Baby Dear: a gripping psychological thriller

by Linda Huber

  You can do this, you’re strong, you’re in charge.

  If she thought it often enough she might start to believe it.

  5

  Thursday 26th May

  Caro

  Caro reached out and switched her alarm off. It was only twenty past six, but she wasn’t likely to doze off again. Jeff was snoring beside her so she eased out of bed, grabbed her clothes and tip-toed through to the bathroom.

  Thank goodness Jeff was on late this morning – with any luck he wouldn’t get up before she left the house. She wouldn’t even risk waking him by having a shower; last night’s prolonged soak in the tub would have to do for today too. The bath had turned into her refuge and comfort, which was pretty sad. Jeff had been at Cybersonics until late yesterday evening; she’d been in bed when he came home and she’d pretended to be asleep, so they hadn’t spoken all day. What was happening to her marriage? Okay, Jeff had always been the one more in love, but she’d been as keen as he was to settle down. He was a lovely, good-looking guy who would give her and her children all the advantages neither of them had enjoyed as youngsters. Except now all they had was the no-baby…

  Caro buried her face in the towel. The prospect of childlessness wasn’t the only thing upsetting her now. Those poor kids who’d been arrested in Indonesia on Tuesday – what must their families be going through? And the boy on Montgomery Square; he was just a kid too. She shouldn’t have chucked those pills back at him.

  Downstairs, she made coffee and switched on the radio to catch the weather forecast. The news was still on and she was about to turn the sound down when the word ‘Bridgehead’ made her listen more carefully.

  ‘…unemployed eighteen-year-old man appears to have taken an undisclosed amount of ecstasy and is still in a coma. The library will remain closed until further notice. The sewage works at…’

  Caro frowned. Teenagers and ecstasy again. What was all that about? She reached for her iPad, and horror crept down her back as she read about the break-in at the library. Dear God in heaven – that boy – he could easily be the one who’d threatened her on Tuesday. The age was right, and the ecstasy –that couldn’t be coincidence, could it? She’d flung those pills to the ground at his feet, and now look what had happened. Caro raised cold hands to her face, her breath coming fast. If this was the same boy, she could have prevented it. Why hadn’t she gone to the police? She’d been too, too – what was the word? Bored? Lazy? Uncaring? That was it, she simply hadn’t cared enough to report the incident. She was no better than all the other sickos in this sick world.

  Choking back sobs, she clutched her coffee mug to her chest, searching for comfort in the decreasing warmth. Was this boy’s overdose her fault?

  But even if she had reported the incident in Mortimer Square, the police might not have been able to stop what had happened. And it could be a completely different boy. Bridgehead was more than large enough to have several youths like him running the streets.

  But if it was the same boy… She had given him the pills back and those two women had seen her. She hadn’t reported it – supposing they did?

  Caro dumped her mug in the sink and grabbed her bag. It was time to go to work – but how was she to find out if it was the same boy? If he was going to be all right? It was suddenly very important that he was, because maybe even now the police were looking for a youngish woman with curly brown hair who’d given a – oh God, supposing he was still legally a child – a packet of ecstasy.

  6

  Saturday, 28th May

  Caro

  Caro searched through the last of the newspapers she’d bought that morning in the newsagent’s at the bottom of the road, then pushed it away impatiently. Nothing again. And nothing online, either. This was the third day in a row she’d leafed or clicked through every newspaper available to see if there was anything about the boy who’d been found in the library, but apart from yesterday’s brief item that the library was re-opening on Monday and the police were still investigating, there hadn’t been anything. Apparently, a kid overdosing in a public building wasn’t big news. What lousy reporting – was this really such a run-of-the-mill news story that no-one was interested after the second day?

  But she was interested. Caro gathered the newspapers and stuffed them into a plastic bag. She would dump them somewhere later. If Jeff found them here he’d think she’d gone completely bonkers, buying all those papers, but she didn’t trust the online versions to include every last piece of local news. It had been easier during the week; she’d read them in her lunch break at work then left them in the recycling there.

