by Wendy Clarke
Through the classroom window, I see Mrs Allen collecting books from the tables. There are no children to be seen; they must be lining up at the door out of sight. Looking at my phone, I see there’s still another ten minutes to go.
Other people have joined me in the playground. Some, like me, have younger children, others are on their own. It’s not just mothers but fathers and grandparents. There are childminders too with gaggles of smaller children running around them. They stand in groups, the voices of the nearest ones drifting over to me. There’s mention of The X Factor and a police drama I’ve never heard of. I turn my back on them, not wanting to be drawn in. There was a time in my life I was desperate for friends, companions, a sister. But I don’t need that any more. I don’t trust my judgement.
At last the door opens. Mrs Allen latches it onto a hook on the wall, and as each child comes out, she makes them wait, her hand resting on their shoulder until the person who’s collecting them has been identified. I’m on edge, craning my neck around the other parents to see the twins, but there’s no sign of them. I hover anxiously by the door and when Mrs Allen sees me, she mouths have you got a minute? I’m not sure if I should be worried or not.
It seems to take forever for the children to leave, but finally, the last mother and child moves away from the door. Mrs Allen steps back to let me inside, but I hesitate, not happy to leave Noah.
‘Would you like to bring him in?’ she asks kindly.
Remembering the scene I’d caused in the playground the first morning, I shake my head, embarrassed. ‘No, the walk here has got him off to sleep. I don’t want to wake him again. Maybe, once we get home, I’ll get a bit of quiet time.’
Sophie runs to me and presses her face against my legs. I look around for Izzy and see her in the play corner. A folding screen has been covered over with a brick-patterned paper to make it look like a castle and Isabella sits on a plastic chair beneath a sign saying Fairy Tales. She’s brushing the white, nylon hair of a doll with fierce strokes and, when she sees me, she turns her chair so her back is to me.
‘Go away.’
Ignoring her, I turn to Mrs Allen. ‘Is it Isabella? Has she misbehaved?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, it’s not Isabella. It’s Sophie I wanted to have a word with you about.’
My hand strays to my daughter’s blonde hair. ‘What about her?’
Mrs Allen smiles at Sophie. ‘Would you do something for me, love? Could you make sure the cushions in the reading corner are nice and tidy?’
Sophie looks at me for reassurance and I nod. ‘Go on, Soph. That would be really helpful.’
When she’s out of earshot, her teacher continues. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, and obviously early days still, but I’ve noticed how hard Sophie finds it to engage with the other children. We’re doing our best to make it easier for her, but the only person she’ll speak to is our classroom assistant, Miss King. I read in the girls’ notes that they didn’t go to a nursery school? Is that right?’
I look down at the tiled floor of the classroom, noticing there are three light grey tiles followed by a dark. Is Mrs Allen judging me?
‘No, the twins didn’t go to nursery. They had each other to play with.’ What I don’t tell her is how I hadn’t wanted to let them go. Scared that if I did, something might happen to them.
Mrs Allen smiles. ‘Please don’t think I’m in any way putting blame on you. It’s just that sometimes, if a child hasn’t had the opportunity to socialise, it can be a bit daunting for them. I’m sure that in a few days she’ll be just fine.’
‘I hope you’re right. Come on, Izzy. Sophie. Time to go.’
Putting down her doll, Isabella runs over to us. I think she’s going to hug me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she’s out the door and is peering into Noah’s pram. ‘Wakey, wakey, baby.’
She’s answered by a cry and Mrs Allen smiles sympathetically. ‘There goes your quiet afternoon.’
I peel Sophie’s arms from my legs, and taking her hand, lead her out of the door. ‘Come on, we’ll stop at the newsagent’s on the way home and we can get some sweets.’
Isabella waves to her teacher. ‘Bye, Mrs Allen. See you tomorrow.’
Sophie already has a hold of the pram handle. She says nothing, but I can tell she wants to get away as quickly as she can. I let off the brake and we make our way across the playground. As we do, my thoughts turn back to the letter that’s in my pocket and fresh uncertainty nudges in. How did my mother find me?
