by Vivien Brown
They both smile at me as I walk in, don’t ask me to leave. Mrs Castle introduces me, as if I count. Maybe I do. And the woman takes my hand, only for a moment, before I fade back into the wallpaper. Her hand is warm, pale, weak. Like Mrs Castle’s tea. And she is called Payne. Like Michael. So I’m right, it is his mother. Turns out they’re friends, her and Mrs C, in the same club or something, raising money for the same good causes. I suspect I am regarded as one of them. The good causes that is, not the members of the club. I am someone in need of care, someone to be saved. And all the others just like me. A cause, but not necessarily good. If she knew what I am thinking, about her son …
‘Victoria sponge, Geraldine?’ Mrs Castle makes them herself. Cakes, scones, biscuits. Sells them sometimes at fairs and stuff. I like to help her, but I’m not very good at it. The cooking. They never come out looking quite straight somehow. All a bit out of shape. But I’m not bad at the selling. She says I have the gift of the gab. Over-friendly. Push, push, push. Never giving up. Dog with a bone, she calls me. There are times when that’s a good thing.
The woman takes a slice and opens her mouth around it, and I see the jam ooze out from between the layers, like a trickle of thick, gooey blood. Her hand reaching up and wiping it not quite clean. I look away, because I can’t look at her any longer. Her mouth, still red and wet. The mouth that has kissed his cheek. The hand that has held his hand.
She sips her tea. Bone china teapot tea.
Not the old slot machine tea. Polystyrene cups, not enough milk, or too much, and sugar in sachets, if we’re lucky. In hospital corridors and doctors’ waiting rooms, she waits with me, tuts at the delays, flicks through tatty magazines, looks at her watch, holds my hand. Not Michael’s, but mine. Waits for the baby that was supposed to link us together, always. My baby, and Michael’s. And hers. The beginnings of us, the four of us, as a family. A real family, at last.
But where are they now? All of them? Any of them? Why am I on my own again?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Laura gasped into the phone. It was one of those moments, when what you are hearing is so startling that it takes your breath away.
‘So, her name isn’t Lily at all?’
‘No, I already told you. Oh, do keep up.’ Gina was beginning to sound annoyed with her, which was a bit much coming from someone who’d smashed up half the kitchen and left her to clear up the mess. ‘Lily is her daughter’s name. The little girl I have right here in A & E. The one you’ve been sitting with and talking to these past couple of days is called Ruby. Ruby Baxter, age twenty-two, and at the moment looking pretty much like the bad guy.’
‘But she didn’t get hit by a car on purpose, did she?’
‘Of course not. But she shouldn’t have left the kid on her own either, should she? And now we’ve got Social Services sniffing around, which isn’t surprising. Anyway, I thought you’d want to know, or about as much as I do, anyway. Got to go. On my break, and I’m already late back. See you later. My turn to cook.’
Laura put the phone down. So Lily was really Ruby. For a minute or two she felt a bit daft, all that time she’d sat by the bed calling the poor girl by the wrong name. Not that she’d got much response, so she probably hadn’t even heard her. Still, it was good to know she’d been identified at last, that there was a real name to put to the face and hopefully, soon, a real family on its way to claim her.
It was mid-afternoon and Laura was still slopping about doing nothing. She hadn’t planned on going out again, but now, suddenly, she knew she had to. Not that the hospital would normally be her first choice of destination on her day off – twice – but she had to do it. To go and talk to Ruby again, and to tell her they had found her daughter and that the little girl was okay. God, how that must have been playing on her mind, knowing the child was all alone, and her needing to get back to her. If her mind was working at all.
Laura heated a quick bowl of soup out of a tin and gobbled it down so quickly she burned the roof of her mouth and had to swig down a glass of cold water to ease the pain. You’d think nurses would be used to dealing with pain. But not when it was their own. She swore that even the smallest things hurt her more than they did anybody else. Her dad always called her a wimp, but he smiled when he said it. ‘Who’d have thought you’d ever become a nurse?’ he’d joke. ‘Even the sight of an Elastoplast used to bring you out in a sweat when you were little!’ But he was proud of her, she had no doubt about that.
