The Face At the Window

by Ruby Speechley

  ‘Here we are, alcohol-free, ladies.’ Nick hands us both a flute of fizz. Ben’s carrying their larger glasses of red. He passes one to Nick and raises his glass.

  ‘A toast to the safe arrival of your bouncing baby boy. May the labour be short and painless.’ Ben dips his head to me; his smile is warm and reassuring. He and Becca work at the local hospital where they met. She’s a midwife and he’s a knee surgeon.

  ‘God, I hope so.’ I laugh.

  ‘Cheers!’ Becca cries and everyone clinks their glasses.

  ‘Dinner will be served in approximately two minutes.’ Nick hurries off to the buzzing oven.

  ‘Go and give him a hand.’ Becca strokes Ben’s arm. ‘And could you put these in the fridge, please?’

  ‘Got him well trained at last.’ Ben winks at me and takes the box of cakes to the kitchen.

  Dinner is a success and Nick is on top form telling jokes and sharing work anecdotes with Ben. I wish he could be like this – good-humoured – all the time.

  Later in bed, Nick is gentle with me. Every position is uncomfortable, but he insists a strong orgasm can trigger labour. I want to ask why he’s in a hurry for our baby to arrive, but I don’t want to spoil his good mood. I’m convinced he’s as excited as I am.

  Once he’s asleep, I take my phone into the en-suite and switch it on. In a few moments I’m scrolling through my social media, trying to find the message I glimpsed earlier. I find it on Instagram. A reply to an old post from a week ago from someone called Magnifique. It’s the picture of us in the back garden in front of the pink camellia bush, me with my bare bump and Nick’s arms around me, fingers curled into a heart shape.

  All right for some, isn’t it? Thanks for rubbing it in!! Look at my perfect life, perfect baby and perfect fucking husband!!

  Bloody cheek. Who is this person? Is it a friend of a friend, but which one? I click on their photo of a skull studded with diamonds. There are no posts on their feed and no details about them. I’m tempted to leave a reply, but why should I have to justify myself to someone I don’t know?

  That’s assuming it is a stranger.

  Chapter Three

  13 July 2018

  Scarlett

  ‘Scarlett, come down, your dinner’s ready,’ Mum calls up the stairs.

  I finish applying a second coat of mascara then put my satin dressing gown on to protect my lacy dress. The gown material is soft against my shoulders, and I imagine it is real silk, not Tesco’s finest polyester.

  ‘I told you I wasn’t eating until later.’ I sit at the table and give my plate of pasta a little push in protest.

  ‘I’ve not given you much. I don’t want you drinking on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Who says I’m drinking?’

  Mum’s newly micro-bladed eyebrows shoot up.

  ‘So are you going to tell me about this bloke you’re meeting?’

  ‘Not much to say. His name is Cole and he’s totally gorgeous.’

  ‘How old is he, what does he do?’

  ‘He’s twenty-eight,’ I lie, ‘and he works in an office, some agency to do with the environment.’ I’m getting good at airbrushing the truth. I twirl spaghetti carbonara around my fork and take a bite. Anyway, Mum isn’t exactly honest with me so why should I be with her?

  ‘Sounds respectable. Is it serious?’

  ‘Yeah, course. Been with him six months already.’

  ‘Really? I thought he was new.’ Her eyelashes flutter.

  He’s the first proper man I’ve dated. Nothing like the silly immature boys that I usually end up with. This is the real thing.

  ‘Yeah, and by the way, when we get married, I want both my parents there, especially as I don’t have any grandparents, that I know of.’ I take another mouthful, rest my fork on the side of the plate and watch for her reaction while I chew. Gran died a month before I was born. I think it’s sad I didn’t get to know her.

  ‘Not again, Scarlett, please.’ Mum pours a glug of white wine into her glass.

  ‘Cole says I’ve got a right to know who my dad is.’

  ‘Oh, does he now? And when did it become any of his business?’

  ‘He cares about me, is that all right? He says fathers should have equal rights, so legally you can’t stop Dad and me from seeing each other.’

  Mum knocks back a mouthful of wine and pours out another glug. ‘He hasn’t got a clue, so I suggest he minds his own bloody business.’ She turns her head and grinds her teeth together.

