Motherlove (20 page)

The pale woman lay back on her pillows. ‘Boy. Just as well or my Kev would go fucking mad. When I had to give up work, he was that furious, said in that case it had better be a bloody boy.'

Jackie forced a smile. ‘Have you got a name?'

‘Anita.'

‘For the baby?'

‘Oh. Yeah, Kevin like his dad.'

‘Lovely,' said Jackie. ‘Very patriarchal.'

The door opened, Balgeet returning from the bathroom. She had the bed next to Lindy; her baby Deepinder had beaten Kelly into the world by forty minutes. ‘Oh, a new baby! That is lovely. Is it—?'

‘Don't touch!' said Anita, with a hostility that lowered the temperature in the ward by several degrees.

Jackie looked across at Lindy with raised eyebrow, then smiled broadly at the Sikh woman. Balgeet looked abashed, but only for a second. No point in making a fuss.

Lindy accepted it as natural. Race was an issue that had always surrounded her. Verbal abuse, violence, graffiti. For most of her life, she had hung around with people who thought nothing of chanting racist slogans or singling out Pakistani shops for vandalism. But for herself, she'd no real sense of tribalism, because she had no tribe. She was always the outsider. There were law-abiding respectable citizens, white, black, brown or yellow, and there were the outlaws, white, black, brown too, and she was lost among them, somewhere between Tyler on the ground floor and Carver upstairs.

So she was happy now in this pretend home with Jackie the white ex-teacher and Balgeet the Sikh lady and Marion the West Indian nurse.

Visiting time. Varinder Singh with two aunties, a grandmother and three children filled the ward with noisy delight, despite Nurse Patricia's disapproving reminder that only two visitors were permitted at a time. They knew how to handle Nurse Patricia. Suddenly, the entire Sikh family was having trouble with English, although they were fluent the moment the nurse was gone.

Jackie's beaming, slightly harassed husband arrived with their two children, a carrycot, and endless carrier bags. ‘Good. You've got my jacket. And the shawl? Oh, Frankie! There was a brand new shawl your mother made. This is the dog blanket!' Laughter and bustle and they were gone, with one last hug and a kiss for Balgeet and Lindy. Lindy was sorry to see them go, to lose a part of her temporary family, though Jackie had only been in for twenty-four hours.

Anita's husband Kevin came in. No chocolates or fruit but a football for his baby son. Kevin had the thickest neck Lindy had ever seen. Red and raw and shaven. ‘Fucking hell,' he said to his wife, glaring round the ward. ‘You better not come home bleeding stinking of fucking curry.'

Peace. Visiting hours were at an end. Jackie had left. Kevin had swaggered away, on the firm insistence of a male nurse. The Singh family had emerged from the curtains around Balgeet's bed, and Anita had drawn her own in response. Now Balgeet was sleeping and all was silence.

Lindy was alone with Kelly. The baby stirred, looking around with uncomprehending eyes. Lindy lifted her out of her cot and cradled her. All the rest, the illusion of home and family, was fake, a pretence that would vanish into thin air when Lindy was turfed out of this place, but Kelly was real. Kelly was for keeps.

Lindy's gift, or curse, was her ability to see and not see, to be selective in what she chose to know. It was her means of survival. The happy thought was enough – Kelly was for keeps.

No visit from Gary. He didn't know she was here. She wasn't going to think about what he would say when she arrived on his doorstep with Kelly. It was a long way off, because they were keeping Lindy in a bit. Anaemic, they said. And very young, and although she'd given an address, like a proper home, they would have to have a word with social services about her, make sure she had support.

‘I've got my Gary,' she'd said, letting herself believe it.

That was a problem for another day. Today, she had Kelly. Such a pretty baby. And dressed like a princess too. Proper baby clothes, and bedding and nappies and a quilted Moses basket that had arrived at the hospital just after Kelly's birth, with a potty and bottles and rattles and a pink furry mouse and a rubber duck and a bunch of flowers. The manager of Baby Garden had been photographed by the press, handing them over to one of the admin staff on the hospital steps – Marion had told her about it, chuckling.

All this – for her baby.

