Blood Sisters

by Julie Shaw

  She heard Paddy mouth ‘Fuck’.

  Vicky took in the sight. The haystack hair. The old trackies. The frayed jumper. But her mam looked reasonably sober, which was something, at least. But she shouted at Paddy, even so.

  ‘Just piss off, you little pipsqueak! You hear me? Bugger off!’ Then she yanked Vicky roughly over the threshold and slammed the door.

  ‘Spoke to Lucy,’ she explained. ‘Once you’d left.’

  That had been that. Even Paddy – local bad boy and hard man that he was – wouldn’t want to get embroiled in a set-to with Vicky’s mum. Not because he couldn’t pulverise her, either mentally or physically, but because he had a reputation to protect. An old lady? You just didn’t go there.

  So he called. She never answered. But the phone rang incessantly. Till, by teatime, her mam – Vicky had pleaded that she didn’t – picked up the receiver and roared down that at him as well.

  And then silence. Till around eleven, when Vicky went to put a note in one of the milk bottles, and found the most enormous bunch of deep, blood-red roses. A couple of dozen, at least. And on a Sunday. Where on earth had he found them?

  Her mother, half way down her second bottle of cider, squinted at them through her cigarette smoke.

  ‘Undying love?’ she slurred. ‘Yeah, and I’m the bloody pope.’

  He’d called again then – had he been waiting somewhere, watching to see she’d got them? And every inch of her, angry and full of hurt though she still was, wanted to rush into the hall again and answer the phone.

  ‘I mean it, girl,’ her mother said, though Vicky had made no actual move to pick the receiver up. ‘You do that and I’ll cut the fucking cord.’

  So it was Monday before Paddy was able to pin her down finally. After work. And on a day when – surprise, surprise, surprise – Lacey had called in sick. There’d been flowers there, too, another big blowsy bunch of them – this time gerberas and chrysanthemums and tiny pearls of gypsophila, driving Leanne into a frenzy of speculation.

  ‘Come on, spill,’ she kept saying, knowing nothing about Lacey apart from her apparent illness. ‘What’s he done? Come on, tell me – he must have done something.’ But, determined not to air the whole humiliating episode in public, Vicky held her line – that it was just because he might, almost certainly would, be going away tomorrow, and wanted to send her flowers while he still could.

  The irony of her fiction wasn’t lost on her. Because Paddy only made such gestures when he’d wronged her in some way. ‘You got me. I’m your gift,’ he’d always joke. ‘What other presents do you need?’

  And then, eventually, it was Lucy who did for her. She called in her lunch break, as any caring best friend would, to check she was okay, to check she’d stayed firm. To check she hadn’t ‘caved in, like you know you always do, in the face of his pathetic floral offerings’.

  It might have been the words she’d used. It might have been the looming court case. But, either way, when Leanne found her later, after Lucy’d left, and between clients, she was sobbing her heart out in the back room.

  And of course, Vicky told her what had happened.

  ‘The fucking tart,’ was Leanne’s considered opinion of Lacey. Then she shook her head. ‘So that’ll mean we’re an apprentice short again, won’t it? I doubt she’ll show her face again here, will she?’ She grinned, and clapped Vicky on the back while she snivelled. ‘Still,’ she added, ‘you can do lots of overtime, can’t you? You’ll have a bit of time on your hands after all …’

  She grinned at Vicky. ‘That’s a joke. To make you laugh. You dozy mare! But seriously, Vic, you want my honest opinion?’

  Vicky nodded.

  ‘Well – and don’t hate me, but if the poor sod’s being carted off to the nick in the morning, shouldn’t you at least give him the benefit of the doubt? He’s clearly sorry. Bloody hell – and that’s my kind of sorry!’ Vicky had already told her about the roses. ‘And he obviously loves you. Why else would he go to such lengths? And it’s not like you have to do anything other than listen. That’s what I’d do,’ she finished, crossing her arms across her chest. ‘Though chance would be a fine thing, of course.’

  So Vicky did give him the benefit of the doubt, even though there had never been any, when he arrived at the salon ten minutes before closing, exactly as she’d always known he would.

