The Baby Group (43 page)

She had slept right through the afternoon, although she must have been waking up periodically, Natalie thought, as she had got through two thirds of the two-litre bottle of water Natalie had left for her with a glass next to the bed.

Natalie didn't know how to feel about the state her mother was in.

She thought back, trying to dredge up some of the hazy and ill-formed memories of her childhood with Sandy. It did seem that Sandy had always had a drink in her hand, that was true. And she had always acted as if she were a little tipsy, but as Natalie grew older she had decided that was just an affectation, a pretence designed to make her more appealing. Still, although while Natalie had lived with her Sandy had always been distracted and preoccupied by almost everything apart from her daughter, Natalie was fairly sure she hadn't been an out-and-out drunk.

Natalie had never seen Sandy this way before and she didn't know how to handle her. She didn't actually want to handle her at all. It seemed unfair that her mother, who'd done such a ham-fisted job of looking after her, now might require some serious looking after herself.

Although her mother presented a bizarre figure in her usual get-up of inch-thick make-up and tight-fitting clothes, at least
that
Sandy was happy with herself. The woman who had lain sprawled by the loo yesterday was a self-loathing wreck and Natalie didn't want to see her that way again. She wanted her back the way she'd always been even if it
was
desperately embarrassing, because in the end she did care about what happened to her.

So, after she had put her to bed, with an acute sense of unreality Natalie had taken two further bottles of whisky out of her mother's suitcase, took all the wine she had been unable to drink for so long out of the wine rack, gathered up the beer, vodka and even the cooking sherry and poured it all down the sink. She kept only the good wine, which she'd collected herself and couldn't bear to waste. As she locked that in the old coal shed behind as much junk as she could shift, Natalie remembered the joke she'd made about doing just that with the vodka only a few days earlier. It didn't seem very funny now.

Sandy slept on as the darkness gradually wore away into dawn, and Natalie and Freddie watched the sun rising together over the rows and rows of roof lines and chimneys, TV aerials and satellite dishes. Somewhere over those houses and streets, flats, churches and shops, Jack Newhouse was probably sleeping.

‘We're going somewhere important today,' Natalie told Freddie. ‘We're going to go and see your daddy. Now, I must warn you. You might not like him and he might not like you, but I think it's important to be brave and give it go, don't you? It's now or never kiddo.'

Freddie had taken the news with his usual cheerful indifference, which had made Natalie feel better. At least she could tell him when he was older that she had tried her best with his father. Whatever happened after that would not be her fault.

She sat on the edge of the bed and slid Jack's numbers out from under the lamp where she had hidden them what now seemed aeons ago. She didn't think he had started a new job yet. In fact, after everything that had happened she wouldn't be surprised if he decided to leave London again, perhaps even go back to Italy where the climate was temperate and there were no love children hanging about, or at least none that Natalie knew of. She knew she should phone him and ask him if she could come over, but she didn't want to do that.

First of all it would mean talking to him, which was an inevitability that she wanted to delay until the last crucial second because of the sheer effort of will it would require to talk to him politely. And secondly if she called in advance he might very well say, ‘No thank you very much, I don't want you and your baby to come over. You're nothing but trouble.'

No, it was best to maintain the element of surprise and just turn up, Natalie thought. If he was in he'd be far too polite to tell them to leave once they were actually on his doorstep. And if he was out they could just go and wander around the British Museum until he came back. And if he was in with another woman, Natalie could take some small pleasure in breaking up the party by introducing her to Jack's son. Natalie thought it was best for Freddie and her to set off as early as possible, so that they might catch him before he went out anywhere.

As for her not wanting to have to speak to him, she'd have to cross that bridge when she got to it.

It had just gone nine when Natalie arrived at the end of Willoughby Street. She looked at the blue-painted front door that was set into the side of the Georgian building. There were three buttons. Minnie's flat was the top one. Natalie thought she saw a figure move across the window up there. Someone was in, then. A sudden wave of fear enveloped her and it took a great deal of will power to keep her feet rooted to the spot instead of running in the opposite direction.

A million thoughts rattled through her fatigued brain. What if Jack had already gone and the figure she saw was Minnie? Or worse, much worse, what if Jack had someone else in there, another woman? What if the minute she had left him on Sunday night he'd gone right out and met the next potential love of his life standing at a bus stop?

He was good at that, after all.

Natalie stood on the corner for several minutes looking at the door, frozen with fear and indecision, wondering and waiting. The bus stop she needed to return home was just down the road, and better still at this time of day there were taxis aplenty driving right by her, their friendly amber lights offering the promise of refuge and the shortest route to safety.

And then her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

‘Hello,' Jack said warily. He had a large cup of coffee in one hand and a paper in the other. It might have been some kind of pastry that was in the paper bag tucked under his arm.

Natalie wondered if she looked as inexplicably guilty as she felt at being caught on the corner of his street. She was going to have to talk to him now. It was unavoidable. It would be much harder to try to sort things out with him without the use of actual words, especially considering that she was always the very worst person at playing charades.

‘I'm not stalking you,' she managed to say. Her voice sounded strange in her ears, like she was listening to a recorded version of it. ‘I just came to try to talk to you and then I got here and wasn't sure if I should any more.' She looked up at his flat. If Jack was here, then who was the figure she saw in the window?

Jack looked uncertainly at Natalie and then glanced down at the buggy very quickly.

‘But if you've got company,' she added uncertainly, looking back up at the window.

‘Company?' Jack repeated the word as if he didn't really know what it meant. He was looking at Natalie with that same puzzled expression again. He must be wondering why on earth I don't just go away, she thought, feeling almost sorry for him.

‘A guest,' Natalie prompted him, hoping to stop him looking at her in that way.