Her hungry baby. She could ask for another bottle for her. Or she could try that other thing. While no one was watching. She raised Kelly to her breast. Not quite sure how to arrange it, but after a minute they settled down together. It felt odd. Hurt a bit but it felt sort of – natural.

The baby slept again. Lindy placed her back in her cot, then padded out to the toilets. At the nurses' station in the corridor, Patricia was shuffling notes, while Marion stretched, hands pressed into the small of her back. ‘Have security up here next time.'

‘Shouldn't allow people like him in the place,' said Patricia. ‘You could sue him, you know, for what he said to you.'

‘Oh, men like him don't fuss me,' Marion laughed. ‘But not very nice for the patients.'

‘The wife's just as bad. You know what? We should do a quick swap of babies. Kevin Rainford for Adebayo in 3B. Black as the ace of spades, 'scuse my language. Switch the labels, and tell her he must have developed overnight. Wouldn't you give something to see her face?'

‘Ah, no. Take pity on poor Adebayo, woman.' Marion saw Lindy and smiled broadly. ‘You all right, Lindy?'

Lindy nodded, shuffling into the bathroom, disturbed. Nurses swapping babies; it didn't bear thinking about. She hurried back to her bed, where Kelly was lying alone and vulnerable.

She picked her up and held her tight.

The taxi pulled up on the corner of Heighton Road, because the kerb outside 128 was blocked by parked cars and a skip. A real taxi, not one of the minicabs that would have dumped her and made off at speed. The hospital had arranged it. They needed the bed after four days. The doctors had checked her over and a social worker called Caroline had promised to visit Lindy at home.

The taxi driver helped her out, with baby Kelly. Even carried all the Baby Garden stuff to the front door for her. Carver was coming out as she went in. He paused, watched the taxi driver dumping the Moses basket on the step, looked at the baby clasped to Lindy's shoulder. No smile, but then Carver never smiled. No frown either. He just took note. Then he picked up the basket and carried it upstairs for her.

‘Thanks,' she mumbled, and opened her door.

Gary lay on the mattress, empty beer cans around him, smoking and dozing. Most of his work tended to be at night. He opened his eyes as she came in, propped himself up on his elbow to look at her. Then he saw what she was holding.

He jumped to his feet. ‘You stupid bitch! Where the fuck have you been?'

‘In hospital, Gary. Having the baby. See?' She turned the bundle she was carrying, hoping that seeing the baby's face would appease him.

‘Stupid fucking cow! You were supposed to have it here. Not in front of half the fucking doctors in Lyford.'

‘I couldn't help it, Gary. I got done for shoplifting, din' I, and it all just happened.'

‘Shoplifting? You got done? Stupid cow. Stupid fucking cow. Now what? Whole bloody world knows now, don't they? Doctors? Police? Social Services? They'll never let up now, got their claws into you. Be round here all the fucking time, you stupid bitch.'

‘I'm sorry, Gary. I couldn't help it.'

He stared at the basket and its contents. ‘Where d'you get this crap? You nicked it?'

‘They gave it me, Gary. The shop where it happened. They gave it me, honest.'

‘Where it happened?' He grabbed her arm, pulled her round. ‘You were in a fucking baby shop? You done it deliberately, din't ya? Stupid fucking bitch, I'll kill you!'

The first blow caught her round the ear. His fist was raised for the second, but then a hand closed round his wrist. A black hand.

‘Calm down,' said Carver.

‘See what she fucking done?' Gary was spluttering.

‘You want to have the police round here? Think about it.'

There was a moment's silence, while Gary got control of his rage. Lindy wriggled free and carried her precious bundle across the room.

Carver stopped at the door, taking everything in. He glanced at Gary. ‘Think about it,' he repeated, and was gone. Easy feet on the stairs. From the window, Lindy watched him stroll off down the road.

Leaving her with Gary. She loved him. But just now, she wasn't sure she wanted to be alone with him.

But Carver's words seemed to have done the trick. He was glowering, but no longer wild with rage. Just sullen. She couldn't blame him. He'd had it all planned and she had messed it up. But maybe, now, if he saw his baby properly, he wouldn't mind so much.

‘She's called Kelly,' she said.

