Scarlet Stiletto - the Second Cut

by Phyllis King

  For some reason I didn’t. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened as mystery woman sang a mystery lullaby to mystery baby. But still the baby bleated, and still I listened. Now I was intrigued. What would she do next? What would I do? What I did was will the woman to feed the baby. From my perspective, it was clearly a hungry cry.

  Suddenly the howling baby was joined by the sounds of classical music. The baby cried on and on and I decided to switch off the monitor. There was no way I could sleep listening to this, so I’d just have to rely on hearing Anna if she did cry out.

  Then I realised that the monitor had two bands. I switched the monitor to band B but heard only static. Mentally kicking myself I realised that the monitor receiver in Anna’s room also needed to be changed. I wasn’t about to go back upstairs again so it would have to wait until morning.

  I decided to quickly click the monitor back to band A, and then turn it off. With my hand on the off switch I heard the baby, the classical music, the cooing mother and then another player.

  ‘Shut the fuckin’ baby up, give it to him,’ boomed a deep and nasty male voice.

  Oh shit.

  There were some muffled noises and the baby’s crying crescendo was joined by the sobbing of its mother.

  Oh shit, shit, what had I just heard? I turned off the monitor, wishing I’d done it sooner. Where were they, these people who had invaded my bedroom?

  Agitated, I shook Andrew who murmured and then rolled away from me falling straight back to sleep.

  I switched the monitor back on, the baby’s crying was slowing, as was the mother’s. Whatever had happened they were beginning to calm down. So I turned the silly white box off again and lay down in bed.

  My mind was filled with nasty black images and the sounds of women and babies threatened by deep-voiced men. I willed myself to think of nice things - yellow fluffy ducklings and warm places in the sun. When this failed, I gave up trying to sleep and ran upstairs and checked on Anna who was still sleeping soundly. I went to the toilet and sat there for a few minutes planning a course of action. I have, on and off through my life, suffered from sleep problems, a little genetic gift from my father. So I knew this was not a wise act as I did it.

  The microwave clock blinked that it was 2.25 am as I grabbed a bag of jelly snakes from the kitchen cupboard and waited for the kettle to boil. I quickly made a cup of hot chocolate and once more descended the stairs. I pulled my pillows up high and nestled into them. By the bedside light I found my book. Strangely the mix of sugar from the jelly snakes, warmth from the hot chocolate and the book calmed me. Once I clicked on the baby monitor and heard only classical music. Mercifully there was no crying.

  Next thing I was aware of was a familiar cry from Anna upstairs. Andrew was getting up.

  ‘Why is there a bag of snakes in the bed?’ he asked.

  Normally I’m quite perky in the mornings, but the previous night’s episode had robbed me of half my eight hours ‘must have’ sleep quota. So my response was a guttural grunt.

  Andrew accepted this without question and bounded upstairs to Anna. Bless his cotton socks. This gave me a few extra minutes to lie still and rehash the evening’s events. I leaned over and flicked on the monitor. Nothing.

  Over coffee and toast, I told Andrew what had happened.

  ‘Pearl, come on, are you sure you weren’t letting your crazy imagination get out of control?’ he asked.

  ‘Something happened and the baby and Mum cried, that’s a fact,’ I replied, angry that he didn’t share my concern.

  ‘There are a million things that could have happened. Maybe the Mum stubbed her toe, or tripped over a box of books, or spilt a cup of coffee.’

  ‘The man said, ‘Shut the fuckin baby up’. That doesn’t seem a little odd to you?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe he was really tired or had just got sacked, I don’t know.’ Raising an eyebrow, I stared at Andrew.

  ‘You know, I can’t think of a single scenario where you would say that, which wasn’t followed by me screaming like a banshee and telling you to go fuck yourself.’

  ‘True, but not all people are as civilised as you and I.’ Andrew conceded, getting up to leave for work, ‘Besides, you don’t even know where this mystery family lives.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll find out all right, don’t you worry about that.’ I said.

  Anna and I did lots of walking. I liked getting out and she liked sitting in her pram smiling at old people. It worked well for us both and I had all day.

  So after our usual trip to the shops, we took a stroll around the block, paying special attention to the residences opposite and either side of ours.

  That baby had to be around here somewhere. Why not mark out say a fifty metre grid and systematically check out all houses for any signs of abused women and babies. Where was the harm in that?

  Of course I would need a cunning ruse to see what lay behind each door. I surprised myself by effortlessly weaving a heartrending tale about losing a blanket while walking Anna that morning. But this was not just any old bunny rug, this was a family heirloom, hand crocheted by my grandmother when she was pregnant and my grandfather was in the army. Passed down to my mother and then to me on the occasion of the birth of my first child.

  I did feel a little pang of guilt when we were invited in for a cup of tea by an elderly Russian lady who had not seen the blanket, but offered to crochet another one to replace it.

