Roxy's Baby

by Cathy MacPhail

  Yet, even as she spoke she realised she had sneaked the newspaper into the house, hiding it under her shirt hoping it looked like part of her bump. She had rushed to her room and slipped it furtively under her mattress. Every girl was expected to change her own sheets, so she was sure no one would find it there. Especially not Mrs Dyce. What had she been so afraid of?

  ‘Anyway, it’s not the news I’m interested in.’ She said it to reassure Anne Marie. She held up the front page. There was an aerial photo of a derailed passenger train. ‘It’s all crashes and hijackings and fires. The whole country’s on fire according to this paper.’ Roxy opened at another page and a photo of a massive hotel fire. ‘It says here because of the dry summer, places are going up like tinder. The firemen are on constant alert.’ She flicked through the paper till she came to the showbiz page. ‘I just want to read the good bits,’ she said.

  They lay side by side on the bed, catching up on all the real news they had been missing.

  ‘Look, he got married.’ Roxy was almost in tears at a photo of her favourite pop star and his new bride. ‘I hate her,’ she said.

  ‘It won’t last.’ Anne Marie tried to make her feel better. ‘She’s on the rebound from that actor in the chocolate adverts.’

  Roxy shrieked. ‘And look what she’s wearing! What was she thinking!’

  It had been so long since they’d read any of this really important news and it suddenly reminded her of nights when she and Jennifer would lie on the floor of their room, with their favourite CDs playing, poring over pop magazines. Anne Marie noticed her going quiet.

  ‘You should go home, Roxy. You’ve got a nice family. Mrs Dyce would arrange it.’

  It had been a thought that had weaved in and out of Roxy’s mind since she’d arrived here. As always she pushed it aside. ‘Now I’ve got you, Anne Marie. There’s no going back.’

  She didn’t need them, she added silently, and she told herself over and over that it was true.

  Over the next few days she grew closer to Anne Marie than she had ever been to anyone in her life. Roxy watched over her friend, knowing her time was near. She hardly left her side. Anne Marie said she felt the baby had moved, locked into the position for birth. ‘Ready for firing,’ she joked. She was excited, but apprehensive, and she still hadn’t told Mrs Dyce that Roxy was going to be her birth partner.

  ‘I’ll tell her. I still have a week or so to go yet, you know.’ And she made Roxy promise that she wouldn’t ‘open her big mouth first’. ‘I’ll tell her at the right time and in the right way.’

  But as the days grew hotter Anne Marie grew more uncomfortable. ‘I’m fed up carrying this boy around,’ she would say. ‘It’s too darn hot.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why Aidan’s not coming out. It’s cooler in there.’ Roxy shouted into her friend’s belly, now tight as a drum, ‘Is that it, little Aidan? You’re too comfortable in there?’

  As if in answer he kicked against her hand. Roxy pulled it back. ‘The little devil. What a way to treat your auntie!’

  Anne Marie said softly, ‘You mean, his godmother.’

  She took Roxy by surprise. ‘His godmother? Me?’

  ‘And who else would I choose?’

  ‘Mrs Dyce.’ Roxy had always assumed that was who she would choose.

  ‘I love her to bits, but she’s too old to be Aidan’s godmother.’

  Roxy, a godmother? It made her feel so special. She bent and whispered against Anne Marie’s stomach. ‘I’ll be the best godmother in the world, Aidan.’

  And she meant it. Oh, how she meant it.

  There was a storm coming. They could all sense it. The new girls who could hardly speak a word of English kept praying as if some apocalypse were heading their way. One afternoon it grew dark and oppressive and the sky was slate grey and seemed to hang so close above the house Roxy felt she could reach out and sink her hands into the clouds. It was after dinner that night when the rain started. Great splashes against the window panes, and a wind that sent the trees outside swaying back and forth so violently it seemed they would snap. The thunder rumbled ominously above them, then cracked like a rifle shot.

  ‘God is angry,’ one of the girls said, crossing herself. About the only English Roxy had ever heard her say. She turned and said it again to Roxy. ‘God is angry.’

  ‘Well, don’t blame me. I’ve not done anything to annoy Him,’ Roxy said, laughing, but the girl didn’t understand. She turned her face back to the window, her eyes filled with fear.

