Nest of Sorrows (34 page)

He took hold of her hand and held it gently. ‘What’s . . . er . . . what’s the basic problem? If you don’t mind my asking?’

She shrugged and sighed heavily. ‘I married the wrong man and he had the wrong mother. They were a bad influence on my first child, and I wasn’t letting them sink their claws into a second.’

‘They’re sure to find out, though. Especially if you hang around in Bolton. Everything gets dug up in the end, which is why I’m moving jobs.’

‘Because of your homosexuality?’

His eyes were clouded as he gripped her hand more tightly. ‘Yes. There have been a few remarks, so I’m off to Liverpool. Not yet, though. And when Mark said there was a Mrs Kate Saunders in here, I simply had to come and see you. After all you did for Rosie . . .’

She swallowed. ‘That was awful. Her dying like that.’

‘Yes. Yes, it was. I still miss her. And I can’t throw her clothes and dolls away. When I’m in a maudlin mood, I sit in her room and cry till Mark comes and finds me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Although she didn’t enjoy his misery, it helped somehow, made her own recent mess seem trivial in comparison. ‘If I could bring her back for you . . . When are you going to Liverpool?’

‘In a few months. After Easter.’

‘And Mark?’

‘He’ll be a weekend visitor. I’m buying a semi-detached in Crosby.’

‘The posh end.’

‘That’s right. Debtors’ retreat, all fur coats and no knickers.’ He stared at her for a long time. ‘I like you. I actually do like a lot of women, you know. As friends. You’re . . . you’re special. Why don’t you come with me? Away from all the flak?’

‘What?’ Her breath was temporarily taken. ‘But . . . sorry. I do wear knickers, might not fit in in Crosby. And you shouldn’t make these offers on the spur of the moment, Mr Collins.’

‘Steve.’

‘I’ve got a flat for now, and I’ll find somewhere safer as soon as the baby’s strong. Don’t worry your head over me.’

‘What about money?’

‘I’ve a bit saved. And I’ll do some tutoring on a private basis. Then there’s . . . well . . . I draw, for comics and newspapers. We’ll manage. Go and see my baby.’

He turned and dragged a wheelchair across the ward. ‘Good job you’re in your own room,’ he muttered furtively. ‘Get out of bed.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘I tend to fall. It was a Caesarian and I think it upset the old kidneys somewhat.’

‘Stop being so bloody soft! You want to see your lad, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Then shift yourself.’ He dragged her from the bed, lifting her in strong arms and dumping her without ceremony into the chair. ‘OK?’

She nodded. ‘A bit dizzy. Still, at least I’ve had a conversation. This is the first time since the op that I’ve spoken sensibly, I think. You are a good influence on me, Mr Steve Collins.’

They crept silently down the corridor to the baby unit, only to be accosted at the door by Kate’s favourite doctor, the one with the moustache.

‘No food in it this time,’ she commented.

‘Pardon?’

‘Your moustache. There’s no soup in it. One day when you stood over me and talked as if I were already a corpse, you had tomato in your facial hair.’

He smiled. ‘You’re better. Get back to bed.’

Kate folded her arms. ‘Shan’t. Show me my son. Is he bigger now? Will he live?’

‘Yes to both. But you can’t go in without a mask.’

Kate glanced at Steve. ‘Tonto,’ she said fiercely. ‘Bring Lone Ranger’s mask.’

‘Aye aye, Kemo whatever. I’m not too hot on Apache.’

They donned their masks. ‘Hi-ho Silver, away,’ shouted Kate as they approached the door of the baby unit.

‘Shush,’ ordered the doctor. ‘There are sick babies in there. Is this Mr Saunders, by the way?’

Steve glanced down at the wheelchair. ‘Yes,’ he pronounced convincingly. ‘We just had a bedside reunion, it was the most moving moment of my life.’

‘Fool,’ spat Kate beneath her breath.

The baby was beautiful, four pounds of humanity in a clear plastic case. He lay on his stomach, fists clenched into tight knots, a funny little bonnet on his head. A feed-tube, which ran to a stopper outside the crib, was fastened to the side of his face with paper tape.

‘They’re feeding him through his nose,’ whispered Kate. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous? I want to take him home.’

‘You wanted to take Rosie home, remember?’

Kate nodded. ‘She needed a mother’s love. So does Michael and so does my daughter. But you did well for Rosie, Steve. Better than I’ve done for Melanie. Rosie was well adjusted for a kid without parents.’

‘Thanks.’ He peered closely at the tiny infant. ‘Handsome young devil. How the hell are you going to hide him?’

