by Julia Green
‘In winter, when it’s really cold for days on end, the canal freezes over. You can get stuck for days.’ Evie stirred the white ashes in the fire. ‘We’ll stoke up the stove in the cabin when this has died down and get it properly warm for the night. We might as well moor here all night. Shannon and Joe will probably be here by morning.’
‘They won’t be travelling in the dark surely?’
‘No. But we’ve been going really slowly, and they’ll probably get up earlier than us tomorrow and try and catch up.’
‘What if she’s not coming after all?’
Evie snapped at Mia. ‘Course she is. Where else is she going to go? Joe won’t want her. Not for long.’
Mia didn’t risk an answer. She was exhausted after the afternoon on the canal bank. No more arguments, she thought. Please. She’d go to bed early. There was nothing to do anyway, except talk to Evie or read, and she didn’t feel like doing either. She dozed in the light from the stove for a while. Every so often Evie opened the glass front and shoved in more logs. The cabin was hot at last; the sweet smell of wood smoke mixed with the oils Evie burned over a small candle flame. Mia turned over on her side and shut her eyes. She could hear the spit and crackle of logs shifting, and the thin rasp of pages being turned as Evie read her book, and then she slept.
*
Mia woke, sweating and struggling. She tugged at the blankets, which had somehow wound round her body as she tossed and turned in sleep, binding her too tight. The heat was unbearable. She could feel beads of sweat around her hairline and neck. She was still half in her dream – a horrible, torturing nightmare, where Evie, bigger and more frightening than in real life, held Mia prisoner on the boat so that she could steal her baby and give it to Shannon. In the dream she was clutching at the baby all bundled up in blankets and they were pulling it away from her, tugging at the blankets so hard they pulled them right out of her arms and the bundle unrolled and there was suddenly nothing, no baby there – and then the three of them were leaning over the edge of the boat, their hands scrabbling in the green water and the tangled weeds, searching for a baby turned fish.
Mia untangled herself and sat up. She placed one hand on her chest, felt the birdwing flapping frantically there. Too real. In the sweaty darkness it seemed all too possible that Evie and Shannon had planned this all along, and she had been too stupid, too afraid to see what was happening.
Across the cabin, Evie slept and snored, oblivious. She looked innocent enough, but what could you ever tell by looking?
Mia must have gone back to sleep because the next time she woke to find herself coughing. She was still way too hot, even though she’d pushed the covers off her body. This time though there was something seriously wrong; she could sense it. Mia was wide awake now, not dozy like she’d been before. The dark was different, not black but fogged and blurred and the smell she knew at once was of smoke – not the sweet wood-smoke smell, but the sour, choking poison of smouldering cloth, chair-stuffing, foam rubber.
‘Evie? Evie! Something’s burning. Quick! Wake up!’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
October 26th
Why wouldn’t Evie wake up? Mia shook the sleeping body and at last she stirred, but she seemed confused, her speech slurred. How much had she had to drink after Mia went to sleep? What else had she taken? Tablets or something? Evie tried to turn back on her side to sleep again. Mia kept on shaking her.
‘Evie, wake up! Something’s burning. The couch.’ Mia coughed and spluttered. They needed air – quick – she could hardly breathe. She struggled in the darkness towards the doors at the back of the cabin and fumbled for the catch. As she pushed the door open she realized her mistake. The rush of freezing air into the cabin fed the smouldering fire and a line of small flames licked quickly along the edge of the couch where Evie was still slumped. Water – get the bucket and fill it from the canal. There was no shortage of water at least, but first she must drag Evie off the burning couch and out into the air.
Evie was a dead weight. She wouldn’t wake up properly.
‘Please, Evie! You have to help. I can’t manage it.’ Mia’s voice shook with fear.
But Evie seemed not to recognize her, seemed to think that Mia was trying to hurt her. She flailed out with her arms and tried to burrow back under the blankets.