  I met a man called George. He had a mop of shaggy black curls. Oddly, half of one of his thick black eye brows was sober white. George told me that while he had not seen the blanket he shared the little dude’s pain, and would keep an eye out for it. He asked me in for a cup of coffee and a biscuit, but I politely declined as I had stopped eating George’s kind of biscuits about nine and a half months before Anna was born.

  Anna was looking tired by the time I finally approached the house directly opposite us and knocked on the door.

  Then two things happened at the same time. Anna did an enormous projectile vomit that sprayed my crotch and as I yelled ‘Crap!’ the door opened.

  I turned and looked up to see a small dark-haired lady holding a very young baby. A swearing stranger was clearly not what she was expecting when she opened her front door.

  Not knowing what to do, I said ‘Crap!’ again and reached down for the cloth nappy I keep under the pram to deal with the myriad of things that need wiping up when there is a baby around. Fortunately, Anna was not at all fussed that she had just projected half a litre of thick milk all over her mother’s crotch. The lady looked at us and smiled.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she said. Her voice was soft with a slight accent, perhaps eastern European.

  ‘Sorry,’ I stammered, ‘I was asking if anyone had found my daughter’s baby blanket on the street. We lost it this morning, but now she has just been sick everywhere.’

  The lady laughed softly and said, ‘That I can see. I have not seen a blanket, but you must come in and clean up. I know how it is,’ she said looking down at the infant in her arms.

  Now I should have explained that I lived just across the road, thanked her for the offer and said I could be home in minutes. But this was looking very promising. Perhaps this was my mystery mother and baby. Chances were pretty good as this house would be well within range for our baby monitor. And there did seem to be something familiar about the sound of the lady’s voice..

  She held the door open so I said thanks, picked Anna up from her pram and crossed the threshold. I glanced back, and noticed that although I could see our windows above the karaoke shop opposite, I couldn’t see anything inside.

  I pulled the door shut behind me and followed the lady down a narrow hall. The house was well maintained with homely touches like fresh-cut flowers on a sideboard. I counted four doors opening off the right of the hall before we came into a combined kitchen and living area. It was stylish and well renovated. The back of the house was mostly glass opening onto a neat landscaped garden and beyond that
a brick garage that must be accessed from the side street.

  I tend to divide the world into two distinct financial groups: people with more money than me, and people with less. The occupants of this house clearly fell into the former.

  ‘I’ll get you something to wipe that up,’ said my hostess.

  Looking at the ease with which she held her tiny little baby, it made me realise how much Anna had grown. I was exerting a lot more energy to hold my little bundle of joy. The strain must have been starting to show.

  ‘Put her down and you can use the bathroom,’ said the lady.

  As the vomit was now cooling on the crotch of my jeans I wasn’t about to argue. The only thing worse than milk vomit, is cold milk vomit. Again I wondered at the volume that had been propelled out of such a little body. About the only useful thing my battle-axe of a maternal child health nurse had told me was not to worry about projectile vomiting. She said that it just looks like a great volume because of the distance it is projected. To prove her point, she suggested taking just one cup of milk and throwing it across the kitchen to see how far it spread. Much to Andrew’s amusement, I had tested her theory, and she was right, it does go a long way.

  On my return from the bathroom I asked, ‘How old is your little one?’ The baby looked like a girl to me, but dressed in white I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to cause offence. ‘Little one’ is my fall back position.

  ‘He is ten weeks old,’ she replied.

  ‘Is he a good baby?’ I asked, because that is what you do.

  As I looked at this stranger, her face fell and she lost her composure, leaving her looking pale and exposed. Tears welled in her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks. Her body shuddered slightly as she began to sob. For a moment I stood awkwardly, and then I put my arm around her and started murmuring that it would be all right.

  I had no idea what she was upset about, but at the same time I knew exactly what the problem was. I still remembered the rawness of sleepless nights and the fear that accompanied the early weeks with Anna.

  As she started to calm down, she stammered ‘I am sorry. It is hard for me. He will not sleep, he will not take the bottle and I am so tired.’ I directed her to the couch and sat down beside her. Anna looked at us quizzically.

  ‘I’m Pearl by the way, and that is my daughter Anna. She is six months old,’ I said, extending my hand.

  ‘My name is Karin, and this is John.’ She looked so sad.

  ‘May I hold him?’ I asked. She handed the infant across and I think I saw a flicker of relief. The baby felt like a feather in my arms. And while he was not asleep he looked groggy, as though he had only just woken up.

  Karin started talking. She told me how she had met her husband on the internet. She was from Romania and, after six months of messaging every day, Alex had come to visit her. He stayed for two weeks and they got to know each other. When Alex returned to Melbourne, Karin discovered that she was pregnant. Alex was happy with the news and started making plans for Karin to join him.

  So three months ago, she had left her family, her home country and arrived heavily pregnant. They had been married at the registry office, with two of Alex’s work colleagues as witnesses. He was estranged from his family and had not even told them about the wedding. No wonder Karin was struggling. Having a baby was hard enough without all the rest. Karin said that Alex had become paranoid and jealous of the time she spent with John.

