The Baby (5 page)

‘Does she really need all this stuff?' he asks now, his hand on the latch of the front door.

Nicola shrugs. ‘I guess so. What if she gets hungry or cold or wet?'

Ben grins. ‘I was only planning on going to the shops. Not the bloody Antarctic.'

Nicola finds herself laughing, close to hysteria, stuffing her fingers into her mouth.

‘Jesus,' Ben giggles, opening the door. ‘So much for spontaneity.'

They bump the buggy through the front door. A wheel catches on the door frame and Eliza jerks and blinks hurriedly in the daylight. Nicola squares her shoulders and grips on to the handles. She suddenly feels like she's a five-year-old all over again, pushing a doll's pram. Something catches in her throat as she senses the importance of the moment.

‘I feel stupid,' she mutters.

‘You don't look it. We should have a photo to mark the occasion.'

Nicola rolls her eyes and stands awkwardly as Ben snaps the moment with his phone. ‘I should've changed my leggings.'

He smiles. ‘As I say: tie-dye. You're making a fashion statement.'

They walk down the road self-consciously, side by side. Past the run down farm building which looks dark and damp. Through the alley, past the park, along the path towards the small parade of shops in the centre of the village. The wheels of the unused buggy give off squeaks of newness. More nervous giggles and then, as an old woman passes by, she glances at the buggy and her cheeks soften into a smile. She looks from the baby to Nicola, then back to the baby. ‘Aah, a
newborn.'

A tinge of pride forms at the pit of her stomach. ‘Yes, a newborn' Nicola says. ‘
My
newborn.'

The words surprise her. Catch her out. Astonishing to hear them on her tongue.

They try the newsagent first, tilting the buggy over the threshold, wary of the door frame this time. Mr Thomas stands behind the counter. He's been there all Nicola's life and she's never seen him anywhere else. It took her until she was six to work out that he even had legs. Today he stands with his hands on his hips and smiles encouragingly. ‘Your baby, I hear?'

Nicola nods shyly. Blood floods to her cheeks. ‘This is Eliza.'

Mr Thomas smiles again and bends over the counter. ‘Welcome, Eliza.' He takes the three steps necessary to reach the chocolate gift shelf, selects a box of Roses and holds them out. ‘Here – take this. May this be the first of many visits. I'm sure I'll get to know her well.'

Nicola swallows and accepts the box. She has always liked this man.

But it isn't all as straightforward. For a start they have to negotiate a bunch of kids on the corner by the postbox. Some straddling bikes, the handlebars at an angle, elbows locked into place. Two girls Nicola vaguely recognizes from the year below gawp wide-eyed at Nicola with the buggy. Staring silently at the cracks in the pavement, Nicola can virtually hear their thoughts. She knows they won't be nice.

And then the supermarket isn't so welcoming. Ben wants
an energy drink and a new lighter for his fast-growing nicotine addiction and Nicola wants to look at the birthday cards. She knows that she missed Olivia's actual birthday, what with Eliza's surprise arrival. She was going to buy a picture frame and fill it with photos of the two of them from all the years they've been best friends. She wonders now about using a belated card as some kind of peace offering. Her heart feels heavy with the thought.

She misses Olivia. Her oldest, most trusted friend, Olivia. A friend through thick and thin. She thinks of Olivia's chestnut hair, her blue eyes and the wide smile like a sunrise. And how she's not her friend any more. And unfortunately for Nicola, she has nobody to blame. Nobody, that is, apart from herself.

The aisles are small and crowded. It's difficult to negotiate a buggy around all the people. A haze of rain has begun to fall outside, so it feels like everyone has come into the shelter of the shop. Eliza seems distressed by the sudden commotion and starts to thrash her fists around. Her mouth opens and closes and Nicola recognizes the beginnings of a screaming fit. She feels the tension rise at the back of her throat. She doesn't want to deal with a crying newborn in front of all these people.

I can't do it
.

Even in the privacy of her own bedroom it's hard. She jiggles the pushchair from side to side.

Ben's at the counter, scrutinizing the jewel colours. Only he can spend so long deciding on the colour of a lighter. She hisses through her teeth. ‘Ben, I don't think she likes it in here.'