  ‘It’s only a storm,’ Roxy said, trying to reassure her.

  But it was much more than a storm. Roxy had never seen one like it. It lasted all through the night. The thunder would seem to rumble off into the distance and the air would grow quiet and still and then, suddenly, it would roar right above their heads as if it had sneaked back to catch them unawares. And there was lightning, every kind of lightning illuminated the sky. Forked lightning, ball lightning, sheet lightning. As if Nature had gathered all her forces together in one massive display just for them.

  Roxy and Anne Marie watched it all from their bedroom window, wondering if it would ever end. ‘Maybe God is angry,’ Roxy muttered.

  ‘He’s got plenty to be angry about,’ Anne Marie said.

  ‘Murders and genocides and bombers. And people hurting children. That’s the worst.’

  Roxy agreed with that. No doubt in her mind. ‘Yes, that is the worst.’

  The storm reminded her of home too. On nights like this she and Jennifer would climb into bed together, snuggling close.

  It was as if Anne Marie read her mind. ‘Who says we’ll push our beds together, just for tonight?’

  The two girls lay long into the night, watching the storm, talking of the future, their future together with their babies, and hugging each other as close as their bumps allowed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The storm didn’t break the heatwave. If anything the heat was even more oppressive next day. All the girls lay around the house, fanning themselves with magazines, too hot to move. Roxy had begun to notice anyway that the new girls didn’t do the chores the way they should. The kitchen was never cleaned properly and the washing-up was always left undone. Yet Mrs Dyce didn’t make a fuss about that the way she once had. ‘These poor girls have enough to worry about,’ she would say whenever Anne Marie complained about it. Roxy never did. She didn’t care whether they cleaned up after themselves or not. She would be away from here soon, and she was glad of it. The house was changing, almost imperceptibly, the way a hot summer changes into autumn.

  ‘I’m going for a walk,’ she told Anne Marie one afternoon. The older girl was resting on her bed with the windows flung open to let in whatever cool air there might be.

  ‘No more treks outside the gate,’ Anne Marie warned her with a smile.

  It was too hot for any real wandering anyway. Roxy kept to the shade of the trees as she sauntered round the house. Even in that shade, she could feel her dress sticking to her with perspiration. She sat under a big oak tree listening to the sounds of summer and wishing she had taken a book to read. Or even that paper, still wedged under the mattress.

  She dozed off and dreamed of children giggling, her own child. She could see him clearly, a chunky little cherub pulling at her dress to stop her from running away. ‘I’d never run away,’ she kept telling him. She bent down to pick him up and suddenly, it was Jennifer. Jennifer when she was little and used to tag along everywhere with her. She was crying, and Roxy could see her face so plainly. ‘But you did run away,’ dream Jennifer was saying, ‘and you left me.’ She was crying and Roxy could make out her face clearly, every feature, her brown eyes, the bounce of her hair, the pout of her lips. Yet in life Roxy could never summon up a clear picture of her sister. Here in the dream she was as clear as a photograph. Roxy woke up feeling sad, missing her, wondering if the dream was a message to go home. That they needed her there.

  Some hope. No one had ever needed Roxy.

&nbs
p; She wandered drowsily back to the house and knew as soon as she turned the corner towards the sitting room that something was happening. One of the Asian girls was standing outside, looking excited, watching for her. Roxy began to run.

  ‘Anne Marie,’ was all the girl said, all she could say, but it was enough. She pointed upstairs.

  As Roxy got to the top of the stairs Mrs Dyce was helping Anne Marie out of her room. Her arm was round her waist and she was carrying her bag.

  ‘You’re going to have the baby … now?’ Roxy could hardly contain her excitement.

  Anne Marie smiled and nodded, but at the same time she darted a guilty glance at Mrs Dyce. Roxy knew what that meant.

  ‘You still haven’t told her, have you?’

  Mrs Dyce shot a look at Roxy. ‘Told me what?’

  Roxy wanted Anne Marie to tell her, but she hesitated for so long that Roxy couldn’t wait. ‘I’m going with Anne Marie into the delivery room. I’m going to be her birth partner.’