‘I don’t know. They make a lot of noise, do babies. As you say, I may have to come clean.’

‘Does no-one suspect?’

‘Only Maureen Carter, and she can be trusted. I don’t want Geoff to have him, Steve!’ Her tone was suddenly harsh. ‘I don’t want him or Dotty Dora getting hold of my boy. Can you imagine what they’d turn him into? Another like Geoff, another who’ll need wet-nursing forever. I can’t allow that.’

Steve whistled beneath his breath. ‘Then you must come to Crosby with me. First though, you will have to explain yourself, to your daughter, at least. I mean, you can’t just bugger off without a word, can you?’

‘No. And I’m not so sure I’ll come with you . . .’

‘Where else would you go? How much money do you have?’

‘How much is the house?’

‘Three thousand.’

She studied him for a long moment. ‘Right. I’ll put a thousand down, can you match that?’ He nodded. ‘Then I’ll take a mortgage for five hundred and you can do the same. I’ll get a minder and teach part-time somewhere. This is crazy, isn’t it?’

He grinned broadly. ‘Naw. You’ll be safe with me, flower. And I’m good with kids, so’s Mark. We’ll have to do it legal and proper, just in case it doesn’t work out. Right?’

‘Right.’

They gazed at the baby for a long time. ‘That’s the only thing I regret,’ he said finally, ‘that I’ll never have a child.’

Kate glanced at her new-found friend. ‘That’s all right,’ she said solemnly. ‘You can borrow mine, old girl.’ Then they both got thrown out for laughing.

Kate had spent four whole days cleaning up. There were only two rooms, but she was weak in body, so it was sheer determination that pushed her along with mops and wet cloths and dry cloths and polish. Anybody would think she was expecting Queen Elizabeth herself to drop in, she thought as she poked between fireplace tiles with a matchstick wrapped in cotton wool. This was for her child. No, it was for her children. One lay in hospital; the other was about to visit this very afternoon.

She sank into the Paisley-shawled chair. Melanie. Yes, this was make or break time. Either Melanie would keep the secret, or she would run home and tell Daddy and Dotty. Oh Lord! Her life would not be her own if the child decided on the latter course. And if Geoff were to find out that Kate intended to take the baby to live in a house with a member of a persecuted minority . . . Still. She couldn’t hide a brother from Mel, wouldn’t hide him from her. But what an enormous weight this was, a terrible burden for such a young back.

Yet Kate remained quietly confident. There was something about Mel, something that had only just begun to come out. She was a strong kid. Whatever Geoff and Dora had done in their spoiling, they had not taken away the strength.

She got up and straightened first the fire-brasses, then the photographs on the mantelpiece. Her favourite sat right in the middle, Melanie on horseback, her head held high beneath the lovely Edwardian hat. That had been taken on Mother’s wedding day. Mother. Oh, Mother! What would she say if she knew . . . ?

To stop herself thinking about Rachel, Kate went through to the gleaming kitchen, put away her cleaning materials, washed her hands, then got on with her sandwich making. She had not seen Melanie for four months. The bulge had started getting too big, so she had taken herself off to Maureen’s caravan. To protect the unborn, she had neglected her daughter ruthlessly. Would salmon sandwiches and a home-made cake really make up for that?

The table looked lovely. A dark red cloth with matching napkins, china cups, a gift from Arthur – no, she must not think about Rachel and Arthur – and a pretty posy of dried flowers as centrepiece. Next to Mel’s plate was a beautifully wrapped gift, two pretty nightdresses covered in pale blue tissue. It was time. Any minute now. She looked at her watch. Panic peeped over the edge of sanity and she took some deep breaths, trying to empty her mind of all negative thought. It had to be done, must be done properly. If it failed, then she would have to fight them all.

A knock at the back door. Kate composed herself, opened the door and smiled. ‘Come in.’ She embraced her daughter. ‘You’re alone? No-one followed you?’

‘They imagine I’m at school doing choir practice.’ Melanie placed her bag on the dresser, a cursory eye sweeping over the prepared feast. ‘I’m on a diet.’

‘That’s OK, you don’t have to eat it.’

The girl swivelled on her heel and faced Kate. ‘Oh, Mother! Why all the secrecy? Dad and the grans think you’ve moved. Where have you been? It’s months since I saw you.’

‘Sit down, Mel.’

Melanie placed herself in one of the straight-backed chairs while Kate marvelled at all this new poise and grace. ‘You’d improved at the wedding, but now! Oh my goodness! What a beauty you are going to be.’

