Nest of Sorrows (36 page)

‘Yes, of course he’s mine,’ snapped Kate. ‘And I hope you and Arthur haven’t been shouting your mouths off about my whereabouts.’

‘Eh?’

‘Watch my lips, Mother. I am not here. I have not been here for ages, got it?’

Rachel nodded mutely. ‘Can I . . . can I hold him?’

Kate sprang forward and, without ceremony, pushed the small wriggling bundle into her mother’s arms. ‘Your grandson,’ she whispered belligerently. ‘But my son. Mine.’

‘Yes, yes. Of course he’s yours! Oh God, I think I’m going to cry!’

Kate’s hands were trembling as she picked up a few baby garments from a chair. ‘Sit down, then. Sit and cry in comfort.’

The grandmother wept quietly but copiously into the infant’s downy hair. ‘How old is he?’ she managed between sobs.

‘Four months. He’s Sagittarius, though. No more bloody scorpions in my life. I’ve had enough with old Dotty.’

‘Does she know? Does Geoff know?’

‘Absolutely not. There’s just Melanie, and I’d trust that child with my life. Well, I would now. A year ago, things might have been different. We’re moving away, Michael and I. Going to live over in Liverpool where we won’t be found too easily. Of course, if Melanie tries to join us, Geoff will find out about this baby. Unless I lie about Michael’s age, say he’s someone else’s.’

Rachel dried her eyes. ‘My Lord! You are determined, aren’t you? But why didn’t you tell me that day? Why didn’t you say that you hadn’t had the abortion? Arthur and I could have helped you.’

Kate shook her head slowly. ‘I was angry. Probably more angry than I’ve ever been. The doctors had warned me that I might die, that the baby probably would die. I was so confused! I had the medical people persuading me one way, my conscience pulling me in the opposite direction . . . But what hurt most of all was you. You didn’t consider me.’

‘I did. I cared about your soul. You would have been eternally damned . . .’

‘Rubbish! Anyway, I had to be alone with my pregnancy. It was my decision, mine and no-one else’s. I didn’t want your praise or your condemnation. I didn’t even want your opinion. And I’m not so sure that I want it now, Mother.’

‘Oh.’ Rachel stared down at the gurgling child. ‘He’s you all over again except for the eyes. He has your nose and your chin – even his hair has a little bit of red in it.’

‘He is himself. I don’t want him compared and I certainly won’t have him sounding as if he’s made up of other people’s bits and pieces. But I will admit that he’s a handsome enough child.’

‘He seems bright.’

‘Yes. I’m glad to announce that he appears to have a full set of chairs at home. Now, I think it would be best if you left and simply forgot about both of us.’

‘What?’ Rachel’s jaw hung slack. ‘What?’

‘You heard me, Mam. Just go away and leave us alone.’

Rachel clung fiercely to her grandchild. ‘I can’t do that! I can’t just walk away and forget my own daughter and her baby!’

‘Well, you’ve been doing a fair imitation of that for a long while now.’

‘But . . .’

‘All it needed was an apology, an apology on time. Not a message that arrives later than the baby does.’ She paused, her eyes straying over her mother’s careworn face. ‘Whether I’d had an abortion or not, you should have stood by me. But you didn’t. That’s what the rift was about, you not standing by me. You have never stood by me, not when it counted. When I was a child, you let my father hit me. You knew he hit me, didn’t you?’

Rachel bowed her head. ‘I’m sorry, lass. I’ve muddled me way through life doing me best, only I’ve not always got it right. I made mistakes. We all make mistakes. Can’t you forgive me?’

Kate sniffed meaningfully. ‘I’m thinking about it. Anyway, what have you put in that daft letter?’

‘Hey, shut up! It’s a good letter, is that! All spelled proper and with capitals and full stops. I put . . .’ She paused, her cheeks flushing. ‘I put that I love you. Whatever you’ve done or not done, I do love you.’

‘I . . . I love you too, Mam. I’ve missed you . . .’

‘I know.’ Rachel paused. ‘Then what the blinking heck’s all this fuss about, eh? What are you doing stuck here by yourself, on your own—’

‘With nobody,’ interrupted Kate.

‘Exactly. What sort of a performance do you call this, lady? And all out of pride.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘Eeh, but it must have taken some guts, our Katherine. Diabetic and pregnant and alone. You should have come to me before this.’

‘You should have come to me, Mother.’

