by Julia Green
Mia shook her head.
‘There’s a bucket out there.’ Evie gestured towards the doors on to the deck.
Perhaps she’d feel better in the fresh air. Mia stumbled towards the doors and turned the handle. The wind snatched the door and swung it wide and Mia heard Evie cursing her.
She did feel better outside, even though the air was damp and cold. The river ran swift and deep, tugging the boat and swirling old bits of branch and rubbish down towards the weir. On the towpath a man cycled slowly along, dodging the large muddy puddles. He raised a hand to Mia. Must think she was someone else. Mia shivered. She was hungry now. Longed for warmth; her own bed, a shower. She went back into the boat.
Evie had made tea. Mia cupped her hands round the mug and sipped at the sour mixture.
‘It’s chamomile. Soothing. Toast?’
Evie held chunks of bread on the end of a fork in front of the open stove and Mia watched the edges brown in the light from the flames. It tasted good. The boat began to warm up.
‘You’d better go and get some of your clothes and stuff.’ Evie was matter of fact. ‘Then we can get going.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Me and Shannon. We decided we’ll take you all the way on the boat to your mum’s place you told us about. Joe’s got a map. We can do the whole distance by river and canal. Time we were moving on anyway. We might as well go there as any place else.’
‘To Bristol? From here? In this? How long will that take?’
‘You’re not in a hurry, are you? Be there well before May, in any case. Give your mum time to get used to the idea of a baby.’
Mia curled up on the mattress. The lump of panic in her belly settled rock hard. Evie was waiting for her to say something.
‘Well, I’m not sure. I don’t really know if that’s a good idea. I mean, my mum – I haven’t seen her for ages.’
‘She’s still your mum, though, isn’t she?’
‘Yes – but – well, she left us, didn’t she? That’s the whole point. She didn’t want us. She wanted a new life. She couldn’t stand us children any more.’
‘Don’t be daft. It wasn’t anything to do with you. It was your dad and her. Their stuff. Anyway, you’re not a child any more, are you? And where else can you go? You got a better idea?’
‘No, well, not yet. It’s too sudden.’
‘They’ll come looking for you soon, and we don’t want any hassle, so get your stuff if you’re coming. We’ll get the boat ready today and go tomorrow morning. Providing Shannon can prise herself away from Joe, of course. We’ll have to get on to the canal first, up through the locks. That’ll take a morning or so, but Joe will be around to help. You won’t be much good on the lock gates. They’re too heavy.’
Evie was right. There didn’t seem to be any option really. She should be grateful that she’d landed on her feet so easily; found people to help her. She should stop being so scared and muddled. Get her stuff. Thank her lucky stars.
After breakfast, Mia counted out her money. Enough for the bus home and back. Then she’d have to find some more. Dad might have left some behind the clock, if she was lucky. She’d have to trust that he’d gone to work as usual. Wouldn’t think what would happen if he was waiting there for her, or her mother, or Becky or someone from school.
She timed it carefully. No one she knew was on the bus; Whitecross was deserted. A few cars passed her as she walked along the main road from the village and then up the lane, but no one stopped. No cars in the drive.
The house was empty. No police guard or spying social workers or anything. Not even a note from Dad in case she turned up. He’d tidied up. There was washing in the machine, on the final spin. Odd. Like walking into someone else’s house: she was a stranger here already. Everything carrying on without her. Easier for everyone if she wasn’t there.
Mia found a rucksack in the cupboard under the stairs, took it with her up to her room, bundled in some clean clothes. She stood for a moment looking out of the bedroom window. The leaves of the ash tree had all fallen, wiped off by the rain and wind that had lashed the house all night. Her room seemed small, childish. The photographs on the chest of drawers smiled weakly back at her. She picked up the old one of her mum, scrutinized the face for a moment as if looking for a sign, some sort of encouragement.
