by James Goss
‘You don’t mind having a fat mummy, do you?’ I asked Anwen, but she just glared back at me, mildly annoyed that I was talking to her while she fed. Anwen took after her dad – she did a great frown at the tiniest interruption when she was eating.
I kept thinking that I’d be able to go jogging, or down the gym or… I dunno. Eat something fresh. Part of Anwen’s Loving Tyranny meant that our baby was looked after in luxury and care while her servants ate out of tins. I was desperate for a spot of freedom or a fresh vegetable. Not on the horizon in the near future.
The bathroom itself was one of those chilly pub toilets that was bolted on as a breeze-block afterthought. A cistern dripped and clicked annoyingly. Anwen opened her eyes and frowned at it.
The door opened, and Sasha came in. I met her eyes. ‘Hiya!’ I said.
She’d frozen. Well, come on, luv, it’s just a bit of boob, surely it’s not a trauma.
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Yeah?’ I sounded ruder than I meant to. I felt a bit self-conscious – this thin young woman staring boggle-eyed at my breast. Not even hiding it, just gawping. ‘What’s up?’ I asked her. I could feel myself start to flush with embarrassment, but then thought, No, stand your ground.
Sasha nodded absently, but continued to gawp. Something wasn’t right.
Then I realised. It wasn’t me she was looking at. She was staring at Anwen, riveted. ‘What’s her name?’ she asked haltingly.
I told her, and she repeated Anwen’s name a couple of times. Then she leaned forward. ‘She’s so tiny,’ she said.
I agreed with her. Thing you learn about being a mother – people say a lot of dumb stuff to you. My little darling has been called everything. I’ve heard her referred to as ‘quite the little madam’, or just-like-her-dad (because that’s Rhys, under a foot long and hairless). So Sasha cooing over my baby seemed somehow a bit more normal.
Only she didn’t then go and have a pee, or tidy her make-up or anything. She just kept staring at Anwen, talking to her, which since Anwen was still clamped to my breast was a bit… I mean, odd. I disengaged madam gently, and fastened myself up, trying not to make a thing of it. Momentarily thwarted from her all-u-can-eat milk buffet, Anwen hiccupped out a couple of cries, her frowning face threatening worse to come. I was having none of it, and swiftly eyeballed her, but Sasha was genuinely upset.
‘Is she all right? She seems so sad, so sad…’ And a hand reached out to try and comfort my daughter.
No, I thought. There was just something about Sasha. Wrong. A feeling I got off her. Instinctively, I pulled Anwen back, and Sasha’s hand froze.
‘I just wanted to touch her,’ she implored. Madly, tears formed in her eyes. ‘Can I touch her? Please?’
It was an awkward moment – both of us kind of poised, the baby in between us like we were King Solomon’s Wives. More than anything, anything, I wasn’t going to let her touch my baby. I broke away, gathering up my little stall as Sasha started to babble.
‘She looks so lovely.’ She was wistful. ‘And she smells so wonderful.’
‘Yeah, milk and vomit,’ I said lightly, but just wanting to get out of there.
Sasha stared at me. ‘Oh no! She smells just lovely.’
I nodded to her, ignored the plaintive tone in her voice, and went back out to the lounge. Weird.
A bloke at the bar said, ‘Let me get you a drink.’
That hasn’t happened to me for ages – sometimes, when I was a copper, I’d get strange men offering to buy me drinks at bars all the time. Likely boys. You know how it is.
This guy was young. He looked familiar – oh, of course, Sasha’s boyfriend, wasn’t he? He was looking at me with puppy-dog eyes. Mid-twenties, stubbly sideburns, thin as a rake, tracksuit hanging off him like he was made of coat hangers. He was smiling at me. I noticed everyone else was still looking at me a bit warily – Strangers In Town. So I gave him a smile back. Warm and welcoming.
‘Davydd, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ His breath was a bit beery and he was grinning widely. ‘What would you like? Must be great to go out on the lash again,’ he said.
‘Just a lime and soda,’ I said to him, firmly. ‘Still breastfeeding, so I can’t really drink. Not without a stopwatch and a calculator. No idea when that’ll end. Can’t wait to get pissed.’