  I glance at her profile, high cheekbones, smooth skin, worried eyes.

  ‘Look, all I’m saying is you must have loved him once. You had me, didn’t you?’ I try to picture their happy faces the first time they saw me. ‘Presumably, you loved him while I was being conceived, when I was born, so tell me what went so wrong?’

  Mum’s eyes redden. ‘It’s not that simple. It’s all a bit of a blur.’

  ‘Why are you making excuses? You must remember something. Why won’t you tell me?’ I stand up, and my chair goes flying backwards. ‘Or maybe that’s it, you’re telling the truth – because you don’t know who he is. So, tell me all their names and I’ll find out for myself.’ My voice is strangled. I can’t believe I said that.

  ‘How dare you insinuate… I’m doing this for your own good.’ Mum stands too. Her face is flushed, eyes wet.

  ‘My own good or yours?’ I yell. This has gone on too long all because I’m too scared of upsetting her, of her rejecting me. Like when I was fourteen and she found out I’d borrowed three pounds to go into town with some girlfriends; she didn’t speak to me for three days after. Stealing, she called it. She came after me and demanded I empty my pockets in front of my friends. I was mortified. I’d intended to pay her back. I’d wanted to buy her three bunches of daffodils from the supermarket for Mother’s Day.

  Mum doesn’t answer. She stares down at the table, her fingers spread, pressed into the gingham cloth.

  ‘I’m not a bloody child any more.’ I storm out of the room and run upstairs. She should have told me years ago. I’m twenty-one next month, old enough to decide if I want to see my own bloody father or not. It’s not up to her. I wish I could picture his face. I remember my hand being held in a warm palm and when I looked up his smile was obscured by sunlight. No one said he was my daddy though, so I suppose it could have been any of Mum’s boyfriends.

  I can’t wait to move out, live in my own place with my own rules. Cole says as soon as his divorce comes through, he wants us to get married. We’ll live in a lovely modern house on the new estate, not a poky old place like this one. Somewhere we can bring up our own little family. All my life I’ve yearned to know what it would be like to have a daddy, be his special little girl. One of those dads who lifts you up in the air in his big strong hands and loves and hugs you like no one else on earth.

  A memory slides into my mind of coming home from school, showing Mum the Father’s Day card I’d had to make.

  ‘Why don’t I have a daddy like everyone else?’ I’d asked her.

  ‘Oh sweetheart, not everyone has a daddy. Sometimes things happen to people that we can’t do anything about.’

  ‘Did something happen to my daddy?’

  ‘Yes, darling, it did.’ She’d cried and tried to hide it from me. And I know how upset it still makes her when I ask about him, but she refuses to give me one single clue about who he is.

  A few minutes later, I hear the doorbell ring. Mum answers it and I’m grateful to hear Amy’s voice.

  ‘Hi, Kelly, is Scarlett there, please?’

  Mum invites Amy in and tells her to go on upstairs. A moment later there’s a light tap, tap on my bedroom door.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’ Amy comes straight over and hugs me. I wipe my eyes and explain to her what happened with Mum. How I’ve never confronted her like that before. How can I move on with my life, not knowing who my dad is? I need to know the truth.

  ‘Sometimes it’s better not knowing,’ Amy says.

&
nbsp; ‘Whose side are you on?’ I pull away from her. She sticks her bottom lip out like a small child. As if I’d ever doubt her loyalty.

  ‘Mum told me about my dad when I was little, but I wished she hadn’t,’ Amy says. ‘I’d built up this idea of what he was like in my head, how kind he was, how much he missed me and she completely burst my bubble.’

  ‘But Cole says mothers use any old excuse to cut dads out of their kids’ lives because it’s easier for them. He could be out there looking for me right now.’

  ‘Then if he is, he’ll find you, won’t he?’

  ‘Will he, though? All I’ve ever wanted is a dad.’ I stand at the mirror.

  ‘I know, I was like that too.’ She reaches for my hand and we touch fingertips.

