Twelve Days of Winter (6 page)

He has a separate box to keep the severed fingers in.

Contact adhesive covers a multitude of sins.

Kathy Geddes didn’t look in any fit state to do a runner − shuffling along, trying not to aggravate her piles and stitches − but that didn’t mean she was free to wander round Castle Hill Infirmary unsupervised.

Val Macintyre dawdled along beside her, hands in the pockets of her uniform trousers. Of course she
could
have worn plain clothes, treated it as an undercover operation, but that was just asking for trouble. No, a prison officer wore a uniform for a reason – so everyone knew who was who. And besides, it wouldn’t feel right: escorting a prisoner out of uniform. Not having that comforting bundle of keys jangling against her leg.

Geddes winced her way down the stairs, across the corridor and out into a small, bleak courtyard, lined on four sides with dirty brick and lichen-speckled concrete. The hospital had put up a bus shelter, smack bang in the middle, so patients could have a cigarette without setting off every smoke detector in the place.

A wheezy old man huddled in the smoking hut, drip stand in one hand and a ratty-looking roll-up in the other.

Val waited for him to finish and hobble off before crossing her arms and squinting at Geddes. ‘You shouldn’t be smoking.’

‘Bite me.’ She took a deep drag on her cigarette and oozed smoke towards the ceiling.

‘You’re supposed to be breastfeeding!’

‘Bugger that: little bastard’s chewed me nipples raw. They’re like half a pound of mince. He can go on the bottle.’

‘Don’t call him that.’

‘What, “bastard”? Why not? That’s what he is, isn’t he? Haven’t got a clue who his dad is.’

‘I don’t like it.’ Val turned her back and stared out of the rain-flecked glass. At least they didn’t have long to go. Thank
God
.

Behind her, Geddes was humming something vaguely recognizable as a Christmas carol. Not that there was much sign of the festive season in the smoking hut, just a big poster reminding everyone that ‘S
MOKING
K
ILLS
!’

‘When you going to get me some more vodka then?’

‘You’re supposed to be looking after that baby, not boozing it up.’ She squared her shoulders and put on her prison guard voice. ‘That’s long enough. We’re going back to the ward.’

‘But I don’t
want
to!’ Whining and petulant. Like a child. ‘I’m fed up of this shite!’

‘You should have thought of that before you got pregnant, you selfish little. . .’ Val rubbed a hand across her face. Took a deep breath. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s been a long week.’

Geddes shrugged and headed back out into the rain.

Oldcastle Royal Infirmary sulked on the south-east corner of Castle Hill – the ancient building a testament to Vic-torian civic pride. The sort of place red brick and long, winding corridors went to die. Sometime in the late sixties the city council had added an extension: two massive wings in glass, steel and concrete.

The maternity ward was in the older part.

They’d put Kathy Geddes in a private room: somewhere secluded, where she wouldn’t upset the other mothers with her convictions for assault, lewd behaviour, drunk and disorderly, soliciting, robbery, and the
pièce de résistance
: attempted murder.

She didn’t deserve to have a baby. She was a terrible mother to the three kids she already had, never mind a new one – drinking, smoking, doing drugs. . . Not like Val. Val and her husband did everything they were supposed to, followed the doctor’s instructions to the letter, but could
she
get pregnant? No. Geddes was like a bloody rabbit and Val couldn’t even have one.

She sat in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair and watched the cot while Geddes ate crisps and stared at the television.

‘Rolf’ – that was what she’d called her little baby boy. ‘Rolf Ainsley Schofield Geddes’ She shouldn’t be allowed to have children, torturing the poor kid like that.

It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that he wasn’t a ‘
Rolf
’. He was a Brian, or a Donald. . . Yes, definitely a Donald.

He yawned, showing off a little pink mouth and tiny pink tongue. Donald Macintyre. It had a lovely ring to it. Donald Philip Macintyre. Philip after her father, who went to his grave without ever having a grandchild.

Geddes stuffed in another handful of crisps, chewing with her mouth open.

It just wasn’t
fair
.

A nurse came round with the tea trolley at ten pm, wearing brown felt antlers and novelty-snowmen earrings that flashed on and off. Geddes curled her top lip. ‘Bloody tea tastes like warm pish. And how come you can’t get any decent sodding biscuits on the NHS?’

The nurse ignored her, gave Val a cup of coffee and a long-suffering sigh, then disappeared off to spread cheer among the other mothers.

