by Juliet Bell
Mick froze. ‘Coming now? It’s too early, isn’t it?’
‘It was all right, though. It was just Braxton Hicks.’
‘Just what?’
‘Fake contractions. It’s like your body practising for having the baby.’
‘Are you sure?’ If she was having contractions surely he ought to do something. ‘I could get the doctor.’
She shook her head. ‘They’ve stopped now. I’m fine.’ She patted her massive belly under the quilt. ‘We’ve got weeks to go yet.’
Mick climbed on the bed next to her. She was right. Weeks before the baby came. And then he’d be a dad. And he’d do a proper job at it an’ all.
Cathy was falling in love. She’d been at the Lintons’ house all day and, once Heathcliff had gone, it had been heavenly. Mrs Linton had had a bit of a face on her to start with, but Cathy had won her round. Cathy always would. She was a princess – that’s what Ray Earnshaw had always said.
She sat on the edge of Isabelle’s bed and looked around the room. The pink walls were covered in Michael J Fox and Morton Harket, but what Cathy was really attracted to was the wardrobe that covered one whole wall of the room and had full-length mirrored doors. In this room you could watch yourself the whole time. Cathy stared into the mirror and furrowed her brow and then lifted it again. She smiled experimentally, showing her teeth and then with her mouth closed. She pulled her hair loose from its ponytail and let it fall around her shoulders and smiled again. In this room you could practise being whoever you needed to be. Cathy grinned and, in the mirror, grinned back at herself.
Isabelle bowled back into the room, and swished the wardrobe door open. ‘So we should go shopping.’
Cathy nodded. She didn’t have money to go shopping, but Isabelle didn’t need to know that. The richer girl sighed at the shelves in front of her, and pulled out a jumper. Cathy had seen that jumper before on no-uniform day at school. It was white with a mint-green zigzag on the front and batwing sleeves. Cathy jumped up and grabbed the jumper from Isabelle’s hands. ‘Can I try it on?’
Isabelle hesitated for a second before she nodded, but she did nod, and Cathy pulled off her grubby, faded, denim jacket and pulled the jumper over the top of her T-shirt. She stepped back in front of the mirror. She needed a comb to pull her hair back at one side but then she’d be just right. She grinned. ‘This is so cool.’ She reached her arm around Isabelle’s shoulders. ‘You have such good taste.’
Isabelle smiled. ‘You can wear it for a bit if you like.’
‘Cool.’
A tentative knock at the door interrupted them. Edward stuck his head into the room. ‘Mother said to ask if you want a drink. She said we could use the soda stream. And have it in the TV room.’
The TV room? They had a whole room just to watch TV in? That would put Heathcliff in his place.
Edward continued. ‘We could watch a video if you like. We’ve got Back to the Future.’
Cathy clapped her hands. ‘Let’s do that.’
She moved past Isabelle to stand by Edward in the doorway. He was taller and slimmer than any of the men in her family, and she liked the way he held the door back to make space for her. And she liked the way he looked at her when he talked more than at Isabelle. She turned back towards the room.
‘Do you want to come with us for a drink, Izzy?’
Isabelle nodded. Cathy let Edward lead the way, sliding herself into the space between him and his sister.
In the kitchen Isabelle set about making drinks, chattering away all the time. Cathy let her attention stay with Edward, who was leaning on the worktop beside her, almost close enough for their arms to brush against each other accidentally. He looked at her.
‘Is that Izzy’s top?’
Cathy nodded. ‘She said I could have it.’
‘It suits you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m glad you came round today.’
‘Me too.’
‘If you like films, we could go and see one sometime. At the pictures.’
‘The three of us.’
Edward nodded. ‘Yeah. The three of us.’
Cathy pouted slightly, not too much, not so much as to make it look like she didn’t want to go, or she didn’t like Isabelle, just enough to make him think. She flicked her gaze in his direction and found him looking straight back at her.
‘Or just the two of us?’
Cathy beamed.
Chapter Fourteen
March, 1986
‘Mick! Mick!’
Mick opened his eyes. It was still light outside and he was still lying on the bed. Frances was standing next to him. ‘Sorry. I fell asleep.’
‘I think it’s happening.’
‘What?’
‘My waters broke. The baby. I think it’s coming.’
‘Right.’ Mick’s mind went blank. What was he supposed to do? ‘It’s too early.’
Frances smiled. ‘It’ll be fine.’
Than her face changed – eyes suddenly screwed tight shut, breath coming quickly.
‘Are you okay?’
She reached out and wrapped her fingers tightly around his hand, before she relaxed. ‘Just a contraction.’