  Mrs Dyce stopped abruptly. Her eyes went wide. For a moment, Roxy thought she was going to drop Anne Marie. ‘I don’t think so, Roxy,’ she said severely, like one of Roxy’s old teachers reprimanding her for doing something wrong. That got her back up.

  ‘Anne Marie and I have talked about it.’ Roxy looked at Anne Marie, silently begging her to back up her story. ‘Haven’t we?’

  Mrs Dyce sounded angry. ‘This stupid notion wasn’t your idea, was it, Anne Marie?’

  Anne Marie only shrugged. ‘Roxy thought –’

  Mrs Dyce didn’t give her the chance to say another word. ‘Yes, of course, “Roxy thought”. I might have known it would be your idea.’

  ‘It’s a good idea,’ Roxy snapped back at her. ‘I’ll be Anne Marie’s birth partner and she’ll be mine. I want Anne Marie with me when I give birth.’

  ‘Indeed you won’t!’

  ‘But why not? Why is it such a bad idea?’ At last Anne Marie said something. She sounded puzzled. Anne Marie, who never questioned anything Mrs Dyce did, was questioning her now, and Mrs Dyce didn’t know how to answer her. She looked from Anne Marie to Roxy and said nothing.

  She doesn’t know what to say, Roxy thought, and she’s making up a lie.

  Right then, Anne Marie let out a low moan and slumped forward. It was just the distraction Mrs Dyce needed. ‘Come along, dear. We’ve no time to waste. That little Aidan will be here before you know it.’ And she began helping her downstairs.

  Roxy stood in front of them. She had never felt so determined. ‘I’m coming with her.’

  ‘No, you’re not, Roxy.’ But Mrs Dyce’s voice was softer this time and Roxy knew she had worked out her story. Worked out her story, that was how Roxy saw it. She would never really trust this woman.

  ‘I know you mean well, Roxy, but I’m sure Anne Marie will agree that you’re too young. Your own baby will be here in a few weeks. I don’t want you going through two labours instead of one.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Roxy said. ‘I want to be with Anne Marie.’

  Mrs Dyce drew in her breath so sharply her nostrils caved in. ‘You’re forcing me to say something I hadn’t wanted to say. But if I must, I must.’ She looked at Anne Marie. ‘What if you have a difficult birth, dear. I’m not saying you will, but what if you do? Or what if something goes wrong?’ Anne Marie looked so alarmed Mrs Dyce pulled her closer to reassure her. ‘Nothing will go wrong, of course, but you must see that Roxy shouldn’t be with you.’

  Roxy butted in. ‘If anything goes wrong she’ll need me there to help her.’

  But the argument had swayed Anne Marie. Roxy could see she had lost. ‘No, Roxy, Mrs Dyce is right. You shouldn’t be there. I’m sorry.’

  Roxy couldn’t help but be annoyed at her for giving in so easily. ‘You promised me, Anne Marie.’

  Roxy wanted her to feel guilty. But another wave of pain swept across Anne Marie’s face again. Her fingers tightened on Mrs Dyce’s arm. ‘Please, let’s get to the delivery room quick.’

  ‘This is no time for discussion, Roxy,’ Mrs Dyce said, pushing Roxy aside, almost roughly. She didn’t lift her eyes to look at her. Roxy felt spurned as she watched them go, as if she’d been betrayed. Anne Marie was going, like Babs and Agnes and all the rest, and she’d never seen any of them again. She couldn’t risk that with Anne Marie. She ran after her.

  ‘Good luck,’ she said and she hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You’ll keep in touch, won’t you? We’re still going to live together, aren’t we?’ Roxy looked at Mrs Dyce, daring her to disagree with that. She still kept her eyes on the floor.

  Anne Marie hugged her back. ‘Of course I will. I’ll send letters to Mrs Dyce and a picture of my little Aidan too.’

  Roxy had a chill feeling in her stomach as she watched them go. She so wanted to be going with her. She had to know what happened to her. And in that moment she remembered that there was a way that she could.

  She remembered the secret house, the rooms behind the table, that window in the dusty old library with the clear view of the labour wing. She decided then that even if she couldn’t actually be with her, she was at least going to watch out for Anne Marie.

