Baby Dear: a gripping psychological thriller

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Baby Dear: a gripping psychological thriller Page 11

by Linda Huber


  ‘Elidor. I got it in the library. It was cool. A bit weird, though.’

  ‘Goodness, that’s an old one. I read it too when I was about your age. Have you read–’

  ‘Liam? What are you doing? I thought–’

  Liam rose as a small woman appeared behind him and Caro smiled nervously. This must be Alfie’s mother, and it was maybe a touch awkward that she, a stranger, had helped Liam with his school work.

  ‘I just stopped by to see how the maths test went,’ she explained, then realised by the other woman’s blank expression that Liam hadn’t talked about meeting her yesterday. ‘I, um, helped him with his maths.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you. He should have told me.’ Alfie’s mother stared at the sweets Liam was holding, but made no comment, and neither did the boy.

  ‘It was no trouble, I enjoyed it. In fact, if he ever needs a hand again–’ Caro rummaged for her business cards from the showroom, but Alfie’s mother interrupted.

  ‘It’s all right, he can get any help he needs from me or his dad. Liam, your dinner’s waiting.’ She gave Caro a thin smile, gripped Liam’s shoulder and marched him inside.

  Caro stared, feeling snubbed. But Liam would explain things to the woman; she would understand when she knew that Caro was Liam’s aunt. Caro hesitated, then turned back towards the High Street. She didn’t want to interrupt their dinner. Chilly loneliness settled over her as she walked to the dry cleaner’s. Maybe she could pop back tomorrow and introduce herself properly, and check everything was okay.

  She was almost at home when she remembered she’d forgotten to ask about the teenager with the pills. She should definitely go back tomorrow. She’d hear then if the maths test really had gone well, too.

  Sharon

  Sharon sat beside her bed, staring at her mobile. She couldn’t put off calling her parents any longer, it was going to be hard enough as it was, explaining why she had waited three days to tell them they were grandparents. A white lie might actually be best there; she didn’t want to spoil her mother’s pleasure.

  She made the connection and spoke as soon as her mother answered. ‘Hello, Grandma!’

  Her mother’s shriek sounded as if she was in the same room, not thousands of miles away in Cape Town. ‘You haven’t had it!’

  ‘I have – her name’s Jael, and she’s 3.1 kilos, 55 cm, darkish hair but not much of it, and I’ll make you a video the moment we’re off the phone.’ It was easier than she’d thought, sounding upbeat. Sharon listened, smiling, as her mother relayed the information to her father and enthused about ‘their’ choice of name.

  ‘And how are you, darling? Was it okay?’

  Sharon took a deep breath. This was where she had to act. ‘It’s fine now, but I was a bit under the weather after she was born on Saturday, so I waited until I was quite well before calling. I didn’t want you upset, not with Dad’s heart and everything.’ Now she had to feel guilty for turning her father’s recent heart scare into an excuse for her own shortcomings.

  Fortunately, her mother accepted this. ‘That was naughty – I could have cheered you up. But in a way it’s good you waited, because Dad had the all clear just this morning, so I’ll get right onto booking flights. Two pieces of wonderful news in one day! How’s Craig enjoying being a daddy?’

  Sharon hesitated. Her parents hadn’t visited them since last summer and had no idea about the state of their marriage. But they would soon see for themselves what was going on, so there was no point pretending. ‘He’s, um – finding it difficult to adjust, to tell you the truth. But it’s early days.’

  Her mother snorted. ‘Men! Don’t worry, darling, I’ll see to him myself.’

  They chatted for a few more minutes, then Sharon had a word with her father before ending the call and making her video of a sleeping Jael. She pressed ‘send’ and sat back, feeling better. Her mother was pretty overpowering, but at least she was firmly on Sharon’s side. Which was exactly what was needed right now.

  10

  Wednesday, 1st June

  Sharon

  ‘Got everything? Are you taking your balloon?’ Without waiting for an answer, Donna the Irish nurse tied the balloon to Sharon’s case.

  Sharon was sitting beside the bed with everything packed and Jael dressed in a pink and white baby suit with hearts on the front. Craig was late. She managed to smile at the nurse.