She let her tongue worry at the blister forming rapidly inside her mouth, until the flap of loose skin came away and she spat it out, feeling the raw patch it left underneath. She dragged a brush through her unruly hair and tied it up, wishing she’d had time to wash it and straighten it properly, then pulled on a nice dress and some boots, and slicked a mascara wand over her lashes. She might as well try to look half decent. You never knew who you might meet. Her mind flicked back, quite spontaneously, to the young chaplain, Paul. He’d want to know, wouldn’t he? Perhaps she should find him and tell him about Lily. No, about Ruby. She must try to get used to calling her that.
If she was quick she should just catch the bus that was due by at any minute. She grabbed her bag, slammed the door behind her and started to run, her heart pounding in her chest. Because she knew now who Ruby was, or because she was running, or because of the strong possibility that she was about to see Paul again? She didn’t know which, and she didn’t care. Boom, boom, boom, her heart echoed the rhythm of her feet as her boots pounded along the pavement, and she had the distinct feeling, a warm and hopeful and breathless feeling, that everything, for Ruby and for herself, was at last about to change.
*
As soon as the man on the stairs had explained what was going on, Geraldine and Michael had run back to the car – no mean feat in the shoes she was wearing – and driven at high speed to the nearest hospital. It had been some jumbled story about cats and floods and packets of pills. None of it made any real sense. All they knew for sure was that Lily had been found by herself and had been taken away in an ambulance.
‘Is this the right place?’ Geraldine stopped to get her breath and looked around the waiting room full of teenagers with crutches, old people with pale grey faces, and various heads leaning resignedly over sick bowls. There was a drinks machine and one packed with chocolate and crisps, discarded cups scattered everywhere, an untidy pile of dog-eared magazines, a payphone surrounded by cards advertising taxis, and a queue at the desk. ‘Is there where they would have brought her?’
‘I don’t know, Mother. But this is A & E, so I guess it has to be.’
‘But, Michael, these people are all adults, and they’re sick. Surely Lily’s not sick? I don’t understand. And where’s Ruby? Why wasn’t she at home?’
He was rummaging in the pockets of the coat slung carelessly over his arm, putting the car keys away, trying to find his phone. There was a notice on the wall showing a drawing of a mobile phone with a big red X through it. Typical! ‘I don’t know Mother.’ God, how was he supposed to know? Anything at all? This was all as alien to him as it was to her. He shook his head and put the phone away, feeling the anger rising involuntarily and aware that, if he wasn’t careful he’d be directing it at her. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, get a move on.’ They stood together in the slow-moving queue, listening to the man in front rattle off his details before being asked to sit and wait, Michael’s foot tapping impatiently. It was cold in the waiting room, the doors continually opening and closing again, silently, whenever anyone approached, like the jaws of a shark capturing its unsuspecting prey and swallowing it whole. It seemed that far more people came in than ever went back out. Where did they all go? Shunted away into side rooms and cubicles and wards, names called, files and papers changing hands, anxious relatives following in the slipstream, whispering into mobile phones they weren’t supposed to use, sipping terrible tea. Michael slipped his coat on to keep warm, jiggling noisily at the bunch of keys in his pocket, impatient for his turn.
At last!
‘My daughter. Lily. I’ve been told she’s here? What’s happened to her? Is she all right?’
‘Full name? Address?’
Michael reeled off the details and waited as the woman checked her computer screen. ‘Ah, yes. I believe one of my colleagues has been trying to contact you. If you could just wait for a moment please, sir. I’ll get someone to come out and talk to you.’
Geraldine clutched at her son’s arm. ‘It will be okay, Michael. Nothing bad will have happened to her. It’s just a precaution, bringing her here. You heard what that man at the flat said.’
‘Yes, Mother, I heard. And I didn’t like what I heard. Hungry, dirty, scared. And tablets. Tablets! What was Ruby thinking? Why on earth did she leave her all by herself? There’s police and Social Services and God knows who else involved now, so don’t tell me it’s okay, because it clearly isn’t.’
‘Mr Payne?’ A young nurse was approaching, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Staff Nurse Gina Willis. I’ve been looking after your daughter. Don’t worry. She’s fine. Really. Now, if you’d like to follow me?’