* * *
There are other parents and children in the newsagent’s when we get there, and we stand in a queue to be served. Sophie has chosen a necklace of candy sweets and Izzy’s ice lolly is already unwrapped and in her mouth. It’s melting in the warm shop, and as I watch, she licks at the red dribble that’s run down her arm. On a high shelf next to the counter, is a display of after dinner chocolate: tall blue tubs of Roses, gold foiled Ferrero Rocher and the distinctive purple design of Milk Tray. It reminds me that I ought to take something to Maddie’s on Saturday. After some deliberation, I choose a large box of Belgian truffles and put them on the counter.
‘Hello, girls.’ June, the manager, leans her elbows on the counter and looks down at them in their uniforms. The blue sleeve of Isabella’s sweatshirt is already covered in yellow paint. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while. Don’t you look smart now. How’s it going?’
Isabella is quick to answer. ‘I love it, but Sophie hates it.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Reaching over, she takes two small fudge bars from the display. ‘I’m sure this will help make it better.’
Izzy snatches hers up, but Sophie just looks at the one left on the counter. With a sigh, I pick it up and put it in my handbag. ‘Thank you, June. That’s kind.’
‘And how’s the baby?’ It’s only a small shop with not enough space between the shelves to bring him in, but I’ve parked the pram outside the window where I can see it.
‘Fine.’ I say automatically.
June pats my hand. ‘It will get better. I expect it was the same with the girls and, remember, there were two of them.’
‘I know. I shouldn’t complain.’
I hand over some change and am just turning to leave when I hear June’s voice again.
‘I nearly forgot. I have your magazine.’
I turn my head. ‘My magazine?’
‘Yes, the one you ordered. It came this morning.’
‘But I haven’t ordered anything.’
June frowns. ‘It was my assistant, Tom, who took the telephone call.’ Getting off her stool, she disappears behind the counter, reappearing again with a magazine in her hand. She holds it out to me.
‘Here you are. Spirit and Destiny.’
Taking the magazine from her, I flick through the pages, something making me stop when I reach the one with the horoscopes. My eyes skim down, searching for Leo, half expecting it to be circled as it was in the newspaper. When it isn’t, I tell myself off for being so foolish and put it back on the counter.
‘I didn’t order it. There must be someone with the same name.’
She looks doubtful. ‘Anyway, it’s been paid for. I found the money in an envelope on the counter. Someone must have come in and left it there while I was out the back. I thought it was you.’
My heart’s beating heavily in my chest. ‘It wasn’t.’
‘Well, you might as well take it as it’s been paid for. You might like it.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
We leave the shop and I shove the magazine in the tray of the pram, but as I do, the pram moves slightly. Straightening up, I take hold of the white plastic handle and push. The pram rolls forward.
The brake is off.
Fear grips me and I grab the girls’ hands, drawing them to me.
‘Stop it, Mum, you’re hurting me.’
Ignoring Isabella, I scan the street. Everything seems normal. An elderly woman crosses the road, bumping her shopping trolle
y up the kerb when she reaches the other side; a couple of boys, in the same uniform as the twins, run ahead of their parents until they’re called back; a white van with Adams Builders printed on the side drives past us.
Everything’s as it should be, but the ordinariness is not enough to alleviate my unease. There’s someone out there who put a locket, just like Freya’s, in my baby’s pram. Someone driven enough to go to the bother of ordering a magazine in my name. To move Noah’s pram.
I look at my fingers clutching the pram’s handle, and imagine another hand holding the plastic, a foot flicking off the brake. My stomach gives a fearful twist. I’m not imagining it. Someone wants to take my baby.
24
Kelly Before
‘Kelly Harding, I’m talking to you.’
Kelly looks up, aware of Mr Seymore’s eyes on her. He’s pointing his marker at a baffling set of numbers and letters on the whiteboard and, as he taps the shiny white surface, his fitted shirt strains across his back. The girls in Year 10 all think he’s cute with his highlighted hair and trendy clothes, but she doesn’t. She’s heard the rumours about him and one of the girls in his A-level group. Even if it’s not true, the idea that anyone under the age of thirty would be interested in him is gross. He’s married with two young kids after all.
