My face felt hot. Why does she want to know? ‘She’s a very hungry baby, so I’m combination-feeding.’
She pretended she didn’t disapprove, but then she went on to tell me how she’d fed both of hers until they were at least six months. ‘The first few weeks are the worst, you know, but if you can get past that, it gets much easier. I remember when I had my Robert . . .’ And she started telling me all about when she was a young mother in the 1970s. It was only when she reached for my hand and said, ‘And how are you feeling in yourself?’ that I realised. Like Adrian, she was trying to catch me out, trying to make it look like I couldn’t cope. I knew what they wanted, all of these people. They wanted Harriet. ‘I’m fine, Diane. Thanks for asking.’ I stood up. ‘Well, I must get on. Nice to see you.’
She looked startled. ‘Oh, right.’ She drained her cup, the loose skin at her throat wobbling like a chicken’s, and then said, ‘I was hoping for a peep at the little one.’ Her eyes roved around the room as if I’d hidden Harriet in a drawer somewhere.
‘She’s sleeping. I don’t want to disturb her.’
‘I won’t disturb her, love. I just wanted a quick look. I haven’t seen her since just after you came home.’
She was lying. ‘You saw her the other day,’ I said. ‘We bumped into you as you were coming back from the shops.’
I saw by her expression that she knew she’d been caught out. ‘Oh, yes, but she was all bundled up in that little puffy suit, so I couldn’t see her face.’
‘Well, like I said, I need to get on now, so maybe another time.’ I made to open the back door. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if she didn’t leave, but there was no way she was getting her hands on Harriet.
‘Right you are, love.’ She looked at me strangely, but eventually got to her feet, thank God. Just before she stepped outside, she put her hand on my arm. ‘Having a baby can make you go a bit funny sometimes, you know. Probably down to hormones, and not having enough sleep. If you ever feel like that, if it gets too much in any way, I’m only next door, remember.’ She gave my arm a squeeze. ‘You’ve only got to shout and I’ll come over, or you could bring her to me. I’ll have her whenever you like.’
‘Thank you.’ I tried to sound normal, as if I hadn’t guessed what she was up to.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
NOW
I barely take in the destination, because what I respond to is the first part of the announcement: the train about to depart . . . ‘Come on, Ollie.’ I try to turn the anxiety in my voice to excitement. ‘That’s our train – let’s have a race to see who can get up the stairs first. Ready, steady, go!’ That works – laughing, he bounds up the stairs as fast as his little legs will allow. ‘Okay, now we need to run straight along here to the next lot of stairs, and then down to the platform, ready?’
He nods and we run at about the same speed, because hurrying up the stairs has set my back off, so I couldn’t run any faster even if I didn’t have a small child to consider. As we hurry down the steps I can see the rail staff spaced along the platform, one holding a large paddle and one about to blow his whistle. ‘Hurry up, love.’ He holds up his hand to signal to the others. Pain shoots up my spine as I lift Ollie over the gap and onto the train. The second we’re on board the door slams behind me, I hear the whistle and the train begins to move.
The pain has silenced me temporarily but I keep a reassuring hand on Ollie’s shoulder, steadying him as we try to make our way through the packed carriage. Ollie looks up at me, plainly alarmed by the number of adult bodies surrounding him and the threat of being squashed. ‘Come on.’ I reach down. ‘Let me give you a carry.’ He holds his arms out and I lift him, causing such a surge of pain in my back that I actually cry out. Ollie looks terrified. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. My back’s hurting a bit, that’s all.’ I can feel the sweat break out on my forehead. Ollie is clinging to me, people are shoving at me, trying to get past although there are clearly no free seats. The pain has triggered a wave of nausea, and just as I think I might faint, a girl with pink and purple hair stands up and takes out her earphones. ‘Excuse me,’ she says in a cultured voice. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
‘Thank you.’ I could weep with gratitude. ‘Thank you so much.’ As we settle in the window seat she’s given up, the girl beams a smile at Ollie, who smiles shyly back, then buries his face in my neck.
Now he’s not in danger of being crushed, Ollie starts to enjoy the novelty of being on a train. ‘Look!’ he says, pointing out of the window as he spots things of interest in people’s back gardens – a trampoline, two motorbikes, a dog playing with a football. Then, as the gardens give way to fields and hills, he asks, ‘Is Mummy coming on the train?’