The barmaid handed me the drink. As she did so, she said, ‘Well, I hope you’re not using the bottle yet, are you?’ And then she stared at me. Clearly expecting a response.
I found this frankly unwelcome. Maybe I should have been used to it, but I wasn’t. Oh, lordy. The thing I’d never expected about pregnancy and motherhood was that utter strangers would offer you advice. Including their own infallible solution to the Da Vinci Code that is breastfeeding.
‘Er…’ I began.
Then someone else butted in. ‘No offence, but she looks a little overweight, if you don’t mind me saying.’
The barmaid nodded. ‘They do say that can happen.’ She flashed me a sympathetic look. ‘But I’ve heard it soon shifts when they move onto solids… She’s not on solids yet, is she?’
‘I, ah…’
An old guy looked up from his pint. ‘Mind you don’t let her sleep on her side, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘What?’ If I sounded angry, no one noticed.
‘Oh no, Ifor, it’s sleeping on the front you’ve got to be careful of. Pay no attention to him, my dear.’
And on it went. Madness. Finally sensing my discomfort, Davydd firmly picked up our drinks and gestured towards the distant table. We glided through the bar, and I flushed slightly at the attention we were getting.
‘What the hell was that?’ I hissed at him. ‘I take it you don’t get many strangers here, then?’
He shook his head, puppyish again. ‘No, no, not many visitors,’ he said. ‘And none with babies. Not for a long time. You’re very special, Gwen.’
‘Really?’ I was surprised. The one thing you can practically guarantee about North Wales is that every bus is chocka with young mums on missions.
‘Not so many babies here, no,’ said Davydd. He looked at me oddly.
So that was our first evening out in Rawbone. A few friends. A couple of odd close encounters. A slight air of mystery. Nothing dangerous. But a lot that should have told me something was wrong. If I hadn’t been so damn tired.
A few days later, I nipped into the village shop all by myself. It was a bright day and I just had to grab some coffee. That was the excuse, but I felt like a bit of fresh air and proving my independence – hush now, sauntering a quarter of a mile down the road and back felt like a major achievement. The street was empty, so I left Anwen parked up outside in her pram and dashed in. The woman behind the counter beamed at me.
‘Good morning, Mrs Meredith,’ I said politely.
‘We’ve got nappies now!’ she bellowed excitedly.
‘Right,’ I said.
‘Do you want to see the nappies?’ she urged, like she had a missing reel of the Zapbruder footage.
‘Oh, it’s OK,’ I replied. ‘I’m just after some coffee, really.’
The woman’s face fell. ‘We got them in specially for you.’
I bought a jar of instant and some nappies. She also pressed a newspaper on me.
‘Says here there’s an increased risk of cervical cancer if you drink caffeine while you’re breastfeeding. You’re not planning on doing that, are you, my love?’
I was tempted to ask her for a can of Red Bull.
When I left the shop, Sasha was standing, crouched over the pram, holding Anwen. It’s that whole and-this-is-why-you-should-never-leave-your-baby moment. Startled, she flushed with guilt, but she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. There weren’t words. We just stood, looking at each other.
Sasha held Anwen to her, then steadily uncurled her.
‘She was crying,’ she said simply, tears pouring down her hot cheeks as she babbled away. ‘I was just passing, I just wan
ted to make sure she was all right…’ She rested her down in the pram, tucking the blanket around her.
Still speechless, I stared at Sasha. I reached forward, retucking the blanket. There was nothing wrong with the way that Sasha had done it, but I had to do it again for myself. I could sense the blood warming my face. I was just so angry and scared. I grabbed the pram and wheeled it around, striding back home.
Sasha didn’t say anything, just watched me go.
I walked back up the hill, still furious with myself. A kid cycled past me – whose was it? A dark-haired teenager. All the kids in this village had lovely dark hair, the love children of The Beatles. Celtic pride. I guess it was a North Wales thing. All the children looked racehorse-handsome – or at least, they would do when they were a bit older. Another bicycle whizzed past – at first I thought it was the same kid, but then I realised it was a different colour of bike. Same hair, same school uniform. Rhys had come back from a walk one day and announced that all the kids here looked like brothers. I guess that’s what happens in a small village. As I passed the stink thistles, a couple more bikes followed me up the hill at a distance. Like crows.
