by Thorne Moore
Twice, her stomach rose, and her heart and lungs and liver, jolting upwards at the sight of a baby, only to plunge because it was the wrong baby. WPC Line kept talking to her but she didn’t listen. She had to concentrate.
Martin was already home. He looked ill, but he put his arms around her, led her into the house. ‘Jesus, Heather,’ he whispered. ‘How could this happen?’
‘She’s very distressed, sir, naturally,’ the policewoman explained. ‘We’ve called a doctor to give her a sedative.’
‘I don’t want a sedative, I want my baby,’ said Heather.
‘Yes, dear, of course you do.’
But when the doctor came, she let him give her something to calm her. Was this calm? This sluggish detachment? They were controlling her, so she wouldn’t make a fuss and embarrass everyone. The man in the park had been embarrassed. She was sorry if she was embarrassing people.
‘I just don’t understand,’ Martin said, to anyone who would listen. ‘How could someone just take our baby? What sort of monster would do this?’ He was pathetic and angry in turns. Mostly angry. That was the only way to deal with it. Be angry. Heather wanted to be angry but with whom? If only she’d seen someone. Again and again she ran it back, ran it back, ran it back. Office workers hurrying away after a late lunch. Who else? There must have been someone. In the trees. Surely she had seen movement. Someone lurking. If only she could think straight.
Barbara Norris. Where had she come from? Someone must have sent for her. ‘Martin! My poor boy, oh I can’t believe it. Where is little Bibs? Come to Grandma, darling. Oh you poor poor thing. Heather, Heather, why oh why would you not let me give you a lift this morning? Why did you have to insist on going alone? I just knew something like this would happen.’
‘Mum.’ Martin steered her away. ‘This won’t help.’
‘She just had to have her own way. Why are there so many police here?’ She turned on PC Michaels. ‘What are you doing, standing round here? Why aren’t you out there looking for my grandchild? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?’
It kept them occupied, heaping soothing reassurances on her. Leaving Heather to sink into the nightmare and disbelief. Oh God, oh God, whoever had Abigail, let her be all right. Let her still be alive.
ii
Lindy
Kelly was fretful. More fretful than she used to be. Like there was something she missed.
‘Here you are.’ Lindy crouched over her, waving the little pink mouse for her. She just wanted her baby to be happy. Mouse wasn’t good enough. Kelly’s face was still screwed up and troubled. Lindy picked her up to cuddle her. That would work, eventually. If she just sat here rocking her.
She could sense the door opening behind her, though it did so silently. Not Gary. He never did anything silently.
She turned. Carver was watching her like a statue. His eyes were very dark. Usually dark eyes were soft, but his were hard.
‘That woman,’ he said. He didn’t sound angry or anything, but Lindy knew trouble. ‘Who was she? What was she doing here?’
‘Social worker,’ said Lindy. ‘The hospital sent her to check up on the baby, make sure everything’s all right. And it is. She said I was doing fine. Said she’d let them know there was no need to keep checking on me, I was a good mother.’
Was that a smile in those black eyes? Possibly, but it wasn’t a smile Lindy found comforting. She watched Carver’s gaze move from her to the baby. Her flesh crawled.
‘This isn’t a suitable environment for a baby,’ said Carver. ‘You should find somewhere else to live.’
‘Yeah.’ She nodded agreement. ‘I’m going to have a council flat.’
Carver’s gaze was back on her. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Best thing.’ He pulled the door silently shut.
Lindy’s heart pattered. He hadn’t said anything bad. Hadn’t threatened her, or Kelly. Not with words. But there had always been something about Carver that terrified her, even when he was being nice. Perhaps even more when he was being nice.
He wanted her gone.
She really needed to think now. Carver had as good as ordered her out. She’d told the Rothsay woman she was going back to her family in Barking. Maybe she really could do that. Except that she didn’t know where any of her brothers and sisters were, not even Jimmy. She’d seen him once or twice after they were separated, but not for years now. She couldn’t be sure he was still alive.
She might try it though. Hitch a lift into London. Easy to get lost in London. Not that she fancied living rough again, not with a baby. It was getting dark outside, reminding her of nights on the street, of how much safer this room was.