  ‘Thanks, Donna. You’ve all been great, but I can’t wait to be home again.’

  It was only half true, but at least being at home meant she wouldn’t have to put on a brave face for strangers, kind as they were.

  ‘Hi, there. Are you okay? All set?’ Craig was standing in the doorway clutching the car seat they’d ordered online. He eyed the balloon, but said nothing.

  Sharon rose and lifted Jael. ‘Yes, to both. Not that you provided any extras to make my hospital stay more pleasant.’ She strapped the baby in, then treated him to a hard stare. ‘Jeff Horne from the internet café brought roses as well as that balloon, you know.’

  A guilty expression crossed Craig’s face, swiftly followed by one of puzzlement. ‘Jeff Horne? Thought they didn’t allow flowers.’ He lifted her case.

  ‘They don’t. I gave them to Julie. My husband wasn’t here to take them home for me.’

  The guilt was back and Sharon smiled coldly. He could squirm a lot longer, his behaviour was inexcusable and she was only going with him now because there was nobody else to help.

  It was nice to be out in the sunshine after four days in hospital, and Sharon walked towards the car park taking deep breaths. What a change from dull, grey Saturday. And how her life had changed, too.

  Craig secured the car seat into the back of their Nissan, and Sharon got in beside the baby, perversely enjoying Craig’s discomfort, knowing he was hating the uncertainty about what she was going to do.

  The drive through Bridgehead was slow.

  ‘You’re driving like a little old lady,’ was Sharon’s comment, as Craig eased the car into the correct lane at the traffic lights, and stopped.

  He looked round. ‘Wait till you’re behind the wheel for the first time with her in the back.’

  Well. Sharon stared out of the side window. What did you know, he was nervous about driving his daughter. It was the first shimmer of hope that he might, after all, want to save the relationship. Yet he had never touched his child, never called her by name. There wasn’t much hope, really. On the other hand, who was she to feel superior about being a devoted parent?

  Back at the flats, Sharon lifted the baby from the car seat and carried her inside. ‘Welcome home, kiddo,’ she whispered, going through to the nursery. Hell, grey walls, and not a toy in sight. How uncaring she’d been. But that was in the past.

  Craig had obviously done some work here since Saturday. The cot was made up, and the piles of clothes previously on the changing table had been organised into the chest of drawers. The table itself had been given a mat, and a selection of wipes and nappies was waiting for use. So, Craig hadn’t quite ignored the fact that he was a father. In spite of her negative feelings towards him, Sharon was touched.

  Craig was standing in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said dully. ‘I know I’ve done everything wrong. I don’t want to give up on us, Sharon.’

  She stared at him. He had deserted her, he had made her look foolish, and he had spoiled the first days of her baby’s life. But he was Jael’s father.

  ‘I can’t decide anything now, Craig,’ she said. ‘I want you to take your stuff to the other room for now. I need to recover from the birth and then – I don’t know.’

  He nodded and turned away. Sharon laid the baby in the cot. Craig was probably glad she hadn’t kicked him out entirely, but that would have been cutting off her nose to spite her face. She would need help for a few days and he was the only one around to provide it.

  In spite of her ambivalence towards Craig, the whole day seemed special. Sharon fed the baby and executed the first home nappy change, Cra
ig hovering speechlessly behind her. Jael was awake for part of the afternoon, looking about with a serious little expression. It would be a few weeks before they got the first smile, Sharon knew.

  But what a difference such a small person made to the place. The sounds and smells of the flat were entirely different, with the matching perfume of wipes and baby lotion in the air, Sharon’s footsteps walking up and down with the baby, her voice talking, and, incredibly, singing to her daughter.

  Halfway through the afternoon the doorbell rang. Sharon pulled a face. She was knackered; she didn’t want any visitors today. Craig went over to the intercom by the flat door and pressed the button.

  ‘Special delivery for you,’ said a distorted male voice.

  ‘Post,’ said Craig over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go down.’

  Sharon relaxed. ‘It’ll be flowers from Mum; I called her yesterday.’

