by Sophie King
‘I just wanted to be normal,’ said Susan, sniffing.
Slightly to her disappointment, he let her go. ‘I understand that.’ His pale blue eyes held hers. ‘I really do. How bad is she?’
‘Well, she can’t talk very clearly, or walk very well so she’s in a wheelchair. But she’s really bright and can use the computer, although it takes her longer than most people.’
‘That’s incredible.’ He brushed her shoulder, as though he were flicking off a piece of fluff. ‘I bet you’re an amazing mum.’
‘Well . . .’
‘Don’t argue. I can tell you are. Warm, caring and affectionate. What more could anyone ask?’
Susan didn’t know what to say. He was still talking and seemed unaware of her awkwardness. ‘Now, how about a quick drink?’
‘Sorry.’ She’d have liked to, she really would, but it was hopeless. ‘I’ve got to get back to Tabitha.’
‘Of course. Another time, then?’
She smiled. ‘That would be lovely.’
The following Saturday, Josh was still distinctly off-hand and Steff cool, but without being hostile. Susan tried to say something but they whisked Tabitha away without giving her a chance. She wasn’t staying the night, Susan still wasn’t ready for her to do that every weekend, but she had to admit that the arrangement helped her as much as Tabitha. She spent the day showing more couples round two more new developments, both of which were within half an hour’s walking distance of home. With any luck, she might lose more weight with all the exercise.
That evening, Tabitha came back, proudly clutching a drawing of geometric shapes in bright primary colours. ‘Redredred,’ she said, beaming. ‘Blueblueblue.’
Susan was astounded. ‘We’ve been working on her colours but she’s never been as clear as that before.’
Steff was pleased. ‘I got some shapes from Occupational Therapy at the hospital and we spent ages doing it, didn’t we, Tabs?’
Susan felt a stab of jealousy. It wasn’t fair. She, too, had spent ages trying to do the same thing but Steff had got the result.
‘Listen, there’s something I need to say.’ She tried to remember Earth Mother’s sensible words. ‘I’m sorry I said what I did on the radio but I suppose it was because I was angry. And I still am.’ She glowered at Josh. ‘I said Tabitha shouldn’t have had the MMR, I told you I was worried about it, but you always think you know best. And if you’d listened to me, she wouldn’t be like this.’
‘You don’t know that, Susan.’ Steff’s eyes flashed. ‘There isn’t any evidence.’
‘I don’t need evidence. I’m her mother. I know it.’
‘I think she’s right,’ Josh said quietly. ‘I know we can’t prove anything but that was when Tabs changed – after she had the jab. And that’s why I had to leave. Don’t you see? I felt so terribly guilty.’
His eyes glistened with tears and somehow Susan was reaching out to touch his arm. ‘Why didn’t you listen to me? Why?’
‘Dad, Dad. Mum, Mum.’
Susan gasped. She’d never before heard Tabitha say both at the same time. It was agonisingly poignant, and automatically she looked at Steff.
Steff smiled. ‘Susan – and Josh – if this is going to work, we’ve got to put all this behind us. For Tabitha’s sake. Don’t you think?’
Susan sat down heavily next to her daughter. None of this was meant to have happened to her, none of it. But it had, and now it was time to deal with it, fairly and squarely. She had to stop feeling angry with Josh. He had only been trying to do his best for their daughter. And, besides, although she hated to admit it, she could see that her daughter was benefiting emotionally from having a father. And, although it made her feel terrible to acknowledge it, Joy was right. It was good for her, too, to have some time to herself.
‘Yes.’ She nodded, drawing Tabitha to her. ‘Yes, I agree.’
‘Josh?’
Susan watched with grudging admiration as Steff forced him to reply. She could handle him in a way that Susan had never been able to.
He nodded. ‘So do I.’
‘Good.’ Steff’s head bobbed up and down. ‘Well we must be getting off now. We’re going to the gym.’ She glanced pitifully at Susan’s baggy skirt.
Suddenly Susan felt fat and dowdy, wishing, too late, that she’d changed out of the skirt which hid the joyous fact she’d lost five pounds through running up and down stairs at work.