The cabin was full of smoke; clouds of it caught in the moonlight that flooded in through the open doors. The air fanned the flames and they licked across the fabric to where Evie lay.
She had to get Evie out of there quickly. Mia tugged and pulled and gradually, bit by bit, dragged the woman closer to the open door and fresher air. Then she went back to beat out the flames. She tried to smother them with the blanket from her bed, but the smoke was so foul she couldn’t stay inside the cabin long enough and she was forced to crawl back to the deck for air. She found the bucket at last, and scooped it into the canal, carried it half full, in shaking arms, and threw it over the couch. Over and over she repeated the action, her arms numb and her throat raw from smoke. But at last the flames went out, and then she tugged the whole foam mattress, charred and smoking and sodden, out through the doorway on to the deck.
Evie watched her, coughing, her eyes hollow and empty.
Mia wept silently with exhaustion and misery. She’d had to do it all, by herself. Evie was somewhere far off, locked in some private misery, incapable of action. They could have burned to death in their beds and no one would have seen the glowing boat on the still water, no one would have called for help. She shook and shivered and coughed, and finally slumped down next to Evie on the freezing deck and put her arm round Evie’s shoulders.
‘You’re OK. You’ll be fine. It’s all OK now. Come on, Evie. We’ll go back in and make you a bed and you can sleep it off.’ She felt Evie’s body trembling through the layers of jumpers. She looked like a small child, Mia thought. Like Lainey or someone. A little girl wearing too big clothes. Pretending to be grown up.
The cabin stank of foul smoke, even with all the doors open, and now it felt freezing, even under layers of covers and jumpers. Mia wanted to sleep and sleep, but every time she closed her eyes she thought she smelled burning again, or heard the faint trickle of a flame stirring somewhere. Her thoughts went round, over and over the same. She could have died. If she hadn’t been there, Evie would have suffocated from smoke, sunk too deep in her drugged sleep. She had to get out of here. Evie was too deep in something she didn’t really understand, didn’t want to know. It wasn’t good for Mia, it wasn’t safe; and what damage was it doing to her baby? Little bean. She hadn’t thought about little bean all through the fire. She ached all over, down to the pit of her belly.
Finally, as it began to get light, she dozed and slept at last.
Mia woke up desperate for the loo. She groped her way to the tiny compartment where they kept the Elsan. She wrinkled up her nose at the chemical smell. Then, horrified, she stared at the paper in her hand, at the small red smear. Even in the grey half-light she knew what it was. She was bleeding.
Mia lay back down, wrapped herself in the blanket and cried. Back in September, she had watched and waited for blood that never came. Each day she’d counted and watched and waited. Now it was beginning, and the sight of it filled her with fear and horror and loathing. So was this it? Somehow she had damaged her body, all that carrying and heaving, first Evie and then the unbearable weight of the buckets of water, and the cold, and the fear… and had she made the baby die?
She was freezing. The stove had gone out. Why wasn’t Evie up and doing things? Mia hated her, the dark shape that was her humped-up body under the covers, snuffling and whimpering in her sleep. No use to anyone. Mia scrabbled around for her bag and found the old pregnancy book. She turned the pages, looking for what to do. There was a whole chapter on losing a baby. She read what it said about a threatened miscarriage. ‘Stop everything and go to bed.’ Then she read what it said about ‘inevitable abortion… a miscarriage that occurs because the bab
y is no longer alive. Whatever you do and however much you rest, the bleeding is bound to continue.’ The only way to tell was to see if there was a foetal heartbeat – by having an ultrasound scan, in hospital. Or you could just wait and see.
Mia lay on her back, her hands curved round her belly. It had stopped aching. Was that a good sign or a bad one? She tried not to think about the trickle of blood. Was there more? She couldn’t be sure. She turned all her attention inside herself, willing little bean to be all right. Please, please, please. I’ll do anything. I’ll go back home – anything.