‘Come up to the front and solve this equation. It shouldn’t be difficult if you’ve been listening. Your father’s an accountant. Let’s see if he’s passed on his genes.’
Not daring to look at anyone’s face in case they’re laughing at her, Kelly pushes back her chair. Slowly, she gets up and walks between the tables. Straightaway, she sees her homework; it’s sitting on Mr Seymore’s table, a red circle around her workings. She’d heard some of the others say they’d had help with their homework from their parents, but she’d had to do hers on her own. Mr Seymore thrusts the thick black marker at her, his hand pale and freckly. She hates it. Hates him for doing this to her when he obviously knows she has no clue what to do.
Kelly stares at the numbers on the board, but they start to swim. She can’t cry. Not in front of the class. Trying to concentrate, she blinks and brings the numbers back into focus. She knows that what she does to one side, she must do to the other. Lifting her arm, she writes something on the board. Someone scrapes their chair and she loses concentration. X divided by seven. She needs to move the number to the other side but can’t remember the rule. Panic rises.
‘We’re all waiting, Miss Harding.’
Hating him even more, Kelly writes her answer quickly, knowing that it’s wrong. Knowing how stupid she looks. Her hand is slippery with sweat and the pen drops at Mr Seymore’s feet. Face burning, she bends to pick it up and hands it back to him.
‘I suggest,’ he says smoothly, his thin freckled lips stretched into a smile that has no warmth, ‘that you go back to your seat and pay attention in future. Oh, and you can take this and redo it for next lesson.’
He hands Kelly her homework and she takes it, knowing that her next attempt won’t be any better.
Maths was the last lesson before lunch. Finding a space by herself on the field, Kelly sits and takes her sandwiches out of her bag. As she releases them from their cling film prison and takes a bite of the moist bread, she watches Carly, Ava and Tabby. She gave up being friends with them years ago. Gone are the days when she’d tried to impress them – following them around like Freya used to follow her.
The girls are sitting with their backs against the Portakabin that serves as an English room, watching a group of boys trying to do backflips and failing. She can hear their laughter and the odd word as they call out to them.
Trying not to care, she fishes in her bag for a breakfast bar she found in the cupboard. It’s past its sell-by date, but she doesn’t care – she’s used to it.
There was a time when the kitchen cupboards had been full of delicious things: family-sized bags of crisps and packets of chocolate wafer biscuits. Maybe a cake tin containing a delicious home-made cake. She’d come downstairs in the morning to find her mum standing at the kitchen worktop, her flowered dressing gown wrapped around her large body. She’d be buttering bread for sandwiches, which she’d fill with egg mayonnaise or tuna, or whatever else they fancied, before neatly packing them into lunch boxes.
This was before Freya left and everything changed. And even though the few short weeks with her foster-sister were strange ones, as the years have passed, she’s come to view these times with nostalgia.
A picture of Freya’s white hair comes into her head, the pale eyes that were so unsettling. After she failed to return to their house from hospital, Kelly had felt more alone than she had before Freya had come to live with them. Maybe it was because, since that day, no one else had come to sleep in the bedroom overlooking the field of waving grass. Or maybe it was because she had simply grown used to having someone around who was as desperate for love as herself.
After Freya left, leaving a hole that couldn’t be filled, it was as if her mum’s heart had broken. Not wanting anyone to take her place, and no longer needing to keep up the pretence that theirs was a happy family in order to secure another child, she’d stopped bothering. It wasn’t long before the house had become untidy, the weekly shopping trips replaced with a quick trip to their local Co-op when the milk ran out. And, rather than spending more time with Kelly, her mother withdrew from her, leaving her confused and abandoned. Feeling as though it wasn’t only Freya who had left her.