No, not really. Shelter from the rain, that’s all it was. Not safer. Not with Gary. Not with Carver upstairs.
Street lights on. Nightlife creeping out, Nelson Road creaking open its coffin. A yellow glow from the Duke of Wellington. A few voices raised, a long way off the sound of shattering glass. But no sound in the house. It was like everyone in it had been told to stand still and hold their breath. No trouble, Carver had said, and everyone obeyed him, always.
It was going to be tonight then. She should go to bed and pretend not to notice anything. Innocent as little Kelly. No, she couldn’t hide under the quilt yet. She had to wait up for Gary. She always waited up for Gary.
Nearly eleven.
‘Out of my fucking way.’ Gary’s voice, slightly slurred, from the hallway. Never any trouble hearing him coming. She could always tell what sort of a mood he was in from his footsteps. Sometimes they staggered, sometimes they were, like, frisky. Today they were fast, heavy, like he was playing a tough guy. Trying really hard to convince himself. She’d seen him shouldering people off the pavement in the street, because he wanted to act like a gangster. Most people were convinced. She’d watched them step out of his way before he reached them. She knew better though. She had heard him whimper in his dreams.
He shouldered open the door. She’d be nice to him, get him something to eat, and maybe he’d settle down.
‘Geroff me.’ He shook her off, turning to shut the door as if there were werewolves out there. She could see sweat on his neck.
‘I got you a beer, Gary.’
‘No time—’ He changed his mind. ‘Yeah, give me a beer. I need my gear. Going out, all right? No need for you to fucking fuss over me. I’ve got—’
The noise woke Kelly. She gave a little gurgle and began to cry. She would keep crying.
Gary froze in his tracks. He stared at the baby in her basket.
‘It’s all right, Gary, she just needs a feed. I’ll keep her quiet.’
‘You… You…’ He was lost for words. The words he usually used were so overworked, they had no value left. He could do nothing but mouth silently.
He was petrified.
‘What have you done, you stupid bitch?’ His voice was a squeak. ‘What have you done?’ He shook her by the arms.
‘Nothing, Gary. I didn’t do nothing.’
‘Where did you get that from?’
‘My Kelly?’
‘She’s not your baby. Are you mental or something? You dumped your baby in the shopping centre!’
‘Yeah but it was a mistake. I didn’t mean it.’
‘What the fuck do you mean, you didn’t mean it?’
‘I got her back.’
‘It’s not the same fucking baby! It can’t be! You stupid—’ His voice rose, his hand entwining in her hair, ready to hit her. Then he froze, as his terror overwhelmed his anger. He mustn’t raise his voice, or hit her, or do anything to make a fuss. Keep it quiet. He released her, pushing her away like she had leprosy. ‘Jesus, Jesus. You’re going to kill me, you know that? Are you so fucking thick that—’ He had his face in his hands.
Then he pulled himself together. ‘You keep it quiet, right. For tonight. You keep it quiet and you keep your head down and you don’t say nothing to no one. Carver’s not going to know about this. All right? You hear me?’
She nodded.
‘All right. Just shut it.’ He turned away, wiping his mouth, packing his gear, pretending that his hand wasn’t shaking. His leather jacket and his baseball cap. The bag that he’d kept stashed under the sink, telling her not to touch it. She hadn’t touched it. If it terrified Gary so much, it wasn’t something she wanted to know about.
He was running cold water in the sink, splashing his face with it. Then he finished his beer, opened another, swigged hard. Turned to look a fleeting second at the baby cradled in Lindy’s arms, then screwed his eyes up and turned away. He really was shaking.
The door opened.
‘Ready?’
‘Yeah. Sure, Carver.’
‘You’ve got it?’
‘Yeah. Here, safe and sound.’ Gary patted the bag, hoisting it up, putting the beer can down and missing the cupboard, so it fell to the floor, its contents foaming over the threadbare carpet.
Lindy moved.
‘Leave it,’ snapped Gary.
‘No,’ said Carver. ‘Let her clean it up. Do what she does. Come on.’
‘Right, Carver.’
Lindy put Kelly back in her basket and reached for a cloth in the sink. She dropped to her knees to mop up the spilt beer.
