Motherlove (35 page)

Then he pulled himself together. ‘You keep it quiet, right. For tonight. You keep it quiet and you keep your head down and you don't say nothing to no one. Carver's not going to know about this. All right? You hear me?'

She nodded.

‘All right. Just shut it.' He turned away, wiping his mouth, packing his gear, pretending that his hand wasn't shaking. His leather jacket and his baseball cap. The bag that he'd kept stashed under the sink, telling her not to touch it. She hadn't touched it. If it terrified Gary so much, it wasn't something she wanted to know about.

He was running cold water in the sink, splashing his face with it. Then he finished his beer, opened another, swigged hard. Turned to look a fleeting second at the baby cradled in Lindy's arms, then screwed his eyes up and turned away. He really was shaking.

The door opened.

‘Ready?'

‘Yeah. Sure, Carver.'

‘You've got it?'

‘Yeah. Here, safe and sound.' Gary patted the bag, hoisting it up, putting the beer can down and missing the cupboard, so it fell to the floor, its contents foaming over the threadbare carpet.

Lindy moved.

‘Leave it,' snapped Gary.

‘No,' said Carver. ‘Let her clean it up. Do what she does. Come on.'

‘Right, Carver.'

Lindy put Kelly back in her basket and reached for a cloth in the sink. She dropped to her knees to mop up the spilt beer.

The front door clicked quietly shut, and she could hear Gary's heavy boots in the street. She couldn't hear Carver's at all. He walked like a cat. She heard muffled voices though, several of them. A couple of doors shutting, engines revving, cars moving off. Then silence.

Kelly was still stirring, still wanting something. Attention. Lindy picked her up again, rocking her back and forth. Just letting instinct take over. That bag of dirty nappies up in the bathroom. She should chuck it, and all the other crap in the flat, empty cans, old newspaper and such. Letting Kelly lie on the empty mattress, she gathered up every scrap of rubbish that she could find, fetched the bag from the bathroom with its smelly load of strange baby clothes, crushed in the other trash and took it down to the front step. Tied a knot so it wouldn't spill out. Pushed it into the skip blocking the pavement, in amongst the broken tiles and rubble, an old suitcase and a dead cat. Everyone dumped stuff in it.

She went back upstairs to her baby. Lay down beside her. It was her home, this place. Crappy though it was, it was all she had. But Carver had told her to go. If she refused, she'd finish up floating in the sewer, and Kelly with her. She didn't want to lose Gary; he was her man. But Kelly was her baby. She didn't want anything happening to Kelly.

Besides, if Carver's job went wrong, this place would be swarming with police, asking questions, turning everything upside down, and they'd bring in the social workers again, and Kelly would be gone. Better to go now, before the whole world of Nelson Road came crashing down. How long could she leave it? She didn't want to go out into that dark night, but she couldn't stay until morning. Another hour or so, maybe, here in the warmth of what had been home.

She could pack. Kelly's things, mostly, and some of her own clothes, into a carrier bag and the big canvas shoulder bag she'd nicked last year. Some food. Hitchhiking could take forever. A packet of biscuits, that would do, and a bottle of coke and a bar of chocolate. It would see her through till she got to London. What else? What about cash? She had three pounds fifty, but Gary had some. Never gave her any, but he had some somewhere. She'd seen him flashing notes around.

Probably had it on him, but you never know. She searched the pockets of his abandoned clothes, struck lucky. There was a fiver in his jeans pocket, so dirty and crumpled people would think twice about accepting it, but it was money, wasn't it? A few pennies, a bit of silver. And then, joy, a crisp new tenner and a fifty pence piece in the pocket of his denim jacket.

A car screeched down the road. She rushed to the window. Was it Gary and Carver back already? No, it couldn't be. Just a joyrider out to annoy the area. The streets were more or less clear now. Silence, except for a dog barking. Lights out at the Duke of Wellington.

