by C D Major
She is tiny, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her legs tucked up to her chest. I feel my world tilt. What I had dreamed of over a decade ago now lies asleep and peaceful in my arms. It is so late that the doctor stays in my husband’s room. Annie has been still dusting and readying it in case the vanished master of the house returns.
The next morning, I have put her to the breast where she rootles pointlessly. Tongue clamped between my teeth, I try everything I can do to help her. Dawn has broken and the sunlight shows up the mess of the room and myself, both exhausted, the tang of blood heavy in the air.
The doctor appears, breakfast eaten quickly from a tray. Baby Constance has barely slept. He checks her, comments that she is on the small side. ‘We should take her to the hospital,’ I suggest, feeling my eyes widen.
‘Perhaps best,’ he recommends.
I am weak – very weak – so an ambulance takes me there. A kind nurse helps my sore bruised body into a wheelchair. The driver cranes his neck as we draw away from the house, the stone seeming to shimmer with my nerves. Everybody turns as I am wheeled through the corridor. Sympathetic looks as they realise that I am holding something so small, so new. Good news these days is seldom found. I sit up straighter as they roll me along.
‘She is on the small side,’ I explain in a solemn voice.
They peer at the shut-eyed pink face, lines meeting in the middle of her brows. ‘We’ll get her right. And you.’
We stay in hospital for a couple of days and the nurses fuss over us, cooing around the curtain as they go about their rounds. The doctor visits too, pleased that she is doing better: sleeping, feeding well and putting on weight, opening her unfocused eyes, unfurling her legs.
‘There’ll be no need for you to stay,’ he says, ‘you can return home.’ He watches me hold her.
‘Could you check her chest again, Doctor? She does get a nasty cough at night and it doesn’t sound quite right to me.’
‘Does she bring up her milk?’
‘Yes, Doctor, she does.’
‘Well, we must keep an eye on that.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
Chapter 53
AVA
She couldn’t move, was rooted to the ground under the bridge, the path impossibly steep.
‘I’ll get help.’ Garry’s eyes were rounded, his face draining of colour.
‘Can you?’ She hadn’t realised she had collapsed onto her side in the dirt.
‘I’ll go to the house. Ava, it’s going to be OK!’ he called, already halfway up the path. ‘Wait there! I’ll be back!’
She watched him go as she crawled off the path, palms slick with mud, realising she was lying in the patch where Bella had found the bone. As she was wracked with pain, she was certain she could hear the sound of the baby again. How many were buried under her? And what had her mum to do with any of it? From this angle she could just make out the top of the bridge, imagining her own grandmother appearing there, a face twisted with pain before she hurled herself onto the rocks below. She squeezed her eyes against another crippling contraction, her vision blurring as she saw a figure moving down the path towards her.
Arms dragged her upwards as a man’s voice called her name. ‘Ava, come on, love.’ Keven. It was Keven. His distinctive accent coaxing. She wanted to weep with the relief of it.
‘Garry, he might be . . . he . . . and . . . my mum . . . the baby . . .’ She knew she wasn’t making any sense, jabbering, her body trembling with the cold. A rumble of thunder and the relentless noise of the water sounded furiously in her ears.
‘We can shelter under the bridge!’ Keven called, supporting her weight as she staggered, slipping in muddy trenches towards the archway that might provide some protection from the weather. They should go back up to the house. This wasn’t a good idea. She needed an ambulance. Had Garry called one? Where was he?
‘Garry, he . . .’
‘I’ve got you, love,’ Keven said. ‘You’re alright. This way.’
The archway loomed in front of her; her neck craned. She could barely make out the top of the bridge from this angle and she had a horrible image of a dog leaping over to its death, into a river of bones, muscle and fur still clinging to their surfaces. She shut her eyes, cried out once more. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’
‘It’s OK, Ava. I’m here. I’ve got you . . . one more step.’ He lowered her onto the dry ground, curling leaves and pebbles digging into her hands.