  And there was a certain power in being so desperately needed, so she not only listened, she let him take her back to his house where – his mam and dad being up to their elbows in flour down at the bakery – she allowed him to apologise, and apologise, and apologise, and then, because no one understood him like she did, she allowed him to make love to her, as only he could.

  And forgave him, as only she would.

  But that night of passion ten days back, though she’d love it to have been so, had not been the one that had resulted in this fairy-tale conception. She knew it hadn’t. Well, it might have, but that was academic now anyway. She’d known she might be pregnant for a good three or four weeks before that, because she’d already missed one period and the next one hadn’t happened yet, hence the realisation. And the purchase of the test.

  She’d still kept her fingers crossed, of course, and a part of her, albeit a tiny one, had still believed she might not be. Not just because Paddy was always so careful, but also because she knew periods didn’t always happen when they were supposed to. Specially when you’d not been having them that long. Her mam’s didn’t settle down till her twenties, she’d said. God, her mam. Having to tell her mam she was pregnant … She couldn’t even think about that right now.

  Then there was Lucy. Lucy’s periods were all over the place and always had been. She never knew when to expect them, and she missed them loads, too. It had gone on so long that she was even under the doctor about it. They were trying her on the pill now – about which Vicky had been pretty jealous – just to see if they could get them sorted out.

  God, how she wished she could talk to Lucy about it. But she couldn’t – well, couldn’t have up to now, at any rate, since she’d decided not to tell Lucy about her reconciliation with Paddy. What would be the point in getting her all cross again, after all? Because the following morning (they’d said their goodbyes that night) he’d been sent to Armley Prison, as promised. And Gurdy had since reported (Gurdy had been at the magistrates’ court, giving evidence) that he was expected to serve nine of the eighteen-month sentence he’d been given.

  Nine whole months. The time it took to make a baby. Which was apparently already growing inside her. Vicky wiped the stick with some loo roll and shoved it in her handbag.

  She felt sick. Though she now had a reason for all that. But most of all, heady, intoxicated, strangely brave.

  Now she would have to tell Lucy. It felt like a relief.

  There was a client already in and having a hood dryer lowered over her rollers when Vicky flew in. Leanne looked across, her expression first one of predictable irritability – Vicky was rarely late, but with only the two of them in the salon today, Leanne was obviously cross.

  Her expression changed though, seeing Vicky’s flushed cheeks and addled expression. ‘You alright, love?’ she asked. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Lee,’ she said, yanking off her jacket and hanging it on the hook. ‘I’ll make it up, I promise. I’ll work through my lunch.’

  Leanne gave her client, one of their elderly regulars, a copy of The Lady to read while she waited for her curls to set. ‘And I’ll bring you a cuppa and a custard cream,’ she shouted to her, over the noise of the hood. She then nodded at Vicky. ‘Come on, you,’ she said, heading towards the back room. ‘You’re looking terrible. You sure you don’t want me to give the boss a ring? Sure he can get one of the Saturday girls to come in and help me if you want to go home again.’

  Leanne’s kindness made Vicky feel tearful. Was that how it was going to be now? Because that was what pregnancy hormones did to you, wasn’t it? Made you emotional an
d faint, made your boobs hurt, made you nauseous, made you burst into tears for no reason. God, how she needed to tell someone. But it should be Paddy first, surely? He had the right to know first, didn’t he? Then Lucy, no question. But she was just so full up with it all.

  Full to bursting. She shook her head. ‘I’m okay,’ she said, ‘Just been a rush today. Better after a coffee though.’ She added a third mug to the two Leanne had already put out.

  ‘You don’t look okay,’ Leanne said, scrutinising her minutely. ‘You sure you’re not going down with something?’ She put a hand to Vicky’s forehead. ‘Are you feeling hot?’

  It was such a sweetly maternal thing to do – not that she’d ever had much of that – that tears instantly welled in Vicky’s eyes.

  ‘Hey, Vic, what? What is it?’ Leanne said, putting both arms around her. ‘What’s happened?’

  Vicky couldn’t stop herself. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re what?’ Leanne let her go and inspected her again. Then pulled her close again. ‘Oh, shit, Vic. Bloody hell. No wonder you look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost!’

  She let her go again. ‘You just found out? Jesus – how far are you gone? Does Paddy know?’

