Until You're Mine (22 page)

Twenty minutes into a shocking read – the handover of a teenage girl from another area – the doorbell rings. I listen as Zoe answers it. She deals with the plumber courteously, showing him to the utility room.

I go back to the tragic life of the fifteen-year-old, pregnant by her step-father. She refuses to name and shame him when every professional who has been dealing with her knows he is the one delivering the assortment of bruises and broken bones. Emergency foster care has been found for her two brothers but not the pregnant girl. She is due to give birth any day and her baby is on my priority list. I stop and imagine her young body bulging with new life – a life created from hate and fear. How will she ever be able to love that baby? I doubt she’s capable of loving herself, let alone anyone else. The psychologist’s report confirms a long history of self-harm, starvation, cutting, head-banging, substance abuse – it all swims off the page. There is a photograph of her clipped to the inside of the file. She is slight and pale with shoulder-length mousey hair. She’s wearing a red and blue striped top and her eyes are huge and brown, filled with utter despair.

But, nestled in the corner of each eye like tears she can’t let go, I see glimmers of hope. I desperately want to help her.

There’s a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ I say, and before I know it, Zoe is standing in front of James’s desk with the plumber at her side. Her eyes flick all around James’s study.

‘Hello, Mrs M-B.’ He’s been calling me that ever since he refitted the bathroom a year ago. ‘Good to see you.’ He notices my stomach. ‘Heavens, Mr M-B’s been busy!’ He roars with laughter and wipes his hands down his boiler suit.

‘Thanks so much for coming out, Bob. We’re all freezing.’ I’m still shivering, despite the extra sweater.

‘Not good news about the boiler, I’m afraid. I need a part that I won’t be able to get until mid-morning tomorrow. Will you survive the night?’

My heart sinks. ‘Do we have hot water?’

‘I’ve made sure the immersion heater is on, so yes, you do. But you’ll have to keep the home fires burning for the night, I’m afraid. I’ll be back about eleven. Will someone be home?’

I nod and make arrangements with Zoe. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring for me yet.

There’s a yelp from the kitchen where the boys are eating supper. Zoe dashes off while I see Bob out.

‘Thanks again.’ I click the door closed and gather up an armful of the numerous coats, jackets and woollies hanging in the hall, deciding we all need another layer. ‘Here,’ I say, dumping them on the kitchen sofa. ‘Let’s all look like Michelin men.’ I burst out laughing at the same time as Zoe. Her look says it all:
you already do
 . . .

‘That’s
my
coat,’ Oscar complains when Noah snatches the padded jacket from him.

‘No, here’s yours, Oscar,’ I say. ‘The one with the badge, remember?’ I nip the battle in the bud. I pull out an oversized chunky-knit cardigan I don’t recognise from the pile. ‘This is nice,’ I say, examining it, wondering if it’s a long-forgotten garment or something Pip left behind.

‘Oh, that’s mine,’ Zoe says gratefully with a histrionic shiver.

As I hand it over, I notice the row of green and purple toggles stitched down the front. One is missing.

*

Pip gives me a little wave from the floor. I want to talk to her but I’m late and the class is already under way. Compared to my house, it feels so warm in the usually freezing church hall. I struggle down onto my yoga mat and ease myself onto my side. It’s an effort. Mary is telling us about centring and aligning our chi and how it’s all linked to breathing. It’s a bit too New Age for my liking. When I think about bringing my baby into the world, all I can imagine is screaming and pain. There’s nothing peaceful and balanced about childbirth as Mary is suggesting.

I begin the low leg raises that she’s demonstrating. Even these gentle exercises begin to pull my useless abdominal muscles after only a few seconds.

‘Breathe through the movement: in and out . . . in and out . . .’ Mary’s voice is rhythmic and soothing. ‘You’re strengthening your core ready for the big day . . . in and out . . . that’s right. Claudia, make sure you keep your knee straight and don’t lift too high.’

I glance over at Pip. She winks. She can hardly lift her leg. I swear she’s bigger than me now.

Are you OK?
I mouth at her.

She nods.
You?

I wrinkle my nose. She frowns and taps her watch. I nod. I’ve missed seeing her since Zoe took over the school runs.

