Blood Ties

by Sam Hayes

  ‘We’ll have a feast tonight then.’ I squeal with delight and Ruby spits up all her milk on the duvet nest so I get another one down from the rack.

  I make an early supper of crackers with Spam and lettuce followed by a nice crunchy carrot. Then I start on the sugar cubes and whisky and then I sleep for hours with Ruby curled up beside me. Really, she is a very good baby.

  I had to leave in the end. I folded up the sicky duvets and put the pillows back in their place and fiddled about with the trolley so it looked untouched but after two nights in the cleaners’ store, I reckoned it was only a matter of time before I got caught.

  On the first morning, after my Spam-fest, I woke feeling quite ill. I tidied up the room and lingered the day away in the shopping mall. I spent a few quid on maternity pads and a cup of hot chocolate and agonised over a vacant pushchair left outside the ladies’ loo. I would have had it, too, if she hadn’t come back so quickly.

  Then, in the evening, I did exactly the same as I had the night before. We even had another shower. Curled up in the storeroom, I dreamed of finding us a nice house and a job where I earned hundreds of pounds a week. Then we left without a trace because no one’s luck lasts that long.

  So now we’re trekking along the icy verge, thumbing a lift to London. I know we’re near the motorway because I can hear the rumble of traffic. A couple of cars slow down and the drivers stare at me but they don’t stop. A van goes by and a hundred yards up ahead I see its brake lights flash on and off, like he’s not sure whether to stop. But he does and once again I’m running with Ruby wedged in my left arm and the sports bag bumping against my back. My throat is burning from the cold.

  ‘Where you going, love?’ He’s blond and messy, probably a builder.

  ‘London,’ I pant, leaning on the passenger door.

  ‘I can take you up the road to the motorway junction but that’s all. It’ll get you a couple of miles closer.’ Builder-man grins, exposing horrible teeth that are the same colour as the flashes of yellow in his hair. But he seems nice so we climb in beside him. His van is warm and smells of oil and coffee.

  ‘What’s a young girl like you doing hitching a ride so early on a Monday morning?’ He drives on, glancing at me a couple of times, his sly grin telling me that he doesn’t really care but wouldn’t mind knowing anyway.

  I stare straight ahead, keeping quiet until I think of what I can tell him. Ruby squeals and squirms on my knee.

  ‘Cute baby,’ he continues. ‘How old?’

  ‘Not very,’ I reply, thankful for the diversion although I can tell he doesn’t really care. Builder-man is humming along to the song on the radio and tapping his fingers on the wheel but he’s obviously been thinking.

  ‘And you’re hitching a lift with a not very old baby?’ The song has ended.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply, picking my nails. I can see the motorway junction up ahead now so I get Ruby locked into position, even though she’s screaming, and gather up my bag. I just want to get out. Builder-man drops me in a lay-by without any more questions. He toots and drives off.

  In the cold, with my toes like fossils and my cheeks stinging from the bitter wind, Ruby and I stand at the head of the motorway slip road. It’s nearly an hour before anyone stops and this time it’s a juggernaut with about a hundred wheels that smoke and wheeze as the great truck comes to a stop.

  ‘London?’ I shout up to the driver and he beckons me in. I virtually need a ladder to get into the cab but the man pulls us up and straps me in. There is a bed up behind the seats. I ask him if he’s going all the way to London although my lips barely work from the cold. The truck driver holds up his hands like he’s stopping traffic.

  ‘Eh, no Engleesh.’ Then he howls with laughter and gets us on our way.

  Two and a half hours later and we’re in North London. We say goodbye to the truck driver at an industrial estate and a man who works in a warehouse gives me directions to the nearest tube station. I’ve always wanted to ride on the Underground and I’m chuffed to bits that I worked it out by myself. We ride the bumpy train to the very heart of the city that’s going to save us.

  We get off at Tottenham Court Road for no particular reason. The weight of Ruby is dragging me down as we walk along the platform and I have cramps in my belly like I’ve burst open. Under all these clothes, I’m sweating and on fire and out of breath and a little dizzy and my heart is banging behind my swollen breast but I keep trudging on, thankful for the escalator that takes us as high as a house back up to ground level. I stand and rest while everyone else rushes past.