‘Jimjimjim,’ demanded Tabitha.
‘Not us, Tabs. We can’t go to the gym. But you’ll see Dad and Steff next weekend.’
‘You certainly will,’ beamed Steff. ‘By the way, how’s the campaign going?’
Susan grimaced. ‘Not great. We’ve been trying to get the paper to run another piece but they don’t want to do anything until there’s a new angle, apparently. The council are meeting before Christmas to make their final decision.’
‘Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed. Now we must get going or the gym will be shut. See you soon!’
Tabitha spent the rest of the evening, saying, ‘Jimjim,’ plaintively.
I’d like to go to the gym too, thought Susan, ruefully, if I could afford the membership fee. But what about swimming? When she’d browsed through the Weight Watchers site the other day, she was struck by how much weight some women had lost through exercise. She passed the new pool during almost every driving lesson. It was on the bus route and she could go when Tabitha was at school. Until now it had seemed self-centred to do something for herself when Tabitha’s life was so messed up. But that pitying look on Steff’s face had triggered something. Losing a mere five pounds wasn’t enough. It was time to re-evaluate her life.
The following week, Susan had been at the Acacia Grove show houses all day when she heard Simon’s car draw up outside. Good, she thought. She could do with some company. Now it was almost autumn, there were fewer viewers, and she’d switched all the office lights on at four o’clock, nearly two hours ago. She was in no rush to get home: this weekend, Tabitha was staying over with Josh and Steff and the thought of her empty house was intimidating, as was the walk back, even though she’d brought a torch. She was cold too; the new blouse she’d bought for work was thin and a bit lower at the neck than she’d thought.
‘Hi.’ Simon walked in. ‘There you are, Susie! Thought you might like a lift.’
‘Thanks.’ Susan picked up her coat and slipped her mobile, which had run out of battery again, into her bag. ‘It’s been very quiet, I’m afraid.’
‘Not your fault. Or mine. The market’s slowing down for Christmas – but our MD doesn’t like it.’
Susan felt concerned. She’d heard Simon and a couple of the others talking about how bad the market was and that there were bound to be cutbacks. She hoped she wouldn’t be one of them.
‘What about the Joneses? They came in twice today and said they were going to the office to see you.’
He shook his head ruefully and she became aware of a stale alcohol smell that she remembered from the early Josh days. ‘Never showed up. None of us will get our bonuses this Christmas if things don’t improve. Here, let me help you with your coat.’
‘It’s all right.’
His hand brushed her right breast (a mistake, surely?) and she edged away. ‘Simon, I said I can manage.’
‘You’re a lovely woman, Susie. Do you know that?’
Oh, God, he was drunk.
She stepped backwards and fell over a Regency-striped chair.
‘Please, Simon, don’t. I’m not ready for that kind of thing.’
‘Not ready?’ He grinned. ‘I think you are. I think you’re gagging for it. A woman like you on your own for – how many years? I’m doing you a favour.’
He lunged at her, ripping her blouse. The shock took her by surprise. Simon fancied her? Surely not. In a blur, she recalled the flirty way he had talked to her in the office and the way he put his hand on her back when she went through a door in front of him. But that didn’t mean anythin
g, did it? Or had she been horribly naïve?
‘No – I said no!’ Oh, my God – he was coming towards her!
There was a heavy vase on the occasional table next to her.
‘There’s plenty of bedrooms upstairs.’ He leered. ‘I fancy the one with the striped canopy. Ow! Ow!’
The piercing screech of the rape alarm – which Joy had advised her to buy when she’d taken the job ‘just in case’ – shocked her too.
‘You bitch. Turn it off. Turn it off.’
‘Everything OK in here?’
‘No.’ Susan wheeled round, clutching her torn blouse. ‘No, it’s not.’
Thank God! It was the Joneses.
‘I do apologise, Mr Jones,’ said Simon, thickly. ‘My colleague and I were having a discussion.’
‘I think you’d better leave,’ said the older man.
His wife went to Susan’s side. ‘Are you all right, dear?’