‘On your feet now, ladies, and we’ll continue with our core exercises. It’s important to keep your balance on this one. Foot down if you feel a topple coming.’ Mary laughs in her automaton voice and begins a forward lunge that looks impossible with the great weight at my middle. She eyes us all individually. I wonder if she actually has any children of her own. She doesn’t look the type.

Ten minutes later, as we’re lying on our mats relaxing, tears fill my eyes. Any moment, one of them is going to drip down my cheek and onto the floor. I clench my fists to fight the emotion but I can’t help it. I’m imagining James God knows how deep in the sea, practising drills and procedure in a submarine crammed full of husbands, brothers, sons.
Come home safely, my love
, I say in my mind, even though I know it’s just a routine mission. I focus on the baby I will have waiting for him upon his return, how we will be a family of five, how he will be so very proud of me.
Me
, the woman who has suffered countless miscarriages and stillbirths;
me
, the woman who was told she’d never be able to carry a live baby full term;
me
, the woman who only ever wanted the chance to be a mother.

*

‘Are you sure it’s hers?’ Pip says.

We are both stuffing our faces with carrot cake. We can’t help it.

‘She admitted it was.’ My mouth is full and I wipe crumbs from my lips.

‘Look at us greedy pigs,’ Pip says, laughing. ‘I’m always losing buttons. It probably just fell off when she was in there chatting with James or something.’

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Though I found it by the window, near where James sits. I don’t understand what she was doing over there. James is very protective of his study.’

‘Oh Claud, stop it! Maybe it fell off in the doorway and got kicked.’ She crams in more cake and hungrily eyes the delicious display of pastries on Brew-haha’s counter.

‘Kicked?’ Bismah says, eavesdropping. She was talking to Fay, who’s been feeling sick all morning even though she’s five months now. ‘Who’s kicking? Let me feel.’ Her dark shiny hair is ponytailed down her back and I’m convinced her huge eyes are going to burst at the thought of feeling a baby’s foot or hand.

‘No baby kicks, I’m afraid,’ I say, wondering what Zoe would make of that. She’s been paranoid about me since the car accident.

‘And how is that nanny of yours, Claudia?’ Bismah continues. ‘I wish Raheem would agree to get me a nanny, then I could go back to teaching.’ Her laugh is gentle and tells me she has no real intention of going back to work, nanny or not. She’s just saying it for my benefit.

‘Zoe,’ I say thoughtfully, almost as if I’ve forgotten her name.

‘Yes, Zoe,’ Bismah says, amused. All three are waiting eagerly to hear what I have to say.

‘I’m in two minds about her, really,’ I say, shocking myself with the open admission.

‘Ouch,’ Pip says slowly. ‘Bit late to be thinking of a change now.’

‘I know, I know.’ I pull a pained face. If I can’t tell my girlfriends, best friend included, then who can I tell? ‘It’s fine, really. I mean, she cares greatly for the boys and keeps the house nice and—’

‘But you don’t like her,’ Pip says brutally.

‘No, it’s not that either. Truth be known, I really like her. She’s a little reserved and keeps herself to herself, but that’s understandable. I think she’s had boyfriend troubles.’

‘There you go then.’ Bismah always sees the best in everyone.

‘There’s just something about her. I can’t put my finger on it, but if I was forced, I’d say . . .’ I stare at the ceiling. ‘I’d say that . . . oh, you’ll think I’m being stupid.’

‘No, go on,’ Bismah says. Everyone’s listening.

‘I’d say that she’s got other reasons for being in our house.’

As soon as I say it, I regret it. I remember all the nice things she’s done for the boys since she’s been with us, not to mention how she’s really made an effort with me. ‘I’ve not been mean to her or anything,’ I add when I see the shocked faces of my friends. ‘I’m sure it’ll all work out fine.’

‘Hor-mon-al!’ Pip sings in a silly falsetto.

‘I am not,’ I say sternly, and we all laugh. ‘Well, yeah, maybe I am a little bit.’

‘Give her another few weeks. Once the baby’s born, once James is home again, everything will fall into place, you’ll see. Zoe will get stuck into a routine with the children, you can enjoy your maternity leave, and life will be pretty much perfect.’ An overstated smile punctuates Pip’s reassurance. The stretchy tunic top she is wearing clings to her bump, showing off just how close to giving birth she is. I love the sight of her. I love the sight of all of us.

‘You’re right of course,’ I tell Pip. But I still can’t help feeling the way I do.