Gradually she became aware of sounds outside the boat. Morning on the canal. Coots and moorhens, songbirds in the woodland. A pigeon, cooing. Then a new sound. Chug, chugging of a distant engine. Coming closer? A boat? A little bubble of hope rose to the surface. But what if they went straight past, without stopping? She staggered out to the deck to flag them down.
Joe’s boat. Mia recognized the bright blue paintwork, the sacks of coal on the roof, and there – Shannon at the tiller, guiding the boat alongside and waving with one hand.
Her face changed as she caught sight of the charred mattress and the smoke-stained doors and windows of Dragonfly, and Mia’s ashen face.
‘What the –?’
‘There was a fire.’
‘Are you both OK? Where’s Evie?’
‘Inside. She’s sleeping. She won’t wake up properly. I don’t know if she’s OK or not – and –’
‘Joe?’ Shannon yelled down to the cabin. ‘Quick! There’s been a fire. Take this.’ Shannon threw her the rope, jumped over on to Dragonfly, and went into the cabin. Mia secured the rope and followed.
Shannon got the stove going while Mia told her what had happened.
‘You shouldn’t take any risks,’ she told Mia, making her lie down again. ‘You ought to go to a hospital and get checked out.’
Mia nodded.
‘Evie’s in a state. She gets like this. I shouldn’t have stayed with Joe. I knew she wasn’t happy.’ She stroked the hair back from Evie’s forehead. ‘I’ll sort her out a bit. Then we can take you to the next town. How far is it?’
Mia shook her head. ‘I dunno. We had a map somewhere.’ She rooted about half-heartedly in the pile of books and papers she’d shoved out of the way in a bag in the kitchen area. Shannon tutted impatiently. Finally Mia found it, damp and scrunched up, and they spread it out on the floor.
‘I think we’re about here.’ Shannon pointed to a straight stretch of canal. She showed Mia the wood, and the little squares that meant farm buildings.
‘So it’s about twelve miles to a big enough town.’ She looked at Mia. ‘Or you could get to the next pub and phone someone. A taxi? To the hospital? Your mum?’
Mia shook her head.
‘Don’t be stupid. Don’t you want this baby?’ She glowered at Mia.
Mia’s eyes were full of tears. The lump of fear under her ribs expanded a little; her heart beat a little faster.
‘Yes. I do.’ Her voice came out too quiet. She hesitated. ‘What’s wrong with Evie?’
‘Overdose, probably. Alcohol and tablets. Stupid. She’s done it before. You’re best out of here, Mia. You don’t want to get mixed up in Evie’s mess.’
‘What happened to her? Was there a baby?’
‘What did she tell you? About the baby? I knew I should have stayed with her.’
‘She said it was you. You that had the baby – who died. Drowned. But it wasn’t, was it?’
‘She said what?’
‘I sort of guessed it wasn’t. That it must have been her. It made it easier for her to tell me, I suppose, pretending it had happened to you.’
‘Oh, Mia! What a mess!’
‘But she said things were better now, and it all seemed so lovely, the boat, and everything, till then.’
‘Well. Now you know. Things happen to people. You don’t leave them behind that easy.’ Shannon turned her back on Mia and went on stroking Evie’s face. ‘I think she’ll be OK. When she wakes up properly. How did the fire start?’
‘I’m not sure. The candles, maybe? Or she was smoking?’
Shannon nodded. ‘I’ve told her before. But when she gets down she forgets stuff. Lucky you woke up.’
‘Yes.’
Mia watched Shannon stroking Evie’s cheek, smoothing back her hair. Like a mother might. The two women were close in a way Mia could hardly understand. It would be like her and Becky perhaps, if they’d been through something terrible together. A giving and taking of comfort, but shared, not just one way. Taking turns to be the strong one. Sometimes the mother, sometimes the child. Mia wasn’t close to her sisters or her mum. But maybe that didn’t matter so much. It didn’t mean she’d never be close to anyone.
‘Perhaps we should get a doctor?’ Mia suggested. Shannon shook her head.