  ‘He has no idea. I’ve literally only just done the test.’ She reached for her bag and pulled the stick out. ‘That’s why I was late.’

  ‘Shit,’ Leanne said again, perching on one of the chairs. ‘Christ, Vic.’ She frowned. ‘Christ, what will your mam say?’

  Vicky didn’t give a shit what her mam might have to say. That maternal boat had long since sailed. She said so.

  ‘But what about Paddy?’ Leanne said. ‘I mean, are you even going to tell him? I mean, under the circumstances …’ She stood up again, to fill the kettle. ‘I mean, have you even decided what you’re going to do?’

  Vicky was confused. ‘What do you mean, what I’m going to do? Do about what?’

  Leanne blinked at her. ‘Well, you aren’t thinking about keeping it, are you? Shit, you are, aren’t you?’ she said, presumably reading Vicky’s expression. ‘Fuck’s sake, Vic – really? God, you’re too young! Seriously,’ she added, ‘you have to think about this, Vicky. Who knows where you’ll be … what you’ll be doing … who you’ll be with … It’s odds-on you won’t be with Paddy, that’s for sure. And what then?’ She spread her hands. ‘Who’ll want you with a kid as part of the package?’

  Vicky was more stunned than she’d been when the blue line had begun appearing against the white. The thought of getting rid of it had never even occurred to her. Should it have? No. She couldn’t even countenance such a thing. ‘Of course I’m going to keep it,’ she said. ‘I’m a Catholic, for one thing. And for another, it’s Paddy’s, and as far as I’m concerned, we are going to be together. Why wouldn’t we be? Christ, Leanne, I’d never abort his baby!’

  Leanne shook her head, then sighed. Then patted her arm. ‘Alright, calm down.’

  ‘I am calm.’

  ‘And, look, I didn’t mean anything by it – just, well, you know, I didn’t realise you felt like that, honest I didn’t. I mean, you know, what with him going to prison and that. D’you think he’ll feel the same though? D’you think he’ll actually want the baby?’

  Which was a question Vicky hadn’t even allowed herself to think about. She stuck her chin out. ‘Of course he will,’ she said.

  Chapter 12

  Vicky wished she’d had the foresight to get some travel sickness pills. The journey from Bradford Interchange to Leeds wasn’t only interminable, it was like sitting on the axle of a go-kart, as the bus wheezed and strained its way to Leeds. Not that it was hilly, or particularly windy – just stop-start, stop-start, in the endless traffic. The thought of doing this every fortnight weighed heavily.

  And she wouldn’t even be there when it reached its destination, either. She still had to find a taxi to take her the rest of the way to the prison.

  ‘Best way,’ Gurdy had told her. ‘Or you’ll be faffing about with another load of buses. And it won’t cost you much. It’s only a couple of miles or so from there.’

  He’d spoken with great authority – authority he really didn’t have. Or, at least, shouldn’t have. Since when did Gurdy know all about this stuff? Vicky knew he’d asked around for her – he’d said as much, sweetly. He’d been so anxious to help her out – had even offered to go with her, even though she knew that, at least this time, she must go alone. But it niggled at her that dear, sweet, good Gurdy seemed to have such ready access to the sort of information she required.

  It sometimes felt, lately, that she was being sucked into a world she wanted no part of. Or, rather, catapulted – headlong. It had all happened so quickly. It was one thing to turn a blind eye to whatever ‘business’ Paddy got up to (something – as Lucy had always been quick to point out – that she’d been managing to do nicely these past couple of years), but here she was, on a bus bound for another, distant city – a city which housed the prison in which her boyfriend was now incarcerated. Her boyfriend, the convict. Her boyfriend, who had a record. And now she – and she couldn’t help but cradle her still barely visible bump with her hands – had become a prison visitor.

  They’d stretched out on Paddy’s bed that last night before the trial, both looking up at the ceiling, Paddy drawing on a cigarette, defiant to the last, in the face of his mother’s fury when she came into his bedroom the following morning and could smell he’d been smoking in there.

  ‘Why should I care?’ he’d said, flicking ash into the ashtray which was nestled among his chest hairs. ‘I’ll be out of here, won’t I? And they’ll fucking disown me anyway.’ They since had, pretty much. ‘So it’s you and me, kiddo,’ he’d told her tenderly. ‘You and me against the world.’