As the months slipped by, she’d expected things to get better, but they hadn’t, and six years on, nothing’s changed. She suspects her dad doesn’t care. More often than not, he takes clients out to dinner, or orders from the local Indian. Eating it in his office, while listening to his classical music. But she minds. She’s sick of ready meals and takeaways. Also, she’s noticed her mum is piling on the weight.
It’s not this that saddens her, though. Worst of all is that she misses her mum. Not the woman herself but the idea of her. Ever since she can remember, she’s spent each day, each month, each year, living in hope that her mother might grow to love her – but recently, hope has turned to resignation. She knows she’s been grieving for a mother she’s never really had.
It’s almost the end of lunch break. There’s a rubbish bin at the edge of the field and as Kelly goes over to it to throw her wrappers away, she’s surprised to see one of the girls making her way across the field towards her. It’s Ava. Dropping her wrapper into the bin Kelly waits, wondering what she wants.
When Ava reaches her, she gives an awkward smile. ‘Hi.’
Kelly’s heart twists as she remembers how the two of them once played together in primary. How much she’d liked her. ‘Hi.’
‘I just wanted to say…’ Ava looks back at the other two girls who are packing their lunch boxes into their bags, ‘we wanted to say, that it was shit what Mr Seymore did to you in maths last lesson.’
Kelly feels herself colour at the memory. She doesn’t want to talk about it. Doesn’t want Ava’s sympathy. She just wants to forget it.
She looks at the ground. ‘Thanks.’
‘We’re going to Truffles after school and wondered if you wanted to come too.’
It feels as though the ground is shifting. She isn’t used to people making overtures of friendship and she can’t remember how to respond. It seems a long time ago that the girls would come to her house to play, making dens in the garden and eating the marvellous teas her mum would lay out for them in the dining room. But, gradually, they’d stopped coming. First Ava and Tabby, then later, Carly. It didn’t take a genius to guess they found her mother’s constant fussing over them weird.
Ava shifts her feet, waiting for her reply.
‘I can’t,’ Kelly mutters. ‘Mum likes me to come straight home.’
As soon as she’s said it, she feels her blush deepen. Why did she have to mention her mum?
‘That’s okay. Just thought I’d ask.’ There’s a definite note of relief in Ava�
��s voice and Kelly feels even worse. They didn’t really want her to go; they were just feeling sorry for her.
The bell’s ringing for the end of lunch and Kelly’s just wondering how to get away when Ava gives a groan. ‘What does he want?’
Kelly turns to see Ava’s brother, Ethan. He’s two years older than them and she knows a lot of the girls in her year fancy him. In his hand is a cat-shaped key ring with a key attached. He jangles it in front of Ava’s face.
‘How did you think you were going to get in tonight? You know Mum’s not back until six.’
‘Shit.’ Ava grabs the key from Ethan’s hand. ‘Thanks. Where did I leave it?’
‘By the front door, numpty.’
Stuffing the key into her bag, Ava zips it up, then looks around to see where Carly and Tabby are. They’re going in through the double doors of the school and she calls out to them to wait for her.
‘Got to go,’ she says. ‘See you in English.’
Ava runs across the field, leaving Kelly with Ethan. When he doesn’t walk off too, she’s unsure what to do. Being alone with him is excruciating. She tries not to stare at him but doesn’t know where else to look. He’s a head taller than her, blond hair falling into his eyes. When she was in primary school, Kelly had sometimes managed to persuade her mum to let her go to Ava’s house and it was there she’d learnt what it was like to be in a normal household. Ava’s mum would leave them to play on their own or watch TV, calling them into the kitchen later for fish fingers and beans, followed by a scoop of vanilla ice cream. She didn’t smother her or pull her into a hug when it was time to leave, making her promise she’d come again, making her squirm with embarrassment. No, she was what a mother should be.
Usually, when she was there, Ethan would be out playing with his friends, but once he’d been there too. She remembers how he’d let her have a go of his remote-control car and hadn’t minded when she’d crashed it into the skirting board. She’d liked him but, now he’s older, it’s a struggle to see that little boy inside this tall, long-limbed youth.