  At the top, I slide my ticket through the machine and then feel a bit better as the cold air outside slaps my face. I keep walking although I don’t know where and I can hardly keep hold of my baby because she’s getting so heavy. I have to get away from the crowds and the noise in my head so I go down a side street but it feels like the buildings are crashing down on me and the noise gets worse, as if one of those trains is whooshing between my ears. At the end of the street there are several skips that stink of sour drains and old food. A man in a chef’s uniform comes out of a back door and tosses two black plastic sacks into the waste. He stares at me for a moment as I stagger down the alley, no doubt assuming I’m drunk in charge of a baby. He bangs the door shut.

  Next thing I know, I’m on my back feeling the thud of the ground hit my skull and there’s complete darkness and silence for I don’t know how long.

  Then someone’s prising my eyes open but I can’t see who because there’s a bright light behind them hanging from the ceiling.

  ‘Wake up, wake up now.’

  I sit bolt upright and a pain slices through my head. I search frantically for Ruby.

  ‘Where’s my baby?’ I scream hysterically. I can taste blood. I can taste my own fear.

  SIXTEEN

  Robert sat in his office and leaned back in the swivel chair, propping his feet up on the leather-topped desk. He’d come directly from Louisa’s hotel. In her room he’d drunk coffee, called the office, left a message for Erin on her voicemail and breathed deeply as Louisa emerged from the shower wearing a hotel robe and smelling like oranges. He didn’t want to leave but knew he must. She promised to call in the morning.

  He hadn’t been home since he’d left for Brighton the previous morning, having spent the night in the office. Home and family seemed out of kilter in his mind, as if Baxter King’s revelation had eroded their existence.

  As he sat, unable to work and still in the same clothes he’d worn to Brighton, still wearing the same expression of grim disbelief – his wife had once worked as a cheap hooker – Robert assimilated the information as coldly as if it was a new case placed in front of him. But however he pieced together the facts, he couldn’t escape one grim discovery: Erin had deceived him. Knowing the truth was one thing but he didn’t think he could truly accept it until he had heard it directly from her.

  Wrecked by lack of sleep and too much caffeine, Robert buzzed through to Tanya and told her to put more coffee on to brew. He also requested that she bring the Bowman file through immediately. Distraction was what he needed. He would submerge himself in Jed’s dirty case.

  ‘You look done in, Mr Knight,’ Tanya said when she brought the files. She wore her hair loose today instead of the usual tight ponytail.

  ‘Pulled an all-nighter, Tan.’ Robert’s voice was weary and he knew his stubbly face, messed-up hair and creased clothes were unsettling for her. He smelled too but didn’t care. ‘No calls, no visitors, no disturbances. Understand?’

  Tanya nodded and left.

  ‘And bring me coffee!’

  Robert opened the Bowman file, stared at the first page for ten minutes without reading a word of it and then walked to the window. He rested his forehead against the glass and stared at the street below. He wondered how many of the people he saw going about their everyday lives had problems. None of them looked very cheerful, he thought.

  Then he remembered Mary Bowman, the way she
had sat in his office and sobbed, declaring that she hadn’t enough fight left in her to plead for her children; that she was prepared to let Jed win in court just to end it all, to finally be done with the beatings that she had taken every day of their eleven-year marriage. She confessed to Robert that she had slept with Jed’s brother. It was a one-off, a moment of desperation in an attempt to win comfort and kindness from someone, anyone. A Jed-replacement to provide the love that she’d never had.

  Of course, when Jed had found out he’d beaten his wife to within an inch of her life. He forgave his brother, who in fact gained Jed’s sympathy for being led astray by the sinful Mary Bowman. But one act of kindness from her husband shouldn’t be overlooked. Mary had told Robert, as she ran both hands up her swollen face and massaged her temples, that she had received one loving gift to help her through the blackest period of her life. Jed had given her some medicine, bought from one of his mate’s mates, and told her that if she took it when he said, he would lay off her face. Mary was now completely addicted to Valium. And Jed still didn’t lay off her face.

