by Louise Beech
I’ve sent your favourite dungarees with you. I loved you in those. They were the only clothes sturdy enough to last for all your adventures! And I also sent the stuffed black cat you like so much. It came with a baby called Ben. He never seemed bothered about it, but you were. You walked around with its nose clamped between your teeth!
You’re so very brave. You didn’t even cry when they took you from us, but I did. I always cry a bit when the babies go but I try and wait until they’ve left. I cried as you stared out of the car window and your blue eyes seemed to forgive me. As if you knew I’d have kept you in a flash if I could. I would. God I would. But it doesn’t work like that.
I hope you’re happy wherever you are. I hope they treat you well and warm your milk to room temperature. It upsets you when it’s too cold. I hope Jim passes all that stuff on to whoever has you and I hope he tells them loud, sudden noises scare you and that you like that TV advert for home insurance with the singing phone.
I miss you so very much already.
I’ll never wash your gooey red handprint off my wall.
Love
Maureen xxx
PS – Here’s a page I’ve copied from the Baby Book we did for you. The rest got ruined, I’m afraid, when milk got spilt on it.
MY BABY – A record of your baby’s milestones
Early Developments
Recognises mother at – Not applicable
Recognises father at – Not applicable
Turns head to one side – Birth
Eyes follow moving object – 3 weeks
First smile – 5 weeks
Laughs out loud – 6 weeks
Plays with hands – 10 weeks
Sleeps all night – 3 months
Eats solid food – 4 months
Notices strangers – 2 months
Sits unsupported – 6 months
Crawls – 7 months (like lightning!)
Stands unsupported – 9 months
Walks at – 10 months
Runs at – 11 months
First word – 12 months – said Mo for Maureen and B for Bye.
8
Bernadette
Bernadette glances back at Tower Rise as though she might never see it again, but her view is denied. No residents, so no lights. The building is a shadow. Not like her first sight of it a decade ago when snow brightened every windowsill, tile and archway. An urgent need for work was disguised by December’s white. Christmas lights and tinsel eventually cheered its melancholy corners, until spring revealed the truth – that nothing could save the long-unloved house.
When their furniture finally arrived that first day, and Bernadette and Richard put desks into alcoves and beds into corners, he suggested she bring it to life with her keen eye for colour and charming way of pairing things. She loved his faith in her; yes, she would bring Tower Rise to life for them. She would furnish it with items that hid the damp and enhanced the high ceilings and tall windows.
And one day she would bring it to life the way she really wanted to; with a child.
‘Might take longer,’ says Bob.
‘Sorry – longer?’ Bernadette thinks she must have missed a previous conversation.
‘Longer to get to east Hull. With rush-hour traffic and all.’
Of course – they have only ever travelled when it’s quiet. Conor and Anne live eight miles away. It usually takes twenty minutes to get across town. The first two miles are along the river. Lights twinkle on the opposite shore as though things are so much better there. Bernadette imagines this every time. What lies over the water? What do people in the little villages that line those banks do?
‘I’m concerned about you,’ says Bob, and it touches her. ‘I don’t mean to intrude but we’ve known each other, how long now? A few years. I get a feel for people. You do in this business, with regulars. Barbara in the office said you sounded upset when you called. Not like yourself.’
‘I’m okay,’ says Bernadette. ‘I will be.’ She pauses. ‘Do you think coincidence is more than mere chance?’
The day’s strange occurrences feel linked; two people and one book missing, within hours. She supposes how she met Richard was such a twist of fate, as the tired cliché goes.
Bob chuckles. ‘I don’t know, but my wife would have plenty to say about it. She always says – what is it now – oh, yes: coincidence is the universe’s way of giving you clues that you’re on the right track. Quite spiritual is my Trish.’
Clues. Did Bernadette miss any? Were there signs that Richard wouldn’t come home? She thinks back to that morning. It was just like any other; he couldn’t have guessed from her actions that she planned to leave. If he was aware he didn’t show it as he went about his morning ritual – shower, shave, shirt.
While he was in the half-tiled corner bathroom, added to the flat as an afterthought, Bernadette ironed his white shirt and considered leaving while he was at work. She paused with the iron mid-air as she thought of it. She could write a note and simply go. Leave it on the table where he’d look for his dinner. Steal down the stairs like a refugee, get Bob Fracklehurst to drop her at the train station. Richard would come home and have to vent his frustration at an empty room as she travelled out of his life for good.
Common sense urged her to do the easier thing. But what Conor had said the previous Saturday still rang in her head: it meant she had to tell her husband the truth. Didn’t Richard deserve to hear why she couldn’t stay any longer? Bernadette continued ironing. She would leave with honesty.
Richard had walked back into the living room then, bare-chested and cleanly shaven. ‘Is my shirt ready?’
She studied him, wondering if she would forget him in such detail. No desire stirred now, despite his good skin and a chest covered in golden hair. The physique that once excited her now left her cold; the opaque eyes that only coloured in rage were dim. He was handsome and would probably age well. But she wouldn’t be there to see it. The thought was odd. Picturing a future without him was difficult, if only because she’d always expected him to be there. If Bernadette thought of how he used to bring home a single flower in their early days, she could remember how it felt. How she warmed.