The nurse led them along a once-white corridor that smelled of something overly clean and distinctly clinical, and through a door marked ‘Paediatric Accident and Emergency’ with a picture of a giant teddy etched into the glass. She ran her hands under a tub of gel attached to the wall and gestured for them to do the same.
It was a large square room, with a wide, paper-strewn desk sweeping along one wall, and a collection of cubicles lined up around the other three. Each cubicle was bounded by a colourful curtain, covered in assorted animal prints. From behind one or two came the sound of tears and the occasional whine. Quite a few were empty. Michael could guess where Lily was right away. A young policeman was loitering outside the cubicle in the corner, and a middle-aged woman with a huge handbag and a notebook in her hand stood up from a chair and was making a beeline for them across the room. She didn’t look like a doctor, that was for sure.
‘Mr Payne?’
‘Yes. Michael. And this is my mother, Geraldine Payne …’
‘Mrs Freeman, but please, call me Barbara.’ She nodded at each of them in turn, shifted her belongings over, clumsily, from one hand to the other, and finally held the free hand out to shake. ‘Children’s Services.’
‘Yes, right. But can I see my little girl now, please? Whatever it is you have to say, can it at least wait until I’ve seen that she’s all right?’
‘Of course.’
The nurse, Gina, moved ahead of them and pulled the curtain aside. Lily was on the bed, curled up in a tight little ball, fast asleep, dressed in oversized pyjamas, a teddy encircled in her arms. An old lady was dozing in an armchair at her side, her cardigan askew, her shoes off and tucked under the bed.
‘Lily!’ Geraldine gasped and sped forward, her shoes squeaking on the shiny floor.
‘Leave her, Mum!’ Michael grabbed at her arm and pulled her back. ‘Let her sleep.’
‘Oh, but Michael … It’s so long since I’ve seen her. The little sweetheart! Look how she’s grown. She must have been so frightened, all on her own. I just want to pick her up and cuddle her. Don’t you?’
‘You will. We both will. But, for now, let her sleep. Who knows what she’s gone through?’ He moved toward the narrow bed, slowly, stepping carefully so as not to bump into the woman in the chair, and stroked his daughter’s head, very gently, as if she were made of glass.
‘Mr Payne …’ Barbara whatshername stepped forward again. ‘As you must appreciate, this is a difficult situation. The police have informed us that the child …’ She referred briefly to the papers in her hand. ‘… Lily was found alone, and every indication is that she had been alone for some time.’
‘Some time? How long is some time?’
‘Look, can we just step outside the cubicle please? We don’t want to disturb your daughter. And Mrs Munro here, well, you might not want her to hear anything confidential.’ They were back outside the curtain now, but not far enough away to stop Mrs Munro hearing every word, if she wanted to. Who exactly was Mrs Munro anyway? There was something familiar about her, but he wasn’t sure why.
‘There are a few things we need to talk about, Mr Payne, in the absence of the girl’s mother, and before we can go any further. You are Lily’s father, I assume? And you do have parental responsibility?’
‘Yes, I’m her father. Of course I am. Parental responsibility? What does that mean? That I look after her? Pay maintenance for her? We don’t live together any more, her mother and me, if that’s what you mean. But she is my little girl, and I have always done my best for her.’ His voice came out in a choke. ‘She’s mine, and I love her.’
‘I’m sure. So, just a few questions. You are not, were not, married to Lily’s mother?’
‘No.’
‘But your name is on the birth certificate? You were acknowledged as the father?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I believe the police did find the birth certificate among certain papers retrieved from the premises, so it shouldn’t take us long to confirm. Do you have any ID, Mr Payne?’
Michael felt around in his pockets. ‘Not on me. Well, just a credit card, but I don’t suppose that counts, does it?’
‘Passport? Driving licence?’
‘Who carries their passport about with them? I came up here from Brighton today, not bloody France!’
Geraldine winced. ‘Michael. There’s no need—’
‘No, I know. Sorry. I think I might have my driving licence in the glove compartment of the car. I tend to shove it in there with all the insurance stuff when I’m driving in England, sharing Mum’s car, just in case I get stopped. It’s outside, in the car park. I’ll go out and look if I must. That’s if the car hasn’t been towed away by now, because the exorbitant car parking ticket we paid for has run out already. Three pounds for an hour? What’s that all about? Robbing the sick and vulnerable. What if I turned up dying of a heart attack and I didn’t have the right change? Neither of us had? It’s a bloody disgrace.’