She could see Keven more clearly now, wiping the rain from her face. A smear of mud on his cheek, his trousers damp, no coat at all, hair soaking. She moaned as her stomach contracted.
Keven scooted behind her. ‘You’re alright, you’re alright,’ he said. Her body went rigid as he clamped his arms around her, his legs trapping her too.
The shock stopped any more sound, the stones digging into her flesh, the surging pain that seized her stomach and made her lose her breath. Keven was muttering, his breath tickling her ear.
‘Keven . . .’ She tried to keep her voice light. ‘I need an ambulance . . . the baby . . .’ She took a breath, her muscles squeezing so hard she thought she’d cry out again. ‘Garry was getting one,’ she said with more confidence than she felt. She didn’t understand. Why was Keven clinging to her like this?
‘He didn’t get one.’
Icy cold filled her chest. ‘But he . . .’
‘I took his phone. I locked him in the room. He can’t help you.’
She was rigid with fear, then she started to wail. ‘Keven, please. Let me go . . .’ She struggled, but his grip was tight and she soon gave in.
‘No, no, no, no . . .’ It was almost as if he was talking to himself, his head shaking behind her.
‘Please. I need to get to a hospital . . .’
‘No, not yet. You can’t. You can’t keep looking. The body . . . if people keep coming . . .’
Ava couldn’t follow his ramblings.
‘They always said it was my dad but I saw it all. I saw her jump. But there was never a body and I was his son. They thought I’d lied . . .’
Ava could barely breathe, damp inside and out of her clothing. Oh God, she needed a hospital. She was going to lose the baby.
‘And you kept coming here. Even after the notes . . . the warnings I sent . . . back for me . . . dredging it all up again, even now . . . and with Dad still alive . . .’
Look after your baby.
‘That was you?’ she whispered. Oh my God. Her head pounded as she strained against Keven’s arms. Maybe somebody would hear if she called out? She let out a scream that was stifled almost immediately, his hand clamped over her mouth.
‘Stop it.’ He shook her. ‘Stop it now . . . you just need to promise. You . . . you need to leave it alone.’
The bank farther up was a graveyard for the babies. The water was a graveyard for the dogs. What body was Keven talking about?
‘You have to promise, Ava. Promise you’ll drop this – that you’ll stop looking. I know you came here. I know you got into that room.’ Ava slumped backwards. ‘I don’t want anyone searching around here. They were good people, my parents. Both good people and she was evil. I know what she did to her child. I kept the diary. If he did push her, she would have . . . she would have deserved it.’
The edges of her vision were narrowing; her lips felt numb. He’d kept back one of the diaries. It made sense now. That strange last entry. Short, capital letters, not in the same style at all. He’d ended her story where he’d wanted her to end it, tried to convince Ava she’d jumped. ‘She didn’t jump?’ She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
‘I saw her!’ he roared, the words echoing against the walls of the bridge.
She was crying again. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please . . . we’ll stop . . . we’ll leave.’ So had Keven’s dad pushed her? Was it not a suicide after all? Was that why the bridge did what it did to dogs? To punish people for not discovering the truth?
There was barking – furious barking
. Through her tears, her blurred vision, she made out a shape on the path in front of her.
Keven got up, went to shoo the dog away, looked up. Ava watched him lurch backwards, his face pale, all the whites of his eyes showing. ‘No!’ he shouted as he stared transfixed at whatever was on the top of the bridge.
Ava crawled to where he was standing, stared up at what he was seeing, tried to focus.
There was a woman – a woman peering right down at them from the top of the bridge. The White Lady.
‘It can’t be . . .’ Keven had lost all concentration as he walked, unseeing, past her, one hand up on the stones of the bridge for support. He too was crying now, his body shaking. ‘I saw her! I saw her . . .’
Ava got up and crawled forwards. The dog was closer, still barking – returning to her. ‘Gus! Oh my God!’ Her muddied hands groped for him, her hand in his wet fur. Was she hallucinating? She thought of the bridge, the dogs that had all jumped before. The thin place. She felt her world tilt, things that were real and unreal, everything spinning out of her control.