Now, nothing.
Richard was looking at her. ‘Can I have my shirt then?’
‘Yes.’
She stood the iron upright and handed him the crisp garment. He liked it done well, the pleats ironed with precision, the collar stiff. Not displeased, he fastened it before the mirror. He smoothed down his hair in the way she knew he would. Despite the softness of the strands, there was a part that always refused to flatten and today was the same. He wet and combed it in vain.
‘Here, let me,’ she said.
Grunting, he did. She knew he was in an obliging mood as she applied mousse to the rebellious strands and made them respond to her wishes.
‘How do you do it?’ he demanded, talkative for once.
Don’t be nice, she thought. Don’t remind me of the man you can be – just sometimes – because I’ve fallen out of love with the one you mostly are.
‘I can never manage. A woman’s touch, I suppose.’ He went to the computer desk and gathered his things. ‘I’ll be on time tonight,’ he said, unnecessarily.
Was that a clue? Did he state the obvious? In drawing attention to his usual prompt homecoming was he trying to deceive, like a secret book among the others?
‘What will you do today?’ he asked.
Bernadette paused while folding the ironing board. Did he know her intention? He never asked what she did all day.
Then she saw him packing his laptop without a glance her way and knew he hadn’t expected an answer – he was merely making conversation, was not genuinely interested. She didn’t suppose it mattered much to him what she did all day, as long as she was here to greet him on his return. At the start of their marriage she’d done it because she wanted to. Now she did it because it was easier.
Today I will be leaving you, she thought as she watch
ed him search for some elusive item in a drawer. Today I’ll wander this flat for the last time, counting the minutes until you come home, and I tell you that I don’t feel anything anymore. Today I’m going to pack the few things I brought into this marriage. I’m going to wash the pots and do the cleaning and the clothes. I’m going—
‘See you this evening,’ Richard broke into her thoughts.
When he paused before walking to the door and looked into her eyes in a curiously sad way she thought for a strange second he would kiss her mouth. He hasn’t kissed her like a lover for a long time. But he turned and left, his sweet odour lingering on the air afterwards. Relieved, she watched him open the door with hands that could be as cruel as they were graceful. The clink concluding his exit was the last thing to mark that he’d ever been there. It echoed inside her head for some time. She stood with the ironing board at her side for ten minutes.
So what were the clues? His good mood? Letting her tame his hair? The almost kiss? He thought of kissing her, she’s sure. He studied her longer than usual. Why? And where the hell is he tonight?
‘I don’t know if I believe in it though,’ says Bob.
‘In what?’ Bernadette jumps.
‘The universe and all that. Signs.’
They are in the city centre now. Late-night shopping has the pavements still busy. Some stores are already advertising Christmas bargains. It’s not even been Hull Fair yet – the annual travelling fairground that visits the city for a week in October – but already displays of Santa and elves warn shoppers of their imminence. The world seems to want to get everywhere faster.
‘Is it trouble at home?’ Bob asks. ‘Tell me if I’m being nosy. Tell me to bugger off. I’ll hum and you can daydream.’
He never asks much about her marriage. He knows how long they’ve been together and he said once that he thought he knew Richard, asked was he Richard Shaw from Simpletek Solutions? Bernadette said yes. Bob said he’d built a computer system for the taxi firm years ago. Good system – never let them down. He’d left his card and a few of the lads had used him again, for home computers and such. Bob said he was a bit of a brusque so-and-so but who cares if the work is good?
‘I’m leaving him,’ says Bernadette suddenly. The words jump out like they’re escaping a burning house. She regrets the statement and is glad she said it at the same time.
‘Tonight?’ asks Bob kindly. ‘Without anything?’
‘I had bags ready. But something happened. It’s complicated.’
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘Oh no,’ says Bernadette. ‘Not tonight. I mean – not in the way you mean. No, he’s not violent. I mean, not all the time. Hardly. Only once really.’
‘Once is enough,’ says Bob, gently.
‘I know,’ says Bernadette. ‘But that isn’t…’
‘My daughter had a chap once,’ says Bob. ‘He hit her a few times – it was her fault, she said. She antagonised him, she said. But there’s never an excuse.’ Bob pauses. ‘Sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t go on. Are you okay?’
Bernadette nods.
‘I only saw him last week,’ says Bob.
‘You did?’ This surprises Bernadette. ‘Richard?’
‘Saturday it was. Did a bit of a guvvy job for me. My lad’s laptop was stuck on this stupid screen. Clicked and clicked but nowt happened. Anyway I called the number on the card Richard left us and he said he wasn’t working and he could pop over there and then because he happened to be in the area.’
‘Which area?’ Bernadette is confused. Richard works on a Saturday, always has. He leaves a little later than on a weekday, just after nine-thirty, but otherwise his routine never wavers.
‘Greatfield Estate,’ says Bob.
This is nowhere near Richard’s office. Perhaps he went at lunchtime. Perhaps he’d gone with colleagues for lunch in a different part of town than usual and so when Bob called he was in the area.
‘Was it lunchtime?’ asks Bernadette.