He grunted and kicked the basket across the room. ‘Pick it up. Place is a fucking pigsty. Don't think I'm going to fucking wait on you, just because you come home with a fucking baby.' The rage was building up again, but he couldn't let it burst out as usual. So he grabbed his jacket instead. ‘I'm going out. Clear the fuck up.'

Left alone, she tidied up. Set Kelly in her basket cradle, with her Baby Garden shawl and her Baby Garden quilt. Made the bed, cleared up the beer cans, the cigarette butts, the foul socks and underwear, washed the dirty crockery, stashed the baby stuff away in the cupboards. Her homecoming could have been a whole lot worse. Of course Gary was angry. Only natural. But he'd only hit her once, and he hadn't actually thrown her out, or taken a knife to her and the child.

All down to Carver, of course. If she weren't afraid of him, she'd have been grateful. Why had he told Gary to leave her alone? Maybe he liked her. She shuddered at that. Carver was dangerous; she'd heard things, that he had a gun, that he'd killed… He certainly had a knife. She was pretty certain he wasn't the sort of man who secretly liked babies. But whatever his reasons, he'd done the trick.

Gary came back late. She'd given up on him. She was lying in the dark, listening for the sound of Kelly's breathing to tell her she wasn't alone. He slammed the door. The baby stirred. He stood in the dark staring down at it.

‘Keep it quiet,' he ordered, then began to pull his clothes off.

She did her best. For two nights she barely slept, listening for the first hint of a whimper from the cot. Even a sigh or a gurgle and she'd be up, slithering carefully off the mattress, settling on a chair in the far corner to feed Kelly, or carrying her, tiptoeing, up to the bathroom to change her.

Then the third night she was so dog-tired she fell asleep and missed the warning signs. Gary's foot woke her, kicking her ribs. Kelly was crying at the top of her tiny lungs.

Gary yanked her up. ‘Shut the fucking thing up, okay, or I'll do it.'

There was a muffled yell of complaint from somewhere else in the house. Still half asleep, Lindy crawled to the basket and lifted the baby up. A wet nappy.

‘Fucking stinks,' snarled Gary. ‘Get it out.'

She staggered upstairs with a new nappy, dropped the old one in the plastic bag she'd left under the bath, washed and redressed Kelly, cooing incoherently over her. She didn't mind changing her, or feeding her, or doing anything the baby needed, but just now all she wanted was to get back to sleep. Back down to their room, pull off the wet bedding in the basket, put an old towel in instead; that would do for now. The baby went down without trouble. Lindy groped her way back to the mattress.

Gary had sprawled across it, arms and legs flung wide, snoring. She tried to edge in, to find enough space to lie down, but he woke and kicked her. ‘Fuck off.'

‘Gary, I need to sleep.'

He swore again, pulled one of the pillows free and threw it at her. So she took it, and her heavy shoplifting coat, and curled up under the table.

He was irritable next day, flying into a rage every time the baby made the slightest noise. He hit Lindy. She knew what he was like in these moods. Sometimes it was drugs, and sometimes it was nerves, but when he was like this he took it out on her.

He went for her again and tripped over the basket. She was sure he was going to turn on Kelly, shake her, slap her, hurl her round the room. Lindy crouched over the basket, taking his blows on her back and her shoulders, while he swore and snarled.

He got his foot under her, pushed her off, and stood with clenched fists over the cradle, his breathing halfway to a sob.

‘Don't touch her,' Lindy pleaded.

He reached down, grabbed the baby's ankles.

Lindy sprang forward. ‘You touch her, I'll tell Carver. I will!'

It worked. Gary stepped back as if the baby had given him an electric shock.

He soon got over it. Even managed a laugh. ‘You think that's the magic word, do you?' He put on a silly whine. ‘I'll go tell Carver.' He helped himself to a can of beer, leaning nonchalantly on the sink like he was the hard man of the street and no one dared mess with Gary Bagley. ‘What you think, then? That Carver's got a soft spot for you? That thing's fairy godfather? Looking out for it? Stupid cow. He needs it quiet, that's all. Just for a few days. Got something big going down. I'm doing a job for him.' He said it proudly, like he'd been appointed Prime Minister or something, but he was scared too. Lindy could tell. That was why he was so on edge. He was in on something out of his league and he knew it.