Her mum stood in front of her now, horrified as she looked down at her lying in the path, dripping hair flattened to her scalp, one hand on her stomach.
‘Mum . . .’ Her voice was feeble, her body convulsing with pain. ‘Mum . . .’
But her mum wasn’t looking at her; she was looking over her shoulder, at Keven under the archway.
‘Mum!’ Ava cried, as she drifted towards her, as if she really was the White Lady. ‘I need an ambulance. MUM!’
It was as if her mum couldn’t hear her, as if she was somewhere else.
Gus was still barking, water roaring as her mum moved past her unseeing. Ava watched as she spoke to Keven, then embraced him. They were locked tightly together. Ava cried out. Her mum didn’t seem to hear. Ava’s vision swept in and out of focus – and there was someone else. Someone else gripping her arm, saying her name. Someone gentle, a voice filled with kindness.
‘Ava! Are you OK?’ Neil looked both perplexed and worried as she stared up at him.
She moved with him, hunched, still wracked with pain, one shoe pulled off, mud coating her clothes, streaking her skin. ‘The baby . . . I think . . .’ She could hardly speak, could only gesture, frightened sounds. ‘It’s coming!’
Gus was circling, making a high, keening noise, his whole body tense. He yapped at Keven, at her mum, at the water as if he was possessed. Her mum was still there, still looking at Keven, their mouths moving, their words drowned out by the torrent under the bridge, their faces wet from rain or tears – Ava couldn’t tell.
‘Ava, I . . .’ Her mum turned towards her then, concern on her face.
‘Well done, Ava. Just up here . . .’ Neil was guiding her, meeting her eye for the first time in forever. ‘You’ll be alright. Well done.’ His words were sweet in the air – strong. ‘The car’s just by the house. Not far. Well done. Almost there.’
‘Keven . . . Mum . . .’
‘You’re OK.’
Miraculously, they made it to the top of the bridge. She could see Neil’s car parked just beneath one of the grey walls of the house. Her eyes glanced to the window at the bottom of the stone steps, the window where her mother had once looked out.
‘Mum . . .’ she croaked. Her mum hadn’t followed. She was still under the bridge with Gus and Keven.
She prayed she was safe from the bridge that had brought so much death.
‘Mum!’
Chapter 54
CONSTANCE
I wait until I know she is upstairs – listen for the tell-tale creak – or until the front door has opened and shut – the slight change in the air – and I sit up slowly, move my bare feet out of bed and begin my exercises, slowly at first.
I eat a little more and I am less sick. Mother talks about my upcoming operation as if it is another birthday. I turned ten a few weeks ago and I look down at my ten toes. I want to keep them all. I lift my leg, hold it, lift it again. I run on the spot, gently and then harder, always sure to listen, listen, listen. I get back into bed twice when I think I hear her nearby.
It is Annie. She whistles in the corridor. She talks to the bear. I can’t make out the words but she always sounds a little afraid. I think of the feeling I get when I am out of my room and shiver. Mother calls out from the green room. She never leaves to run her errands now when Annie cleans.
I get out of bed and start again, pleased I can do more than yesterday. If I can walk then I can run and if I can run then I can run away.
Maybe it is because I’m thinking about this that I don’t see him until he is right up against the glass. I let out a sound and glue my feet to the spot. The boy’s face is right there, staring right at me standing frozen on one leg. I sweat from my star jumps and from the fear that seems to turn my insides to stone.
But then his face changes, his mouth wide, his straight teeth on show as he gives me a small wave. I hear his delighted laugh through the glass and something in me opens up. A friend. I know he is a few years younger than me but we look the same age. I find myself waving back, smiling hard, my mouth tightly shut so he won’t see my missing teeth and run away and be frightened.
