Blood Ties

by Sam Hayes

  ‘Dad.’ Ruby giggled. ‘Don’t swear.’

  Robert felt a surge of warmth in his heart whenever she called him Dad, which was rare. Mostly it was Robert. If only he could get through to his wife in the same way.

  Robert ushered Ruby into the car and drove her through the traffic to Greywood College. Before he escorted her inside the imposing building, he said, ‘I’ve got a big surprise for you and your mum tonight. Something that’ll put a smile on your faces.’ He’d do whatever it took.

  ‘Oh Da-ad,’ she said, grinning. She slammed the car door and skipped up the steps of the grand entrance. Robert watched her go, digging his fingernails into his leg, trying to counter the pressure in his throat, wondering exactly how he would tell his wife that he had overruled her. And now he would have to come up with a surprise.

  SIX

  It’s strange but I don’t know how I got pregnant. No, really. You can ask, but I shan’t say. Of course, I know what’s meant to happen when you want a baby although I won’t be telling tales of a boy ever putting his thing inside of me. Mother thinks it was Jimmy, the not very smart kid who lives at the end of our street. Father blames all the boys at my school and wrote to the newspaper damning every male teenager in our neighbourhood.

  The first I knew of it was when my school skirt wouldn’t reach round my waist, when my belly had become so sore and stretched I thought I was becoming a fat person. Mother warned me about being one of those, saying greed was a sin, and took me to Dr Brigson to fetch some diet pills. I went along silently, knowingly, hoping they wouldn’t prise the truth out of me.

  Dr Brigson made me get on his examining couch – without changing the paper cover, I might add, which was all damp and crumpled from the last person. He lifted my sweater and pushed his fingers into my belly so deep that I wanted to cry out. But I daren’t make a fuss. He’d have probably walloped me. He asked me some questions that I wouldn’t answer then he sent me out of his poky, smelly room and whispered to my mother that I was going to have a baby. She slapped me when we got home. My father didn’t look at me for a month.

  It’s Christmas Eve today. All the snow has melted. Some kids from school are hanging out on the pavement below my window. I can see them, their faces all lit up and glowing orange from the flickering street lights. They’ve been going from house to house, singing carols, jangling their collection box, tickles in their tummies because it’s Christmas Eve. My tummy churns but not because it’s Christmas.

  Our house is next in line for carols but they won’t come here. They won’t dare do the Wystrach house but are happy to loiter outside, perhaps to catch a glimpse of me at my window. They want a peek at the girl who got pregnant. The girl who caused the biggest scandal of the decade at Biggin End High. The Year 10 girl who screwed around.

  I draw the curtains to shut them out, to obliterate their happy Christmas, and lie down on my bed to sleep. It helps pass the time.

  Sometimes I dream of how it happened and I wake up panting with a lake of cold sweat on my chest. If I’ve got any treats under the bed, stuff that I’ve smuggled, like Horlicks or sometimes icing sugar, I’ll take comfort in that, perhaps by dipping my finger into the malty powder and sucking it off. Then I’ll have nice dreams, such as the Easter parade at school – the posters made by the junior classes, the bonnets, the tissue-paper chicks, the misshapen chocolate eggs from domestic science class. The school hall filled with the joy of spring, a celebration of new life.

  It might have happened then. I was on the lucky egg stall – a cardboard tray filled with fresh eggs nestling in straw, a couple of them with a happy face drawn underneath. ‘Find the lucky egg,’ I called. ‘Only ten pence a go.’ The prize was a knitted chick in a basket surrounded by sweets. Afterwards, when the teachers were clearing up, when everyone had gone home, a few of us – including Jimmy with his lopsided walk and gormless grin which sometimes caused him to drool – crept into the boiler room. We knew where the caretaker stashed his drink.

  Or it could have been at the PTA disco. Mr Driver liked the look of me, kept asking me if I had a boyfriend yet. Said a pretty girl like me must have a queue of boys wanting to kiss me. ‘Have you kissed a boy yet?’ he said, a bead of saliva at the side of his mouth. I didn’t care for that feeling low down, like I’d sat in hot cherry pie. I slipped away from him but wore his stare for the rest of the disco.