Just as she was leaving the room she noticed the old pregnancy book lying on the floor by the bed and picked it up, shoved it into the rucksack with the clothes. Then she remembered her notebook and a pen in the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and she put them in too. Downstairs, she rummaged behind the clock. There were three twenty-pound notes. Good. On the top of the usual stack of letters was a new one, mum’s writing on the envelope. Addressed to her. Mia put it in the bag to read later. No time to waste now. She pulled the front door shut and walked back through the damp garden to the gate. The cat was crouched under the tree, watching her with his slit eyes as if even he didn’t recognize her. No place for her here, she could see now. No choice left but to go.
There wouldn’t be a bus for ages. Mia walked down the lane, then took the muddy footpath to the shore. She went past the field, Will’s and her field, where everything had started to go wrong. You’d never guess; just some old empty field with grass and mud. She crunched across the stones on the beach and then took off the rucksack, went empty-handed to the edge of the water. The sea was quite high, covering the mud and stones and weed that would lie stinking and ugly when the tide went out. There was hardly any wind now; it had blown itself out after the wild night. The small waves limped in, folded over each other with a gentle shooshing sound. Her eyes travelled over the bay, to the hills the other side. She could just make them out through the mist. Mia closed her eyes and let the sound of the water soothe her. Don’t think. No need here. Just the sounds. Listen.
She remembered coming down to this beach one Christmas Eve with Dad and Kate and Laura. They gathered up driftwood and Dad built a fire. ‘Better than fairylights,’ Dad said, and Mia watched the tiny glowing sparks rush out of the fire into the dark sky and then float down on to the pebbles. ‘Magic,’ he said. ‘They’re real fairies,’ and Mia had believed him. She must have been seven or eight.
‘Clap hands all the children who believe in fairies.’ That was at Peter Pan, in the old theatre at Ashton that wasn’t there any more, and they had all clapped to save Tinkerbell, even though Mia didn’t really believe any more. How old was she then? Nine or ten? Even her sisters had clapped their hands. But not Dad.
A seagull swooped in on long white wings and settled back on the water near Mia. It folded the wings back over its body, so the tips crossed into the tail. Will would have known exactly what kind of gull it was.
For some reason the gull made her think of Lainey. Perhaps she’d turn up at the river again today. Mia hoped she would. Wouldn’t it be nice if Lainey could come too on the boat? She wondered what Lainey’s story really was. What had happened to her, that she slipped in and out of the town unnoticed, in and out of other lives, and no one took care of her, saw that she had warm clothes and food? Was Mia, too, slipping over the edge into that separate world, the parallel one, along with the boat people on the canal with their thin dogs, or the young people you saw crouched on the pavements in the town, mumbling requests for money for something to eat, for a ticket to get home, for fags, for booze, for a place to sleep?
Mia heaved the rucksack over one shoulder and walked slowly along the deserted beach in the direction of the village. If she timed it right, she wouldn’t have to wait too long at the bus stop. She could slip away from Whitecross unnoticed.
On the bus, Mia remembered the letter from Mum and pulled it out of her bag. She read it quickly, then again, more slowly, trying to take it in, feeling her anger rise with each sentence.
I keep thinking about you. I feel terrible. Why do you cut me out of your life like this? I would have come to be with you, but you reject every move I make, don’t you? I know it must ha
ve been awful for you, getting pregnant, although I still can’t believe you’d be so foolish. Well, you’ve learned the hardest way.
It’s a horrible thing to have to go through, an abortion, but having a baby at your age would have been even worse. At least your father was right about that. The sheer exhaustion of looking after another human being twenty-four hours a day, never getting enough sleep, never being able to go out by yourself – it’s hard enough when you’re older and have money coming into the household. So I’m sure you’ll come to see it was the best thing in the circumstances. At least this way you can carry on with school and get your exams under your belt. Then you can decide what you want to do next, really find your wings and fly. The whole world’s out there, Mia. It’s taken me a long, long time to find it. I feel I’m only just taking off now at my grand old age! But it will be different for you. You won’t be tied down like I was.
Mia scrumpled up the letter and held it so tight her knuckles went white. Her whole body trembled with rage. How dare she? What kind of a mother said things like that? How could she possibly go and see her now?
