by Judy Astley
Madeleine, Kitty suddenly realized, was having a very intense stare at Ben, as if slowly working out what he might be doing there. Kitty looked from one to the other. There were similarities. They had the same blue-grey eyes, wide open with well-curled lashes, giving them both a look of slightly infantile wonder. She hadn’t really noticed that about Madeleine before, probably because the girl, pre-Oliver, had mostly tried to keep up a defensive scowl.
‘So. Who are you exactly?’ she asked Ben, direct and challenging.
‘I’m . . . er . . .’ Ben licked dry lips and looked at Kitty.
‘Ben is, was, your father,’ she said simply.
Madeleine grinned. ‘Ah. Less a father, more a sperm donor.’ Kitty could sense Ben wincing. Madeleine was undeniably right though, Ben’s input had really been no more than that.
‘I’m sorry, it’s the only way I can think of you.’ Madeleine sounded apologetic. ‘Because Kitty told me you didn’t know I existed. I suppose she must have told you today or yesterday.’ She turned to Kitty. ‘Did you get him to come, specially? I mean if you did, that’s really, well . . .’
‘Good or bad?’ George sat on the arm of the sofa and played with her hair. ‘Just say it, Mads.’
‘I don’t know. It’s like if you did get him to come, then maybe you thought I’d be pleased, like he was a present or something. But,’ she smiled and reached out, stroking her baby’s arm, ‘really it’s too late now. I don’t care any more who I was, or whose. This is the only person who feels real to me now. I’m going to get it right for him, whatever cock-ups you lot managed in the making of me, and then handing me out.’
Later, after Ben and his Porsche had gone (and wouldn’t he need something bigger to drive two giant poodles around in?) Kitty wondered how much Madeleine would have wanted or not wanted to find her if she’d already given birth to Oliver. ‘She may not have been over-interested in Ben, but surely mothers are different, aren’t they Glyn?’ she said as she leaned on the greenhouse staging and watched him pricking out the baby tomato plants. ‘Surely she’d still have wanted to find me, maybe even more than before.’
Glyn scooped compost into five pots at once, a dextrous knack that made him feel he was on his way to being a real gardener. ‘Don’t pick at it Kitty, there’s no point in speculating what she’d have done. Surely it’s enough that she actually did find you.’ He grinned. ‘You can’t have expected her to be more impressed with Ben, after all she hasn’t mentioned her own baby’s father apart from that once. I expect she sees all men as simple sperm donors, with as much use or personality as pond life.’
‘Apart from George. I just hope she stays in touch. Once her mother comes and takes her home . . .’
‘Is that what you think will happen?’ Glyn put the pots down and grinned at her. ‘You haven’t been paying attention really, have you Kit?’
Lily felt better after she’d cleaned the salt marks off the carpet. The house was just about normal again, now that Ben had gone and Madeleine and the baby had gone across to the barn. All that was left to show things were different was the big patch of blank wood floor in the sitting-room where the cream rug had been. The rug was wrapped in bin bags and destined for the local tip, and Glyn had said something about getting one specially made by a local weaver.
Lily was hungry again and the feeling was no longer a threat to be fought off. She’d got it all wrong before. Being so intent on being in control of her body, she knew she’d let the fight with food take control of her mind. No wonder Fergus on the bus had worried about her. In his clumsy, blokey adolescent way he’d just been telling her, with that taunt about her tits, that he was scared of her getting so thin, perhaps even scared she’d end up like that furry girl who nearly died. He’d be quite good-looking when he got a bit taller. She’d give him six months, see what he looked like then.
Paula Murray did not have vivid copper hair or a body toned from determined Slimnastics. A grubby purple Rover pulled up in the yard just before dark and Kitty, her insides churning with nerves, found herself greeting a small cube-shaped woman with striped grey and white hair that reminded her of mattress ticking.
‘Thanks for taking care of her,’ Paula said. ‘I mean it can’t be easy for you . . .’ Her husky voice was trembly and she avoided looking straight at Kitty.
‘No it’s fine. Really – and the baby’s lovely. Come and see him.’ It was what Paula was there for, Kitty told herself, to meet her grandson and to take her daughter home. Madeleine was more than grown-up now, this really wasn’t a second giving-away of her child. There were choices involved.
‘Mum! You got here fast!’ Madeleine’s hug swamped Paula. Kitty stood back by the door with George and waited to feel sure of what she should do. Good manners would decree she should leave them alone together, simple instinctive curiosity and a feeling that she should hang onto all these moments told her to stay where she was.
‘So let me see this baby then. What have you called him?’
‘Oliver.’ Madeleine picked up the dozing bundle from the Moses basket and handed him to Paula.
‘Oliver. After your father.’ She sniffed, and Kitty could see a teary smile. ‘He’d be so happy.’
‘We’re keeping him, Mum,’ Madeleine said quietly.
‘What? Oh of course we are darling.’ She rocked the baby gently and smiled at Kitty. ‘It’ll be dark soon, so I thought if we just make a move right now, we can stop off for something to eat on the way back and then get home.’
‘You could stay the night, or a few days . . .’ Kitty felt panicked, she knew Madeleine would be going, but surely there had to be a few more hours for her to get used to the idea. It was, she suddenly, realized, exactly like giving her away all over again. She wanted to bolt the doors, keep them all there, kill Paula if she had to.
‘You have to let them go, Kitty.’ Glyn, arriving silently behind her, put his arm round her, holding down her terror. ‘After all, it doesn’t have to be for ever this time.’
‘That’s right,’ Paula said comfortably. ‘And it’s a special bond, isn’t it, being with someone when they give birth.’
‘Madeleine was with me when I gave birth, I still lost her.’ Kitty felt fierce. She hugged her arms round her and leaned hard against Glyn.
Madeleine frowned. ‘Look, do you two mind not fighting over me? I mean it’s a bit late now. And right now I’m not going anywhere, not till George does anyway.’ She reached out and took Paula’s hand, then said more quietly, ‘No offence Mum, but me and Oliver are going to live with George in London. I’ve been a daughter for long enough and if I’m going to see what it’s like to be a mother, then I have to do it my own way.’
‘You’re going to live with . . . him?’ Paula looked at George, confused. ‘So is he . . .?’
Madeleine laughed. ‘No he’s not the father.’
‘He’s old enough to be yours,’ Paula said tartly.
‘Oh Mum, so what? This is what I want.’
‘Twenty-four years just went like a flash. You don’t get to hang onto your children for long, do you?’ Paula said as she climbed back into her car after breakfast the next morning. Kitty thought it was possibly the most staggeringly tactless thing Paula could have said to her, but let it pass. She understood what she meant. If she’d learned nothing else since Madeleine had turned up, she now understood how irrelevant was the idea of ‘possession’ when it came to children. They weren’t anyone’s really, just small, young, people aiming at independence. Having them grow up and stand on their own feet and then go off and leave you was what you got for being a good parent. Maybe it felt just as bad, worse, to have to hand over your child after twenty-four years as it did after only a few days. She wouldn’t know till it was Lily and Petroc’s turn to go. But that wouldn’t be for a while yet.
THE END
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