  And I dream of toilet seats, or breast-stroking too close to a boy’s winkle in the pool, or that God has chosen me and mysteriously impregnated me. Maybe aliens from another planet gave me Noel, or Chip, our Labrador, over-amorous, swung his wayward thing too close to my pants. I wish it was any one of those things although it doesn’t matter now. It’s too late for me. I’ll just keep on pretending I don’t know.

  SEVEN

  Robert dialled Louisa’s number three times and each time he snapped his phone shut before it connected.

  . . . Don’t lose touch, Rob. If ever you need anything . . . Her parting words still rang in his head clearly, even though it had been nearly a year since he had last seen her. Yesterday, when he and Den were forcing their way through a few pints at the club, Den had mentioned that she was back in the country for her cousin’s wedding, among other things, and the thought of Louisa’s practical manner and crystal-clear, honest voice had set Robert thinking. Perhaps she could help.

  ‘Hello.’ Same clear tone. Same Louisa. ‘Hello?’

  Robert hung up. Anyway, it was poor reception in the underground car park and she’d probably be far too busy to see him. He took the elevator up to the fourth floor to the offices of Mason & Knight, cradling the handset in his palm as if it was the only link to all things sane. If nothing else, Louisa had always splashed generous helpings of rationale and common sense into his life. She’d taught him to love and trust; taught him to take life each day and worry about tomorrow’s problems when they came. All very sweet, he thought, turning the phone off and slipping it into his inside pocket. All very Louisa.

  Robert reckoned he had fifteen minutes before Jed Bowman showed up for his court brief, if he even bothered to get out of bed. Explaining to the six-foot, anger-fuelled thug that it might not all go his way at the initial hearing was not an appealing task. Not today, anyway. The hearing wasn’t until next week but Robert wanted to get things straight with Jed, ease him into the idea that he mustn’t swear or smoke in court and that he had to wear a suit. He wanted to clarify the case, to make sure that Jed understood exactly what he was attempting to do: to gain custody of his children from his alleged drug-addict wife, not simply to get one over on her.

  The thought of Bowman in a suit made Robert laugh out loud as the elevator pinged its arrival at his floor. He pictured the grimy, nicotine-stained hands protruding from too-short, frayed sleeves, his outdated, narrow tie knotted halfway down his chest. But the lazy no-hoper had been awarded legal aid and it was Robert’s duty to fight his case. These days he always got the bottom of the pile at the two-man firm.

  Robert smelled Jed Bowman before he saw him. Tanya, receptionist at Mason & Knight, jerked her head towards the window and pulled a face, alerting him to the large figure pacing back and forth, a silhouette of dishevelment against the blue sky. The tang of stale clothes, beer and cigarette smoke surrounded Jed in a filthy atmosphere. When he heard Robert’s voice, he turned and scowled.

  ‘’Bout bloody time,’ he said, dropping his dog-end into a half-finished cup of tea. ‘You’re not the only one who’s busy, you know.’

  ‘My apologies,’ Robert replied, ever courteous, ever professional but inwardly cursing the man’s ridiculous timekeeping. ‘Come into my office.’

  ‘I ain’t got long, you know. I have to be back at the site.’ Jed left a trail of pale mud – cement? – as he walked into Robert’s office. He reeked of hatred.

  ‘Site? Have you got a job then?’ It could all change if Jed had steady work, stability and a show of commitment. It would help his case immensely.

  ‘Not exactly
,’ Jed said quickly. His stubby fingers scratched at his half-grown beard, as if he’d revealed too much.

  ‘Of course you haven’t.’ Working for cash, Robert thought, and still claiming benefit and legal aid. Not an ounce of him wanted to get his life in order, to help those kids, to make the court think he was a man of character and devoted to his family. All Jed wanted was to cripple his wife, the woman he had found in bed with his brother. Robert had heard it many times before, each telling of the sordid tale twisted with rage. Jed Bowman was an angry man.

  ‘When did you last see your children, Jed?’ Robert slipped his briefcase under his leather-topped desk, removed his jacket and was reminded briefly of Louisa as he felt the weight of his phone in his pocket. He would get rid of Bowman and call her again.

  ‘Weeks ago. She won’t let me near them.’ Jed removed a packet of cigarettes from his dirty shirt pocket.

  ‘It’s a non-smoking office. This won’t take long. Can you wait?’