At Ashton bus station, Mia followed the line of shoppers into the dreary precinct. It was only eleven thirty. The whole day stretched out before her. She couldn’t face going back to the boat yet. She’d have to tell Evie and Shannon about the letter. Mia went along to the market instead and ordered a hot chocolate and toast. It wasn’t very busy, and the usual woman wasn’t there. A man served her at the counter and watched her as she settled herself at a table near the wall. Then he buried himself in his newspaper again. Her head felt fuzzy; she was tired out. She gazed into space for a while and then rummaged in the rucksack for the pregnancy book.
*
‘Week 11… the sickness should gradually lessen from now onwards. The amount of blood circulating through your body has started to increase… You should be thinking about arranging antenatal classes. Your baby’s testicles or ovaries have formed, as have all of its major organs.’
A boy, or a girl. It was already decided. Little bean, growing week by week inside her. It was unimaginable.
She put the book away and opened the notebook instead. She doodled with the pen, spirals and circles. It made her think of school. Taking notes. Will. I’ll have to tell him that I’m keeping the baby. He’s got a right to know. He’ll be a father, and nothing can change that. My baby’s father. And his mum and dad will be grandparents. Like my mum and dad. Whether I like it or not.
Evie looked up from the boat deck as Mia came along the path by the river.
‘You’re back then? We’d almost given up. Thought you’d chickened out. Got your stuff OK then?’
‘Yes. No one at home.’
Mia balanced along the plank and Evie held out a hand to steady her.
‘It’s cold. I was just going back in.’ Evie opened the boat doors and Mia followed her. She dumped the rucksack in the corner. Evie nodded. ‘I’ll find you a place for your stuff, OK? You’ll have to keep tidy on the boat. Not much space. So, we’ll leave in the morning then. The river’s high. All that rain. It’ll be better on the canal anyway. Safer. It might just be you and me to begin with.’ Evie looked pained. ‘Shannon wants to come on later with Joe. Stupid girl. It’s not good for her, hanging around him.’
‘Evie?’ Mia hesitated, not sure how to go on. ‘I’m not sure, Evie. I don’t think my mum’s going to want me. I don’t want to go to her really.’
Evie rattled the bucket of coal she was shovelling into the stove. Her voice was suddenly thick with irritation. ‘Make your mind up. I’m going anyway. Take it or leave it. You’ll have to find somewhere else to go though. Back to your dad? Is that what you want?’ She put down the coal bucket and reached down a drink can from the shelf. She couldn’t pull the ring to open it with her mittened fingers, threw off the mittens, tried again. She gulped the beer, not looking at Mia.
‘I’m going out. Make up your mind, right? By the time I get back. And don’t let the stove go out.’
Mia sat hunched in the boat. Through the little window she watched Evie wheel her bike down the plank and then ride away down the towpath. She felt cold even wrapped up in her thickest jumper and with Evie’s old woollen socks pulled up over her own. It was as if the cold of the water deep below had permeated the boat, her clothes, everything. The boat was tugging and swinging round like it had done in the night, the brown water swirling and eddying round. She hoped Evie had tied the rope properly. She seemed unfriendly, hostile even. Impatient with Mia’s indecisiveness. Just like Dad. With Dad though it was different. He knew her really well, in spite of everything. Was she making a terrible mistake? Evie didn’t have any connection with her. Mia knew nothing about her either. But how could she go back to Whitecross now? What was there for her now? Too late. She’d crossed the threshold into another life already.
She rummaged in the rucksack for the two postcards she’d bought in the market. One showed the bridge, the other was of the church at the top of the town. She found her pen and started to write.
Sorry, Dad, I’m going away with some friends. We’re going to travel for a bit, but not far and don’t come after me, please. I promise you I’m safe, and fine, and you don’t need to worry. I’ll write again soon. Love Mia.
*
She wrote the address, then started the second one.
Dear Becky, I’m going away. I expect you know already. Sorry if Dad’s been hassling you for information. I walked out of the hospital. I’m going to have the baby after all. Don’t be mad with me. Missing you. I’ll phone soon. Mia.