‘No way. Once you get caught up with that lot, they start taking over. Saying you’re not fit, need medication. It’s a slippery slope. Evie’s been there. She was in hospital before. After the baby. You know, the mental health system.’ She said the words as if they were poisonous. ‘She’s much better off with me looking after her for a bit. I wonder what got to her. Set this off again?’
Mia immediately felt guilty. She said nothing.
‘We’ll move her on to Joe’s boat when she wakes up. It’s disgusting in here now, what with all the smoke and damp. You must have shifted bucket-loads of water. No wonder you’re bleeding. Is it stopping?’
‘I’m not sure. I think so.’
‘Well, stay lying down a bit longer. Then we’ll sort you out.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
October 27th
You’re going to be all right. Hang on in there, little bean.
Mia chanted the words like a mantra. It’s a good sign that the sun’s shining. If that bird stays on the fencepost until I reach the next tree it means everything’s going to be fine. She willed the little bird to stay. It flew off just as she reached the tree. What does that mean?
It felt good to be walking along the sunny towpath instead of being crouched up on the boat. The bleeding seemed to have stopped; she’d rested all the day before, and Joe and Shannon had looked after her. She’d felt better as soon as she’d woken up this morning.
Shannon had said to go gently, not too fast, but Mia couldn’t stop herself hurrying along the path. She could see the pub buildings across the field now; soon she’d be making the phone call and then maybe she could stop worrying for a while.
She’d only packed a few things in the rucksack: the book, and a change of clothes, and her notebook. She’d let Evie think she’d be coming back. But maybe Shannon had guessed. She’d encouraged her to go, after all, first thing that morning.
‘Goodbye,’ she said as Mia left the boats. ‘Good luck.’
Mia had been surprised; she’d had that horrible dream again in the night, where the two boat women snatched her baby from her and then dropped it, so that it slipped over the edge. She’d half expected Shannon to stop her getting off the boat in the morning, instead of encouraging her. Keeping her prisoner. Now, in the bright morning light, it all just seemed like some silly night-time fantasy.
She only had one twenty-pence piece. And a ten-pound note that Joe had given her. That meant just one phone call. It was one of the old-fashioned red boxes outside the pub. Mia went inside. She knew the number off by heart. She hesitated, staring at the laminated display of local numbers next to the national dialling codes. She took a deep breath. I want to manage on my own: her words to Evie. Or will your dad keep on bailing you out?
It must still be morning. The pub wasn’t open. Dad would be at work. So would Mum.
She dialled the number for a taxi, and sat down on the stone bench to wait.
The driver made her pay up front. Didn’t trust her. She saw herself through his eyes: white-faced, dark hollow eyes, unwashed spiky hair, muddy trousers, stinking of smoke. Hands blackened from soot. He didn’t speak the entire journey,
deposited her at the hospital gate and drove off with a melodramatic squeal of brakes, as if he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough, muttering obscenities under his breath. She’d better get used to it, Mia thought. The hospital staff might treat her the same way. She pushed her way through heavy swing doors and into the Accident and Emergency department.
A blonde-haired woman at reception stared at her. Mia walked up to the desk, wishing she was not blushing as the woman took in her muddy clothes and unwashed hair.
‘Name?’
‘Mia.’
‘Spelt?’
‘M – I – A.’
‘Second name? Address?’
‘Kitson. No address. Well, a boat. It moves about.’
‘You have to have an address.’ The woman was determined not to smile. She seemed to think Mia was being deliberately difficult.
Mia thought fast. ‘My mum’s then.’ She rummaged through her bag, searching out the letter with the address in Bristol.
The woman frowned as she wrote it down. ‘And you’re here for what?’ She stared at the form she was filling in, refusing eye contact.
‘Threatened miscarriage.’
The telephone rang. The woman waved towards the rows of chairs. ‘There’ll be a long wait. You’re not exactly an emergency.’
Mia could guess what she really thought. It would be better if Mia lost the baby. Some stupid teenage dropout who should have been in school. A waste of space. Waste of NHS money.