  She glanced at the kitchen clock. Just on two. In a couple of hours Jeff would be home. Business varied at Cybersonics on Saturdays; sometimes the place was packed and sometimes there was hardly anyone in at all. Today was chilly and dull, so it was probably one of the busier days. Caro flopped down on the sofa and picked up the TV magazine.

  What would they do tonight, her and Jeff? Usually, when he’d worked all day on Saturday they just crashed in front of the box in the evening. A bottle of wine, a nice dinner, and a comfy evening at home. Now she dreaded being alone with him because the no-baby was always there too, huge and important and smothering all conversation. She hadn’t even told Jeff about the ecstasy pills and the boy.

  Her comfortable, well-off marriage was disintegrating, she realised dully, and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. The no-baby had marked the beginning of the end for her and Jeff, and the end of her dreams; it had changed how she felt about their relationship, about – everything. It had become one of those events you measure your life by – before the no-baby and after. Jeff was different too. Of course, it must have been a cruel blow to his pride; imagine how it must feel for a man to be told he was firing blanks. He’d definitely been a bit off ever since. More than a bit, in fact.

  The real question was – where would they go from here? Would she be able to persuade him that a sperm donor was the only way forwards? That didn’t seem likely. And if she couldn’t, she’d have to decide which was more important to her – the money and her marriage, or the no-baby.

  But she knew already, didn’t she? Caro grabbed a tissue to wipe away the tears spilling down both cheeks. The no-baby. The baby she would never have with her husband was more important than he was.

  Sharon

  Sharon stood at the living room window, half-watching one of Bridgehead’s few sightseeing boots chugging up the river with a group of cold-looking tourists on board. The summer season was starting, and several coach tours found their way to Bridgehead every week. As a destination for an afternoon’s outing it had quite a lot to offer. There was the river, with boat trips to the weir, and on the other side of town was the Museum of Childhood, which was staging a dinosaur exhibition this summer. Sharon heaved a sigh. In spite of her resolution to be more positive, she was finding it hard to drum up enthusiasm for anything right now.

  Craig had apologised for his behaviour as soon as he returned to the table at Oscar’s on Wednesday, but that was all he’d done – apologise. Back home, Sharon tried to talk about the future while Craig sat staring at his hands, obviously wishing he was anywhere else but here, and in the end she’d given up. Now she was beginning to wonder if her new-found optimism about the baby was real, or if she was deluding herself because it was just too painful, living a life you were hating.

  Sharon massaged her bump and the baby moved beneath her hands. The movements were more gentle nowadays; there wouldn’t be room for big stretches in there any longer. She had grown a baby girl, and if she was born right now she’d be fine, apart from the fact that her father didn’t want a child and her mother was putting on the biggest brave face ever. Was that living a lie? Oh, good grief, all this introspection was giving her a headache. Maybe she should go out after all.

  Sharon turned back to the room. She’d planned a nice healthy walk in the park this afternoon, but the weather today was more like April than almost J
une. The sky matched her mood – grey. But she would go anyway. Being stuck in the flat all by herself was doing her head in and although Craig usually shut the shop at lunchtime on Saturdays, this afternoon he was staying to organise the new frames that had arrived yesterday. At least that was what he’d told her, but it wasn’t something he’d ever done before and it seemed a bit of a lame excuse for not spending Saturday afternoon with his pregnant wife.

  Tears came into Sharon’s eyes and she blinked them away impatiently. You’re not supposed to get depressed until after the birth, she told herself fiercely. At this stage, you’re supposed to be happy and eager and bubbling over with excitement. But today she was barely managing to be cynical.

  In spite of her black mood she changed her shoes and set out, pulling her jacket round the bump, then fastening it all the way up when the wind hit her at the front door. Now she felt like a hippopotamus again. Look on the bright side, Sharon, in a few weeks you’ll be able to get into normal clothes again.