Eliza begins to mew softly and Nicola's backbone prickles. She can feel eyes burn into the back of her head. Strangers. Neighbours. Vague friends. Even the bloody postman who is buying a bag of frozen peas; it feels like they're all watching. All judging. All whispering behind fingers. She swears she hears someone tut. Swears the words ‘benefit scroungers,' get tossed over the cereal shelf.

‘Ben,' she insists, her breath coming fast like she's just run a lap of the school field. ‘Hurry up.'

Ben eventually picks a yellow lighter. ‘Chill, babe. It's pissing down out there. Stay in here a while.'

‘No!' She feels her mouth twisting anxiously, ‘I want to go.' She's certain she can hear two girls snigger by the bread as they turn to stare at her. Eliza begins to wail now.

She jerks the buggy so that it's facing the door, her knuckles white on the handles, her cheeks burning red. ‘Well, I'm going anyhow.'

Ben hurriedly hands his money over, finally understanding her distress. He follows Nicola's hunched shoulders and lowered head.

‘They'll be getting a flat from the council next, you watch.' A comment from near the vegetable shelves.

They spin round.

Ben lifts his middle finger and calmly says, ‘Fuck off,' to the pair of middle-aged women with nothing better to do in life than to gossip and to judge. Their mouths are a perfect O-shape of shock.

‘That'll give them something to really bitch about,' he
snorts as he rushes Nicola and the pram through the swish of the automatic doors and out into the rain. Outside she starts to laugh with him, her fingers easing on the buggy. ‘Their faces!'

It is really raining now. Sheets of it splatter against cars; iridescent oily marks pattern up the pavement. People run down the high street with their necks bent low, their collars up, hoodies pulled tight. Only it's not easy to run with a buggy. Once more, Nicola's reminded of her dolls' pram – and the races that she and her friends used to have, back when she was a kid.

Eliza's wailing is high now. She doesn't like getting jostled and although she's not wet – the hood on the buggy is pretty good shelter – it can't be nice getting shunted about as Nicola and Ben battle through the rain.

The wheels splatter Nicola's leggings with dirty water. Ben gets splashed by a car and swears. But at least she's not getting stared at now. At least the rain is proving a distraction. No one takes any notice of a regular couple and a buggy, hurrying through the rain.

They get to the house just as the rain stops. It's as if someone has turned off a hosepipe. For a few seconds the whole road seems to be silent, holding its breath. Even Eliza stops crying at the sudden change in sound.

They stand, bedraggled, at the garden gate. Ben's big hair and Nicola's fringe are plastered to their scalps in messy rat's tails. Their legs are filthy with streaks of dark water and their
cheeks glisten with moisture. The baby whimpers quietly and Ben grins. ‘Shall I take another photo now? Before and after?'

She kicks him in the shin and feels for her key.

The front door is flung open.

‘Where the bloody hell have you been?' Nicola's mum glances between the two of them and down to the baby who's cooing quietly in the glistening sunshine.

Nicola's confused. She's surprised at her mum's concern. She's never been bothered about her whereabouts before; never been standing at the door watching the time. That particular anxious parent routine belongs to many of her friends; Olivia's mum being an extreme example. Nicola was the first to be allowed into town alone; the first to go for sleepovers; the first to catch buses and be out all day on her own. They'd never been a family where you had to be back for mealtimes. That kind of routine just didn't exist for Nicola and her mum.

So it's all the more shocking to see her mother at the door with a furrowed forehead now.

‘Out. Down the shops.' Nicola's voice is surprisingly watery.

‘In this weather? With a bloody newborn? What the hell were you thinking?'

She reaches for the buggy and starts to pull it in. It bashes against the door frame and the wheels make greasy marks on the hall floor. Nicola watches her mother scan her granddaughter.
She's checking
, she thinks,
she's actually checking to see if she's OK
.

There's a swell of something in the back of her throat. She's not seen her mum look so concerned about the baby before.

Eliza's fine. She's not even damp. ‘She'll catch a cold,' her mum says. ‘She'll get a chill. How could you be so stupid to take her out in this?' She tugs at the zip under the soft folds of Eliza's chin. ‘If she gets ill and it's your fault they'll take her away. Surely you know that? They're watching you like a hawk. Don't you know anything?'