I didn’t care. I just wanted to get Anwen and me back inside and shut out the world.
A couple of hours later, there was a knock at the caravan door. It took me a while to answer it – it’s cumbersome getting up and going anywhere these days. The knock was repeated.
Davydd was stood outside, shifting from left foot to right foot, from right foot to left foot. He looked stricken. I didn’t want this. I really didn’t want this. Not now. Actually, not ever.
‘Yeah?’ I said.
‘It’s about Sasha,’ he said, hideously awkward.
‘I guessed,’ I said. Truth to tell, the last thing I wanted a chat about. I was furious with her, but also cross with myself. I told myself that nice, normal, properly slept Gwen Cooper would have handled it better.
‘Can I come in?’ His tone was definitely ‘Can I stroke the kitten?’
I pushed the door a bit wider. ‘Sure, come on in. Rhys will be back any minute.’
He stepped in, stamping his feet, shaking off his shoes and generally hovering. He looked guilty and nervous. In my police days he would have been a dead ringer for the chief suspect’s best friend who’d turn up at the station to say ‘What it is, see, is…’
I put the kettle on to boil. This involved sticking one of those camping kettles on the feeble gas hob and waiting for it to defy the laws of physics and shriek like a hen-night. Of course, if you let it get that far it would invariably wake Anwen up, and I wanted her asleep for this. Between the two of us, we’d managed almost an entire hour without a feed or a murmur. How I longed for the day when I’d be able to plonk her in front of CBeebies while I had a nap. I tiptoed over the cold lino and reached down a couple of mugs and ferreted around for the coffee. So, too much caffeine was bad when breastfeeding, was it? Great. Thanks. How was I supposed to cope for a fortnight until someone said that actually not enough caffeine was bad for breastfeeding? I damned them all, spooned three heaps of instant into my mug and turned to confront Davydd. He really was just a chinless boy with a big nose and a whiff of cheap deodorant, nervously fingering the gold chain around his neck. There was the tiniest fuzz of chest hair poking through the top of his white running top. Bless.
‘So,’ I breezed. Say hello, boys and girls, to Gwen Cooper’s best Witness Interview Smile.
‘Yeah…’ He nodded, cupping his mug like a teddy bear and tracing his fingers over and over the rustic wheatsheaf pattern. ‘Look, Gwen, I’m really sorry about Sasha. She’s in bits about what happened.’
‘What did happen, exactly?’ I said, carefully, trying to win him over to my side. ‘Cos, I’m not being funny, but she came across as… well, you just can’t go around holding other people’s kids.’
‘I know,’ sighed Davydd. ‘Listen, what it is, see…’ Bingo. ‘It’s… Well, she can’t have kids.’ He spread his arms out.
‘Right,’ I said. Instant sympathy. I mean, that was awful.
‘We tried.’ His voice was a flat whisper, all the pain ironed out of it. ‘We tried so hard. Everything. She even got pregnant a couple of times, but it didn’t… carry through, if you know what I mean.’ His hands gripped the mug real tight.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said without thinking. ‘It must have been—’
‘It was bloody horrible,’ he groaned, shaking his head. ‘Bloody horrible. She got so excited, both times, but I just knew… I knew it was no good. But I couldn’t say.’ His milk-pale face looked up at me, the bags under his eyes red. He looked so young. So young for all this. ‘There are some things you just can’t talk about, can you?’
‘No,’ I said, quietly.
‘So, anyway… you know… we’ve… well, we’ve taken a kid in now. And she’s happy. Sasha is happy. She loves Brian. Really she does. Next best thing. Lovely bright lad.’ Davydd’s fingers ran through his close-cropped, gelled hair. He was nervous. ‘But… but it’s not the same, is it? I mean, fine by me… but not by Sasha. You know. No other young mums in the village, so she’s not going to be reminded of it. But then you turn up… Well, she can’t help but see how perfect your little one is.’ He smiled, a lovely, radiant little smile. ‘She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. Anwen stirred and gurgled quietly in her sleep. I stroked her softly and wondered what she was dreaming about.