‘No, early. I was off to football, so he came at ten-thirty. Seemed glad of the cash. Brought his sister.’ Bob slows to allow a gang of kids to cross the road; they jeer and wave beer cans at him. They are only five minutes away from Anne’s house now.
Richard doesn’t have a sister. The city’s shops and theatres and pubs have morphed into council estate houses and Boozebuster off-licences and working men’s clubs. Richard doesn’t have a sister.
‘Are you sure?’ Bernadette asks.
‘About what?’
‘The sister.’
Bob looks like he realises he’s said something not quite right. He sucks in his lips and frowns. Then he opens the window and rummages for a cigarette. ‘I’m sure that’s what he said. Sorry if I’ve put my foot in it. He said she was staying for the weekend. I did think they looked nothing like each other. It’s odd, but you look more like him than she did.’
It was a common observance. Richard said when they met that Bernadette reminded him of his mother. Most women would likely find this an insult – and Richard’s mother was certainly not ideal – but Richard meant physically. He said Bernadette’s coppery hair and white-unless-embarrassed skin were just like his mum’s – girlish, innocent and fresh.
‘He doesn’t have a sister, does he?’ says Bob softly.
Bernadette doesn’t speak.
They are near Anne’s street. Teens gather at the chip shop on the corner. What on earth was Richard doing with another woman? Who is she? A colleague? It’s confusion not jealousy that fuels the questions. Does this woman have something to do with his not coming home? Does Bernadette feel better or worse for this new information? Might it be easier if he loves someone else?
Smoke from Bob’s cigarette snakes through the half-open car window.
‘Maybe I do believe in coincidence,’ he says. ‘Tonight’s shift is cover, I wasn’t even meant to be working. Wife’s not happy, says I’m never home, but I’m glad I agreed to do it. Glad I was here tonight. It’s like I should be. Hope everything works out for you.’ He pauses. ‘You’d have got bloody Brad tonight if he wasn’t ill.’
Bernadette smiles at Bob; Brad is a bulbous-nosed ex-drinker who swears at everyone on the road and drives like he’s in a tank.
They are at Anne’s house. Bernadette has never seen it in darkness. The curtains are closed like sleeping eyelids, and the red and yellow and purple border flowers appear grey. Anne opens the door, her face not visible because she’s backlit by the hallway lamp. Yvonne is behind her with a file. Often Conor waits in the window but of course tonight he isn’t in. Bernadette has almost forgotten why she’s here, but now it all comes back.
She closes her eyes and takes a breath and sees the moment she first met Richard, like edited video footage showing the important bits. It was an accident. Not the kind that injures, like a car crash or spilling boiling water on someone’s body, but the kind that alters your route.
In the footage it is raining, a torrent that floods streets. She enters a tearoom called Cup and Saucer to meet a man called Richard. Reluctantly she has agreed to a blind date set up by her friend, Shannon, who reckons she’s sick of Bernadette moping around and saying she’s lonely. Richard is apparently an equally shy and sensitive friend of Shannon’s, the perfect match for Bernadette.
The footage slows down when she sees only one person in the café, a fair-haired man who reads a paper and sips tea. It must be him; he looks gentle and ready and appeals to Bernadette’s protective side. Looks like he’d let her look after him.
She dares to approach him and says, ‘You must be Richard.’
He looks surprised, but says yes, he is.
She sits, bold for once, and they talk. About her recent college course and his mum and their love of this intimate café where you feel you’ve gone back in time.
The footage speeds up. When Richard asks why she was looking for him, how she knew him, Bernadette thinks he’s being playful. Later, when she tells Shannon about how well the date went, and tha
t they’re meeting up again, her friend says, ‘But Richard couldn’t make it, didn’t you see my message? He was ill.’
She met the wrong Richard. By some curious chance another Richard happened to be there instead. And, even more curiously, Bernadette – a shy twenty-one-year-old with little dating experience – felt brave enough to make the first move. When she married him a year later she was sure he was the right Richard.
Now she isn’t sure who he loves or where he is or if she cares.
‘Will you need a lift anywhere later?’ Bob asks.
Bernadette opens her eyes. She doesn’t know yet.
Anne comes to the gate; Yvonne lingers in the hall. It occurs to Bernadette that she doesn’t even know where she’ll end up tonight. She didn’t even have a plan, only a vague idea of checking into a hotel until she thought about her next step. But now she has fewer clues and nothing but the clothes she’s wearing and the things in her handbag. The thought is both terrifying and exciting.
Richard could be at Tower Rise now. It will be the first time he’s walked in to find it empty. How will he feel? What will he think? Who is the strange woman he called his sister? Does she think he is the right Richard?
‘I’m on until midnight if you need me,’ says Bob. ‘Do you want the usual receipt writing out?’
Bernadette doesn’t. Again, there is nothing usual about tonight.
‘I guess I’ll call if I need to go anywhere else.’ She gets out of the car.
‘Be safe,’ says Bob, and pulls away.
That’s all she wants – safety, but for Conor, not herself.
Meeting him could not have been more different to meeting Richard.
9
The Book
14th February 2003
Messy handwriting alert! This is Jim Rogers again.
