by Vivien Brown
‘It’s Lily’s cross. Real silver. We bought it together, for her christening. The christening that never was, because we’d decided to wait, decided that getting married should come first. The right order. The right thing to do. That’s almost funny now, isn’t it? The thought that Mike was doing what was right.
‘Anyway, I read through his letter again. I looked at the unfamiliar address at the top, the postmark, the fancy foreign stamp. I’d never checked it out on the map, but he was living somewhere in Portugal. All blue skies and golden beaches and glorious sunshine, I’ll bet. And he calls it work! He never got a job like that when he was with me. A glorified bank clerk, that’s all he was, until he tried to move up in the world and she got her claws into him.
‘That just made me even more determined than before. I couldn’t let him do it. Not come and take her off to Brighton, without me. I couldn’t trust him. Not any more. Well, why should I, with his track record? He might have taken her abroad, right then, kept her there, never sent her back. You read about it all the time, don’t you?
‘I’d had the letter for days already, putting off answering it. But it had to be done, before he got back and started knocking at the door. It was actually quite easy once I got started. So the paper wasn’t as posh as his, and the envelope was one of those brown ones that came with the usual junk mail in it, and I’d covered over the franked bit and tried to recycle it. Saves the environment. Saves the cash. God knows, there’s little enough of that these days. The cheques he sends are all still on the shelf over the fireplace, uncashed. We don’t want his money. He only sends it out of guilt anyway.
‘He said, in his letter, that he’d be back in England for two weeks, that he wanted to see Lily, that I could contact him at his mum’s – Geraldine – down in Brighton, but then he’d be here in London to collect her on Monday or Tuesday. That I should have her bag packed. The nerve! Said that he’d have her back with me for her birthday, and maybe we could all spend it together. All. He meant her when he said that. Not just him and Geraldine, but her. That Patsy.
‘I rummaged about in my bag for a stamp, hoping I’d only have second class and he’d have to wait just that bit longer. But, no. First class it was. My last one, as well. At least neither of us would have to prolong the agony any longer than necessary. Best it was all made clear as soon as possible. Much as I would have liked to make him sweat, he needed to be told. She needed to be told. Soon.
‘I wondered why he’d kept it so formal, writing instead of phoning. It was all so businesslike, as if he was ordering something from a catalogue or complaining about his bank charges – as if we’re strangers – but I knew he was writing for a reason. Probably keeping copies of everything, for his solicitor, as some kind of evidence, in case I gave him trouble. Or more likely, he knew I’d hang up on him if he rang.
‘I could have ignored the letter, just like his cheques and his parcels, left it in the pile with the bills, or ripped it to shreds. I would have liked to rip him to shreds, come to think of it. It’s what he deserved. But, no. I had to think strong. Be strong. Protect myself, and Lily. There was nobody else to. It was time to sort this out once and for all. No contact, no access, no bloody Patricia fawning over my child, pretending she likes kids, wanting to play at mummies and daddies, when I knew she cared more about looking after her phoney fingernails than a toddler, and she’d run a mile at the sight of a dirty nappy.
‘So, I did it. Poured it all out onto the paper. All the anger and frustration came rushing out like a flood. Stay away from her. From us. We’re fine. We can manage. We’re better without you, that’s for sure. Fight, and I’ll see you in court. I wasn’t sure about that last bit, if he might see it as a threat, a challenge he had to stand up to. Not that I can afford lawyers. I can hardly afford the bills, or even to top up my mobile. That’s lying dead somewhere, in a drawer in the bedroom, I think. Useless, cheap and nasty thing. Still, I’ve got the landline, at least until the next bill comes and I can’t pay it. Who needs two phones anyway? It’s not as if I’ve got anyone I need to call. Or want to call. Thank God for the benefits system and the power of the bloody steam iron, or we’d be starving by now.