Now they were all alone: Geddes, Val and little Donald.

‘Right,’ Val put her empty cup down on the bedside cabinet, ‘are you sure you’re feeling up to this?’

‘Bloody right I am.’ Kathy levered herself out of bed. ‘Driving me mad, sitting here all day.’

‘What about the stitches?’

‘Bugger the stitches.’ She peeled off her hospital-issue nightie and stood there in a baggy bra and grey pants, stomach swollen and saggy at the same time. ‘You going to help or not?’

Val nodded, took a deep breath, and helped Kathy into a brand-new set of clothes. Then stood back as she stared at herself in the mirror. ‘Isn’t that better?’

‘Jesus. . .’ Geddes pulled at the top Norman had picked up from the big Marks and Spencer on Dundas Road, ‘Is your bloody husband blind? What the hell’s this supposed to be?’

‘You look fine.’

‘I look like a bloody frump.’

Val stripped down to her underwear then clambered into a pair of tan chinos and a pink sweatshirt, and pulled a baby sling on over the top. It still had the price tag from John Lewis dangling from one of the straps. She stuffed their discarded clothes and a few supplies into a large grey holdall. Nappies, cotton buds, surgical gloves, baby wipes, that kind of thing.

She handed Geddes a green ‘Oldcastle Tigers’ baseball cap. ‘Are you ready?’

‘You’ll have to carry the little bastard – my arse is giving me gyp.’ Geddes peered out through the blinds at the corridor. ‘You
sure
we’ll no’ be seen?’

‘Come on darling, come to your aunty Val. . .’ She lifted him out of his cot, wrapped him up in a snugly new blanket, then slipped him into the baby sling. Warmth spread through her like sunshine as she looked down at Donald’s little pink face. He was perfect. Utterly, utterly
perfect
.

‘You finished sodding about? Cos I’d like to get the hell out of here!’

Val pulled on a long overcoat, fastening it over Donald in his sling: hiding him from sight. Another baseball cap topped off her disguise. Not even her own mother would recognize her.

There was no one in the corridor, just the low gurgle and hum of the hospital’s heating system to keep them company as they walked past the antenatal rooms, examination suite, and birthing pool.

The nurses’ station was empty – ten-past ten, right on schedule. The duty nurse would be away getting things organized for tomorrow’s rounds. No witnesses.

They pushed out through the ward’s outer doors, keeping their heads down to avoid the cameras.

Five minutes later they were outside in the crisp December air. Sunday night, one week before Christmas, and everything was going perfectly. . . Val stared out at the car park, then the road beyond the iron railings. The whole pace was deserted, no sign of Norman or the car.

Val checked her watch: ten twenty-one. ‘We’re four minutes early. Don’t worry, he’ll be here.’

‘He better be. I’m not going back to that bloody prison!’

‘Shhh! What if someone hears you?’

‘I’m not going back: if I go back I’m telling them all about you!’

‘He’s. . . He’s. . .’ Come on, Norman. He wouldn’t let her down like that, he
wouldn’t
. He was just having trouble parking, or—

A pair of headlights flashed on the other side of the railings. ‘There!’ She grabbed Geddes by the elbow and hurried her down the wheelchair ramp and out onto the road. Helped her into the back of the Volvo estate. Val sat up front with Norman and little Donald.

Geddes kicked the back of Norman’s seat. ‘About bloody time you showed up! And what the
hell
do you call these clothes then?’

Norman stole a glance at Val. ‘There’s a suitcase in the back: lots of different things. I didn’t know what you’d like so—’

‘Not more of that frumpy shite!’

‘They’re perfectly good clothes.’

‘Yeah, if you’re bloody
sixty
.’

Val fastened her seatbelt, making sure it didn’t squash little Donald inside her coat. Really he should be in a car seat, but that would give the game away. Besides, it would mean letting go of him, and Norman was a
very
careful driver. ‘Can we just go please?’

The last train to Aberdeen didn’t leave until ten past eleven, so they sat in the North Station car park on Blackwall Hill, eating fish and chips.

Geddes kicked the back of Norman’s chair again. ‘What time is it?’ The words mumbled through a mouth full of chips.

‘Ten fifty.’

‘For fuck’s sake. Where’s my ticket?’

