Runaways

by Carolyn McCrae

  “You shouldn’t be drinking.” Charles couldn’t stop Holly grabbing the woman’s arm and shouting at her. “You don’t deserve children. Look at you! Grabbing more wine than you could drink in a month and you’re pregnant. You don’t deserve it! Why are you pregnant again when you don’t deserve one? You’re not looking after it properly! Look at the food you’ve bought it’s all bad for them, for you, for it!” Charles couldn’t stop Holly aiming a fist at the woman’s stomach.

  “Keep off me! You’re mad! Leave me alone! Help!” the woman screamed and people came running.

  “This woman! She attacked me! She’s mad!”

  “I’m not! Holly was screaming. She doesn’t deserve to be pregnant! She shouldn’t be pregnant it’s not fair!”

  Charles put his arm round her and pulled her away. “My wife’s upset. I’m sorry. No harm done. She didn’t actually touch this woman. No harm has been done. Can we go?”

  The manager looked at the tearful woman and her husband and the outraged younger woman holding her young son to her. He made a swift judgement that he hoped was right. “OK you two. Leave now, I’ll take the trolley you can shop elsewhere. I won’t call the police just don’t come back.”

  Charles put his arm round Holly’s shoulders and steered her towards the checkout. He couldn’t help but see her staring at the ‘Parenting’ and ‘Family’ magazines lined up in rows either side of the tills. He manoeuvred her past a woman arguing with her two toddlers who were screaming, bored with shopping.

  He felt helpless in the face of such overwhelming odds.

  “I’m going for a walk. I’ll see you back home.” Holly shook off his arm without waiting for his reply and headed along the street, walking quickly and obviously wanting to be alone. He watched her weave her way through the Saturday crowds worried but unable to do anything for her. He thought she was probably ashamed of what she had done and wanted to be alone. She would come home soon, perhaps she would have controlled her pain by then.

  Holly walked past the prams, push chairs and baby buggies that were ranged outside the shops. It seemed to her that the pavement was completely blocked by vehicles designed to transport babies. The chemist was crowded, people were walking in and out of the shop, all the prams outside were empty.

  The maternity clothes shop wasn’t so crowded. She walked through the doors. Smug mothers-to-be filled the shop, smiling shop assistants seemed to enjoy helping their customers choose the clothes that would see them through their last months of being incomplete. The changing rooms were filled with blooming, happy women, radiant in the knowledge that they had succeeded where she had failed.

  Holly grabbed several hangers from a display and found an empty changing room. She sat in one, pulling the yellow gingham curtain behind her. She sat in the room and rocked backwards and forwards on the bench. She was remembering a time when she had come to this shop and tried on the orange dungarees.

  “Can I help you Madam?” an assistant broke into her thoughts.

  “No. No. I don’t want any of these. They’re too small. Here. Take them.” And she thrust the hangers towards the assistant and squeezed passed her out into the shop.

  She was a very beautiful little girl, a halo of bright yellow hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks. She looked so happy, gurgling with pleasure as she watched the mobile playing in the air above her head.

  She was so beautiful. So perfect.

  Holly watched as she played. It seemed to Holly that there were only the two of them in the world. The little girl gradually lost interest in the mobile and, looking around her, began to cry. She had been abandoned, her mother was nowhere to be seen, she was alone. She was perfect and she was alone, and crying.

  It was perfectly natural for Holly to reach down and pick the little girl from her pram. She had to give comfort. Holly cuddled the baby, amazed at the quiet gurgle of contentment that soon replaced the cries of fear. The baby settled in Holly’s arms as she rocked her, gently ‘shushing’ her and whispering ‘quiet now, everything will be OK’. The contented gurgles continued as Holly gazed down at the perfect face and found her finger enclosed by a perfect tiny fist.

  “Is everything all right madam?” She slowly became aware of the assistant’s gentle voice. “Do you want to come to the rest room? It’s very busy here, your baby may be happier where it’s quieter.”

  Holly didn’t think before answering “No, we’re fine, thank you. I’ll just take her outside for some fresh air.” Holly felt calm and in command as she walked though the open doors into the street, the baby held firmly in her arms.

  It was easy.

  It was wonderful.

  Holly walked through the open doors of the shop and placed the baby in one of the empty prams that lined the pavement outside. She quickly tucked her up in the pale pink cellular blanket and pushed the pram down the street, amazed at the way people smiling, moved out of her way, allowing the pram to pass.

  Everyone smiled at her as she smiled at everyone. She stopped by one pram and talked to the mother, nonsensical comments about the sex and age of their babies, about hair colour changing and whether to use the new disposable nappies or traditional terries.

  She felt she belonged in the world that had rejected her. She had instantly become a member of one of the largest clubs in the world, the club that seemed to be open to everyone, young or old, rich or poor, that seemed so easy for most to join but had been impossible for her.

  She walked confidently on, through the streets and into the park, smiling, content, complete.

  An hour later she was sitting in a shelter on the promenade, the pram by her side, her hand lightly holding onto the handle. She was staring out watching the incoming tide. The baby was still quiet. Every few minutes Holly stood up and checked the blankets, tucking them closely in around the small body. The baby, Holly had begun calling her Mary after her mother, was so trusting. She picked her up and cuddled her but that made her begin to whimper and soon she was crying.

