by Vivien Brown
She stood up and strode the few feet towards the cubicle, the clackety noise of her shoe on the hard floor indicating the presence of yet more undiscovered chips of china. The officer followed at her heels, not saying another word. At least she’d put him in his place, but something still needed to be done to stop this whole thing becoming some kind of circus. It would be the press and the TV cameras next, if word got out.
‘The doctor will need to get a proper look at her now, and I don’t think it’s helping having so many people here, do you?’ She raised her voice, holding out an arm to try to ease everyone back. ‘Could we perhaps all step back for now so I can close the curtain and give her a bit of privacy?’ She could feel the reluctance in the air, even as they started to move. ‘But perhaps you’d like to stay?’ Gina turned to the elderly lady with the little girl, wrapped up in a blanket, still stuck tightly to her chest, and lowered her voice. The woman who’d just arrived from Social Services nodded her reluctant approval and went straight to the policewoman in search of facts.
‘She does seem to have become very attached to you, doesn’t she?’ Gina smiled, helping to ease the old woman down into a chair, noticing how anxious, how drained she looked, how her cardigan buttons were done up wrong, and then, clucking a series of soothing ‘there, theres’ into the child’s ear, she very gently started to prise the little arms away from the wrinkled neck. ‘Quite literally, in fact!’
‘We’ve got the address she was found at on the records.’ It was Diane from the reception desk, peeking her head through the gap where the curtains met. With her head there amongst all the rabbits and squirrels and hedgehogs on the material to each side of her she looked like Mr McGregor turning up in the vegetable patch, and Gina had to suppress a giggle. ‘Someone called Ruby Baxter. She lived there around three years ago, anyway. She gave birth here at the hospital, to a girl. Caesarian section. But we can’t be sure this is definitely her. People move a lot, and this one hasn’t been back for any kind of treatment since. Nor the child, which is unusual. Most will have some hospital involvement by the time they’re three, if it’s only a fever or a thumb stuck in a door or something.’
‘I’m sure you’re right. Looks likely it’s them though, doesn’t it? The child’s age, if nothing else …’ She turned to the old lady. Agnes, she’d said her name was. ‘Ruby Baxter. Does that name mean anything to you? You’re the neighbour, right?’
‘We met once or twice. I hardly knew her. Couldn’t remember her name when they asked me. But, yes, Ruby, that does sound familiar. I do think that’s what she was called.’
Gina reached over to the bed and patted the little girl’s hand. ‘Ruby. Is that your mummy’s name?’
The child stared back and grabbed on tightly to Agnes’s hand, but said nothing.
‘Right, I won’t push her. Not if she doesn’t want to talk. But I bet this is little baby Baxter, and a fair bit bigger than when she was last here.’ Gina looked back at Diane, her face still hovering in the gap between the curtains. ‘Thanks, Diane. Oh, before you go, who was listed as next of kin?’
‘Someone called Michael Payne. Fiancé, it looks like. Want me to give him a call?’
‘Can’t do any harm, can it? Let’s hope there’s a mobile number. If the only number we have is for the flat she came from, we already know he’s not there.’
The doctor finished her examination and the child was soon almost asleep, her fingers loosening on Agnes’s and finally letting go as her arm dropped limply down onto the bed. They’d taken the Disney dress off her and found her some pyjamas to wear, and the student nurse had been delegated to stay by her side to keep a close eye on her, when one of the police radios crackled into life.
The policeman came over to the desk again. Some of the colour had flooded back into his face now it looked like the little girl was likely to be okay, and she noticed how freckly he was, right across his nose and cheeks. ‘Officers have been into the flat now, nurse. Mum is confirmed as Ruby Baxter. Age twenty-two. They found documents at the premises. No driving licence or passport, so no official photo ID, but there were family photos that should help us to find her, or recognise her, at least. No sign of the fiancé. No evidence he lives there either. No shaving stuff, or anything like that, so it’s unlikely he does. And she’s still a Baxter, so it doesn’t look like she married him in the end, does it?’