  Jed grimaced. ‘If I have to. I just want to get me kids out of that house. She’s got a man there now with a poncy car and proper job.’

  ‘You know for sure?’

  ‘That’s what me neighbours said. Me old neighbours,’ he corrected.

  Robert was surprised at the way Jed Bowman’s face began to slide off the jutting bones beneath. Folds of hair-spattered, sunburnt skin slumped around his forehead and neck, giving him the appearance of an ageing bulldog that had lost its fight.

  ‘I loved her, you know. Truly I did.’

  Robert, compelled by a feeling he couldn’t quite put a label on, opened a cupboard in his desk and removed a cut-glass ashtray that hadn’t been used since he quit the habit himself when he’d married Erin. He couldn’t understand why his need for nicotine hadn’t returned tenfold after the weekend’s events, and seeing Jed’s face regain some elasticity as he spotted the ashtray almost made Robert reach out and cadge one off his client.

  Or was it because of Louisa’s voice? Still the same clear bell.

  Robert went through the file with his client although he wasn’t sure that Jed completely understood the implications if he lost. His witnesses at best were unreliable and all but one had histories of alcohol abuse and drug addiction. Proving that Mary Bowman was an unfit mother for Jed’s two children while their father himself associated with similarly socially challenged individuals would really test his persuasive skills as a lawyer.

  At best, the children would be taken into care. At worst, well, Robert’s gut told him it would be a life with their father, although he hadn’t met Mary Bowman to measure how her parenting skills stacked up. So far he’d only had Jed’s word maligning the woman.

  ‘Nice suit and a bit of a shave, then. Nine o’clock sharp.’ Robert stood, leaned over his desk through a haze of blue smoke and was about to offer his hand – more out of habit than anything else – but withdrew when he saw the filth on his client’s fingers and nails.

  ‘I’ll have to borrow one.’ And Jed left Mason & Knight obviously disgruntled by the prospect of procuring a suit.

  Robert got in the way of his compulsion to pick up the phone again by talking through some files with Tanya until she reminded him that they had already taken care of these matters last week. Then he interrupted a telephone conference in Den’s office. Finally, he returned to his own smoke-tainted office and poured himself a coffee. He switched on his mobile phone and it alerted him to one new voicemail.

  ‘Robert, I can’t believe it! Your number came up although I think reception must have been bad because I couldn’t hear you. Anyway, how are you? It’s been too long. Did you know that I’m back in England for a while? Look, call me back and we should arrange something. That is, if you want to. Maybe you don’t, or can’t or wouldn’t anyway even if you could. You know. Hey, just call me.’

  That was Louisa. Crystal clear.

  He pressed a button to return the call and burnt his lips on his coffee just as she answered.

  ‘Rob?’

  ‘It is,’ he said, unable to help the grin despite his stinging lip. ‘That wouldn’t be Miss Forrest, would it?’ Then he realised his mistake.

  ‘Uh-uh. Wrong number, I’m afraid.’

  ‘How is married life then, Mrs . . .’ he swallowed, not wanting to say the name. ‘Mrs van Holten?’

  ‘Oh, well, since you ask, my dear Mr Knight, married life is simply wonderful.’ Then the giggle, bringing back a thousand years of memories. Not the giggle of a silly teen or frivolous female in her twenties, but the gentle, persuasive laugh of a woman who knew what she wanted in life. Whether she’d got it or not, Robert wasn’t sure. ‘And might I ask the same question of you?’

  ‘My life is simply wonderful, also, Mrs van . . . van Holten. Just as you promised it would be.’ Robert recalled a skim of pain on Louisa’s face, hidden skilfully under a perfect smile, when he’d introduced her to Erin.

  ‘Really? I’m so thrilled, Rob. You deserve it. After everything. ’ A virtually inaudible sigh, perhaps even static on the line.

  ‘You too.’ Robert was suddenly aware that their brief conversation was in danger of becoming maudlin, which might have the effect of bringing it to a premature close. ‘Are you in London?’ He held his breath, knowing the odds were slim.

  ‘Sadly, no, otherwise I’d be knocking on your door and taking you out for lunch.’

  Robert closed his eyes for a beat, thankful Louisa couldn’t see.