  Robert spent the next hour trying to figure out how best to represent his foul-mouthed client. However he planned to spin it, to himself or the court, the case left a loathsome taste in his mouth. If he hadn’t actually met Mary Bowman and seen first-hand what Jed got up to behind closed doors, he would have happily persuaded Den to take over the case, flattering the senior partner into handling the file. But Robert felt a strange responsibility towards the woman, similar to how he felt towards Ruby now that he knew the truth about her mother, his wife. He wondered how desperate Erin must have been to turn to prostitution. Worse than Mary Bowman? He shuddered as he thought of his wife in Mary’s shoes and wondered what lead he could offer the defence lawyer to ensure that Jed never got his children.

  Unable to concentrate on anything other than his own problems, Robert left the office and drove to Fresh As A Daisy. As he was inserting coins into a meter across the street from Erin’s shop, he recalled the day when he presented her with her new business.

  It had been a complete surprise to Erin. They’d parked in a similar position and Robert led his new wife across the road with his hands over her eyes. Once outside the small, rundown premises, he handed her a gift-wrapped box, which he insisted she open right there. She hadn’t a clue that the recently closed-down flower business in front of her was now hers. When Erin saw the set of keys, she stared at Robert with a half-smile, the beat of her heart almost audible from the excitement. She looked all around, to check if she was missing something obvious, but then Robert flung his arms wide at the boarded-up premises and shouted, ‘Ta-da!’ Erin was speechless as the knowledge sank in that she finally had her own business – a lifelong dream at the end of an exhausting journey.

  Looking back, Robert realised that there had been a moment of sadness before Erin unlocked the door and stepped inside; a barely detectable thread of hesitation that perhaps, Robert now considered, was because she thought she didn’t deserve such an extravagant wedding gift.

  Robert darted across the busy street and into the heavily scented domain of his wife’s shop. Instantly, he was reminded of Baxter King’s shop in Brighton. It seemed an age since he was there although it was only yesterday. His mind, which struggled to contain the powerful urge to confront his wife in a fit of rage, had morphed time. He felt as if he had flu, his world thick and groggy and filled with dark light, despite the bright day.

  ‘Darling, what a surprise!’ Erin jumped backwards off a small stepladder with a spray canister in her hand. ‘You said you’d be away all day.’ She wrapped her arms around Robert’s neck. ‘Den’s just terrible, making you go to that conference at such short notice. I missed you last night.’ Erin was about to press her mouth to her husband’s but she held back. ‘You need a shower, Mr Knight.’ She grinned, misting Robert’s face with water. ‘Remind me to give you a good scrubbing later.’

  Robert, his body in turmoil, part of it responding to his wife’s attention and part of it replaying Baxter King’s words over and over, strode across the shop, knocking over a bucket of yellow flowers. He was about to slam his hands on the counter but stopped. His body stiff and hunched, he simply stood with his back to Erin. His breaths were quick shots of anger and love. Seeing his wife, having her wrap her arms around him, looking at all that she’d achieved in the shop prevented him, for the moment, from speaking his mind.

  He turned and, as if wearing a mask – the one that perhaps he had always been wearing – he managed a small smile. ‘A shower is just what I need. I feel wrecked.’

  Erin grinned coyly. ‘Just let me bring the buckets in from the pavement then and I’ll shut up shop early.’ She winked at Robert as she dragged the heavy containers indoors. Robert should have helped but he didn’t. Instead, he stared at her lithe body. Underneath the skinny-fit T-shirt, the low-cut jeans and jewelled flip-flops, he saw the lean lines of a beautiful, intelligent, confident woman. It was the body of a prostitute.

  Robert hadn’t wanted to confront Erin at the shop. They would have been interrupted by a string of customers, and honesty, which was what Robert needed, would have been easy for Erin to avoid. His incertitude, as they drove home in separate cars, beat down on him like the desert sun. His head throbbed and his throat was tar-like from too much coffee. He tailgated Erin’s Mazda, blowing out through his teeth in despair as he recalled giving her the personal registration plate as an out-of-the-blue gift.