‘Aye.’ The older woman smiled. ‘Pair of daft bats, aren’t we? Anyroad, are we having that kettle on, or what? I’m as dry as Southport beach.’

Kate went into the kitchen to light the gas while Rachel played with the baby. Through the open door, Kate told her tale, the story of the ‘abortion’ she’d had at seven weeks, then the history of the rest of her pregnancy. ‘Maureen found me almost in a coma at the end of September. So she threw me in the car and drove like the clappers up to the nursing home. I was in there weeks. Then, when Michael was ready, they did the section and I had to fight to stay alive. It wasn’t much fun.’

‘No, love.’ Rachel fought her tears. ‘I reckon it can’t have been a laugh a minute.’

When Michael was safely in his pram, they sat by the fire and drank tea. ‘I’ve missed you and all,’ said Rachel eventually. ‘Like having me right arm cut off, it was. I was wrong about you, Katherine. You’re a good girl. I’m that proud, I feel like shouting from the rooftops.’

‘Shouting what?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll make it up as I go along . . .’

With this, they both burst into gales of laughter, each obviously relieved to be in the other’s company. But Rachel knew that she would have to tread very carefully now. Hysterical laughter was all well and good, but it hardly made them the best of friends. She watched while Kate walked to the pram and smiled at her baby. ‘Has it been hard, love?’

‘Yes. Especially just lately. There’s been no-one to do the shopping, so I’ve been sneaking about like a woman in purdah. It’s . . . it’s Dora and Geoff. I’ve been more scared of them finding me than . . . than . . . well, I suppose I wasn’t really scared of you. I was just worried in case a grandson proved too much for you to keep quiet about. I mean, the number of people who know is growing by the day. There’s the two Misses who have been so wonderfully good to me – amazing how much a couple of spinsters can understand about life. Then I had to tell Mel, of course. And Maureen’s been in on it since I left school last July. I had to leave because I was beginning to show.’

Rachel took a few hesitant steps towards her daughter. ‘Trust me?’

Kate shrugged her shoulders and put her head on one side. ‘No option, eh?’ She had to admit to herself a certain relief. A baby was a big thing to hide; a mother was a big thing to walk away from forever. ‘Another cup, then?’ While she poured, she told Rachel of her plans, about the house, about Steve and about the job. Rachel’s face, which showed embarrassment when Steve’s homosexuality was mentioned so openly, was creased into lines of naked hurt when she heard that a Mrs Melia would be looking after Michael. But she smiled broadly when Kate spoke the words, ‘You and Arthur can come on Sundays. It’s not too far, about fifty minutes through Leigh and down the East Lancs.’ Then the grandmother stood and stared at the sleeping baby until, with reluctance, she agreed that it was time for the last bus.

Parcels began to arrive at nine a.m. the next day. There were flowers and greetings cards, baby clothes and toys, pots and pans labelled ‘FOR YOUR NEW HOME’, and some skirts and blouses for Kate. At lunchtime, Arthur turned up with a big smile and a cheque for five hundred pounds. ‘Take it, lass. I’ve nowt to spend it on, none of me own.’ And his eyes were suspiciously watery as he played with Michael.

When they were alone once more, Kate picked up her son and spoke to him severely. ‘Michael John,’ she said with an air of resignation. ‘Your ruination has just begun!’

One final hazard appeared on Kate’s last Sunday. Melanie barged in to make a last attempt to dissuade her mother from the foolishness of moving to Crosby. ‘I’ll never be able to see you, Mum,’ she wailed.

‘What absolute rot. I shall learn to drive . . .’

‘But I can’t visit you! I can’t see my own mother! If I come, then Dad will find out about Michael and that man you’ll be living with. Oh, Mother! Why did you have to turn out so difficult?’

Kate sighed and patted her daughter’s arm. ‘We all have trouble rearing our parents, Mel. Just remember this one thing. Justice is not a right, it’s a commodity that can be bought like bread and cheese. Justice can only be obtained through a very expensive lawyer – it has little to do with the rights and wrongs of a case. Your father’s purchasing power currently exceeds mine by thousands. When he finds out about Michael, he will try to take him from me.’

Melanie flounced about the bare room, hands waving wildly as she spoke. ‘Yet I can still come with you? Would you really take that gamble?’