‘No, I don’t think so. We’ll probably see Mummy later, when we get there.’ He looks uneasy. He’s picked up on the hesitation in my voice. ‘And if we don’t see her when we get there, we’ll see her tomorrow.’
‘Am I sleeping over?’ he says, animated again.
‘Yes, but not at my house this time. We’re going to a hotel. Have you ever been to a hotel before?’
His face drops again. ‘Where is Hotel?’
‘There are lots of hotels, but we’ll find a nice one when we get there.’ Wherever ‘there’ turns out to be. I still have no idea where this train is going. At that moment, there’s an announcement: Please have your tickets ready, as a full ticket inspection will be commencing shortly. Several people laugh out loud. The girl who gave us her seat says ‘Good luck with that’, and there’s a general muttering about how this train is always the same, and it’s disgusting, and it wouldn’t be legal to transport cattle like this. Ollie perks up a little with all this camaraderie, especially when the pink-haired girl smiles at him again.
The first announcement is quickly followed by another, saying that due to this service being very busy today, there won’t be a ticket inspection after all. The next station, the guard says, will be Stockport, and after that, Manchester Piccadilly and Manchester Airport. What are you doing, Cornelia? The voice sounds so clear and real that I look up. I flick my head. I have abducted a child, and I’m on a train hurtling away from his mother.
‘Leah, will Mummy come when we’re at Hotel?’
I turn my face to the window and lean it briefly against the cool glass. The darkening sky is an ominous greyish-blue, making the pretty countryside that’s flashing past seem bleak and gloomy. ‘I . . . I’m not sure, Ollie. We’ll phone her when we get there, shall we?’
He seems satisfied with that. It buys me time, at least. By now, Cassie’ll know that I collected him. I slip my hand into my bag and unlock my phone. Three missed calls. She’ll probably drive straight over to the house, which could take anything from ten minutes to half an hour, depending on traffic. I zip up my bag and smile at Ollie. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘A tiny small little bit.’ He’s cautious, but his face lights up when I produce a packet of Quavers and a Freddo Frog. Cass never lets him have sweets or chocolate before his tea, but why deny him? It’s such a small thing. I open the Quavers and hand him the pack. He immediately picks one out and offers it to me.
‘No thanks, Ollie, but you’re a good boy for sharing.’
While he’s eating his crisps, I try to think. Stockport? Or stay on until Manchester? Stockport’s first, and I had a boyfriend who lived there when I was a student, so I vaguely remember my way around. We could stay there tonight, find a Travelodge or a B&B, and then I can plan where to go tomorrow. I’d better get some cash out . . . Shit! I should have done that in Sheffield. But at least if we’re moving on tomorrow . . . Ollie is struggling to open his Freddo Frog. I open it for him, aware that my hands are sweating and clammy. I can feel the sweat pricking my underarms, and as I hand him the chocolate, I realise I’m breathing quite rapidly. Ollie twists round to look at me, his mouth surrounded by orange crumbs from the Quavers. ‘Leah, why have you got a sad face?’
‘I’m . . . I’ve got a bit of a tummy ache, that’s all.
’ An all-purpose explanation I know he’ll accept. Cassie told me once that if Ollie was feeling anything from actual tummy ache to tiredness, grumpiness or real unhappiness, he was likely to say he had a tummy ache.
‘I’ve got tummy ache, too,’ he says now, handing me the half-eaten Freddo and slumping back against my chest. ‘I wish Mummy was here.’
‘I know, sweetheart.’ What are you doing, Cornelia? That voice in my head again. This is not your child. His mother will be out of her mind with worry. It’s unsettling because it doesn’t feel like my own voice. Maybe it’s my conscience. I’m holding him with one arm, but now I slip the other arm around him and give him what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. He relaxes against me for a while, but soon he sits forward again and says, in his best ‘I’m-being-a-good-boy’ voice, ‘Leah, please can we phone Mummy now?’
There’s a lump in my throat the size of a walnut. ‘Ollie, sweetheart . . .’ My voice sounds scratchy and dry, and I can hear my own anxiety running beneath the words. ‘I don’t think Mummy will be able to answer her phone at the moment. She’s probably driving.’
‘In a minute, then?’