  Emma from the first floor flat, out watering plants on her balcony, waved enthusiastically as Sharon walked down the communal pathway. ‘Not long now! Bet you can’t wait!’

  Sharon smiled and nodded, and rushed on before Emma took it into her head to ask her in for coffee. She couldn’t be doing with baby small-talk, or people who still had marvellous jobs to go to asking condescending questions about how she was getting on without one. To the park, to the park. She turned right and walked as briskly as possible towards the end of the road. Her bump made anything quicker than a sedate stroll feel as if she was climbing Everest, and even walking along the flat was hard work today. Sharon clasped her hands under the baby. And they still hadn’t chosen a name.

  She reached the park and walked down the hill towards the seats by the duck pond. She would sit there for a bit and then she’d go home via the High Street, and buy salmon steaks for dinner. She would try again. Maybe she and Craig would manage to talk if she made a lovely dinner at home. She could even get a bottle of Prosecco to toast their new lives with the baby. Surely one tiny glass wouldn’t hurt now.

  Feeling a bit more positive, Sharon sat down and watched the ducks and swans swimming their aimless circuits. A family with three little girls arrived and Sharon looked on as the children scattered breadcrumbs in the water. It only took a moment before every creature on the pond had gathered round them.

  ‘Careful, you three!’ the father called. ‘You’re too near the edge – that water’s pretty disgusting, you don’t want to fall in.’

  Giggling, the children moved back two steps, and Sharon smiled as the birds moved with them. Would she bring her daughter here too, in a year or so, and feed the ducks?

  After a few minutes the bread was inside the ducks and the family went on their way. Loneliness crept through Sharon. Okay. That was enough fresh air. Time to go and buy those salmon steaks.

  She hoisted herself to her feet and took a deep breath before starting back towards the gate. The hill seemed much steeper now she was going uphill, and she stopped for a breather halfway to the top, wishing there was a bench here too. Her legs had gone all wobbly on her. But short of sitting on the ground she couldn’t have a proper rest until she got to the swing park by the gates.

  On she went uphill, vowing not to return here until the baby was well and truly in its push chair and she was much fitter. This was almost as bad as the day she’d gone all shaky outside the internet café.

  Come on, woman. You can do this, you’re strong, you’re in charge. And you’re nearly at the top now. Five more steps should do it…

  The pain came from nowhere, gripping her womb, squeezing relentlessly and viciously. Sharon dropped to her knees, panting, huddled over her enormous belly, palms supporting her weight on the damp gravel pathway. No, no, what was happening? Was this a contraction?The start of labour? But it wasn’t supposed to start like this; it was supposed to start gently and gradually to let her get used to the contractions. And it was three weeks too early; it couldn’t be the baby.

  The pain eased off almost as suddenly as it had started, and Sharon breathed more freely. Thank goodness. She sat back on her heels and brushed the gravel from her hands, looking round to see if anyone was within shouting distance. There was no-one in sight, and she swallowed painfully. Home. She had to get home as quickly as possible and phone the midwife. And Craig. Oh, please don’t let it be the baby. She forced herself to her feet, reaching for the mobile in her pocket, and everything went black.

  Julie

  ‘Well done, folks. Great team effort and we’re done now, so it’ll be business as usual on Monday.’

  Julie joined in the brief round of applause when Dee finished speaking, then pushed the books trolley into its place beside the desk and grinned at her boss. ‘I can’t believe the time it’s taken to get the place fixed up again.’

  ‘I know,’ said Dee. ‘But you’ve all been brilliant.’

  ‘I helped sort the picture books, didn’t I, Mummy?’ said Sam, sliding one hand into Julie’s. ‘Can we go for a picnic now?’

  Julie glanced outside. She’d used the bribe of a picnic in the park to keep Sam motivated, but the weather had turned out distinctly non-summery.

  ‘Tell you what. We’ll go to the swings for a bit before we go home, and keep the picnic for a nicer day. Okay?’

  ‘I’ll join you,’ said Dee. ‘I could do with some fresh air, even if it is sub-Arctic.’

