy your curiosity and wait until you’re more in control.’

‘I am in control. I’m not really crying. I’m not at all an emotional person, this isn’t me.’

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‘No, I’m sure it isn’t. And this isn’t me either, but what could we expect? In the circumstances. As I said, we need time.’