Because of You

by Dawn French

  It came easily to her to be furtive: she had the best of reasons.

  Hope could see Quiet Isaac fifty yards away, near the lifts. He was sitting in the driver’s seat of the old car, with his head leaning back against the headrest and his eyes closed. Was he asleep? He looked wrecked. She checked that the coast was clear and when she was sure, she moved fast towards him. In behind, out in front, and around cars, she was on her victory slalom run with her eyes on the prize. At last, she arrived at his car and opened the front passenger door, shocking Isaac awake. He said, ‘Ah, hey. Wanna put that bag in the boot?’

  For a brief surreal moment, she considered it.

  ‘No,’ she replied, climbing in and securing the bag full of baby on her lap with the safety belt, ‘just … drive.’

  Gone

  Over twenty minutes went by before baby Florence was reported missing. All the mothers on the maternity ward, except one, took their new little ones home with them. That mother was going home to rest, on the paediatrician’s advice, before returning later to visit her poorly baby in the premature baby unit.

  And, of course, Hope. But Fatu had discharged her and reported that she’d left very early, way before anyone believed the baby had gone missing.

  Prior to any alarm being raised, a fresh and keen midwife, who’d just come on duty and already been briefed by the departing two nurses about the sleeping Clarke family, took it upon herself to slide the ‘Do not disturb’ latch across outside the door. She wouldn’t ordinarily do this unless there was a doctor inside or an emergency going on, but she completely agreed with her colleague that this family could do with the rest, and that they should be allowed to grab it as long as their baby was sleeping.

  The baby was seemingly ‘sleeping’ for a while, which suited everyone on the ward just fine. They were short-staffed and all the other rooms were filling up quickly with new couples buzzing with fear and excitement. All of the maternity staff were busily distracted.

  As two of the nurses passed each other in the corridor, one handed the other a Kit Kat. ‘Here, darling, keep yer sugar levels up, yeah? ’S gonna be another hectic one.’

  ‘Thanks, Karen. I’m putting the kettle on. I’ll leave yours on the side for when you can grab five minutes, OK?’

  ‘Yeah, like when hell freezes over.’

  ‘Yeah. Ha ha.’

  It was hell when Anna finally woke up from her deep deep sleep to find her baby gone and her entire life tipped into a hell-pit of confusion.

  She took a while to wake up. The painkillers contributed to her drowsiness, and for a few minutes her groggy brain had no idea where she was. As she slowly allowed her memory to float back and fit together piece by piece, she happily remembered the seismic hugeness of what had happened. She had become a mother at last. She had given birth to a perfect, beautiful little girl. Yes, Anna had finally come to matter. No longer simply an add-on to Julius or a faintly disappointing daughter to her parents. She was significant. Finally. It felt wonderful.

  She looked over to see her husband. She noticed a small line of drool making its way down his chin. He was still slumped uncomfortably on the chair in the corner, his head lolled down. Ooh, that’s going to ache when he wakes up, she thought, and then her next thought was, Meh, serves him right. She didn’t feel kindly towards him any more, and hadn’t for some time. BUT. He WAS Florence’s father, and they would be forever linked, so she was going to endeavour to give family life her very best shot.

  The baby was still sleeping; she could see the blanket all bunched up in the bassinet. She was longing to have another look at her this morning, but it was probably best to let her be for a few minutes more, while she was so peaceful. Anna was still horizontal, and couldn’t easily see into the plastic cot. She started to hoik herself up the bed, trying awkwardly to rearrange the thin pillows behind her to prop herself up. As she moved, her clammy body alerted her to the fact that it had recently been a boxing ring for a baby to punch her way out of. Everything inside was jangled and bruised. She squirmed at the discomfort but she had no complaints; this was what happened when you were the arena where a miracle had happened: a temporary hurt which connected them profoundly forever. Only the two of them had shared it. Birth. A phenomenal, powerful agony. Florence had ripped Anna on her way out in her violent struggle to be born. She was clearly determined to have life; she’d fought for it with laudable vigour. Nothing was going to come between Florence and breath, not even the safety of Anna’s body. Florence wanted to get out of there and be in the world. And she was. And Anna didn’t mind in the least that her body was the collateral damage. She was honoured to be injured; she was delighted; and she was proud to have created such a resolutely purposeful little warrior. Long may she live.