Norman sighed and handed it over. ‘I’ve booked you into a little B&B for tonight, and a taxi in the morning to take you to the ferry, so—’

‘And my money?’

Another sigh, only this time it came with an envelope.

Geddes ripped it open and counted the contents. ‘Where’s the rest of it?’

Val twisted as far round in her seat as she could without disturbing little Donald. ‘That’s all of it. That’s what we agreed.’

‘Aye, but I’ve been thinking. Wee Rolf’s my flesh and blood isn’t he? I
love
the little bastard. Don’t think I can give him up for a measly three grand. You know what I mean? Could get more than that sticking him on bloody eBay.’ She smiled. ‘I want seven.’

Silence settled into the car.

Norman looked away. ‘We haven’t got that much.’

‘Borrow it. I’ve been watching them adverts for three days now: “Want a low-cost personal loan?” Seven thousand or I take the kid with me to Aberdeen.’

‘We. . . It’ll take days to get one sorted—’

‘That’s OK, you can send the money on. I’ll just keep the wee sod till you get it.’ She stuffed the envelope and it’s three thousand pounds down the front of her ‘frumpy’ top.

‘No!’ Val flinched back, her hands covering little Donald’s head. ‘You can’t take him back! I
need
him!’

‘Come up with the other four grand and he’s all yours.’ She opened the back door. ‘Now give me the kid.’

Val grabbed Norman’s arm, tears making the car blur. ‘You can’t let her take him!’

‘I. . .’ Norman bit his lip. ‘I’ve got my redundancy money at the house.’

‘How much?’

He closed his eyes. ‘Enough.’

Kathy closed the door again. ‘OK, let’s go get it.’

Norman drove them down Shalster Road, sticking to the speed limit, not doing anything to attract attention. Past Montgomery Park, across the River Wynd, up into Castleview, then out through the city limits into the darkness.

‘Where the hell do you two live, in a bloody cave?’

Val shook her head. ‘It’s a small cottage, on the other side of the hill. You know, by Dundas Woods?’

‘You bloody would. Teuchters.’

Ten minutes later, the Volvo’s wheels bumped through potholes as Norman coaxed the car up a rutted track into the forest, headlights casting thick shadows that writhed and squirmed through the undergrowth. The jolts made little baby Donald gurn – working himself up to a fully formed howl.

‘How can you live way out here? You never heard of civilization? Jesus. . . If you want to bring my kid up out here it’s going to cost you
eight
. Poor bastard. You know I—’

Norman stopped the car. ‘We’re here.’

Geddes looked around, pressing her face up against the glass. ‘Where the hell’s the house?’

‘Over there.’ He pointed at a dark shadow lurking between the trees, then flicked on the interior light. ‘Val, you want to stay here while I get the money?’

And that was when Donald started to howl.

‘He’ll be needing his feed. . .’ Val slipped the baby from the sling and held him out to Geddes.

‘No chance. Told you: my nipples are—’

‘Please!’

She groaned at the car roof. ‘Eight grand. Give me the little sod.’

Val handed him over and Geddes hauled up her top, popped out a pale swollen breast, and jammed it in Donald’s screaming mouth. Two gurgles, then silence, then the sound of sucking. She scowled at Norman. ‘What’s the matter, never seen a tit before? Go get my bloody money.’

Blushing, Norman apologized, then clambered out into the night.

It took nearly half an hour for little Donald to stop and by then Geddes was glowering. ‘Missed my bloody train now. And where’s your shitty husband with my cash?’

She thrust the baby back at Val, then tucked her breast back into the saggy bra. A knock on the window and Geddes flinched. ‘Aaagh. . . Dirty bastard’s been standing out there watching the whole time. Probably having a wank.’ She gripped her breasts and jiggled them at him. ‘Take a picture,
pervert
!’

The door popped open and Norman leaned in. ‘This is yours. . .’ He smashed his fist into her face. She almost managed to scream before he hit her again, then dragged her out of the car by the ankles.

A rectangle of light spilled from the car’s back door, spotlighting Norman as he dumped Geddes on the ground then walked around to the boot of the car and came back with a tyre-iron.

Geddes tried to scramble away into the bushes, but he grabbed her, held her down, battered her with the tyre-iron. Her body twitched as he beat the life out of it, wet thuds and muffled cracks swallowed by the quiet woods.

Afterwards they sat in the car, Val and her brave Norman, holding hands and gazing down at their new son. He was perfect.