  ‘All my life I’ve wondered what part of me looks like him. If we have the same eyes or ears. Maybe he loves reading as much as I do. Although Mum’s a bookworm, too. Is that what they had in common? But why does she get so upset whenever I mention him?’

  ‘Perhaps he met someone else, ran off with her best friend and broke her heart.’

  I nod. ‘That could be it. It would explain why it’s so painful for her.’ I blot my skin with a tissue. ‘Oh God, I was so mean to her. I said that maybe she didn’t know because it could have been anyone.’

  ‘Scarlett!’

  ‘I know. Why did I open my big mouth?’ I peer closer at myself. ‘Look at the state of me. I’ll have to re-do my face now.’

  ‘What time are you meeting Cole?’

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Are you sure you want me to come?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’ I smooth on foundation with my fingertips.

  ‘You know he doesn’t like me, right?’

  ‘He does really.’ I look in the mirror. But it’s true, he doesn’t, and what’s worse is she doesn’t like him either.

  * * *

  We take a bus into Bedford town centre and walk up past Debenhams to The King’s Arms. The usual Friday night crowd are there and as soon as I spot Cole, my spirits lift. He gives me the biggest, warmest hug. He smells so good I could stay in his arms all night.

  ‘Hey, babes, how’s it going?’ He plants a kiss on my lips before I can reply. ‘I got you a beer.’ He reaches out to the bar and grabs two bottles and takes a swig from one and hands me the other.

  ‘What about Amy?’ I take it and knock back a mouthful.

  ‘Oh, sorry. Do you want mine?’ He holds it out to her by the neck, the rim shiny with his saliva. Is he serious?

  ‘I’ll get my own, thanks.’ Amy lowers her eyes and eases past my back to the bar.

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘Do you want me to wait with you?’ I whisper in her ear.

  ‘It’s okay.’ She doesn’t look at me.

  ‘I’ll wait. Let me get them.’ I touch her shoulder and flick a glance at Cole. He could try and make an effort with her, she is my best friend. His phone lights up. He taps on it, reads and then frowns.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s nothing. See you in a sec?’ He points at his mates with his thumb and heads over to them. I lean on the bar. The barman catches my eye and comes straight over. A woman further up gives me the death stare. Sorry, love, I say with my best sad face.

  ‘What can I get you, beautiful?’ The barman has a cheeky smile.

  ‘Wasn’t that woman first?’

  He glances at her and shakes his head.

  ‘Okay, well two bottles of Bud, please.’ I finish my first and push it towards him.

  The live band start playing Martika ‘I Feel The Earth Move’. The guitar and synth intro ricochets through my body and I can’t help but sway with the music.

  I hand Amy her bottle and dance with mine towards Cole, using it as a microphone. I know all the words as well as the moves. Amy follows close behind, very much not dancing.

  Cole reaches out to me and his hand weaves through my hair to the back of my neck. He gently draws me to him and we kiss passionately. Amy sits at a table nearby not looking at us.

  ‘Why are you still being like that with her?’

  He arches one of his eyebrows, as if the answer is obvious. I play-punch his arm. I’d have thought they’d be getting along by now. I hope Mum’s not like this when she eventually meets him. He is ‘the one’ so they’ll have to get used to it. I know what Mum will say. But he’s a married man. He assured me he’d separated from his wife before we met. When we get married, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure my dad is there to walk me down the aisle.

  Chapter Four

  Monday 13 August 2018

  Gemma

  Where are you, Rosie? I keep looking around, hoping that she’s been delayed somewhere and is coming back any moment now. I can’t think about the alternative. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ll have to call Nick, but how will I tell him? He’ll never forgive me. I shiver. The mum with twins, Jade, takes a multicoloured crochet blanket from the back of her pushchair and wraps it around my shoulders. Its softness and the clean baby smell make me weep all over again.

  The old guy with the stick totters out of the supermarket accompanied by a woman in a suit with a name badge on her lapel. She is about my mother’s age, with cropped brown hair and round glasses. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. Within seconds of me confirming that Thomas has not been returned to me, Cynthia Bryan, security manager has introduced herself and is straight on her two-way radio asking the customer service manager to call the local police station urgently.