‘But I didn’t want to see him and I didn’t want Lily to see him either. Not if she was going to be there. I remember licking the flap of the envelope, but it wouldn’t stick. Second-hand ones don’t, so I bunged a strip of sticky tape across it. Peeled the stamp from its backing and slopped that on too, a bit wonky, but so what? Not quite the image I’d intended, but it’s what’s inside that matters. My stomach was churning. It is now, just thinking about it. Me saying that to him, just before he left. Those exact words. That it’s what’s inside that matters. That I wanted him to stay, forget her flashy clothes, her posh job and the bulging bank balance that goes with it, her painted-on face. She doesn’t love you. I’d said that too, not knowing if it was true. She doesn’t love you. Not like we do. I may not be glamorous, but it’s what’s on the inside that matters. Kindness, caring, what you feel for your family. It didn’t make any difference though. Didn’t stop him going …
‘It was five to twelve when I’d finished. It had only taken me five minutes. But if I didn’t get it posted it would sit around until Monday and he’d be pacing up and down at his mother’s and getting angry, chasing me for an answer. So I grabbed my plastic mac and Lily’s, and pushed my feet into the nearest pair of battered trainers. The rain was pounding at the windows. I can almost hear it now, it was so heavy, and it obviously wasn’t going to stop. Not in time.
‘I opened Lily’s door and looked at her. She was still fast asleep, snuggled down deep, and she looked so angelic, like one of those cherubs you see on a Christmas card, all chubby like you just want to snuggle her up tight and cuddle her till she pops. There was a picture book that had dropped off the bed, one we’d got from the library, and it was lying open on the rug, and her tiny fingers were clutching at her bear, the tip of his ear all soggy in her mouth.
‘The rain just kept hammering, harder and harder, at the glass, rattling the catch, like someone was banging nails, rat-tat-tat, at super-fast speed, and I knew it wasn’t about to ease off any time soon. I was going to shut her window but it was only open a smidge. She was snuffling in her sleep and I thought the fresh air would do her good. She rolled over onto her side then, towards me, as if she sensed I was there, watching her. Lying there, all warm and soft. And safe. I thought she was safe.
‘The post office is only around the corner. I had three minutes left – if I was lucky – to catch the post before it went, and there just wasn’t time. Time to wake her, get her coat on, carry her down to her buggy in the hall, lug it down the stone steps outside. She’d struggle. She’d cry. She’s always grizzly if she’s woken up before she’s ready.
‘I looked down to the street below, onto the tops of people’s wet heads and the curves of the umbrellas. It was absolutely pouring out there. She’d get drenched, catch a cold. Just having her with me would slow me down. I dropped her coat back down onto a chair and slipped into mine. I remember how I fumbled trying to do up the zip. I’d go by myself. It’d be quicker, easier. I wouldn’t even need a bag, just the keys to get back in. Two minutes. That’s all it would take. I’d let her sleep, and I’d be back so quickly she wouldn’t even know I’d been gone.
‘It was one of those snap decisions, you know? Best for her. Best for me. I mean, what could possibly happen to her, left there in her own bed, for just a few minutes? It never even occurred to me that the worst thing that could happen might happen, but to me, not her.
‘So I did it. I pulled my hood up over my hair, and stuffed the letter into my pocket with the keys and then I ran, as fast as I could, out of the flat, down the stairs and into the street, pulling the front door closed behind me. Leaving her behind.’
Laura had been sitting quietly, just listening, as she’d promised, but now she couldn’t help the sharp intake of her breath as Ruby stopped talking, reached for the be
aker of water next to her bed and took a gulp. ‘And that’s when you got run over?’
‘It must have been. I don’t really remember that part. I just know it was chucking it down with rain. I could hear my trainers sloshing through the puddles, ankle deep, feel the rain splashing up the back of my legs and trickling down my face from my fringe where my hood didn’t quite cover it. There were still people about though. Saturday shoppers. I bumped into someone, a big bloke carrying a bag that must have been a lot heavier than it looked because it gave me a real whack as it thumped against my hip, and it almost threw me off balance. Him too, I think. I heard him shout after me, but I didn’t stop to listen. I knew I didn’t have the time.