‘Yes, okay. In a minute.’ Perhaps he’ll forget if I distract him. ‘Look, Ollie, can you see the sheep?’ He sits back against me and looks out of the window. We’re hurtling through the Hope valley, and there are sheep dotted about in the patchwork of fields stretching up the hillside. Ollie just nods, and I rest my cheek against his head, feeling the silkiness of his hair and recognising the faint scent of Johnson’s baby shampoo. I lift my head so I can admire the thick, dark hair and the little whorl at the back, the same as Adrian’s. The same as Harriet’s.
This is not your child, the voice says again. He can never be your child, and he cannot replace your lost babies. No, of course he can’t replace Harriet, or Thomas, but I can love him. I have so much love left over and I can pour it all into him. Cassie’s bound to have a baby with Luke, then poor Ollie will be left out. He shouldn’t have to make do with a share of his mother’s love. I’m doing the right thing; I can give him so much more.
‘Leah, why are you crying?’
His voice isn’t particularly loud, but I’m aware of other passengers right next to us. ‘I’m not crying, sweetie. I’ve got a bit of a cold, that’s all.’ I try to smile, but I’m not sure it works. He looks worried, and to my horror, his bottom lip starts to tremble and his eyes fill with glistening tears. ‘I want to go home.’ His face crumples. I try to give him a cuddle but he pulls away from me and it’s as though I’ve been punched in the gut. ‘I’m sorry, baby. Please don’t cry. Tell you what, how about if we send Mummy a text, then when she isn’t driving she can call us back?’
He stops crying instantly and his face brightens. ‘Okay. Then can I talk to her?’
‘When she calls back, yes.’ I pull out my phone, check it’s still on silent. Twelve missed calls, two voicemails and a text. I open the text first. Where r u? School said you picked O up, but I’m at yours now & yr not here??
I type, Ollie is fine. Safe and well. Be in touch later. ‘There,’ I say. ‘We’ll send that, and we’ll talk to her soon, okay?’
‘In how many minutes?’
‘Ollie, please. I don’t know.’ I see his bottom lip come out again. ‘Sorry.’ I kiss the top of his head and give him another hug. ‘I’m not cross, just tired, that’s all. Now sit quietly like a good boy while I listen to these messages, okay?’
‘Okay.’ He nods gravely and does as he’s told.
I press the phone tightly against my ear so Ollie can’t hear. First new message, received today at three thirty-two: ‘Leah, it’s Cass. Miss Taylor says you’ve picked Ollie up today. I was a bit surprised because I don’t remember asking you to collect him. Anyway, I’m just on my way to yours now. See you in a bit.’
She’s worried, but she’s trying not to sound worried.
Second new message, received today at three fifty-one: ‘Leah, can you call me the minute you get this, please? I’m outside your house and you’re clearly not here.’ This time, she’s not bothering to disguise her fear. She sounds on the verge of panic and I feel a stab of guilt. Poor Cass. Still, she’ll see the text next time she picks up her phone.
‘I can’t see your car anywhere. I’m getting a bit concerned now, because I didn’t know you were picking Ollie up. I expect you’ve driven him home to mine, or maybe you’ve gone somewhere for a treat. Can you call me, please, Leah. Just let me know where you are and I’ll come and get him, okay? Thanks.’ End of messages.
As I’m putting my phone back in my bag, Cass’s name flashes up on the screen. I could answer it, tell her I’m taking Ollie on a train for a treat, apologise for worrying her. We could just get off, go home and it would all be over. My finger hovers over the answer button.
But then I’d be back to square one, facing a life alone in that house with only the cat for company. I glance down at Ollie, patiently waiting as he was told to, gazing out of the window until he can speak to his mother. I feel guilty again, because he trusts me and I’ve misled him. But he’s bound to forget soon enough. He’s not yet four, and young children forget and move on quickly, don’t they? I remember spending quite a bit of time with my Auntie Gail – my dad’s sister – when I was little, but she moved to Spain when I was six, and sixteen years later, when she came to my graduation, I didn’t even recognise her. On the other hand, I can remember having a mum, even if I don’t remember much about her. Although Ollie’s quite a bit younger, so maybe . . . But can I risk it? Just because you don’t remember something doesn’t mean you’re not damaged by it.
Another voicemail. ‘Leah, for God’s sake, where are you?’ Cassie sounds different now; frightened, but still holding onto her control. ‘You need to bring him home, Leah, right now. Wherever you are, just turn around and come back. I . . . I’m not angry, but you need to check with me before you take Ollie out for the afternoon. Okay? So just come back now, and there’s no harm done.’