‘Well, I can see you’ll make a great detective one day, Constable. Real little Sherlock, aren’t you?’ She smiled at him. ‘Only teasing. But at least we’re getting somewhere. And the child? Got a name for her?’
‘Yes. It’s Lily. There was her birth certificate, red book, vaccination records, stuff like that, all kept together in a drawer by the bed. And more photos, of the two of them together.’
‘Thanks. I’ll let the doctor know.’
Lily? Gina closed her eyes, tapping a pen idly against the desk in front of her. Lily? She definitely knew that name from somewhere. It took her a moment to reach back into her memory banks and drag it out. Lily. Wasn’t that the name of the girl Laura had been jabbering on about, and visiting as well? God knows why. She’d been run over on Saturday. Two days ago. And now she was lying upstairs in Intensive Care. Wasn’t that her name? Lily? She was sure Laura had said she was young, no more than early twenties. A real mystery girl, with some sort of religious cross round her neck, and a caesarean scar. Could that be her? Ruby Baxter, the mum? It certainly seemed to fit. But why would she have called herself Lily if her real name was Ruby? Unless she was calling out for her daughter, of course. Yes, that must have been it. It had to be her. It was just too much of a coincidence, wasn’t it? If she was the missing mum, hit by a car and pretty much out of it since, it would certainly go some way towards explaining why the child was alone.
‘I think you’d better get hold of one of those photos, Officer. It could help you ID the mum a lot sooner than you’d expected. Your missing Ruby Baxter could just be here, right under our noses all along.’
*
‘Why on earth haven’t you got a satnav, Mother?’ Michael muttered. He was getting tired of relying on street signs and some badly-folded ancient map that Geraldine kept in the glove compartment, but she had nodded off to sleep beside him and was no help at all. After all this time, he should know the way like the back of his hand, of course, but when he’d taken a side street to avoid a huge queue of traffic up ahead he’d somehow lost his bearings and God knew where they were now.
He thought he could hear his mobile ringing somewhere, muffled, a long way away. He must have left it in his coat in the boot. Oh, well. It would only be Patsy asking if they were there yet. Or Ruby, finally answering the messages he’d left on her mobile this morning. Sod her, they were nearly there now. She could wait and say whatever it was to his face.
He thought back to her letter. It was so typical of Ruby. She had to make everything so hard, declare some indefensible war, and do it in a way that gave him no chance to fight back or argue his case. She couldn’t just pick up the phone and talk like normal people. Not until she really had to, like now, no doubt desperately trying to stop him from turning up at her door. Some kind of last minute excuse, pretending Lily was sick or they had to go out somewhere vitally important.
It seemed that Ruby just couldn’t accept that things change, that relationships sometimes don’t work out, and that seeing Lily, finding a way to share her, make sure she had what she needed, was something separate from all of that. It was so like her to just put up the barricades and dig her heels in. Threatening him with legal action was so petty and childish. Not that she’d have any grounds. He’d left them, yes, he had, no denying that. But he’d tried to do the right thing, tried to call, sent presents, money …
Why did she have to be so difficult? He wasn’t trying to take his daughter away, just to have proper access, the chance to be a part of her life again. Any court in the land would say that it was best for Lily to stay in touch with both of her parents, surely? And Rub
y, of all people, should understand that. She’d never known her own dad, and only had sporadic contact with her waste-of-space mother as she grew up. Even that had stopped by the time she was ten, and God knows what had happened to the woman after that. Drunk herself to death, probably, from what he’d heard about her. That old biddy, Mrs Castle, was more of a mother to Ruby than her own flesh and blood, still sending cards and calling from time to time long after Ruby had left the children’s home and the woman herself had officially retired. Didn’t Ruby want a more normal life for her own daughter? With two parents who loved her, even if they chose to do it from separate homes?