  I kept looking down at the baby in my arms. He didn’t look right. He seemed to silently fuss, although his light body felt like a dead weight. I had this growing sense that something was wrong. Like maybe he had been sharing George’s biscuits. For her part, Karin seemed more animated as she played with Anna. I tried to reassure her that in no time at all, even though it didn’t feel like it, John would be sitting up on his own, smiling and gurgling at her.

  Anna started to grizzle, and I knew that I had to go. Karin and John were looking very promising for mystery mother and baby. And I was having trouble taking everything in. I explained that I really needed to be getting Anna home for her nap.

  I should have said that we lived just over the road and we could catch up soon. But something stopped me. I’ve always put a lot of faith in my gut feelings, and my gut was telling me to hold back now. Karin seemed reluctant for us to leave as we said goodbye on her doorstep.

  We enter our house from the back lane, so even if she was watching, Karin wouldn’t know how close we lived. Once we were inside, I gave Anna a quick breast feed before finally putting her down for a nap. I made myself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table in the lounge room.

  I should have been doing the breakfast dishes, or folding some washing, but instead I sat and felt haunted by the image of a groggy infant. What was wrong with the boy? Was he the crying baby from last night? Why hadn’t I paid more attention to Karin’s appearance? While I hadn’t seen any black eyes, I did know that she was deeply unhappy.

  I was still thinking about Karin and her baby as I headed to bed that night. Andrew had fallen asleep with the bedside light on and his book still in his hands. I jumped in beside him and gently removed the book from his hands. As soon as I turned off the light, he woke up and claimed that he was still reading, before immediately falling back to sleep. I turned on the baby monitor and then snuggled down to sleep.

  A crying noise from the monitor woke me a couple of hours later. I jumped out of bed and raced up the stairs, strangely hoping it would be Anna crying this time. But it wasn’t. Her room was quiet and Anna was breathing deeply and evenly.

  I headed back downstairs with a feeling of dread. Was this going to be a repeat of last night’s drama? When I got back into the bedroom, the cry was still emanating from the monitor and Andrew was propped up on one elbow looking at it.

  ‘Is Anna OK?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s not her, she’s asleep.’ I replied and he shrugged, rolled over and was immediately asleep. His concern for babies at night clearly did not extend past his own.

  I, on the other hand, felt tormented. I lay still and listened again as the scenario played out almost exactly as it had the night before. This time however, I had confirmation.

  This time the evil man voice said, ‘Karin, for Christ’s sake, shut that baby up, make him drink it.’

  Drink what, I wondered. At least I knew for sure who mystery mother and baby were. But what now?

  By the time the morning sun seeped through our bedroom window, I had a plan. I had slept a little, but my brain had been whizzing away. Some of my very best ideas have come to me overnight. I was confident that I had a course of action. It would involve an old boyfriend and the St Kilda Police. I had already decided not to discuss it with Andrew, who I was pretty sure would not approve.

  Anna and I waved Andrew off to work and then took a walk to the shops. While Anna had her afternoon nap, I made a quick call to my old friend.

  Ben had gone to high school with me in Ararat. We had gone out together for a couple of years, splitting when he moved to Melbourne to go to the police academy. During our twenties we had occasionally hooked up when we were at a loose end. Ben thought this would keep happening and we would end up together when he was finally ready to commit. Alas, that was not to be. I met Andrew and we married a year later. Ben came to our wedding and wished us well, although I got the feeling he wished me a little ‘weller’ than he wished Andrew. The two men had seen each other occasionally since then, and they were coolly reserved.

  After I announced myself, Ben groaned and said, ‘Hey Pearl, I’m on night shift and trying to sleep. So unless you have seen the error of your ways and you’re going to leave Andypoos for me, I’m going back to sleep.’ Well that already answered one of my questions.

  ‘How is work going?’ I asked. Ben had just recently transferred to St Kilda police station, making us neighbours although his bachelor pad is in Port Melbourne.

  ‘Work’s good, but sleep would be better, can’t we do this some other time?’
he asked.

  Ignoring his question I ask, ‘If I were to notify you of a possible crime, would you investigate it?’

  ‘Shit, this better not be about the bloke at the Karaoke shop again?’ he moans. That’s another story.

  ‘I’m serious Ben, would you?’

  ‘If I say yes, will you let me sleep?’ he pleads. I take this as agreement and hang up.

  Andrew came home early and took Anna out for a walk. It was a nice surprise and a chance for me to have a lie down. The previous nights had left me exhausted, and if things went according to plan, I had no idea how much sleep I would be getting that night.

  The early part of our evening passed as usual. Andrew was first to bed. I was anxious and preoccupied, staying up watching television, but taking nothing in. I looked in on Anna and sat watching her sleeping. She was so precious and vulnerable. I devoted my life to keeping her safe and loved.