  Anna was desperate for a pee, so she swung her legs over the side of the bed and gradually stood up. She hadn’t been in an upright position for some time, she realized as soon as her feet hit the ground and the cruelty of gravity took charge. ‘Ow.’ All of her organs jolted into their rightful, painful places. For a brief instant, she felt slightly dizzy, so she steadied herself at the side of the bed, the opposite side to the cot with all the bad news in it, as yet unseen, unknown.

  Anna shuffled into the bathroom, had a painful pee, yawned and went to the sink to wash her hands. She washed them using the liquid soap from the wall dispenser, dried them using the wall-mounted blower, and squirted some antibacterial gel on to her hands, as directed by the strict notice on the wall. It amused her that the bathroom was so uniquely hospitalish. She could be nowhere else. The long red alarm cord, the heightened loo seat equipment on the floor next to the toilet, the pile of sludge-brown papier-mâché bed pans, the very thin extra toilet paper roll, the carefully placed rails screwed to the cleany-clean tiled walls. Yes, it was very clean, she noted gratefully: they did a good job, the domestic-services staff in this place; it was exemplary. She was delighted that her daughter had been born in such a hygienic environment – it was one of the issues she and Julius had discussed when they were debating whether they should go private for the birth.

  Julius had been the one with the conflict: he’d desperately wanted the status, the comfort and the cleanliness he imagined they would only have if they were in a private hospital, but he was hugely aware that he OUGHT to use the NHS like everyone else, since he was a public figure (albeit solidly backbench). Therefore, he would be accused of all kinds of hypocrisy and harassed in a way he didn’t want. He intended to bring plenty of attention to the arrival of this child, so, much to his annoyance, he’d had to think better of his preference to go private. He announced, ‘OK, Anna, you win. There is, as of now, an annulment of the decision.’

  ‘Don’t be so pompous, Jules. Seriously. You should be delighted to have the baby inside the NHS. All of my family have been born in NHS hospitals. Bloody hell, I’d be crucified if I went private. No, ta.’ She’d known that Julius had capitulated for the wrong reasons, but she was relieved nevertheless that she didn’t have to fight him on it, or her family. In that second, the spotless bathroom confirmed her correct choice, and pleased her.

  As Anna washed, dried and antisepticked her hands, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, dishevelled and puffy from sleep, and she thought she looked closer to forty than the thirty-five years old she actually was. She didn’t care. This is what an older mum looks like the day after she’s given birth. Not everyone can be as miraculously beautiful as Princess Diana by the next day, much as they’d love to. Anna smiled at herself. She hadn’t seen her own reflection since Florence was born, so she really looked closely.

  Yes, she appeared tired, but there was something … different … new … changed. What was it? She leant in until she could see the huff of her breath on the glass. Was her skin better? Did she dare to imagine she could see the ‘glow’ people speak of? Well, she was quite flushed, but she thought that was mainly due to how warm it was in the room. They were high up in the building and therefore not permitted to o
pen a window. It was ludicrous. No, it wasn’t the glow. Was it her eyes? Did she now appear to be wiser or more knowing or something like that? Would that literally happen overnight? No, it wasn’t that, although she did notice that the inner part of her left eyeball was quite bloodshot, giving her a rather zombie-ish appearance. She must have burst a small blood vessel with all the pushing. It wasn’t a great look, but that wasn’t the change … what was it?

  As she stared at her face, she knew. Her face, exactly as it looked right that minute with all its flaws and unsymmetrical quirkiness, was the exact face Florence saw. The first ever face she saw. This was now not just Anna’s face, it was Florence’s mother’s face. The face she would know and trust and love for her entire life. Or at least, until Anna died … oh God, no, she mustn’t ever die. She had a daughter now to live for, to protect and to nurture. Anna decided exactly then that, as long as Florence needed her, she simply would NOT die.