  A few minutes later Craig was back with a brown paper parcel. ‘It was sent express,’ he said, giving it to Sharon. ‘Something for the baby, probably.’

  Sharon pulled the paper away and revealed a large box of expensive Swiss chocolates, and a pink tissue-wrapped gift that must be baby clothes.

  ‘I guess Mum phoned Godma Jael,’ she said, looking for a card. There was none visible, so she opened the tissue paper. An ivory christening robe appeared, and Sharon gasped.

  ‘This is silk. Wow. She must have won the lottery,’ she said, forgetting for a moment that she and Craig weren’t on speaking terms.

  Craig shook out the tissue paper and a small pink card fell into his hand. He read it aloud and in a second, the day was tarnished.

  ‘Welcome home. With love and thanks, Jeff.’

  Caro

  The two boys were kicking a football around Mortimer Square when Caro arrived after work.

  Alfie saw her first. ‘The sweetie lady!’ He ran up to her, beaming, and Caro noticed with pleasure how much more energy he had today. He was such a cute little kid. His voice sounded normal now, her sweets must have helped there.

  ‘I brought you some orange juice today. It’s better for you.’ Caro handed over the bag with the two small cartons she’d bought at the newsagent’s on the way past. She looked at Liam. ‘Well?’

  He kicked at the ball, not looking at her, a grin pulling at his mouth. ‘Seventy-eight per cent. It’s my best ever maths test.’

  Caro clapped his shoulder. The nonchalance was an act; satisfaction was shining right out of him. ‘Very well done. Your dad must be pleased.’

  ‘He doesn’t know yet. And Alfie’s mum isn’t home from work, so she doesn’t know yet either.’

  Caro was caught between relief that Alfie’s mother wasn’t around, and indignation that the woman had apparently left the children alone on the square. ‘Who’s looking after you and Alfie, then?’

  Liam jerked his head towards the other end of the square. ‘Mary next door. She always does between school and when Alfie’s mum gets back. I thought you might come, so I brought my maths again.’ He ran over to a bench where the maths book was lying.

  Caro followed and sat down, accepting the book. ‘What is it today, then? Ah, problems.’ She checked down the list of answers. ‘Good work, Liam, these are all correct.’

  ‘I like geography better,’ he said, reaching out for the book. ‘When I grow up I want to travel to loads of places and make a lot of money so I don’t have to work away from home like my dad does. He’s in Aberdeen now, but he’s driving home tomorrow.’

  Caro nodded, noticing with a jolt the red and purple marks around his wrist. ‘That’s a nasty bruise – what happened?’

  Liam shrugged, and opened his juice carton. ‘Nothing. Some kids don’t like it when I get good marks. But I don’t care.’

  Caro was horrified. ‘You mean other children did that to you? That’s bullying, Liam. Did you tell your teacher?’

  ‘No!’ His face was shocked. ‘They’d do it worse, then. You get good marks, you get picked on. End of. I can deal with it.’

  Speechless, Caro watched as he drained the carton with a loud suck, and ran to kick the ball away from Alfie. The smaller boy yelled and chased after Liam, who was laughing now. Caro blinked. Well. Kids had problems too, but it looked like Liam was on top of his. What a pathetic little story, though. The absent father and the ambitious son. Maybe she should have a word with Pete. Caro looked round, remembering why she’d come back to Mortimer Square in the first place. But there was no sign of the teenage boy, with or without drugs.

  Determinedly pushing depression away, Caro went to join the game of football, hoping that the unknown teenager was doing something similar. But even if he was, another kid was lying in the mortuary. It was a lose-lose situation.

  ‘I’ll maybe see you tomorrow,’ she said, when the game was over and she was settling her hair back into place. ‘I’m going out on Friday, so I can’t come then. But tell you what, Liam–’ She fished an old envelope from her handbag and scribbled both her mobile and landline numbers on it. ‘If you ever need help with your maths when no one’s around, give me a call.’

  Liam stuffed the envelope into his pocket, grinned at her, and ran off after Alfie.