  ‘I’m in Somerset at the weekend for a cousin’s wedding and then another few days travelling the country catching up with ageing relatives.’ She sounded weary, he thought. Tired of something.

  ‘When are you going back to Amsterdam?’ Den had already told Robert she was in England for several weeks at least. Apparently he’d heard through an associate who’d used her on occasion, or was currently using her. Robert wasn’t sure. He’d drunk five pints, after all.

  ‘You know me. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to pick up on a bit of work while I was here. I’ve a couple of jobs to do for a Dutch agency so, who knows, it might be a week but could be four.’

  ‘We should catch up.’ Robert held his breath, thought of Erin, wished he’d never called.

  ‘Of course we should. What are you doing this weekend?’

  Robert didn’t reply immediately. Louisa had already said she was attending a wedding in Somerset. Was she inviting him along? Erin and Ruby too? He smiled at the thought. A few days away could be just what they all needed.

  ‘Nothing much although that depends largely on Erin. She’s quite likely to organise a dinner party on a whim.’ Robert laughed to add substance to his lie. Erin was currently far too preoccupied to play hostess. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Why don’t you bundle your family into the car and come up to the country for the weekend? Willem’s flying over for the wedding so we could all, well, meet.’

  ‘And stuff,’ Robert added, knowing that Louisa was thinking it too.

  The idea was left hanging on Robert’s promise to call back once he had spoken to Erin. He hoped his wife would go for the idea. She’d only met Louisa once before their wedding, before Louisa left the country to marry a Dutchman. True, he’d been close to Louisa, she to him, but old flame was not on the list. Besides, the trip filled a needy gap – a break in the country could be the surprise he had promised Ruby and might also sweeten the news that he had to deliver to Erin – that he had taken Ruby to Greywood College.

  Erin came downstairs, having showered and changed, and breezed into the kitchen like a fresh bloom. Despite her bright appearance she was shattered and made a point of regaling Robert with tales of her exhausting day at the shop. Robert handed her a glass of chilled white. The evening was muggy and airless, unusually so for early June.

  ‘And she didn’t turn up until eleven today. I told her, I bloody told her, you’re fired, young lady.’ Erin took her drink and grinned at Robert. ‘You’re wonderful,’ she said. ‘What’s all this for?’ She eyed
the array of ingredients on the worktop, breathed in heavily as unusual smells permeated the kitchen.

  ‘No special occasion. I just fancied cooking.’ Robert wrapped his arms around her, drank in the perfume of her shampoo and crushed her clean body against his day-old shirt. True, he hardly ever cooked and it was a riskily flagrant attempt at getting in her good books before he broke the news. Risky also in that it might not turn out right. He’d got Tanya to search for a recipe on the internet and sent her out to buy the ingredients.

  ‘Ruby seems unusually chirpy. And thanks for letting her come back to your office after school. It makes a change from hanging about at my shop.’

  ‘No bother,’ Robert replied, staring at Erin briefly, wondering if this was the moment to tell her. He chucked a pile of chopped chicken into a searing wok and filled the kitchen with smoke.

  ‘She’s doing her homework, can you believe.’ Erin pulled away from Robert and noticed the crease on his brow. ‘Is something wrong? You don’t seem very pleased that Ruby didn’t get bullied today.’

  ‘Of course I am.’ Robert placed the spatula on the counter, turned down the gas and faced his wife. He planted heavy hands on her shoulders, thought how frail she seemed, and opened his mouth to speak. ‘There’s something—’

  ‘Dad, I need help on a project. The other girls have been doing it for weeks and Miss Draper says I should try to catch up before the end of term and—’

  ‘Your mother and I were just talking, Ruby. I’ll come upstairs and help you in a minute.’

  Ruby looked at her mother then at Robert. It dawned slowly, and her cheeks reddened. ‘Oh,’ she said and retreated from the room.

  ‘Who’s Miss Draper?’ Erin slipped out of her husband’s grip. ‘And what project does Ruby have to catch up on?’ She took a large sip of wine. ‘Rob?’

  Robert turned off the gas completely, accepting that the chicken would ruin, and pulled out a chair for Erin at the kitchen table. She sat, not taking her eyes off him, and he sat too, avoiding her gaze, focusing instead on her slim fingers fidgeting nervously.