  More immediately, and with a familiar feeling of dread, she thought about how she was going to have to slap on some make-up. Julius would surely want a photo shoot of them all for Hello! magazine.

  Anna was overcome with a desire to see her baby again now. She wanted to hold her close and look into her gorgeous eyes and know that they would forever be looking at each other. This face. And that face.

  As she left the bathroom she had a passing worry that her newly gelled hands might be a bit too astringent to touch the baby with. Perhaps she ought to call the nurse for advice? She giggled at the fact that this was probably going to be the first of many ridiculous over-worrying moments she would have in the lifelong pursuit of trying to be the best mother ever. That’s what darling new bud Florence deserved, and that’s what she was going to have: the best mother Anna could possibly be, flaws and all. Florence didn’t know that Anna often felt as if she was unloveable and ugly on the inside. The enduring toxicity of her dysfunctional relationship with her mother had confirmed those assumptions years before.

  An inordinately jealous woman, Anna’s mother had never quite recovered from the trauma of giving birth to someone more beautiful than her, so she constantly pecked at Anna’s confidence until there was very little remaining. But Florence wasn’t going to know that. Florence would think Anna was strong and beautiful. So that’s what she would be, for her beloved daughter.

  But as Anna approached the cot, she could see that the blanket was just blanket. There was no baby.

  Life stopped.

  Anna’s heart suddenly had a noose around it and she felt a brutal tug.

  ‘Jules,’ she said. Or rather, she didn’t say, because although her lips made the shape, no word came out. She made breath, but no sound.

  ‘Julesss!’ she managed to sputter on the second attempt. Still, he didn’t wake. He was so sluggily asleep.

  ‘JULES!’ she squealed in a pitch she didn’t recognize, since she’d never made the sound before. She leant over and thumped his arm. Julius lurched forward in his chair and into wakefulness, shocked and angry.

  ‘For Christ’s sake … what’re you doing …?’

  ‘Shush!’ she scolded him, instantly realizing that she was pointlessly trying to prevent him from waking the baby that wasn’t even there. ‘Where’s the baby?’

  ‘What? What? In there.’ He pointed at the cot.

  ‘No. She’s not. She’s not there …’ Anna was barely able to control her rising panic. Tug. Tug.

  ‘Yes, look.’ Julius rose from the chair and lumbered the couple of steps towards the cot, reached in, and picked up the blanket.

  He had to admit that she was right, there was no baby, but he wasn’t a gun-jumper, he was a considered, logic-wrangling man. There had to be a simple explanation.

  ‘They will have taken her for something …’ he offered as his first attempt at a guess.

  ‘Taken her for what? Who?’ Anna was having trouble remaining upright now, the heart-noose was constricting her and something odd was happening to her legs, both of which were suddenly boneless. She held on to the frame at the bottom of her bed.

  ‘I’ll call the nurse. They should’ve told us. Can’t take a baby without permission, however important …’ He was ranting on as he fumbled around the bed looking for the alarm button they were shown when they first arrived.

  Anna wanted to stride over to the door and shout out into the corridor for help, but her legs simply wouldn’t let her. She knew instinctively that she would fall if she let go. When Julius finally found the alarm button, he pushed it and then immediately strode to the door anyway, yanked it open and yelled out, ‘Nurse! Hello? Nurse!’

  ‘Shush,’ repeated Anna, this time utterly conflicted between the embarrassment of his loud bellowing and the certain need of it.

  ‘No. Someone needs to explain …’ He shot a furious glare back at her as he stomped off to find answers.

  ‘Shush,’ Anna whispered to herself. It was a tiny hopeless soothing for her, for the baby, for her pounding, tightening heart, a barely-there lullaby, a trace of comfort, a desperate hope. Let him be right. Let the big annoying know-it-all be right. She would be overjoyed to concede to his smugness if he was right this time.

  Let there be a simple reason.

  Let her have cried out and let a midwife have scooped her up and out, to let them sleep.

  Let her need a blood test.

  Let her need to be weighed.

  Let her need to be measured for a hospital trial.