  “Are you hungry my little one? I haven’t got any food for you. I’m so sorry.”

  The cries became more urgent and Holly’s feeling of contentment and happiness disintegrated as she realised she couldn’t help Mary.

  “I’m sorry my little one. Now now, everything will be OK, stop crying Mary please. Stop crying.”

  She pushed her little finger gently into the baby’s mouth and felt the sharp tug of the sucking and the baby was quiet. She was at ease again, she and her baby were content. She began to fall asleep, rocking gently with Mary in her arms.

  “Holly. Holly. Can you hear me? Holly.”

  Charles’s arm was around her shoulders. As she raised her eyes to his the look he saw made his chest contract. For one uncontrolled second he thought that this was his wife, and here was his child. But he knew it wasn’t so and he shook his head to remove the dangerous thoughts from his head.

  “Holly, listen to me. Where did you get the baby? Whose baby is it?” He spoke clearly, trying to get through to her.

  Slowly and unwillingly Holly focussed on his face.

  “Isn’t she beautiful. Her name is Mary.”

  “But where did she come from?”

  “She was alone, she was crying, there wasn’t anyone else.”

  Charles was beginning to realise the enormity of the situation. Holly had stolen someone’s baby. There was undoubtedly a frantic woman somewhere in the town desperate for news.

  “We’ve got to get her back to her mother.”

  Holly, reality dawning, looked at Charles and down at the baby in her arms. “No.”

  “Yes. Holly Yes. The baby is not yours.”

  Holly looked up at her husband, defeated. “It hurts so much.”

  “I know.”

  Charles took the baby and placed her gently in the pram. “Come on Holly, we must go to the police station.”

  As they walked along the promenade amongst the crowds on the warm autumn day she couldn’t help thinking that they must look like a no
rmal happy couple out for a walk with their new baby. But this time she didn’t feel like smiling at any of the people who passed them by.

  “Charles I will not keep baling you and your family out.” Max Fischer was angry. “You must not put me in a position as awkward as this again.”

  “We can only say ‘thank you’ Max. Holly has had such a difficult time. I don’t know what came over her.”

  “Murder I can sort out any day, Charles, as you well know. Theft of babies…”

  “A baby.”

  “… and a pram.”

  “The woman who lost her pram seemed more upset than the one who had lost her baby.”

  “I noticed that.” Max’s voice softened for a moment.

  “The woman whose baby Holly ‘borrowed’ for those few hours seemed to appreciate Holly’s pain.” Charles had been surprised at how understanding she had been. “At least she said that she did. She talked to Holly for a long time saying how she had tried so hard for a baby for so many years and she understood Holly’s need.”

  “She didn’t have to be so understanding.” Max had been surprised as well, but had recognised something in the woman. Her name, Claire McNamara, linked her somehow to Kathleen McNamara, and through her to Arnold Donaldson. He didn’t know the exact relationship but there had to be one and he knew that Mrs McNamara knew of her connection to Charles. He wondered if Charles had recognised that.

  “The holiday we arranged for her and her family in America helped.”

  “And the police seemed to understand why she didn’t want to press charges.”

  “They were very suspicious but seemed happy enough to be able to record it as a genuine error.” Charles had been so relieved that she was going to let Holly come home with him that he hadn’t really questioned why the mother had been so helpful.

  “The woman with the pram was a little more difficult to pacify.” Max felt he had to point that out.

  “She seemed OK about it until she heard the name ‘Donaldson’.”

  “Understandable since she was a Parry.” Max spoke the name with disdain. “I wonder which one, there were so many.”

  Charles thought of the brothers and sisters of Joe Parry, his brother in law, the man who had got Susannah pregnant at the age of 16 with the sole aim of marrying into their family to take advantage of their wealth. He knew Glenda Parry, she was the barmaid at the local pub he spent a few comfortable hours in every week. He did not know the others so well. “She’s married to a Jim Parry though I don’t think they live together any more.”

  Max responded sharply “We need to know in case they try something in the future. I had to buy her off this time, perhaps she won’t be so amenable when she’s had time to think, or time to talk to her family who will, no doubt, see their opportunity for the main chance.”

  Charles realised he had nearly argued with Max and was apparently contrite. “I’m very grateful, Max. We both are.”

  “I should bloody well hope so.”

  As Charles drove the five miles home from the police station he realised he knew he could never understand the extent of Holly’s pain, just as she would never understand the extent of his. He recognised that afternoon as the end of their marriage. They would stay together, he thought, because they had no alternative but they could never be happy together. There would always be this burden of guilt and loss between them. He felt unutterably sad.

  He agreed with his wife.

  Life wasn’t fair.

  When, four months later, Charles had the call from Ted he had known what he had to say. He knew he should ask Holly first but he also knew she would say ‘no’ and that wasn’t the answer he could give.

  Susannah’s children were alone, she had left them, Bill was desperately ill after an accident. What could he do? He had to say ‘yes, of course. I’ll look after the children’. He would just have to talk Holly round.