  Chapter Twenty

  Roxy watched as the door marked PRIVATE closed behind Anne Marie. She waited only a few more moments, until she thought it was safe to move – why did she always think herself in danger? – then she walked unseen, like a ghost, past the other girls, already drifting back to their rooms or outside to sit on the grass. She walked calmly down the stairs, past the kitchen where two of the girls were arguing with each other in two different languages. Roxy was glad to be missing dinner tonight the way they were throwing hamburgers at each other. No one would miss her if she didn’t appear for the evening meal. They would probably assume she had stayed up in her room in a bad mood, or had wandered off somewhere as she always did.

  She stood at the place behind the stairs and looked all around her. No one knew of this secret place. No one else had discovered it. To everyone, it was a corner where furniture was stacked. Roxy crept right to the back and slipped her hand behind the table. She found the handle of the door and turned it quickly, praying it would still open, hoping she hadn’t grown so stout she couldn’t squeeze through the gap between the table and the doorway. She took another quick glance around to make sure she hadn’t been seen, then she slipped inside.

  The corridor was even darker and dustier than she remembered. A million specks of dust floated in the ribbons of light that streamed in through the shutters and Roxy stood for a moment after closing the door softly, just listening for any sounds. Someone in the shadows waiting for her. Stevens, ready to pounce.

  There was still a chill in these rooms despite the heat outside, and Roxy shivered as she walked through them. She should be grateful for the cool air. Hadn’t she longed for it for so many days? Yet it didn’t seem natural somehow. It was like the cold air in a tomb.

  You’re thinking rubbish, she kept telling herself. But there was no disputing the fact, she didn’t like the atmosphere here.

  Maybe there were ghosts. That was why it was so cold. That was stupid too. She brushed the morbid thought away like a cobweb. Yet, why was there this chill in the air she couldn’t explain? It shouldn’t be this cold.

  She made her way up the servants’ staircase. Through the gloomy corridors she walked, stepping past old brocade curtains piled in corners, and upended chairs that blocked her way. Up the flights of stairs covered by worn carpets filled with holes and hanging loose on the steps. She had to watch constantly where she walked, for if her foot caught here she would tumble down and she couldn’t risk that. Who would ever find her here? At last she came to the library. The musty smell of old books made her sneeze immediately. She remembered how she had opened one of these books and the pages had fallen apart, fallen into dust. Now she imagined them filled with maggots eating their way through the paper. Thousands, millions of maggots, here in this room with her, listening for her comi
ng, waiting for her.

  Why was she thinking these things? There was nothing to be afraid of here! Not here, in an old deserted library with dragons carved into the bookcases, and on the walls and in the roof. Dragons everywhere.

  She had to hold on tight to the banister of the rickety spiral staircase that led to the landing running above the library. Now, she realised how much fatter she’d become, how much more clumsy. She stopped halfway, exhausted, and watched the streams of light coming through the shutters on the alcove window. Roxy moved silently, tiptoeing, as if someone might leap out and catch her, as if someone might be listening for her in the deserted rooms.

  The shutters were stiff, but she pulled and tugged and almost fell back as they creaked free. The sunlight burst in, sending an explosion of dust into the air. Roxy drew nearer and looked out of the window. There seemed to be no activity in the delivery room. But even now Anne Marie would be in there. Even now little Aidan would be pushing his way into the world.

  Little Aidan, her godson. She flopped on to the wooden window seat angrily. She should be in there with Anne Marie right now, helping her, supporting her. Mrs Dyce had no right to stop her, no matter how ‘logical’ her reasons might be.

  Roxy had wanted so much to share that birth with Anne Marie. She wouldn’t have been afraid, no matter what Mrs Dyce might think. She peered closer but it was impossible to see anything through the windows.

  What was happening now? How long would it take? Hang in there, Anne Marie, thought Roxy. I’m with you in spirit, I promise.

  How long did she sit there, sweat trickling down her back from the hot sun, watching rabbits scurrying up trees and squirrels scampering along branches? Waiting for some sign that it was all over.

  It was twilight when an ambulance arrived, a private ambulance parking close to the entrance of the delivery room. Roxy had almost been snoozing when she heard the wheels crunching on the gravel. It seemed to her the ambulance was so silent she was sure the engine had been turned off. She was alert in an instant.