She nodded numbly.
Simon shook off Mr Jones’s hand. ‘All right, I’m going. And don’t worry about your resignation letter, Susie. We’ll take it as read that you won’t be coming back next week.’
The Joneses, who had returned on impulse for a third viewing on the off-chance that she was still there, were adamant about driving her home. They insisted that she should ring the area manager on Monday and tell him what had happened.
But who would the manager believe? Simon, who had been there for ages, or a new, inexperienced trainee?
The house was dark when she went in and it was difficult to fit the key into the lock. The phone started to ring before she had turned on the hall light and she fumbled for the switch. It stopped just as she got to it, then rang again.
Susan’s skin crawled. Simon had her home number. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s me, Steff.’
She hadn’t recognised the low, tearful voice. The internal bits of her chest bunched up inside her.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Tabitha’s had a fall.’ The sobs were whooping out of her. ‘Can you get over to the hospital, Susan? As soon as you can.’
34
A and E! They were in A and E? The words seemed unreal and she floundered for a moment, unable to think. Then, somehow, she picked up the phone again and rang the local taxi company she used if Dad couldn’t make the long drive over, and stammered that she needed someone now.
At the main entrance, she’d sprinted towards the reception desk, almost colliding with an empty wheelchair. ‘My daughter. Tabitha Thomas.’ She was gasping so much she could barely get the words out. ‘Her father brought her in about an hour ago.’
‘Sit down, dear. Now, let’s start again, shall we? Tabitha Thomas, you say. Date of birth? Family doctor?’
‘I need to see her now!’ She was almost screaming.
The woman was tapping something into the screen. ‘I understand but I need to find out where she is first. Right. Got her. She was seen by a doctor in A and E about twenty minutes ago. Let’s see what’s happened to her, shall we? Won’t be a minute.’
Susan wanted to bang her head on the desk. She’d seen kids doing that at the centre and, for the first time, she understood why it made them feel better.
‘Right. She’s in X-ray. Don’t panic. It seems like an arm injury. Nothing too awful.’
‘What kind of arm injury?’ Visions of Tabitha screaming with pain shot into her head.
‘I don’t know, but the department is along the corridor, past Maternity and first left. OK?’
She wanted to run but too much was going past her. A trolley with someone grey poking out from a white blanket. A wheelchair with a youngish woman in it being pushed by an older man. Past Maternity and first left, then through heavy doors.
‘Tabitha!’ She flew towards her. ‘Darling, it’s all right. Mummy’s here.’
Tabitha’s thin right arm – the left was in a sling – reached round her neck. ‘Mummummum.’
Gently, Susan mopped her daughter’s face, which was streaked with tears. Then she confronted her ex. ‘What happened?’ she demanded.
Josh was sitting with his head in his hands on the other side of the wheelchair, Steff next to him, pinched and pale. ‘We were getting her out of the car. We’d had a lovely evening at the cinema and everything was going great. But when we got back to the house, the light wasn’t good in the street – one of the lamp-posts must have gone out—’
‘I said, what happened?’
‘Josh was trying to help her out of the car and I was putting up the chair and she slipped.’
‘So you dropped her,’ she spat. ‘You dropped her.’
‘She slipped, Susan.’ Josh raised his head and his eyes were raw with agony. ‘She’s so heavy. She just slipped. It’s her wrist that seems to hurt and part of her arm.’
‘She’s had the X-ray,’ said Steff, ‘and we’ve got to wait for a few minutes – look, here’s the radiographer.’
‘Tabitha Thomas?’
Susan leaped up. The radiographer was looking at her and then Steff. Had Steff passed herself off as Tabitha’s mother?
‘I’ll take those. This is my daughter. Can you tell me if her wrist is broken?’
‘I’m sorry. The doctor needs to see you first. Can you take your daughter and the X-rays back to A and E? Do you remember where to go?’
They walked down the corridor, Susan pushing Tabitha, who had stopped weeping now.