  “You can’t possibly expect me to look after them.” Charles had had an idea of how negative Holly would be when he first mentioned taking on the children but he was unprepared for the vehemence of her response. “I just don’t believe how insensitive you are. You know how much I want children. You know I can’t have them and so you foist Susannah’s bastards on me. I will not do it.”

  “They aren’t bastards, Holly, they are children. Nothing, none of this, is their fault.”

  She tried to explain to her husband things she thought he should have known. That it was so iniquitous that Susannah had these four children she neither wanted nor loved. That all the wrong people had children. That she was useless and worthless because she couldn’t have any children. That every month, when she had to put up with the misery of her period, she resented every other woman in the world.

  And now he wanted her to take on Susannah’s children.

  And he didn’t see why she couldn’t do it.

  “We’ve got to pick them up tomorrow.” He said as they sat in bed drinking their morning tea, the gulf between them immense. For the first years of their marriage they had cuddled together until the tea was cold, then they had intertwined their feet, his warm, hers always cold. Now they lay as if they were strangers.

  “No.”

  “Look Holly, they have nowhere else to go.”

  Carl had called his half brother the afternoon of Bill’s accident as soon as he realised Susannah had left them. Ted had told him to.

  “I can’t look after them. You and Holly have the space, the time….”

  “Time!” Charles couldn’t stop himself exclaiming. “You think we have the time? We don’t live the life of leisure you obviously imagine.” Charles tried to hold his temper in check.

  “They’re not my children either.” Carl was on the defensive, a rare position in relation to Charles.

  “But you’ve effectively been their step-father for what, nearly six years?”

  Carl didn’t want to admit how little he had had to do with the children since he had taken them and their mother to live with him. He wasn’t going to admit how early in that new relationship he had realised he had made a mistake.

  “It wouldn’t work.” Was all he could say in explanation. “I’ve got to be abroad so much these days.”

  “That’s a feeble excuse Carl, and you know it.”

  How could Carl say how little he cared about Susannah’s children and how much he wanted to be free of all the problems they created? “They need to be back in the north.” He tried another approach. “Their friends are there and they know the area. They’re lost down here.”

  “Even after all this time?”

  “They never settled.”

  Charles had tried to read between the lines of what Carl was saying. He knew they would have grown up a lot since he last knew them. He supposed they must be a bit of a handful now they were in their teenage years.

  “If we didn’t take them what would you do?” Charles asked knowing that they both knew he would eventually say ‘yes’ but that he wasn’t going to make it easy for Carl.

  “I don’t know, Charles, I really don’t know.”

  “You don’t seem very upset about Susannah leaving you.”

  “It wasn’t a surprise.” Was all he said, leaving Charles to draw his own conclusions.

  “We all have to run away at times. I’ve done it, Susannah’s done it, you’re doing it now in your own sort of way.”

  “Will you take them?”

  “We’ll be down on Saturday. Can you cope till then?”

  “I owe you, Charles.”

  “You certainly do. And don’t think I won’t call it in some day.”

  There was so much to do but first Charles had to persuade Holly to take in another woman’s children.

  “No.” Holly was adamant.

  “I’ve said we will.”

  “No.”

  “They have nowhere else to go.”

  “No. I will not do it.”

  “You have to. We have to.”

  “No we don’t. Haven’t
we got enough problems? Not only can’t we stand the sight of each other….”

  “That’s going a bit far isn’t it?”

  She ignored his interruption “… but my grandparents are ill. I’ll have to go over to Canada any time now for goodness knows how long. You’re utterly selfish and mad. You’ve always been stupid about those children, taking on far too much responsibility for them. You think you can be a father to them? You probably can. But I can’t, won’t, be their mother.”

  “I’ve said we’ll have them.”

  “Then you won’t have me. You look after them. You take them on. If they come here I’m going. If they come here you’ll have to look after them yourself.”

  “OK then. I will.”

  Charles faced the evening and the next day without thinking too deeply about what he was doing. He watched as Holly packed two bags and he waited to use the phone while she spent time arranging plane tickets. He phoned Monika to ask for her help. He phoned Ted to discuss how best to tackle the problem of schools. He was desperate when he realised Holly was going to sleep that last night in the spare room.

  When the Teasmaid went off at 6am he had already been awake for an hour, watching the day break and the world come to life. He had spent the time concentrating on practical things – what time they would have to leave, how long would it take to drive to Hemingford Greys, what route should he take, would the car be big enough for them all, how would the rest of their things be brought up, how would the children react to having their lives uprooted again, how could they get Bill into a hospital nearer home. There were so many practical problems to keep his mind occupied that his thoughts were kept away from the knowledge that this was the last morning of his marriage.

  He poured the tea and took a mug in to Holly who was still asleep. He looked down at her remembering the first time he had seen her asleep in bed. She had been in Monika’s bedroom and he had been stunned at the sight of her hair on the pillow, her hand up to her face. She had just left her first husband under traumatic circumstances and had been sedated. How that face had changed in such a short time. The long hair was gone, there were dark areas under her eyes and her forehead was wrinkled by a slight frown. He saw something of what their time together had cost her.