‘Oh!' Jack shook his head. ‘No, that's Mishka, she's not a guest, she's Minnie's cleaner. She's actually a concert harpist but Minnie employs her to keep her going between jobs.' A flicker of something like curiosity passed over his face. ‘Did you think I had another conquest up there?' he asked.

Natalie shook her head. ‘None of my business,' she said with a shrug.

They stood there for a moment or two longer and Natalie wondered if they had now spent more time like this, miserable and ill at ease, than they had lying happily in each other's arms.

‘You brought the baby with you,' Jack said, finally acknowledging what couldn't be ignored. He looked pale, Natalie thought, and she wondered if it was because of the sight of her and his progeny or if he really didn't feel well. She found herself hoping it was because of her.

‘I thought you should have a chance to meet him,' she said, holding the buggy's handles so tightly she could see the whites of her knuckles. ‘If you wanted to.'

‘I see,' Jack said, biting at his lip.

Natalie took a deep breath. ‘Jack, I think I behaved badly the last time we met and I hoped you might . . . let us come in and that we could try to . . . resolve things, somehow.' She smiled tentatively at him. ‘I don't want to leave things the way that we did. It didn't seem like the right ending for us.'

Jack hesitated before nodding at last. ‘I thought that too. I'm glad you came back with . . . the . . . you know – baby.'

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key on a piece of parcel string. ‘Mishka should be on her way out any minute, so you go in,' he said, handing Natalie the key. ‘I'll get you a coffee. Are you allowed coffee – if you're . . . ahem . . . you know, feeding him yourself ?'

Natalie nodded, repressing the urge to smile. ‘I let myself have one real cup a day,' she said.

‘Fine,' Jack went on. ‘Well, you go in and I'll be in in a minute.' He indicated the buggy. ‘You can leave that in the downstairs hallway.' He took a couple of steps before turning back. ‘I meant the buggy not the baby. You can bring the baby upstairs if you like.'

Natalie nodded again, fighting the irresistible urge to giggle that only the hysterically tired and emotionally confused can truly know. She held the keys tightly in her fist, so that she could feel the metal digging into the flesh of her palm, hoping it would somehow focus her mind. At least Jack was letting them in. And he had said she could bring Freddie upstairs. It was going well so far.

Mishka was indeed on the other side of the door as Natalie unlocked it. She seemed utterly unsurprised to find a strange woman with a baby on Jack's doorstep, and Natalie couldn't decide if it was a good or a bad thing. The young woman had paused for a moment to admire Freddie so that by the time she left Natalie quite liked her, even though she was tall, slender, blonde, talented and Russian. Natalie found that she liked anyone who liked her son.

Minnie's flat looked even nicer in the bright sunshine of the spring morning. It had long sash windows that Natalie hadn't noticed before, and from the tiny galley kitchen a direct view of the museum. Minnie had to be fairly minted, Natalie thought, to own such a prime piece of property. Or perhaps she had inherited it and had lived in it all her life. The place did have that feel about it. An antiquated Formica kitchen with one of those squat cream enamelled 1950s cookers, and as Natalie nosily pushed opened the bedroom door she saw dark wooden 1930s art deco furniture that looked as good as new. The book-lined living room looked as bright and breezy by day as it had seemed warm and friendly by firelight. Natalie sat down with Freddie in her arms in the wingback chair by the now cold fire grate. Freddie was wide awake, as if he knew something important was afoot, his huge black eyes as bright as buttons as he took everything in.

Then Natalie heard the door shut downstairs and Jack's footfall on the stairs.

She braced herself. She was here to tell him that despite everything, if he wanted to be in Freddie's life she would welcome it. Whatever he might say in return she needed to know that she had given this her very best shot at success, and that for once in her life she hadn't let complacency or fear ruin everything.

‘So,' Jack said as he appeared in the room, filling it up with his presence. He sort of leant around the baby, giving him a wide berth as he handed Natalie her coffee. ‘Is that all right?' he asked her, looking at Freddie. ‘To have a hot drink right next to him?'

Natalie shifted Freddie over onto her right knee and held her coffee in her left hand, desperate for it to cool so she could mainline the caffeine. Her mind felt fuzzy and muddled and her skin tingled with tiredness. She felt like she used to when she had been out clubbing all night, only without the booze and carefree fun. She blinked a couple of times to focus her vision and wondered if coming to see Jack after so little sleep had been the best idea. But if not now, then when?

Jack sat down opposite her on the settle, took two custard tarts out of the paper bag he had been carrying and put them on two plates on a tiny table which he positioned between them. And then without touching either one he leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees again, and looked at Natalie.

‘I'm glad you're here,' he said.

‘You are?' Natalie asked him, feeing a swell of hope rise in her chest.

‘Yes,' Jack said emphatically. ‘Like you, I was feeling bad about what happened between us that night. It was all so intense and difficult to take in. We found out so much about each other in such a short time. I behaved badly, thoughtlessly. I didn't appreciate how my news might affect you.' He dropped his head briefly. ‘I've thought about that evening a lot since then and I want you to know I'm sorry. I suppose I must have had this idea that you were sort of in suspended animation while I was away, that your life wouldn't have changed at all. But it has.' He nodded at Freddie who was staring at him in total fascination, just waiting for Jack to smile at him, when he would return the expression automatically with his wide, all-embracing grin that seemed to invite the whole world to be his friend.

But Jack did not smile.

‘Your life has changed a lot,' he went on. ‘And so have you. I should have realised that because I've changed too.'

Natalie felt the bubble of hope that had risen in her chest pop and melt away.

‘Have you?' she asked, not really wanting an answer.

‘During my illness I thought a lot about that weekend. I built up this imaginary version of you that isn't real at all.' Jack's voice was tinged with sadness. ‘Do you understand what I mean?'