A loud sniff from the table was followed by, ‘No need to flannel, Mum. Just tell me what this is all about. Months I’ve been trying to see you, months on end. Why? Why did you turn your back on me? Why did you tell the other people in this house to say you were no longer here?’

Kate shuffled from foot to foot. It was almost as if their situations had been reversed – she was the child, she was answerable to this young woman. ‘I wasn’t here. And I had a secret, something to hide.’

‘Boothroyd. It’s OK, everyone knows about that. Dad recognized your work in the paper.’

‘More than Boothroyd.’ Kate swallowed nervously. ‘Look at me, Mel. You’ve . . . well . . . you’ve got a little brother. Michael John, he’s called.’

‘Oh.’ There was shock behind the monosyllable. ‘Where . . . where is he?’

‘In hospital.’

‘Oh.’ Melanie chewed her lip. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘He had to arrive on a prescribed date, so he was Caesarian and premature. Melanie! Look at me, love. Don’t be jealous, please?’

‘I’m . . . not jealous. Were you ill?’

Kate nodded. ‘Very. And I didn’t want you worried. I have diabetes. This means it is difficult for me to give birth to live children.’

Tissue paper rustled as Mel opened her gift and stared soundlessly at layers of pink and white chiffon. ‘Is it . . . Dad’s?’ she managed at last.

‘Of course it is.’

‘Then why aren’t you at home with us?’ There was energy in the tone now. ‘A baby needs a proper home, not just a bedsit with kitchen.’

This was going to be the difficult bit. ‘I’m not staying here. Things are happening. There’s talk of Boothroyd greetings cards and Boothroyd Junior plates and stuff for children. I shall be moving soon. And . . .’ She inhaled deeply. ‘And I don’t want your father or Dora to have Michael.’

The paper crackled again as Melanie closed her parcel. ‘I see. He’s precious, then? It’s OK for them to have me, but you won’t let them near your son.’

‘Stop that! Stop it right now! You can leave home and come to live with me and Michael whenever you wish.’

‘I’m not living here.’

‘Nor am I. I’m moving to Liverpool soon. And I’ve made enquiries; if you come up to scratch, they’ll find a place for you at Merchant Taylors’. That’s one of the best schools in England.’

‘No.’ The blonde head shook slowly. ‘I can’t leave him. He’d have nothing without me. And I think you’d better come home too, especially if you’re diabetic. What if you get ill?’

Kate paused. ‘I . . . won’t be alone. I’m going with a friend.’

‘A man?’

‘Yes. But it’s not like that. He’s . . . he’s not interested in women. He is not a boyfriend, Mel. Just a very good and caring person. We’re buying a house.’

The young brow was deeply furrowed. ‘All sorted out, then.’ The chair scraped back a fraction. ‘Dad will have to be told, of course . . .’

‘No!’

Melanie half-smiled. ‘Be your age, Mother. A man can’t have a son without being told. He’ll want to see him . . . buy him things . . .’

Kate watched while Melanie digested the idea of becoming second best and second class.

‘And the two grannies ought to know, too. This quarrel with Granny Rachel has gone on for long enough, Mum.’

‘Ah, yes. But what about Granny Dora?’

‘What about her?’

‘Melanie, she ruined your father. From birth he was mollycoddled and given in to, I don’t want that for Michael. If you tell these people about the baby, then my life will not be worth living. Granny Rachel would be almost as bad – she’s always wanted a boy in the family. Don’t you see? It’s not because I think Michael’s special, that’s not the reason for wanting to keep him to myself. It’s because Michael is ordinary and I don’t want him on a pedestal.’ She paused. ‘Your nose would be right out of joint, Mel.’

The girl whistled softly. ‘That’s not the problem. Anyway, I’m fourteen now, I’ve got my own interests.’

‘Boyfriends?’

Melanie blushed. ‘A few. Nothing serious.’

‘I should hope not. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Oh, Mother!’ The exasperation was plain.

‘What?’

‘Well, how can I keep a thing this size to myself?’

‘He’s no size, he’s only four and a half pounds . . .’

‘You know what I mean. Don’t start being silly. I can’t carry on as if nothing’s happened.’

Kate crossed the room and sat down opposite her daughter. ‘Would you rather I had just disappeared without telling you about Michael? Should I have gone to Crosby and never a word to you?’

‘No.’

‘Then my future and that of your brother is in your keeping. I know it’s a heavy burden for a girl your age, but if I didn’t think your shoulders were broad enough, then I would not have piled it on to your back. Bear with me, sweetheart. There is a reason for what I am doing, believe me. I am sane at last, whole at last. Will you help me? Will you?’