How definite it looked, written down like that. It cleared her head to see her handwriting on the white card. Black on white. The pressure like a hand pushing down on her head began to lift.
She’d go with Evie. She would have somewhere to stay at least, and it would be a long while before they actually got to Bristol. She should just get on with it. Make the best of everything. Be helpful to Evie. Think what to say to Mum. Or maybe Evie would let her stay? Perhaps Shannon would stay with Joe and then there’d be room for Mia on the boat with Evie? She crawled under the blanket on the couch and drifted into sleep for the rest of the afternoon.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Now there was a new rhythm for her days. Mostly it revolved around the stove and the engine: stoking, keeping the fire going, checking, re-filling with diesel. Keeping warm. Making food. The engine throbbed like a beating heart, a constant sound that soon became part of her, so she only noticed when it stopped. Evie seemed brighter now they’d got on to the canal and were moving slowly along. They were making good progress, Evie said. She seemed to have got used to the idea that Shannon wasn’t there, and Mia was doing her best to be helpful.
Most days Evie spent drinking, smoking, even while she was steering the boat. Mia began to wonder where she got the money from. It didn’t seem to add up. What else might she be selling, as well as the Indian stuff, the hair braids and tattoos? Mia did not want to think about it. And Evie’s mood swung dramatically, one day to another. She was worst at night. Mia started to go to bed earlier to avoid the long, dark silences.
Evie was oddly forgetful too. On the third day they were sitting together in a rare moment of warm sunshine on the deck, drinking tea before they started up for the morning. A woman walked past them along the towpath pushing a small child in a buggy and it reminded Mia about Lainey.
‘So how did you get to meet Lainey?’
‘Who?’
‘You know, the little girl in Ashton.’
‘What little girl?’
‘You know, who brought me the first time to your boat.’
Evie just shook her head. ‘I don’t remember. I first saw you around town in that awful shopping precinct where Shannon and I had the stall. You were always hanging about by yourself. We noticed you because you looked too thin, and scared. Like you were in trouble.’
‘Was it so obvious?’
‘Only to us. Because we’ve been there. Kn
ow what it looks like.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Shannon, she was pregnant about your age. She had a baby too, once. That’s why she’s hanging around Joe so much. Wanted to stay longer with him.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘She’s desperate. For a baby. She fancies Joe, thinks he might be a good bet. For a baby.’ Evie’s face clouded over. She stared absently for a few minutes. Then she seemed to come back to Mia from wherever she’d been. ‘It’s hard for her around you, I think. You didn’t even want a baby, but you got pregnant just like that. And she hasn’t.’
‘What happened to the baby?’
‘You don’t want to know, Mia.’
‘Yes I do.’
‘Well, she wouldn’t want me to tell you.’
‘Can’t you tell me about it? Just a bit?’
‘Well, you mustn’t tell Shannon. It’s too awful. No, I can’t tell you.’
‘Please, Evie.’
‘You won’t like it.’
‘Please.’
‘I warned you, remember. It’s not very nice.’ Evie’s face darkened. Mia could feel her own heart thumping, not sure what she was about to hear.
‘She was only about eleven months. Eden, we called her. She was just beginning to walk, you know, pulling herself up on things and taking a few steps, and you have to watch them all the time then, but Shannon was in a bit of a state. I didn’t really realize, otherwise I could have helped more.’
Evie’s eyes filled with tears.
‘She wasn’t coping, I suppose. Drinking too much, and getting stoned most of the time, and not eating properly. The baby – Eden – well, we don’t really know what happened, but she must have got out on the deck when Shannon was out of her head down in the cabin.’
‘Oh no – no –’
‘I told you you didn’t want to know.’
Mia waited, horrified, for what she now knew was coming.
‘She must have fallen in. It’s easy enough, there’s no edge or anything up here. It was the river, not the canal. Not your river, at Ashton. Further north. It was in the papers and everything. About three, four years ago. They didn’t find the baby’s body for ages. It got washed up at some weir, eventually. It was terrible. So now you know.’