‘The postman was already there. He had the front of the box open, so I pulled it out, the letter, and took a last look at it. I think I even spat on it. Can you believe that? Like a final message for the two of them that I wasn’t to be messed with. But he was closing up, the postman, and it was too late to post it through the slot, so I dropped it straight into the top of the open sack. He gave me one of those looks. A sort of “you can’t do that” look. But I already had. And that was that. Done.
‘I stopped for a few seconds to catch my breath, resting against the post box as the postman muttered something I couldn’t hear, but rude probably. I just stood there and let the rain fall on me as he got into his van and drove off. My hair was soaked, my hands, legs, feet. Inside my trainers, my socks felt damp and squishy, and my toes were cold. I felt like one of those drowned rats Geraldine used to talk about every time a speck of rain fell on her perfectly arranged hair. Oh, so what? I thought. What the hell, I’m soaked already. Let it do its worst!
‘The letter was on its way, and I was finally standing up to Mike – no, Michael – and sticking up for myself at last. This was good stuff. A real turning point for me and for Lily. I felt almost proud of myself, in a funny sort of way, but I was crying anyway. Don’t know why, but I was. I do that sometimes, when Lily’s not around to see. I do try to hide it from her, Laura. Honestly, I do. I may not always manage it, but I don’t want her upset. It’s our mess, mine and Mike’s, not hers.
‘Anyway, I started to run again, knowing I had to get back to her. My head must have been down, I think, to keep the rain from hitting my face, and I was watching my own feet, driving through the puddles, sloshing along, listening to their rhythm. My laces had come undone and the ends were brown with filth, flapping behind me, skipping and bouncing off the pavement. I thought maybe I should stop to tie them up, but I just wanted to get home. But then … Then I was in the road, lying on my back, and I had no idea how I’d got there. I must have stepped off the kerb. Right into the path of a car, the police say, but I don’t remember that at all. It hurt though. A lot. I do remember that. Then there were people around me, swirling in and out of the blackness, and a weird buzzing sound everywhere, and someone was screaming, wailing, and I think someone spoke to me, lifted me up …
‘The next thing I knew I was opening my eyes and looking at Lily, all small and fuzzy, as if she was very far away, and everything that had been so black was suddenly bright, bright white. And it wasn’t Saturday any more.’
Laura squeezed her hand. ‘You were here. In the hospital. Safe. You’re okay now, Ruby. You’re on the mend, and doing really well.’
‘Am I? Doing well? I don’t think I am, not with Social Services and the police digging away, trying to make up their minds about me, the girl who abandoned her baby. You don’t think I’m a bad mother, do you? For leaving her? Because I didn’t abandon her. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. It’s not as though I was out clubbing or anything, if that’s what they all think. I only meant to let her sleep, to keep her safe. I was coming right back.’
‘I know you were.’
‘But I shouldn’t have done it, should I? Shouldn’t have left her, even for a few minutes? I do know that now, and if I could go back and change things, I would never do it again. As if some stupid letter was worth what happened to Lily. I’d rather he saw her every day, took her away and looked after her himself, than let anything terrible like that ever happen to her again.’
‘Then that’s what you have to tell them, isn’t it? What you’ve just told me. I think – though you don’t have to listen to me – that you need to stop hating Michael now, stop fighting him, and start working together. For Lily.’
‘I don’t hate him. How could I hate him? It’s her. Patsy. She’s the one I had to keep away from my baby.’
‘But you do know you won’t be able to do that, don’t you? Not if they’re together, and staying that way? Not unless she poses some sort of threat, a danger to children, and she doesn’t, does she? Look, I don’t know her, but is she really that bad? Couldn’t you give her a chance? For Lily. I think if you can do that, Ruby, you’ll be halfway there.’
*
Patsy closed her eyes and felt the familiar lulling motion of the boat. Growing up here, and knowing the area so well, took nothing away from the excitement she still felt every time, when everyone was aboard, the wind was in her hair, and the boat set off across the deep and beautiful lake. Forget aeroplanes. Give her a boat any day!