  The park was deserted. Sam ran to the climbing frame while Julie joined Dee on a flaky green bench, jiggling the buggy in an attempt to keep Amy asleep a little longer. Dee shivered and Julie laughed.

  ‘You’re living in the wrong country. A nice sunny balcony in Italy would suit you better than a freezing cold swing park in Scotland.’

  ‘Mm. If we were in Italy we could be sitting on a piazza, drinking chilled white wine and complaining about the heat. Let’s emigrate.’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ said Julie. ‘Can you speak Italian? And what would we live on?’

  Dee gave her a little push. ‘For pity’s sake, woman, where’s your spirit of adventure? Look, was that a raindrop? I think we should buy some nice gooey cakes and head back to my flat for coffee before we freeze to death. How about it?’

  ‘I’m in,’ said Julie. ‘Sam! Time for cream cakes!’

  The little boy was on his scooter now, flying round the border of the playground. ‘Can we go down to the pond first?’

  A spatter of fat raindrops had Julie pulling the rain hood over Amy. She called to Sam. ‘Come on, Sammy-boy! We’ll do the pond tomorrow too. You can bring a bag of crumbs for the ducks.’

  Sam scooted towards the park gates and Julie turned the buggy while Dee held an umbrella over them both. It was time to get out of the rain.

  Jeff

  Jeff strolled round Cybersonics. The place was well filled, as usual on chilly Saturday afternoons. He could go home any time. Davie and Phil were on late today, and there was nothing happening that needed his personal attention. Jeff chewed on a thumb nail. He didn’t want to leave his safe little cyber-cocoon. Home seemed to mock him now, continually pointing out his failure to provide Caro with a family; home was a nice little yuppie house on a nice little street where all the neighbours were nice little families with masses of nice little kids. And on Saturday afternoon all these kids would be biking up and down their cul-de-sac and playing skipping ropes or football, and if they weren’t doing that they’d be yelling at their parents to let them play on the computer or watch telly. Oh, it was a great place for families, and if he didn’t do something about getting a baby, he would lose both his ideal life and his wife.

  Jeff stopped at the door and looked out. Families galore on the High Street, too. He drummed his fingers on the wooden doorway.

  His queries about finding a baby had been out for nearly a week and he’d had no useful replies whatsoever. Oh, it would be possible to buy a baby, but comfortably off as he was, he couldn’t spare the kind o
f money that babies seemed to cost. Was it really so difficult to get hold of a reluctant pregnant girl who only wanted a good home for her child, and not tens of thousands of pounds as well? He could afford a couple of K, but the mortgage on the house was pretty steep and a lot of his money was tied up in the shop, too. He couldn’t even withdraw a few thousand without Caro finding out, as a trained accountant, she did most of their bookkeeping. The whole situation was making him ill, and Caro wasn’t looking so hot these days either.

  He found himself thinking again about the pregnant woman who’d had the dizzy spell last week. Sharon. She hadn’t been over the moon about being pregnant, had she? But then there was probably a long way between not being over the moon and wanting to sell on your baby. What a failure he was.

  He trailed through to the back of the shop and packed his briefcase. Maybe he could just walk by the optician’s and ask Sharon’s husband how she was after Tuesday’s upset. No harm in that. He would take those glasses someone had forgotten last week as an excuse to go in, yes. He pulled them from the drawer, a blue case containing a pair of steel-rimmed specs. And look, there was even a sticker inside with the optician’s name on it. Craig Morrison. Perfect. This was meant to be. Cheered, Jeff called goodbye to Davie and Phil and left the café.

  In spite of the weather – it was raining now – the High Street was thronged with Saturday afternoon shoppers, but the optician’s was empty when he arrived. Jeff pushed the door open, a bell clinging as he did so. He looked around appreciatively. Nice little place. Shiny wooden floor, black granite counter and tables, and rows of frames along the walls, mirrors behind them. There was serious money here. How unfair was that? This Craig had a flourishing business and a pregnant wife.