CARLA DAVIS LOOKED
dead even though she wasn’t. There were needles and tubes stuck in the back of her hand and sticky monitor pads on various parts of her body, exposing patches of pale flesh beneath the anaemic hospital gown they’d put her in.

‘It could have been a load of bollocks, of course,’ Lorraine said, staring down at the poor girl in the hospital bed. ‘The drugs talking.’

‘Barrett did say she was drifting in and out of sleep.’ Adam picked up the clipboard attached to the end of her bed. He soon replaced it, the scrawled notes and dots on the charts not meaning much to him. ‘But she kept mentioning the woman.’

‘Which potentially changes everything,’ Lorraine said. Possibilities rattled through her mind and none of them fitted with the meagre profile they’d so far built up. And they still couldn’t be certain that the two attacks were linked, even though they were gruesomely similar. Lorraine had hoped more leads would be forthcoming from Carla’s injuries, but the first priority was to save her life, get her fixed up in theatre, not have forensic pathologists probe around the mess on her body.

‘Tell me again what else Barrett reported,’ she said. He was one of their best DCs and had never let them down in an interview situation. He was thorough and thought on his feet.

‘We’ve been over this a thousand times already.’

It was true. They had discussed the investigations in depth at the meeting last night, with most of the team present. It had run on late into the evening. Then Adam and Lorraine had talked further at home while they cleaned up the mess Grace and her friends had left.

‘The ward sister only allowed Barrett to speak to Carla for a couple of minutes. He didn’t think that she had much idea of where she was or what had happened to her. She was very confused. She knew stuff like her name and where she lived but she had no recollection of the actual attack, only the moments leading up to it. But she kept saying that there was someone at the door, that she had to answer it. She got quite distressed about this, apparently.’

‘This mystery woman,’ Lorraine said, knowing the story anyway.

‘Correct,’ Adam said. ‘Barrett asked for a description and she just kept saying “thin” over and over. Doesn’t really help us much.’

Adam was suddenly leaning over Carla as she stirred. ‘Carla, can you hear me?’

Lorraine thought he was going to shake her. ‘Stop it, Adam, you’ll scare her.’ She also approached the young woman’s bedside. The sheets were draped over what she could only assume had been a very large abdomen until a short time ago. Did she even remember she’d been pregnant, Lorraine wondered? ‘Hello, love, can you hear me?’ she said softly. ‘I’m a detective. I just want to ask you a couple of questions.’

Lorraine ran a finger up and down the inside of the girl’s wrist. There was a plastic cannula taped to the back of her hand with a thin tube snaking up to a drip stand. Lorraine studied the skin on the inside of her elbow. The veins were bruised purplish-red with tell-tale dots of older scars contrasting starkly with her milky skin. This was not the work of doctors.

‘Love, can you hear me?’

Carla made a brief moaning sound and twisted her head left then right. Her eyes were closed although they opened momentarily. Lorraine could tell she wasn’t focusing on anything.

‘I want to find who did this to you, love. Can you remember anything about the attack or your attacker? What did they look like?’

Carla didn’t say anything. The machine behind the bed beeped, showing her blood pressure, oxygen saturation and breathing rate. Lorraine didn’t understand the numbers, but the machine was making a steady sound, somehow reassuring them that Carla was at least maintaining a hold on life.

‘I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.’ A nurse had come in. ‘I have to check her wound drain.’

‘We’ll come back later,’ Adam said.

‘Thank you,’ the nurse said, gently removing the bed covers from Carla.

She moaned again and the hand with the cannula flapped by her side.

‘Steady, now,’ a second nurse said in a lilting Irish accent. ‘Don’t want you ripping all this out.’

‘If only she’d speak again,’ Lorraine said as they left the room. They exchanged brief nods with the young PC on guard duty and then swapped glances with each other, remembering their own early days in the force. Lorraine swiped away the inevitable memories of how she’d met Adam, how she’d idolised him – no,
worshipped
him – back in those days. Here she was now completely unable to understand how the twenty-foot-high brick wall had grown between them. She refused to believe it was entirely her fault.

They were standing beside Adam’s car, Lorraine squinting into the burst of sun which had forced through the clouds, no doubt before the forecast sleet arrived later. ‘Fancy a coffee?’ she asked, pointing to the parked-up trailer serving drinks and snacks. The smell of bacon was irresistible.