He disappears, and without thinking I dart to the window, not ready to lose him. I can feel the blood running through my body, my legs holding my weight as I tiptoe up, now tall enough to see right outside. Mr Hughes is there. The boy tugs his hand, talking and pointing, and Mr Hughes is rubbing his chin.
The boy waves again and I can’t help but wave back. There’s something about them both – open and friendly. I wish I could climb out of these windows and tell them to take me away. The footsteps in the corridor are loud and quick. Rushing to the bed, I am barely under the sheets before Mother is inside. Will she notice my quick breaths, the sheen on my skin, my guilty look?
‘The doctor just telephoned,’ she announces. Her face seems to be glowing, the corridor behind her seeming to pulse with her mood. ‘He’s agreed that you are a priority. He thinks you and I have been terribly patient, but a spot has come up next week, so we can go. It will be a long hospital stay, of course – visits from their new physiotherapist, fittings with the prosthetics department. They can do wonders, so he tells me.’ She isn’t talking to me any more – just listing things I don’t understand, long words that aren’t in my books, long words I’m afraid of. My hands clutch the sheets so tightly my knuckles turn white.
All I can do is nod as she sweeps around the room, lifting the lid of the trunk, talking about clothing, making things more comfortable for afterwards. I can smell my own stench as I breathe, the rot inside my mouth, in my stomach and it is too late for the bowl as it bursts out of me, everything familiar and raw, and she is there, circling my back.
‘You must build up your strength or they will refuse to operate,’ she says. ‘Let me fetch a cloth and some bread. First, I must go upstairs and find my carpetbag. I didn’t ask about sleeping arrangements, but I am sure they will let me join you in the hospital for such a serious operation. I am sure.’ She is already out of the room, her words fading with her steps.
I sink back into my pillow, my lips coated, some pieces still sticking to my chin.
On my shelf, I see the book about Dick Whittington. I think of all the other orphans I read about and the stories aren’t too bad. I feel my body solid beneath the sheets. Swinging my legs over, I run back to the windowsill. They are gone. There is just the grey stone of the bridge and the bank that drops out of view and the clouds that sit along the treetops.
I remove my hairpin and stare down at the windowsill and scratch the letters in case the boy comes back, in case he and Mr Hughes plan to rescue me.
HELP ME.
Chapter 55
AVA
‘Hello, Ava. I’m Dr Patel and I’m your anaesthetist today. I hear you’ve had a bit of a shock so you just try to help us help you.’ She wanted to stay fixed on Dr Patel’s eyes, wanted to have faith in that calm voice, that direct look over the
mask.
Her body had started to shake in Neil’s car and was still seizing her now, so they struggled to get a spinal block into her. Every time she tried to breathe, she imagined herself back under the bridge, arms clamped around her. She pictured her mum walking blindly past her in the mud.
‘Alright, Ava . . . stay as still as you can.’
It seemed an impossible thing to ask: after the events of the morning, her body trembled so much that the nurse attaching pads to her skin had to still her as best she could. Dr Patel poised on a stool behind her, exchanging words with other people in the room. She sensed movement, hushed voices, urgency crackling in the exchanges.
‘Please . . .’ Ava spoke no one in particular and in a pleading squawk that didn’t even sound like her own voice. ‘Please, help the baby.’
‘We are going to take excellent care of you, Ava,’ Dr Patel soothed. ‘Try to relax. Try to breathe. We’re going to get something to stop that shaking.’
Ava couldn’t speak. There was another agonising clench as her stomach went rigid. She cried out. There were other bodies appearing in the room. She had pads on her stomach. A monitor showed a heart rate in a way that Ava didn’t understand. There were white walls, blue outfits, looks, whispers, long words she couldn’t make out.
Two nurses stood at her side, holding her still as Dr Patel continued to talk to her. ‘So, a nice, slow breath . . . That’s good.’
Ava felt a sharp pain in her lower back followed by the sensation of ice dripping into her veins. It moved down and around her limbs as she was lowered slowly onto her back.