  ‘It’s your birthday in a couple of weeks,’ he said out loud with both hands locked rigidly on the wheel. ‘What shall I get you, eh?’ He was yelling at the Mazda now, his temples pounding as his blood pressure rose. ‘A bloody red light to stick in the front window?’ He shoved his elbow into the door panel and ground his teeth as the stop-start traffic reluctantly allowed him nearer the truth.

  The house was thankfully cool, which helped to slow his racing pulse. Robert went into the living room, assuming Erin would follow although he realised she had other reasons for closing the shop early. Within seconds he heard the shower running upstairs. Erin called out to him a couple of times but Robert pretended not to hear. He waited for her to finish, then it would happen. He would confront her. Robert wondered how he would ever make love to his wife again.

  ‘Robert, help! Come quickly!’ Erin’s voice was urgent and he wasted no time in taking the stairs in twos and dashing into their en-suite shower room. He didn’t like the way he’d responded without delay and as he stood in the steam-filled bathroom, his brain beat against his skull.

  ‘What is it?’ Robert couldn’t see Erin properly through the steamed-up glass of the shower cubicle although he was aware of a slim figure moving behind the droplets and mist.

  ‘In here,’ she said. ‘Open the door.’

  Robert did as he was told and slid the door aside. Hot water rained out on him and he was faced with his naked wife soaping herself, leaning against the tiles with her head thrown back and her hands between her legs.

  ‘Take your clothes off and get in.’ She giggled as she ran her fingers over her breasts. ‘You’re disgusting. I have to wash you.’ Erin blew him a silent kiss, her blonde hair darkened by the water and slicked to her head.

  Robert squinted through the steam, which only served to make Erin look more beautiful, more mysterious. He realised it was the mystery that had attracted him to her in the first place – her secrecy, her perfect unknown status making her anything he wanted her to be. Erin had always been vague about her past, only ever revealing details when absolutely necessary. Until now, it had never been a problem. Rather it served as bait, teasing and tempting him to spend more and more time with her until he finally felt ready to commit. When they married, Robert felt as if he had set sail on a beautiful yacht and was cutting through the waves to uncharted territory. Each day he spent with Erin tantalised him and he was always left wanting more.

  Standing in the bathroom, he had similar feelings but now he felt he was on a sinkin
g ship in a turbulent ocean. As he watched her playing in the shower, Robert wondered if any amount of soap could make her clean in his eyes.

  Suddenly, Erin reached out of the shower and yanked him by the arm. He lost his balance and stumbled into the cubicle fully clothed. Erin leaned back on the tiles and laughed, water streaming down her face and neck.

  ‘Told you I’d get you clean.’ She giggled, pressing her soapy body against his clothes. ‘Take your shirt off and let me wash your back.’ Erin began to fiddle with the buttons but Robert pushed her hand away and did it himself. He was left with no alternative but to take off his sodden shirt anyway, although being semi-naked in the shower with Erin was not how he had envisaged confronting her.

  ‘Now, now,’ Erin continued. ‘Don’t get stroppy. If you’re going to be a dirty boy then you have to face the consequences. ’ Again that laugh, that sinewy stretch of neck. Robert worked hard to keep his eyes from wandering across the geography of his wife’s body. But his peripheral vision told him that she was as beautiful as ever – gentle curves in all the right places with toned muscles across her shoulders and belly. With the soap coursing down her body and legs, Robert couldn’t help but feel aroused, despite the trouble he held in his head. His body was reacting to Erin one way, while his mind was pulling him quite another.

  ‘There’s something we need to talk about.’ Robert pressed his palms to the tiles, trapping Erin between his arms. ‘It’s serious.’

  Erin giggled again. ‘Talk dirty,’ she ordered, rubbing shower gel over his exposed chest. ‘And don’t even think of being boring right now. Anything serious will have to wait.’ She tilted the shower head so that it doused Robert’s chest and when he was rinsed, she trailed her mouth over his clean skin.