  They were words that she’d clung to while she’d cried into her pillow every night since. Him, her and their baby, against the world.

  And he’d explained everything to her, carefully, as if to a child. That, once he’d arrived in the nick, he had to apply to the governor for something called a VO, which apparently stood for visiting order. That he’d be allowed two a month (unlike Gurdy, who’d needed to ask, Paddy knew exactly how prison worked), and that since his ‘lousy fucking parents’ obviously wouldn’t want one, he’d request both for her, which meant she could go and visit him once a fortnight. ‘Keep an eye on what you’re up to,’ he’d said then, teasing her, running a proprietorial hand over her naked breasts. ‘Make sure you’re not getting up to anything you shouldn’t be.’

  And Vicky had laughed then – as if – feeling secure in his embrace, all thoughts of him snogging the likes of bloody Lacey, or any other random slapper, spirited away. So she’d sought to reassure him – both in word and, for another languid hour, in deed.

  And when it could no longer be in any doubt that she was carrying his baby, she had felt a welling of something approaching joy. No, it wasn’t the best timing. Yes, she was obviously far too young. No, she wasn’t sure how he’d react – he had a lot on his plate, didn’t he? And, yes – yes, of course she was scared. But she was carrying Paddy’s child. Which meant she was carrying a part of him inside her. Which, since he had been taken from her, felt exactly as it should be.

  Or would seem so, once the small matter of her telling him about the baby had been dealt with. She’d pretty much decided now that she wouldn’t. Had decided that almost as soon as she’d spoken to Leanne, in fact. After all, she should wait till it was properly confirmed, shouldn’t she? By the blood test she was going to get down the doctors this coming week. Though, in reality, she knew she was simply looking for reasons to put it off, because it was such a momentous thing she had to do. She rehearsed it constantly in her head – how she’d broach it, the way she’d look, the exact words she’d say to him. But every time, she stalled at the next bit of the conversation, because she simply had no idea how he’d react. Having a child together wasn’t something they’d discussed, ever. Not even in jest. Not lik
e Lucy had with Jimmy, who apparently talked about such things all the time. Well, so Lucy said. She only had her word for it.

  But her and Paddy, never. So it was uncharted territory. He might be in raptures or he might go apoplectic – even if (and she told herself this constantly, to reassure herself) he would, without question, come round in the end.

  And strangely, so strangely, the one other person she had told had reacted in a totally unexpected way. She’d expected Lucy (who she’d rushed to tell, feeling guilty she’d told Leanne first) to rail at her, fume at her, drag all sorts of Paddy-avoidance promises from her. Yet she hadn’t. She’d gone misty-eyed. Lucy! It had been surreal. Her friend had even cried with her, seemingly overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. It was like being braced for a whack by her mam and not getting it – all her emotional muscles had been stiff with disbelief.

  ‘Of course you must keep it,’ Lucy had told her. ‘It’s your child. Doesn’t matter that it’s his’ – this word being hissed, so no change of heart there – ‘it’s your child. How could you possibly even consider getting rid of it? Be rid of him, yes, but, never, never, your baby. How’d you know this isn’t your one shot at being a mum? How could you know?’

  And when Vicky had pointed out that she’d never once considered getting rid of it, even if her mam kicked her out on the street, that had been when Lucy had spilled all those tears. ‘And I’ll support you, you know that, don’t you?’ she’d promised. ‘Sod your mam – I’ll support you. Money. Time. Anything you need. Blood sisters, remember? I’ll help you look after it. Her … him.’ She’d wiped her tears away then. ‘I wonder what you’ll be having?’ her eyes all shiny.

  And they’d hugged and they’d hugged and it had all been so lovely (not to mention reassuring) but still all so weird.

  Vicky gazed out of the bus window now, trying to breathe through the constant waves of nausea, seeing the leaves turning on the trees and the fields and hedgerows slowly greying – almost as if to match the city looming darkly ahead. And she was struck by the thought that by the time Paddy was returned to her, the winter would have come and gone and it would once again be spring. And she’d have had her baby. There was absolutely no doubt about that now. There couldn’t be. Nine months minimum, the solicitor had said. And the baby due in about seven. The baby Paddy didn’t even know existed.