‘They didn’t want to give her a drink until they’d taken the X-ray in case they had to operate,’ whispered Steff. ‘Such a brave soul, isn’t she? You know, Sue, I could probably tell you if it’s broken if I peep at those X-rays.’
‘No.’ Susan clasped the large brown envelope firmly under her arm. ‘No. You’ve done enough already.’
The doctor had been quite clear. The wrist was badly swollen but it wasn’t broken and neither was the arm. There was no need to plaster it, although Tabitha should wear a splint support. He also recommended anti-inflammatory tablets. If it still hurt in a few days, they were to come back.
‘He was certain there wasn’t a crack?’ Steff kept asking, as they went back to the car. ‘X-rays don’t always pick things up. When I was on Orthopaedics, we used to do a scan to make sure.’
‘He seemed definite enough.’ Susan gritted her teeth as she lifted her daughter into the back. ‘No, Steff, I can manage. I do it every day. He said her wrist was badly swollen . . .’
‘Oedema,’ said Steff, smartly.
The woman could be so infuriating! In contrast, Josh was still very quiet, slumped in the passenger seat as Steff took the wheel.
The relief that Tabitha hadn’t broken anything almost made Susan sorry for him. ‘It’s OK, Josh.’ She lowered her voice before she got in to join her daughter in the back. ‘She is heavy. I find it difficult too.’
‘It still shouldn’t have happened.’
‘Well, it did and she’s OK.’
‘We’ll take you home.’
‘All right.’
No mention of next weekend. Would she trust them to have Tabitha again? No. On the other hand, her daughter needed to see her father regularly. And – such a selfish thought – she’d then need to ask her own father to have Tabitha if she wanted to find another job.
Simon! She’d almost forgotten about him during the panic over Tabitha. But as Josh drew nearer the house, the reality of what might have happened began to sink in. Should she complain? He was so much more senior that they might not take her seriously.
Better, surely, not to go back at all.
35
Lisa only just had time to finish her dinner duty at the special needs centre before her baby-room shift. The ‘Oh, Lisa, what would we do without you?’ chorus from the centre mums made the rush worthwhile, even though Mandy, Mrs Perkins’s deputy, was a right old cow when she got back to the nursery a few minutes late.
‘Ah, there you are, Lisa. Hurry up. I haven’t got much time and this is important. This one, Scarlett, has just st
arted on solids. But it’s essential, absolutely essential, that you don’t give her any packet baby food that contains milk. She’s allergic. See the notice at the end of the cot?’
Lisa nodded, listening carefully to Mandy, the nurse in charge of the baby room. Her qualification always impressed parents looking round Acorn House, although Mandy and Mrs Perkins never let on that Mandy hadn’t worked in a hospital for years and had only just started at the nursery after an eight-year career gap. She probably knew more than Mandy did, thought Lisa, thanks to the new-babies section on What Mums Know.
‘When you make up the bottles, make sure you only use the ones that have been in the steriliser. And follow the instructions carefully on the milk tin. When it says three scoops, that’s three level scoops, not heaped ones.’
She wasn’t that daft.
‘You don’t have children of your own, do you, Lisa?’
What was that supposed to mean? That she didn’t know what to do? Lisa could have screamed with frustration. The parents were the same. When she told them their son – it was always boys – had been naughty that day, or had refused to eat his lunch, they would nod as though it was the norm and then ask if she had kids of her own. Well, she did. Two, to be precise. And a third on the way.
Mandy’s double chin wobbled. ‘You need lots of patience in the baby room, Lisa. Even when we’re busy, you have to pretend you’ve got all the time in the world. Babies pick up on tension. Now, do you know how to change a nappy?’
‘Course I do. It was in my training.’
They had practised on a doll with rosebud lips. She could still remember it clearly. She had just turned sixteen. The course had been her school’s idea when she’d said she wanted to work with children. The careers teacher had found it for her: a nursery assistant course that didn’t need GCSEs.
‘Good. The nappies are kept over there in the cupboard. We change them every two hours and more if they soil them. Here’s the cream for nappy rash but never use the same finger twice or it can infect the rest of the cream in the tube. And always wash your hands afterwards.’