The front door clicked quietly shut, and she could hear Gary’s heavy boots in the street. She couldn’t hear Carver’s at all. He walked like a cat. She heard muffled voices though, several of them. A couple of doors shutting, engines revving, cars moving off. Then silence.
Kelly was still stirring, still wanting something. Attention. Lindy picked her up again, rocking her back and forth. Just letting instinct take over. That bag of dirty nappies up in the bathroom. She should chuck it, and all the other crap in the flat, empty cans, old newspaper and such. Letting Kelly lie on the empty mattress, she gathered up every scrap of rubbish that she could find, fetched the bag from the bathroom with its smelly load of strange baby clothes, crushed in the other trash and took it down to the front step. Tied a knot so it wouldn’t spill out. Pushed it into the skip blocking the pavement, in amongst the broken tiles and rubble, an old suitcase and a dead cat. Everyone dumped stuff in it.
She went back upstairs to her baby. Lay down beside her. It was her home, this place. Crappy though it was, it was all she had. But Carver had told her to go. If she refused, she’d finish up floating in the sewer, and Kelly with her. She didn’t want to lose Gary; he was her man. But Kelly was her baby. She didn’t want anything happening to Kelly.
Besides, if Carver’s job went wrong, this place would be swarming with police, asking questions, turning everything upside down, and they’d bring in the social workers again, and Kelly would be gone. Better to go now, before the whole world of Nelson Road came crashing down. How long could she leave it? She didn’t want to go out into that dark night, but she couldn’t stay until morning. Another hour or so, maybe, here in the warmth of what had been home.
She could pack. Kelly’s things, mostly, and some of her own clothes, into a carrier bag and the big canvas shoulder bag she’d nicked last year. Some food. Hitchhiking could take forever. A packet of biscuits, that would do, and a bottle of coke and a bar of chocolate. It would see her through till she got to London. What else? What about cash? She had three pounds fifty, but Gary had some. Never gave her any, but he had some somewhere. She’d seen him flashing notes around.
Probably had it on him, but you never know. She searched the pockets of his abandoned clothes, struck lucky. There was a fiver in his jeans pocket, so dirty and crumpled people would think twice about accepting it, but it was money, wasn’t it? A few pennies, a bit of silver. And then, joy, a crisp new tenner and a fifty pence piece in the pocket of his denim jacket.
A car screeched down the road. She rushed to the window. Was it Gary and Carver back already? No, it couldn’t be. Just a joyrider out to annoy the area. The streets were more or less clear now. Silence, except for a dog barking. Lights out at the Duke of Wellington.
Half two. Could she risk staying for another hour? Back on the mattress with Kelly. Just a little longer—
She must have dozed off. Woke with a start, hearing a siren. Just a quick blast, a long way off, but it made her jump. What time was it? Gone four. She scrambled up in a panic. They could be back any moment. She had to be gone before they came back.
And Kelly was waking. Another feed? Now? Well, the baby didn’t know better, did she? Better now than out in the dark. Then she had to be changed again, but that was all right, best to start off clean and dry. Just as long as Carver didn’t come back. Lindy’s fingers moved like greased lightning.
‘There’s my little girl.’ Into the Moses basket. It would be a bit awkward to carry far, but it held most of Kelly’s stuff, as well as the baby.
Down the dark dirty stairs one last time. She met the cold blast of night air, and out into deserted Nelson Road.
A long walk, across to Moreton Road, past the foundry, and the garages, under the railway bridge, down Weston road, skirting the council estate, out to the edge of town. Not so long ago it had petered out into open fields with a few trees. Now the bypass cut across the farmland, a tarmac girdle for Lyford, sweeping lorries and commuters down towards the motorway.
The sky was grey in the east by the time she got there. Even under the yellow lights of the intersection, she could see the silhouette of distant downs and trees.
Weary now, ankle sore, she stood at the slip road, thumbing hopefully at the passing traffic, but no one stopped. A lorry slowed, but then accelerated past her. She saw one car hesitate, a driver in shirtsleeves. Then he passed her by.