  Let an inexperienced trainee have come in and taken her to the wrong place and then realized her stupidity, and be heading right back this minute.

  Let anyone have been helpless to resist a sneaky cuddle, and naughtily have thought it OK to walk up and down the corridor rocking her and smelling her wonderful sweaty baby head.

  Let someone have entered the wrong room, picked her up thinking she’s the baby boy next door called Arran or something, and be mistakenly taking her for her first sickle cell assessment.

  Let someone be dyslexic and not know how to read the wristband on her lovely chubby wrist.

  Let someone be foreign and not know how to read the wristband on her lovely chubby wrist.

  Let someone be stupid and not know how to read the wristband on her lovely chubby wrist.

  Let someone be blind and not see …

  As the creeping certitude of dread started to engulf her, Anna heard the pounding of footsteps thundering towards their room and the sound of raised voices. She didn’t want to hear any urgency whatsoever. She wanted to see and hear that lovely calm exterior that all aircrew have on planes. Utter utter confidence in the fact that ABSOLUTELY NOTHING IS WRONG. The faces of the people who burst into the room in a tornado of alarm told her otherwise for sure.

  One after another, the midwives, the receptionist and the doctor stampeded in and past her to stare at the empty cot, as if only seeing it with their own eyes made it the truth. What were they seeing? A full, horrifying nothing. They looked at no baby. The first midwife in shook the blanket, maybe hoping the infant had shrivelled up and hidden in the smallest fold. She passed the blanket to the doctor, who also examined it closely. Perhaps when the unthinkable happens, our brains tell our eyes to keep searching while the awful truth is sinking in. The receptionist was even checking the floor, the bathroom, opening the door of the bedside cupboard as if Florence might be a missing handbag.

  ‘Where’s our daughter?’ roared Julius. ‘What are you going to do …?’

  ‘Shush,’ muttered Anna. She leant against the wall and closed her eyes. She wanted the world to stop.

  ‘Get security immediately,’ ordered the doctor as he moved to push the room alarm on the wall panel behind the bed.

  ‘Shush,’ Anna tried again, but her legs buckled under her and she slid to the floor at the bottom of the bed. She was trying to quieten her screaming heart, but it was too late: the noose had strangled it. She allowed her head to fall back and she let out the loudest howl she’d ever heard.

  The Journey
Home

  Quiet Isaac’s car pulled out of the gloomy, fumey car park and into the bright light of a nippy yet sunny 1 January day. Not just the start of a new year, but the start of a new millennium and the start of a bold new life for Hope, unbeknownst to him.

  London was untidy. The detritus of the celebrations from the night before littered the streets and blew about in the chilly gusts, messy souvenirs of a party city.

  Quiet Isaac loved his car; he had bought it from a departing Nigerian student who’d graduated the year before. Quiet Isaac paid two hundred pounds for it. The previous owner had paid three hundred pounds for it, and so on back through many students. Somewhere twenty years before, the car must’ve been worth it, but now it was an ugly but reliably functioning rust bucket. Luckily Isaac’s father taught him well about cars, and in particular Japanese ones, which he admired so much for the ease of replacement parts and for the longevity. This vaguely silver Civic was an example of how hard it is to kill a Honda. It just would not die, however ancient, and Isaac already had a clutch of first years nipping at his heels to buy it for a measly hundred quid, when the time came that he was through with it.

  Quiet Isaac looked across at Hope. He had spent his waiting time in the car thinking about how he might possibly be able to comfort and support her, wondering if he would find the right words to use. As he glanced at her, he imagined her beautiful wide-open face might be a bit crumpled, but that wasn’t what he saw. Hope’s eyes were sparkling; she was bolt upright and fresh as air. Isaac hoped she wasn’t in some kind of shocked trance. She was looking straight ahead, clasping her bag close to her, balancing it on her knee.

  ‘You OK, Bubs?’ He squeezed her hand. She didn’t take his, which was unusual, but she did let him touch hers, which she kept firmly clamped to the bag. She was holding on to it as a teenager hugs a cushion when they watch a horror film.

  ‘Yeah yeah,’ she replied, a bit too distracted.