He pulled the car into Ruby’s road. There was nowhere to park, as usual. The building just about had room for two spaces on its short gravel drive, though both were occupied by cars he didn’t recognise, but then it had been a while since he’d lived here. He looked up at the windows. One of Ruby’s was open a crack, the curtain billowing about, so she must be at home. The rest were closed, dark, telling him nothing. They could all be new people here by now, for all he knew. Not that he’d ever got to know any of the old lot properly when he was here. Too much time at work, too much time taken up with the baby, too little time for much of anything else. A motley collection of vans and old bangers filled up the few legitimate reserved residents’ spaces in the road, and even the pay-by-meter parking slots further along were all full.
Swearing under his breath, Michael drove along the road, turned the corner towards the little scrappy bit of grass they laughingly called a park, and found a space near the gate. This was where they’d brought Lily in her buggy on sunny days, and sat and watched the bigger kids messing about on the climbing frame. He wondered if Ruby still did that, if they might even be here now, with Lily whooshing down the slide, or on the swings, pushing her little legs backwards and forwards to make herself go higher. She could probably do that now. She would have changed so much since he’d last seen her. They do, don’t they? Change in weeks, at her age. He wondered what she was like now, how many teeth she had now, whether she could write her name, how long her hair had grown … Oh, he’d missed too much. He wondered, briefly, if he would even recognise her, but that was absurd, of course he would. He was her daddy, still her daddy, always her daddy. And things were going to change from now on, no matter what Ruby had to say about it.
After several attempts he managed to ease the car into the tight space, albeit at a strange angle and with the wheels a few more inches from the kerb than he would have liked. ‘This will just have to do,’ he said, swinging his door open and almost knocking a passing cyclist off his bike. He peered into the park but everything looked still and quiet, the small playground empty. She wasn’t there. He walked slowly along to the meter. How long would they need? If things went well, and Lily was packed and ready to go, they could be out again in minutes. Then again, if Ruby wasn’t playing ball, the wrangling could take a while, especially as he’d prefer not to do it in front of Lily. Thank heavens for his mother. Maybe she could act as some sort of calming influence, or take Lily to the swings while things were sorted out. Would an hour be enough? Two? He tipped all the coins from his pocket out into his hand and fed them in. What the hell? It was only money. Some things were more important.
‘Come on, Mum,’ he said, walking back to collect her, helping her with the door as she stretched and opened her eyes. ‘It’s time to go and find that daughter of mine. And more than likely dodge the odd flying rolling pin, if Ruby’s up to her old tricks again.’
‘That bad, eh?’
‘Mum, you didn’t read the letter. It’s going to be that bad, believe me.’ He was already striding on ahead of her, glad he’d hung onto his keys when he’d moved out. If Ruby played silly beggars now, at least they could let themselves in. He could hear his mother’s heels clattering along the pavement behind him, trying to keep up. ‘Come on, let’s get on with it, shall we? If my Lily’s in there, I’m damned sure I’m going to see her no matter what Ruby might say.’
*
It was quiet after his mother had gone with the ambulance, the police car hot on its heels. William supposed he would have to go after her sooner or later, to give her a lift back home from the hospital, but for now he’d make a start on doing something about the stain on the kitchen ceiling. It had always helped him, in times of stress, to have something practical to do. Using his hands somehow removed the need to use his brain, or to engage his feelings. Maybe all men were like that? Looking for ways to push their emotions aside and just be the providers, the fixers, the hunter-gatherers they were originally designed to be.
He’d been an idiot shutting that door, he knew that, but you don’t always stop to think, do you? Having had a quick look around for possible bodies, sorting out the sink and the phone, and having a rummage through the contents of the upturned bag, there’d seemed little else he could do, other than get back downstairs to his mother and wait for the police to arrive. He wasn’t good with children. Well, he’d never had any of his own, had he? And although his heart went out to that little scrap of a thing, he wouldn’t have been a lot of use in cleaning her up or knowing what to do with her if he’d found her by himself.