Nicola gulps and pushes at her wet fringe. All the fun of the last five minutes disappears in a flash. ‘I didn't think …'

Ben interrupts. ‘When we left the house it wasn't raining, Mrs Taylor. We got caught in the rainstorm. It took us by surprise. But we made sure Eliza wasn't wet and we're going to change her clothes as soon as we get upstairs.' Nicola stares at the swirls on the carpet. She swallows a smile. Ben is so good at this stuff. He touches her mum's arm. ‘I'm sorry if we worried you.'

As they move up the stairs, conscious of her mum's suspicious eyes on her back, it takes all of her strength not to let the swallowed smile burst out on to her face.

Perhaps going out was a good idea after all.

For them all.

With a towel in his hands after helping her with the baby, Ben speaks carefully.

‘Have you had a chance to speak to Olivia yet?'

Nicola glances up at his still-damp face. She's changed into
a pair of grey trackies but her hair is still plastered to her neck. She lowers her eyes, fiddling with the poppers on Eliza's pale-yellow babygrow. ‘No. I think she's avoiding me.'

He sighs and attacks his hair and face with the towel. ‘I'm sure she misses you.'

There's a lump at the back of her throat. ‘And I miss her more than anything. I've texted her loads. But she's not replied.'

‘I think you should try and see her face to face.'

She sighs, puts Eliza in her Moses basket. ‘I slept with her boyfriend. Why the hell should she want to ever speak to me again?'

There's a large silence which fills the room. Like she's underwater.

‘And you wanted to … ? I mean, he didn't force himself on you or anything?'

Her mouth flops open. That he could even think this. And the shame. The pure, horrid shame. She drops her head. Whispers so that she feels him watching carefully to understand her. ‘I wanted it as much as him.' She squeezes her fingers. ‘I'm as much to blame as him.'

Another silence washes over the bedroom. It's true. Why would Olivia ever forgive her? There's a sigh from Eliza and her fingers flash wide. ‘I think she wants her bottle,' Nicola says. ‘I'll go and warm one up.' She walks towards the door.

‘I think she's split up with Jonty.'

Nicola stops, holding on to the door handle. Her fingers are white.

‘How do you know?'

‘Cos she's all on her own at school these days. She looks so … lonely. So sad.' He gazes at her. ‘Why'd you do it, Nic? Why did you sleep with him?'

Nicola stands still; just a quiver in her lower leg. She looks away. There are no answers, at least none she can give right now. ‘I won't be a minute. You OK with a hungry baby?'

He slides a look at Eliza, lying in her Moses basket. Shrugs. ‘If she's anything like her mother, then she's worth it, even if she's screaming her head off.'

When he's gone and she's left alone with a sleeping baby, when her mother has left for work, Nicola lies back into her position on her pillows and sighs. She thinks of Olivia. She thinks of Jonty.

How can she explain what she did? How can she love Olivia so much and yet betray her so badly? She shudders at the thought. It all seems years ago now. She was a different person.

She doesn't really know the answer herself. But she knows for a fact that it's almost as if liking Olivia so much is part of the problem. Olivia has everything. A family; a fit boyfriend; friends; a generous nature; even a quirky sister. Nicola wanted to be a part of it. Compared to her friend she has none of this. An only child with a mother who scowls her way through life, who concentrates hard on ‘getting through'. She wanted more. She wanted some of the attention, some of the buzz which always seemed to be surrounding Olivia.

*

A couple of weeks later Nicola decides to go out again. On her own this time. It's a Tuesday. Her mum's at work and she's pretty sure that she won't see any of her previous so-called friends because they'll all be in school now. She misses school. She doesn't mind admitting it. Misses the friends, misses the banter, even misses the work, especially Textiles and Graphics. She makes the effort. She dresses Eliza, changes into some loose-fitting jeans – at last she can fit into something other than leggings – and prepares the buggy.

It's a sunny March day. Gusts of wind, but no sign of rain this time. She checks Eliza for the umpteenth time and pushes the buggy down the front path.

It's all right.

She goes into the library where the librarian gives her a membership form for Eliza to join. She tells her about a monthly storytelling event which she and Eliza would be very welcome at, where she'd meet other young mums and perhaps make a few friends. Nicola even takes out a couple of board books because the librarian says it's never too early to start a baby's enjoyment of reading.