It was Kelly. Lindy had never had trouble cadging a lift before. Had to fight the drivers off sometimes, and once or twice she’d failed, but that risk went with the territory. Usually, if they made eye contact, they’d stop. Girl on her own, they’d stop without a second thought. But now she had a baby with her. That must be putting them off.
Traffic thundered past. Where did they all come from? Mostly trucks and vans, but the cars were starting. Commuters in their posh saloons, some of them shaving at the wheel, or tuning their radios, none of them pausing for a girl and her baby basket. Every passing lorry enveloped her in a mini-hurricane. Kelly was beginning to cry.
Maybe Lindy should play it the other way. Flaunt Kelly, look like a plaintive mum, and hope someone would take pity on her. She picked the baby up and cuddled her.
It worked. Eventually. Daylight now, and at last a lorry stopped, edging in onto the curb ahead of her. She hoisted up the basket again, her carrier and her canvas bag, adjusting her balance, and scrambled for the lorry.
The driver had the passenger door open.
‘This is no place for a little babby, girl. You’d best get in here.’ He looked OK, burly like truckers were, but pretty old, grey hair and all. Someone’s granddad; that’s why he’d stopped. ‘Where’re you going?’
‘London. See my brother.’
‘You’d be better off on the train, thought of that?’
‘Ain’t got no money for the train.’ That wouldn’t have stopped her, but hitching was a habit. She always hitched.
‘Well, I’m heading for Oxford, but I can’t leave you standing there. I’ll take you to the lay-by, drop you there. At least you can get yourself a nice cuppa.’
‘Thanks.’ She was ready to struggle up into the cab, with the baby and all, but he jumped down to help. Yeah, someone’s granddad, no doubt about that.
‘So, you’re off to the big city then,’ he said, checking his mirrors and back into the traffic. ‘Show the little one the sights, eh? What is it, boy or girl?’
‘Girl.’
Kelly blew a raspberry.
‘She got a name?’
‘Kelly Crowe.’ Lindy felt her. Kelly needed changing again.
‘Well, little Kelly, you listen to Freddy here, and you tell your Mum it’s a dangerous world and she shouldn’t be hitching rides with a babby.’
‘Just to London,’ insisted Lindy. ‘Then
I’ll be all right.’
He shook his head, but it wasn’t really his concern. They were coming to the lay-by. He’d done his bit, getting her off the slip road.
It was a big lay-by, with toilets at one end and a kiosk selling hot tea and sausage and bacon butties at the other. A couple of cars and half a dozen big lorries already parked up. Freddy drew up alongside and she opened the door.
‘You take care now,’ said Freddy. ‘Don’t you go climbing in with just anyone.’
‘Thanks,’ said Lindy, dropping down, taking her bags from him, moving out of the way as he drove off again, still shaking his head.
The smell of frying, over the diesel fumes, drew Lindy like a magnet. She could afford a bite, couldn’t she? Wouldn’t cost the earth, not in a place like this.
But Kelly came first, before she started bawling in earnest. Change her in the toilets that stank of pee and disinfectant. Pathetic little steel basins and no hot water, but it was all there was. Lindy gave her the bottle she’d brought with her in the basket.
Then she bought herself a bacon bun. Great, the warm grease dribbling down her chin. All she had to do was wait for the next lift that would take her the twenty odd miles to London.
But no one was offering. Not even when she asked them direct. It was the baby, no doubt about it.
She had been there nearly two hours when they arrived. A camper van, painted with leaves, like it was advertising a garden centre. Or just gipsies. Lindy watched a man get out, long hair tied in a ponytail, embroidered waistcoat. Then a woman, long hair, long skirt, helping a toddler out and a little boy, shepherding them to the toilets. The man went round the back, prodding at the exhaust. It had been making a racket as the van had pulled in.
Lindy sidled towards them. A family with children, safe enough. She was fed up with drivers looking at Kelly like she was some alien. And she needed the bog. That bacon bun had got her insides churning.
The man smiled at her as she carried Kelly past. In the toilets, the woman was wiping the toddler’s bare bum. She smiled too. ‘Hi.’
Lindy chewed her lip, dropped her bags and then laid the basket down. ‘Can you watch her while I go in?’