  11

  Thursday 2nd June

  Julie

  The sky was relentlessly and unseasonably grey. Raindrops were spattering on the pavement as Julie hurried away from Bridgehead Primary and on down the High Street, frustration at her lateness mingling with relief at escaping this morning’s pre-school tantrum. Sam had wanted to play when he should have been having breakfast, and was crabby and uncooperative when she insisted he get a move on. That was the worst part of being head of a one-parent family – every time a bad guy was needed, it was you.

  The rain came on in earnest as she reached the traffic lights, and Julie cursed – her brolly was at the bottom of her bag. She dodged into a doorway to scrabble around amongst the million and one things she transported about town every day.

  The placard outside the newsagent’s opposite seemed to jump out and hit her as she turned back into the High Street: Drug Death Inquiry. Julie jerked to a stop. Drug death. . . surely not the boy from the library? But he couldn’t have died, or she’d have heard about it on the news or from the police or something – wouldn’t she? But then they’d been busy at work, and Sharon and the baby had occupied a lot of her time and attention this week. Oh no. . .

  Julie crossed the road to buy a paper, not caring that she was definitely going to be late now. She stood in the shop and read.

  It was the boy from the library and he’d died on Monday morning. How awful – he’d been dead for three days and she hadn’t known. She’d stood and watched as he was loaded into the ambulance last week, and somehow or other she’d missed hearing that he’d died. But so had Dee. Why hadn’t they been told? Julie crammed the paper into her bag and hurried on to the library.

  One look at her boss told her that Dee had seen the paper too.

  ‘It’s a real bugger, isn’t it,’ said Dee, glancing up to the gallery where the boy had lain.

  Julie nodded. ‘I can’t believe we missed it. I don’t watch the early news on TV because of Sam, but I do sometimes watch the late news, and – hell.’ She pressed cold fingers to her cheeks.

  Dee pulled her into the staffroom. ‘Let’s have a quick coffee. I don’t think we need to feel guilty about it, Julie. It’s just – he was here, a young boy, and now he’s dead.’

  Julie accepted a mug. ‘I suppose we’ll never know all the whys of it.’

  ‘You sit for a minute and catch your breath. I’ll go back on the desk.’

  Julie spread the paper on the table and sat down to read. There was only a short paragraph about the boy’s death, the rest of the page was taken up with re-hashing all the teenage drug deaths that had occurred in the area over the last five years. Several kids had lost their lives. Julie read the whole page, then the part about the boy again. Eventually she sat back, a sick, heavy feeling in her middle.

/>   That boy – he’d lived with his mother and his younger brother since his parents’ divorce ten years ago. A one-parent family. Like her, Sam and Amy. In fact, a lot of those kids were from broken homes. And probably most of these parents were decent people who’d simply had problems in their lives and had to work through them alone afterwards. What guarantee did she have that her beautiful, dark-haired Sam wouldn’t end up on a mortuary slab one day, having been marred for life because of what had happened to Julie’s marriage? Or Amy?

  Julie folded the paper soberly. What more could she do to make sure her children had the best start she could give them? And how, just how could Matt simply abandon his kids? Children needed a father and hers didn’t have one. That was plain fact and there was nothing she could do to change it.

  The library was busy, and she didn’t have time to speak more than a few words to Dee all day. After work Julie had to rush off to collect Sam and Amy, and she changed into her outdoor shoes with the boy’s death still uppermost in her mind. Maybe she and Dee could hash through the whole thing over a glass of something soon.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere at the weekend,’ she suggested, looking round for her umbrella.

  Dee shook her head. ‘No can do, I’m afraid. It’s my class reunion in Bedford, remember?’

  Julie did remember. ‘Of course – have a lovely time. Keep in mind that your liver isn’t eighteen any more, won’t you?’

  Dee laughed. ‘If you think I’m going to waste good gossiping time worrying about my liver then you’re wrong, Miss. I’ll see you Monday lunchtime.’

  Julie grinned and started up the High Street. Hopefully Sam had got over his fretfulness of that morning. His bad moods didn’t usually last long. That was the great thing about four-year-olds, they had this in-built enthusiasm and ‘isn’t life just the most interesting thing’ attitude.

 

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