It was good weather, for the time of year. The recent rain had passed and there was a hint of sun breaking through a widening gap in the clouds. It would be half term soon and then there would be more people about, more bustle. Today the boat was half empty, or half full, depending on how you looked at things, and many of their fellow passengers were wandering the deck, holding hands, chasing after wayward toddlers, pointing binoculars and cameras at the distant shoreline.
‘It’s nice here.’ Michael’s arm was around her shoulders and, although her eyes remained closed, she knew he was gazing out across the water, taking in the sheer beauty of the scenery, as all the tourists did.
‘Just nice?’ she said, sleepily.
‘Fantastic, then. Peaceful. Breathtaking. All those things. You know I’m not that great with words. I’m more of an actions man. I can do a mean line in kissing though.’
She opened her eyes just as his lips landed gently and expertly on hers.
‘do your parents like me, do you think?’ he said, pulling reluctantly away. ‘Have I passed the test?’
‘The chocolate helped! And the offer of the meal. You know how expensive that place is? The menu she showed you had cobwebs on it, it’s so long since they’ve been able to justify the expense of treating themselves. Worth it if it brings her round though. Where Mum leads, Dad will surely follow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn on the charm quite that strongly! For a man who says he’s not great with words …’
‘I do know three words actually.’
‘And what might they be?’
‘I. Love. You.’ He said it slowly, moving his finger over her face, landing it in a different position with each word. Right cheek, left cheek, the tip of her nose.
‘The only ones you need, as far as I’m concerned. I love you too, Michael.’
‘Good. We’ll be okay then, won’t we? Whatever happens next.’
‘With Ruby?’
‘Forget Ruby. I mean with you, Pats. You are going to come back with me, aren’t you? Don’t worry, we don’t have to sleep at the flat. We can get a nice hotel room somewhere nearby for Saturday night.’
‘Just nice?’
He laughed. ‘Fantastic, peaceful … Oh, I can’t remember what I said now, but all of those. With a huge bed and a TV and chocs on the pillow, and everything. We’ll sleep there and then go straight to Lily’s party. It’ll only be a small one. None of us know many people to ask. Just so long as Lily gets her castle and her cake. Mum’s sorting it all out, with her new best friends from downstairs. We’ll take it slowly, carefully, I promise you. I’m not chucking you in feet first, Pats. Just come and meet Lily, be as pleasant as you can to Mum, not that she deserves it, and start to be a part of the family. The doll you showed me … I meant what I said last night. It’s perfect. Mum bought her o
ne in the week. Awful thing that gives everyone the evil eye. Honestly, you wouldn’t want to wake up in the night and see that at the end of your bed! But yours has a nice face. Lily will love it. And she’ll love you too. Just you wait and see …’
*
Laura was still not ready. She’d been late back from her break and had stayed on to make up the time, then missed her usual bus home. Now she was finding it difficult working out what to wear. Rock concerts tended to mean jeans and T-shirts and leather jackets, but it was only a small local venue – more of a pub’s back room from what she could gather – so the usual rules might not apply, and she wanted to look her best. Trickiest of all, she’d never been out with a vicar before. Twin sets and pearls came horribly to mind, but she quickly pushed the image aside.
By the time his car drew up outside she was in her fifth outfit, the previous four scattered over the bed and spilling onto the floor. She imagined it would get quite hot at a rock concert, so she’d settled for a thin lacy jumper and a knee-length twirly skirt, fifties style, with her hair piled up and held with a scarlet clip. If she hadn’t got it right now she never would.
‘You look sensational,’ Paul said as she opened the front door, whipping out a big bunch of white roses from behind his back. Real florist ones, not Tesco’s.
He was in jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket, the very clothes she had dismissed for herself. But, on him, they looked exactly right. And no dog collar. He looked like any regular guy. Not a vicar at all.
‘You don’t look bad yourself, Paul, and thank you, these look lovely. Come in. Just give me a minute to find a vase, and we can be off.’