He hadn’t even looked around the flat for something clean for her to wear, as his mother had suggested. He didn’t like the idea of opening drawers and cupboards. It felt too intrusive, in someone else’s home. He’d just wanted to get out of there fast. Thank God for his mother and it wasn’t often he’d had cause to say that. She’d done her share of nagging, putting her two-pennyworth in, letting her opinions and her long-suppressed feelings be known, especially during the divorce, but underneath it all she was still the rock his whole life had been built upon, and that’s just what she was being now. Solid and dependable and surprisingly loving, to a child she didn’t even know, when all he would have done alone was crumple.
It wasn’t long until more police arrived. There were four separate bells outside, and they’d rung on his mother’s. He’d gone to the front door and let them in, had a few words in the hall, but he didn’t follow them up the stairs. Not his place, and he didn’t want to come across as some rubbernecker, hanging around the scene of the crime, being more curious than was either necessary or seemly. He wasn’t sure how they did it but they were soon inside the flat. He could hear their boots stamping about upstairs, the thump-thump noises reverberating through the ceiling. So, it was true what they said about the police and their clod-hopping size nines!
He stood on a chair and prodded at the stain again. It was still soaking wet, a muddy-looking brown ring at its edges, spread out now like the open petals of a flower, so it occupied the whole of the corner and was making its way in a trickle down one of the walls. At least there wouldn’t be any more water adding to it now he’d cut it off at its source. He just had to let it dry out before he decided what to do. With luck, it would need nothing more than a coat of paint. He’d have to do the whole ceiling while he was at it, but it was a small enough room. Worst case would be to have to replaster some of it first.
William climbed back down and put the kettle on. Would his mother have any alcohol in? The thought of plain tea just didn’t work. He definitely needed something a bit stronger today, after all the trauma of the last hour or so. He rooted about in a few likely places but the best he could find was a drop of cheap sherry, the kind she put into trifles, and then hardly enough left in the bottle to cover the bottom of a cup. Not quite the brandy he might have wished for. Not tempted by the thought of mixing them together, he downed the sherry first, straight from the bottle, shuddered, then made himself the strongest tea he could and stirred in four spoons of sugar. Strong, sweet tea. It’s what they always had in films, for the shock. It was so strong, it came as a surprise that the spoon didn’t stand up by itself in the cup!
What else did she keep in these cupboards? Where were all the important papers? The insurance? Did it cover this sort of thing? Leaky ceilings, thoughtless neighbours, careless acts com
mitted by children too young to know better? He’d better ask her for the policy details and check, although there was usually an excess that basically meant you ended up paying most of it anyway, or all of it if you didn’t want to lose the no-claims. Bastards! They had you over a barrel whichever way you looked at it really, didn’t they? A bit like solicitors. Robbers, the lot of them.
Of course, they might be able to claim against the other people’s policy. He didn’t think they owned the flat though, the young couple. When Agnes had bought hers, they’d found out that two of the others in the house were still in the hands of its original owner and were let out. He was fairly sure the flat above was one of them and, from the odd occasion he’d spotted them, he didn’t think they looked old enough to own it. Or to have a mortgage, anyway. Oh, why did everything have to be so complicated? He’d just get hold of a tin of cheap emulsion, bring the stepladder over, and do the job himself. Just get on with it. It wasn’t worth the hassle of fighting anyone else over money. Susan had taught him that.
There was more noise now, out in the hall. He had thought the police had gone by now. It had all been quiet up there for the last ten minutes or so. He guessed that they’d found what they needed, but now there were footsteps again. Back for more already? Should he go out there, offer them tea, ask them if there was any news? He was the one who’d found her, after all. But, when he opened the door, it wasn’t the police coming down the stairs, it was two other people entirely, about to go up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ruby
She is sitting in Mrs Castle’s sitting room, drinking tea. Same woman, different place. She’s Michael’s woman, the one he was talking to by the sea. His mother? I don’t know. But why is she here, where I live? Is she following me now, the way I followed him? The stalker stalked. A shiver runs through me.