‘Michael.’ Geraldine was giving him one of her glares. ‘Not now. I know you’re feeling wound up, but do try to stay calm. This is all very stressful, for all of us, but shouting and swearing isn’t going to help anyone. Money is not our top priority right now. And anyway, it’s hardly Mrs Freeman’s fault, is it?’
‘Mr Payne, I can understand that this is all very upsetting for you.’ Barbara Freeman lay a tentative hand on his arm. ‘I’m just trying to make things easier. If we are satisfied that you are Lily’s father, that you have parental responsibility, that you are able to take proper care of her and she knows you and appears happy to go with you, then we should be able to release her into your care. As soon as the hospital say she’s fit to go, of course. If not, then a suitable foster carer will be found for her, at least for tonight, and until the mother, Miss, er …’
‘Baxter. Ruby Baxter.
‘Until Miss Baxter is awake and able to help us establish—’
‘Hang on a minute. You said, until she’s awake? You mean you know where she is?’
‘Well, yes. I’m sorry, Mr Payne. I had assumed that someone would have told you.’
‘Told me what?’
‘That she’s here, in the hospital.’
‘What? Then why on earth isn’t she here with Lily now? And what the hell was she playing at, leaving her alone in the first place? Wait until I get my hands on her, the stupid bloody girl!’
‘Mr Payne …’ It was the nurse again, her hand on his shoulder, easing him towards a chair, her voice calm and soothing. ‘Listen to me. Ruby hasn’t been able to tell anyone anything. We only made the connection between her and Lily this afternoon. Ruby is in intensive care. She was hit by a car two days ago, around lunchtime on Saturday, and she’s been unconscious ever since. We had no idea who she was until today. She’s broken a leg and a couple of ribs, but more worryingly, her head took quite a
knock.’
‘Two days?’ Michael interrupted. ‘You mean Lily has been on her own, in that flat, for two days and nights?’
‘It looks that way, yes.’
Michael ran his hands through his hair and stared at the floor. He couldn’t quite take it all in. ‘And Ruby? How is she now?’
‘The staff up on the intensive care unit will be able to tell you more than I can. All I know is that she suffered a severe injury to her head – to her brain – and that she’s been very poorly indeed. She’s not out of the woods yet, I’m afraid. Not by a long way. She’s had an operation to relieve some of the pressure, but I’m sorry, Mr Payne, she is being heavily sedated for now. And that means she hasn’t woken up yet.’
Geraldine leaned against his shoulder, her hands shaking. ‘Oh, Michael,’ was all she was able to say, before her legs gave way and the nurse hurriedly pulled up another chair.
*
Patsy was starting to wonder what was going on. No news is good news, so they say, but today no news felt very much like something had gone horribly wrong. She’d avoided going back to the house. It smacked of Geraldine, from its chintzy furniture with the carefully placed cushions to its stark, uncluttered worktops and lemon-scented loo, and it wasn’t somewhere she could feel at ease. Not yet.
While the weather stayed reasonably warm it was just nicer to stay outside. There was always something calming about being by the sea, even when it was blowing a gale or packed with holidaymakers, which, thankfully, it was not. It reminded her of Portugal, her other life. Would they get back there as planned? With everything sorted out, regular access to Lily, the chance to develop as a little, occasional, family of their own, without all the hassle? Or was Ruby going to put a spanner in the works again?
She’d already been round the shops twice, bought herself a pair of shoes, two tops, a lipstick, two more cups of coffee and an ice cream. She’d sat on a bench and watched the dogs straining against their leads along the prom, eager to get down onto the beach, the passing of distant boats out on the horizon, the funfair rides whirring away high in the sky at the end of the pier, a child’s abandoned red balloon bobbing unsteadily in the shallows. Lily was scared of balloons. She remembered Michael telling her that. One thing to avoid if they ever did make it to some sort of birthday party for Lily. Or to McDonalds.