Half two. Could she risk staying for another hour? Back on the mattress with Kelly. Just a little longer—

She must have dozed off. Woke with a start, hearing a siren. Just a quick blast, a long way off, but it made her jump. What time was it? Gone four. She scrambled up in a panic. They could be back any moment. She had to be gone before they came back.

And Kelly was waking. Another feed? Now? Well, the baby didn't know better, did she? Better now than out in the dark. Then she had to be changed again, but that was all right, best to start off clean and dry. Just as long as Carver didn't come back. Lindy's fingers moved like greased lightning.

‘There's my little girl.' Into the Moses basket. It would be a bit awkward to carry far, but it held most of Kelly's stuff, as well as the baby.

Down the dark dirty stairs one last time. She met the cold blast of night air, and out into deserted Nelson Road.

A long walk, across to Moreton Road, past the foundry, and the garages, under the railway bridge, down Weston road, skirting the council estate, out to the edge of town. Not so long ago it had petered out into open fields with a few trees. Now the bypass cut across the farmland, a tarmac girdle for Lyford, sweeping lorries and commuters down towards the motorway.

The sky was grey in the east by the time she got there. Even under the yellow lights of the intersection, she could see the silhouette of distant downs and trees.

Weary now, ankle sore, she stood at the slip road, thumbing hopefully at the passing traffic, but no one stopped. A lorry slowed, but then accelerated past her. She saw one car hesitate, a driver in shirtsleeves. Then he passed her by.

It was Kelly. Lindy had never had trouble cadging a lift before. Had to fight the drivers off sometimes, and once or twice she'd failed, but that risk went with the territory. Usually, if they made eye contact, they'd stop. Girl on her own, they'd stop without a second thought. But now she had a baby with her. That must be putting them off.

Traffic thundered past. Where did they all come from? Mostly trucks and vans, but the cars were starting. Commuters in their posh saloons, some of them shaving at the wheel, or tuning their radios, none of them pausing for a girl and her baby basket. Every passing lorry enveloped her in a mini-hurricane. Kelly was beginning to cry.

Maybe Lindy should play it the other way. Flaunt Kelly, look like a plaintive mum, and hope someone would take pity on her. She picked the baby up and cuddled her.

It worked. Eventually. Daylight now, and at last a lorry stopped, edging in onto the curb ahead of her. She hoisted up the basket again, her carrier and her canvas bag, adjusting her balance, and scrambled for the lorry.

The driver had the passenger door open.

‘This is no place for a little babby, girl. You'd best get in here.' He looked OK, burly like truckers were, but pretty old, grey hair and all. Someone's granddad; that's why he'd stopped. ‘Where're you going?'

‘London. See my brother.'

‘You'd be better off on the train, thought of that?'

‘Ain't got no money for the train.' That wouldn't have stopped her, but hitching was a habit. She always hitched.

‘Well, I'm heading for Oxford, but I can't leave you standing there. I'll take you to the lay-by, drop you there. At least you can get yourself a nice cuppa.'

‘Thanks.' She was ready to struggle up into the cab, with the baby and all, but he jumped down to help. Yeah, someone's granddad, no doubt about that.

‘So, you're off to the big city then,' he said, checking his mirrors and back into the traffic. ‘Show the little one the sights, eh? What is it, boy or girl?'

‘Girl.'

Kelly blew a raspberry.

‘She got a name?'

‘Kelly Crowe.' Lindy felt her. Kelly needed changing again.

‘Well, little Kelly, you listen to Freddy here, and you tell your Mum it's a dangerous world and she shouldn't be hitching rides with a babby.'

‘Just to London,' insisted Lindy. ‘Then I'll be all right.'

He shook his head, but it wasn't really his concern. They were coming to the lay-by. He'd done his bit, getting her off the slip road.

It was a big lay-by, with toilets at one end and a kiosk selling hot tea and sausage and bacon butties at the other. A couple of cars and half a dozen big lorries already parked up. Freddy drew up alongside and she opened the door.