‘You’re so lucky,’ sighed Davydd, looking at the baby and then at me. ‘You’ve got it all. Sasha’s just… She can’t be like you.’ His face lit up with street-preacher zeal. ‘Oh! It’s so wonderful what you’re doing.’
‘No, no, it’s not, it’s rubbish,’ I assured him, pushing the hair from my face. ‘I am beyond tired, I’m sore in all the wrong places, and my brain is mush. But it’s just what I have to do for my daughter. I would do anything for her.’
Davydd’s smile widened. ‘You’re very special,’ he said, putting his mug down. ‘Oh Gwen, I think you’re so special.’
Then he kissed me.
Rhys
So, got back from the garage to find my wife snogging another bloke.
It was the sound of pasties hitting the floor that alerted them. Gwen’s eyes were already 200 per cent wide when I walked in, but they stretched that little bit further. The bloke, that scrawny Davydd runt from the village, was up and leaping about like a startled whippet.
‘Rhys!’ cried Gwen.
‘Later!’ I snapped, and landed one on Davydd. He dropped back across the sofa. Result. ‘Actually,’ I breathed, ‘that was easier than I thought it would be. So let’s talk now.’
‘Don’t wake the baby!’ Gwen hissed. Always thinking of the baby. She stood awkwardly, wiping the back of her hand across her lips. ‘Rhys! It’s not what it looks like – well, OK, it’s exactly what it looks like. But he just lunged at me! I didn’t kiss back! Really, honestly, I didn’t. He just kind of fell on me, just before you came through the door and… well, my reactions aren’t what they were.’
‘Neither’s your sex drive, love,’ I muttered bitterly.
‘Hey!’ she snapped, and I knew from how angry she was that she was utterly innocent. ‘When he comes to, he’ll tell you. One moment he was talking about how he and Sasha couldn’t have kids and the next he lunged. Honest! I was really surprised.’
‘And delighted!’ I bellowed.
‘Don’t wake the baby,’ repeated Gwen fiercely. She reached out to me, and I stepped back. ‘Oh, come on, love,’ she said. She was Reasoning With Me. I’ve always hated it when she does that. It means she’s about to win using Logic. I hate you, Logic. ‘Listen… Look at him. Skinny streak of piss in a shell suit! Rhys, you’re almost old enough to be his dad. Do you really think… I mean, if I was going to cheat on you… which I never would… well, it wouldn’t be with someone like that, would it, now?’ And she looked at me, and her eyes were ever so wide and bright. ‘Come on.’
‘H
ow did he kiss?’ I asked.
She blinked, and then grinned. ‘Bless him. It was like being rubbed by a hankie soaked in granny spit.’
I punched her lightly on the shoulder. She punched me back. We hugged.
‘We OK?’ she said, not letting me go. We walked around like contestants in a three-legged race. ‘Are we OK?’
‘Until I come home and find him naked on top of you. I’d love to hear your explanation for that one.’
‘Oh, it’ll be really good,’ Gwen assured me seriously. ‘And you’ll buy it.’
‘Sure I will,’ I said, stroking her hair.
Gwen kicked out a foot. Davydd groaned. ‘Oi, lover boy,’ she said. ‘You can stop pretending to be asleep. You need to get up and apologise.’
Davydd stood, looking tiny and scared. ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘Mate’ was an odd choice of word in the circumstances, but he went there, OK. ‘I’m sorry – but she’s… she’s wonderful.’
‘Go home,’ I said.
The door shut behind him with a rubber clunk.
‘This is an odd place,’ I said to Gwen.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Because a man finds me irresistibly attractive?’
‘No,’ I said, seriously. ‘It’s not that.’
Truth to tell a couple of other odd things happened later that week. I steered clear of Davydd as much as possible. But I’d noticed some of the women of the village still looking at me. If I didn’t know better – and let’s face it, I didn’t – I would have sworn they were eyeing me up.
The cracker was when that leopard-print lass from the Y Gwyr saw me passing the bus stop with my pram. ‘Hiya,’ she said. By daylight she was even more Hollyoaks Later than I remembered. The least orange things about her were her teeth, which glowed a brilliant white as she worked gum around. Her eyes observed me. Casual. Hunting cat casual.