There’s a definite wobble in Cassie’s voice this time. Turn around and come back. So she assumes I’m driving. Has she called the police yet? Even if she has, she’s unlikely to remember my registration number, so they’ll waste a bit of time tracing that. It might not take long to find the car, though – I should have disguised the number plates.
My mind keeps leaping into the future – finding somewhere to live, a school for Ollie. That’ll have to be a priority. But what about when he asks for his mum? What if there’s a television appeal, and someone recognises him? I slip my arm around his shoulder again, and as he turns to look at me, I remember that last day, the certainty that they were all working together, all conspiring against me – Adrian, the health visitor, the neighbours – and my fervent belief that they were coming for Harriet, that after all the loss I’d already suffered, they were coming to take my precious, uniquely gifted daughter.
CHAPTER FIFTY
THEN
It was almost ten, and Adrian was still in the study on the phone. I could hear the murmuring through the walls but I couldn’t make out what he was saying or who he was talking to. I popped my head round the door. He was between calls, standing at the window with his back to me. ‘Aren’t you going in to work today?’
He turned, startled. ‘Not until eleven, and then only briefly for that meeting. I told you – I’ve arranged to work from home for a while. Just until you’re . . . so I can help you with Harriet a bit more.’
I nodded, aware that I should be pleased. A few weeks ago I’d have jumped at this, but now it didn’t feel right. I used to think it was good that Adrian wanted to be more involved with childcare, but that was before I realised that he didn’t understand her needs, not the way I did. He didn’t even like me taking her out in the woods, but I wanted to take her there more often, not less. I’d begun to feel certain that we belonged there, Harriet and me – outside, among the trees. Everything inside the house felt wrong. Too big or too bright. When I looked at the kitchen
table, it seemed enormous. I knew it hadn’t changed size, but I felt dwarfed by it. And if I looked at the white tiles on the wall behind the worktop, I had to screw my eyes up so they didn’t dazzle me with their bright whiteness.
When Adrian finally left the house, I listened for the sound of his car pulling out of the drive, and when it didn’t come, I went upstairs and peered out of the window. There he was, standing in next door’s porchway, talking to Diane, no doubt asking her to spy on me again. After a few minutes, he got in his car and drove off. I went back down to the kitchen and when the doorbell rang, I ignored it, assuming it would be Diane. I glanced at the moses basket, but Harriet was still asleep. It rang twice more, and that was when it occurred to me that Diane usually came round the back, through the garden. I opened the kitchen door and looked along the hallway to the front door. I could see the shape through the glass. It wasn’t Diane, but I couldn’t think of anyone I wanted to see, so I stayed still, hoping the bell hadn’t woken Harriet.
When the figure finally moved away, I nipped quickly up the stairs so I could look out of the window. There was a red car parked on the drive, and I recognised the woman as one of the health visitors from the centre. Thank goodness I hadn’t opened the door. I watched as she leaned on the roof of her car to write something. Then she tore off a sheet, folded it and dropped it through the letter box before getting back in her car and driving away.
I went down and picked the note up from the mat. Called today 11.30 as arranged, but appears no one at home. Please contact the centre urgently to arrange further appointment (six-week check, mum and baby now two weeks overdue). And it was signed Christine Cooper, Health Visitor.
I screwed the note up and threw it in the kitchen bin. As arranged – I hadn’t arranged any visit. It must have been Adrian. Thank goodness Harriet had warned me about this sort of thing – I could so easily have let that woman in. I was in awe of my clever daughter and her ability to communicate with me. At first I thought this was what mothers meant when they talked about a special bond, but this was different: Harriet and I had been specially granted this ability to communicate so that I could help her. They said all babies were born wise, didn’t they? I’d noticed it in Harriet the moment she was born. But we adults swept away that wisdom. Within a few weeks they became vulnerable, innocent, helpless, and they had to start all over again, learning through mistakes and misery. The more I thought about it, the more puzzled I became. Why didn’t other mothers try to stop this from happening? How could they bear to see their toddlers humiliated day in, day out? Laughed at because they’d misunderstood something, or they’d fallen over, or used the wrong word while they were learning to talk? All because the wisdom they were born with is destroyed in those first few weeks and their mothers do nothing to stop it.
The Flight of Cornelia Blackwood Page 25