‘You take care now,' said Freddy. ‘Don't you go climbing in with just anyone.'

‘Thanks,' said Lindy, dropping down, taking her bags from him, moving out of the way as he drove off again, still shaking his head.

The smell of frying, over the diesel fumes, drew Lindy like a magnet. She could afford a bite, couldn't she? Wouldn't cost the earth, not in a place like this.

But Kelly came first, before she started bawling in earnest. Change her in the toilets that stank of pee and disinfectant. Pathetic little steel basins and no hot water, but it was all there was. Lindy gave her the bottle she'd brought with her in the basket.

Then she bought herself a bacon bun. Great, the warm grease dribbling down her chin. All she had to do was wait for the next lift that would take her the twenty odd miles to London.

But no one was offering. Not even when she asked them direct. It was the baby, no doubt about it.

She had been there nearly two hours when they arrived. A camper van, painted with leaves, like it was advertising a garden centre. Or just gipsies. Lindy watched a man get out, long hair tied in a ponytail, embroidered waistcoat. Then a woman, long hair, long skirt, helping a toddler out and a little boy, shepherding them to the toilets. The man went round the back, prodding at the exhaust. It had been making a racket as the van had pulled in.

Lindy sidled towards them. A family with children, safe enough. She was fed up with drivers looking at Kelly like she was some alien. And she needed the bog. That bacon bun had got her insides churning.

The man smiled at her as she carried Kelly past. In the toilets, the woman was wiping the toddler's bare bum. She smiled too. ‘Hi.'

Lindy chewed her lip, dropped her bags and then laid the basket down. ‘Can you watch her while I go in?'

‘Surely.'

Sitting in the stinking cubicle, looking at the scratched steel door, Lindy could hear the woman talking. ‘Aren't you a sweet little thing then? Come on, come to Mandy. Let's give you a cuddle.'

She could hear Kelly's gurgle. Contented. There was this great upheaval inside Lindy. All sorts of feelings fighting each other. Jealousy that Kelly was responding to someone else. Anger and worry, that gut terror that someone else was going to take her away. And this strange warm longing, to have someone just smile at her and Kelly.

She emerged, to find the woman crouching on the floor, long skirt splayed out, showing Kelly to the two kids. The toddler was reaching out to touch her.

The woman smiled at Lindy, and laid the baby back in the basket. ‘She's lovely. I love kids. Is she yours?'

Lindy snatched the baby up. ‘Course she's mine. She's my Kelly. I got the papers to prove it.'

The woman put her arm round Lindy. ‘Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I just thought how young you were, her big sister maybe. I do apologise.'

She spoke posh, weird with her looking like a gipsy.

The little toddler was still reaching up to the baby. As a token of forgiveness, Lindy let her touch.

‘Tanja likes her too,' said the woman.

‘Where you heading then?'

‘Oh, west. We're going to join friends over in Wales.'

‘Right.' If only they had been going to London. Lindy could have asked them for a lift and she was sure they'd have said yes.

‘And what about you and Kelly?'

‘London. Don't know when though. I'm not getting much luck with lifts.'

A flash of alarm, hastily stifled. ‘You're trying to hitch-hike with a baby? That can't be easy. Sorry, I assumed you were with someone.'

‘Going to stay with my brother.' With Jimmy, who might or might not be in London, who might or might not remember her. ‘If I can find him. Got to go somewhere, haven't I?'

The woman looked at her in sympathy and concern, then she smiled. Not a social worker's smile at all. ‘Sure you wouldn't prefer to come with us to Wales?'

It was like balancing on the middle of the see-saw back in the park. One step to the left and it tilted one way, to the right and it went the other. She didn't have to go to London. She could do anything she liked. Head off with this woman and her family. A real family.

‘Yeah, all right.'

iii

Heather

One second of bliss, emerging from drugged slumber. Then something gnawing within her, even though she couldn't remember what it was. Something was wrong. Maybe it had been a dream, and now she was waking and she'd find it wasn't true
…