  I cover my ears. The ground seems to tilt away from me. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. Is it? I stagger around, hoping to bump into them. Maybe that’s them by the greetings card stall, there’s a girl crouched down choosing a roll of wrapping paper, one hand still on her buggy. But no, when she stands, she’s not as tall and slim as Rosie.

  My baby isn’t missing, they’ve got lost somewhere, that’s all. Taken a turn down a residential road that goes on and on and looks like all the other roads in this part of Bedford. Rosie can’t work out her way back. I check my phone again, silently pleading with her to call me, tell me where they are so I can go and get them. I don’t mind how far it is. I’ll understand. She was doing me a favour, being her usual practical and thoughtful self. I won’t be mad at her, I’ll be relieved. So, so relieved. Tears choke me. I’m kidding myself. They’d have been back by now. It’s been almost twenty minutes. Something’s not right. Something has happened to them.

  ‘The police are on their way,’ Cynthia says, gently guiding me back to the front of the shop. People are staring at us, at me. I squint back at them. What do they know, did they see something I missed?

  The woman with the dog and the small group come back solemnly shaking their heads. I thank them and they hang around looking helpless.

  Panic strikes my chest. ‘Does anyone know where they are?’ I shout to no one in particular. ‘A girl with mid-length blonde hair pushing a green BABYZEN pram… my newborn baby, Thomas, inside.’ How many girls around here are pushing prams, have blonde hair like Rosie? There is nothing that makes them stand out. Several people shake their heads then carry on walking by, back to their normal lives.

  I turn to Cynthia. ‘What if they’ve been hit by a car while they were crossing the road or someone has abducted them?’

  ‘Whatever has happened, we will find them, Gemma, there’s CCTV all round here, and we’re already checking the cameras in the shop.’ She passes me a cup of milky tea one of her team has brought out.

  ‘It’s on Twitter and the BBC.’ A teenage boy from the small group holds up his phone. ‘Baby snatched from Bedford supermarket.’

  ‘Oh God, this can’t be happening.’ I sit on the bench and curl over, arms holding myself.

  A few minutes later police sirens fill the air.

  ‘Shall we wait inside?’ Cynthia sits next to me and touches my arm gently.

  ‘No, I can’t. What if she turns up and I’m not here?’

  ‘I think she w
ould call you?’

  ‘We’ll let you know, love,’ says the woman with the dog.

  I stare at my phone which is practically glued to my hand. I must have tried Rosie’s number thirty or forty times.

  ‘Her phone is off. Someone must have switched it off. I think they’ve been taken.’

  ‘You don’t think she might have turned it off herself?’ Cynthia says quietly.

  ‘Why would she do that?’ I frown at her.

  ‘I don’t know, it’s something we need to find out.’

  A tendril of doubt creeps into my mind. Could Rosie have switched her phone off deliberately? But why? Was she a tiny bit jealous of me? I’m aware that from the outside it looks like I have it all – a house, a business, a husband and a baby. But she wouldn’t take my baby because of that, would she?

  ‘I need to call my husband.’

  Cynthia nods and moves away. My fingers tremble as I tap in his name.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ Nick asks before I can even speak.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m… I’m still at the shops.’

  ‘How long are you going to be?’

  He’s shouting down the phone at me to get a move on, except the noise becomes one big blur I can’t decipher. My mind replays everything Rosie said to me, every look, every gesture in case I missed a clue. I’ll look after him. He’s safe with me. I search the square from left to right, right to left, backwards and forwards until I’m dizzy. I think I see a green pram near the crossing on the left, opposite the primary school gates over the road. Yes, it’s definitely blonde hair, if a little messy. I stride towards them and my hand drops to my side, still gripping the mobile.

  ‘Rosie, Rosie!’ I shout until my lungs burn.

  ‘Come back, come back, Rosie.’ I break into a run and I catch up with her in the middle of the road, but she doesn’t stop. I call her name again and stretch my hand out to tap her arm. She half turns towards me and frowns. Her skin is wrinkled, eyes confused. She’s holding a small straggly dog in her arms. The pram isn’t quite so green close up, it is more of a murky blue. The pram is empty. There is no baby.