‘Yes. Yes, I would. My sanity is precious, child, and I am escaping to hang on to it. That’s selfish. But I will not pick and choose between my children. If you decide to live with me, then we must tell Dad about Michael. But if you’re staying with him and Dora, then leave me my other child.’

Melanie stayed for a long time that day. She stared at her mother for hours on end, marvelling at Kate’s new prettiness and calm. The jealousy she felt towards Michael was only natural, she told herself. And life wasn’t bad in Edgeford, she was getting much of her own way. But this mother, this precious and impossible person was going out of her sphere, possibly for months and years. ‘Don’t forget me,’ she whispered as she clung to Kate before leaving. ‘I love you, Mother.’

Kate choked back a sob. ‘We shall be together again, Mel. When you’ve finished school, go to Liverpool University. We shall find a way. There is always a way . . .’

For Christine Halls, it was hard to admit that life had become more interesting without Derek. Not that she could have analysed her feelings, because Christine’s mind allowed her to go so far and no further. Had she known what more intelligent souls suffered, she would no doubt have been grateful for her limitations. But all Chris could feel was an occasional sense of unexpected satisfaction with her daytime life, some sadness because of Derek’s departure, and a degree of concern for the poor chap next door. After all, Geoff had no wife to comfort him, no-one to look after him. Except for his mother, who was a frail soul with lots of illnesses that Chris couldn’t even pronounce.

Yet, in spite of her worries about her deserted neighbours, Christine’s affection for the absent Kate was not diminished in any way. Kate was one of the few people who had ever cared to confide in Chris, so this alone turned the missing friend into a heroine without stain on her good soul. But Chris was unacquainted with mixed feelings, so she usually ran away whenever Geoff or Dora started to assassinate Kate’s character.

And she had plenty to run to. There were her flower-arranging classes and her baby-care lessons. Then there was choir practice, Legion of Mary, NSPCC functions and flag days, and the adult literacy scheme. Because she herself had learned to read late, she proved an ideal teacher, choosing those who asked for individual attention in preference to membership of a large class. Thus her home became a seat of learning where she took weekly charge of two separate senior citizens, helping them to enjoy for the first time ever a good old natter about their illiteracy. After chats and many cups of tea, there would follow a slow yet avid perusal of the week’s
Evening Newses
.

But the main reason for Christine’s occasional
joie de vivre
was her child-minding. So expert did she prove, that women were putting their names on her waiting list before their pregnancies had borne fruit, because Christine would take no more than three full-timers and three after-schoolers. The happiest hours in her home were when the after-schoolers had been picked up at three-thirty and she could enjoy her large ‘family’ until mums or dads arrived to pick up offspring.

It was then, from about six o’clock in the evening, that Chris felt the loneliness. She would cook her solitary dinner, eat it, wash the dishes, then watch the clock until class or meeting time. When there were no meetings, she would find herself drawn towards the next house, partly because she had promised to keep an eye on Melanie, mostly because she could not face the isolation of her own living room. Standards in her house were slipping fast, though the place was always clean. But there seemed little point in poking around in corners every day when carpets had irretrievably lost that just-bought look, while chair legs and soft furnishings were chewed and child-scarred.

Kate had been gone for several months now. Poor old Dora had taken responsibility for all cleaning, cooking, washing and shopping, so Chris saw that it was plainly her own Christian duty to talk to Melanie, to make sure that the girl got some love and attention. And that was why Chris spent so much time next door.

She kept telling herself about the ‘good reason’ she had for visiting, yet she was filled with shame each time she went home to burn uncontrollably in her lonely bed. Geoff! He was masterful, charming, elegant, all the things her wonderful Derek had never been. He knew how to decant, how to pour, how to hold a glass. Geoff knew everything. She saw him as the father she had never had, also as the lover she might have chosen. Open choice had never been available to Christine. She had pledged herself to Derek before reaching double figures, and Chris had never been one for broken promises.

It was not unusual, therefore, for Christine to haunt the confessional box every Friday night. This was on account of her unclean thoughts. The teaching had been hammered home severely; there were sins of thought, word, deed and omission, and she was guilty of the sin she failed to recognize as desperation and loneliness. Time after time, she poured her guilt into the ear of a bored priest. ‘I’m not fit to run the Children of Mary, Father. I keep thinking about him, specially in bed.’ The priest usually yawned when things reached this particular stage. He knew what she meant, didn’t he himself suffer from time to time? ‘And if he wanted me,’ Chris would wail, ‘then I know I would give myself to him.’