‘Okay.’ The baby was coming. The baby was coming now. He needed to do something. What? The hospital. Yes. They needed to go to the hospital. He jumped off the bed. ‘Let’s go then.’
‘I need my things.’
‘Okay.’ He stood in the middle of the room. ‘What things?’
Frances’s face crumpled. ‘I was supposed to have a bag with my things. My nightie and toothbrush and a vest for the baby. I haven’t done it yet.’
‘Well, I can bring it up after.’
Frances shook her head. ‘I’m supposed to have done it. They’ll think I’m a bad mum.’
Mick’s brain was whirring faster than he could keep up with the thoughts. There was an old suitcase of his dad’s on top of the wardrobe. Far bigger than they needed probably, but it was right there. He dragged it down by the handle and flicked it open on the bed. ‘What do you need?’
Frances waddled uncomfortably to the wardrobe and pulled out a package wrapped in tissue.
‘What’s that?’
‘I knitted it for the baby.’
‘You don’t knit.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I have to do something all the time I’m stuck here and you’re at work.’
She leaned forward, steadying herself on the bed, breathing quickly again. Mick was helpless, like always. A minute later she was back to packing, throwing a nightdress and some baby clothes in the case. ‘I’ll get my things from the bathroom.’
Mick waited, still feeling like he should be doing something, but not sure what his role was. Frances seemed to have everything under control.
‘Mick!’
He ran the eight steps to the bathroom. Frances was on the floor, kneeling, her face red and streaked with sweat and tears.
‘I’m bleeding.’ She screwed her eyes shut as another contraction came.
‘Right. Into the car.’
She shook her head. ‘No time.’
Below them the front door slammed shut. Mick cried out, ‘Cathy?’
Footsteps came up the stairs, but it was Heathcliff not Cathy
‘Heathcliff, phone an ambulance.’
The boy peered past Mick into the bathroom.
‘Ambulance! The baby’s coming.’ Mick stepped towards him, anger building in his chest. Why was the boy just standing there? Why wasn’t he doing anything? He shoved Heathcliff out of the way, not caring about the thud as his head whacked the doorframe, and ran downstairs. This couldn’t be happening. The baby was supposed to come at the hospital, all nice and clean with doctors and tubes and all that stuff. The baby couldn’t come here on the filthy bathroom floor. Not Mick’s baby. He grabbed the phone off the cradle and dialled. His finger trembled in the dial and he took one, two, three attempts to drag the three nines around.
‘What service do you require?’
He asked for the ambulance and garbled out the address and the situation in a rush. The operator was calm. Too calm. Didn’t they understand? But they said the ambulance was on its way.
Time stopped working properly while they waited. Frances screamed and writhed on the floor. Mick couldn’t do anything. That wasn’t right. He was the man of the house. He should be able to look after his woman and his baby. That was his job, wasn’t it? And all the time, the boy watched them, not speaking, not moving, just watching.
Mick stared at his watch. Two minutes went by. Then five. Then ten. Then fifteen. Still the ambulance didn’t come. Still Frances lay there, crying and bleeding. Then twenty minutes. Then half an hour. Frances grew quieter, her head lolling occasionally and her eyes drifting closed. Mick knelt beside her in the mess. ‘Frances, Frances, stay awake. The baby’s coming. Stay awake.’
And still the ambulance didn’t come.
Mick made a decision. ‘Heathcliff, I need you to run to the doctor’s surgery and bring the doctor here. Tell them it’s an emergency.’
The boy nodded.
‘Well, go on, then. Move!’
It had been kind of Edward to offer to walk her home. She didn’t need it, of course. She was as safe on these streets as she was in her own bed. No one on the Heights was going to mess with Ray Earnshaw’s little girl. Although what they’d do to Mr Linton’s son was a different matter. Cathy paused a couple of streets into the estate.
‘I’ll be okay from here.’
Edward peered down the road uncertainly. ‘I said I’d walk you all the way home.’
She dropped her head, peering up at him through her eyelashes. ‘Well, it’s very kind of you.’
But she still didn’t feel right. It was fun for everyone to see her hanging out with Edward and Isabelle at school. There everyone knew they were a cut above, but here Edward was out of place, and the lads who’d left school to sign on didn’t give a shit. She stopped at the next corner.
‘Really, I’m fine from here.’
Edward nodded. ‘If you’re sure.’
She was, but she hesitated before walking away. Things were nice with Edward. Everything at the Lintons’ house was clean and they treated her like a princess, not like a skiv. But she was still just Isabelle’s little friend from school. It wasn’t enough, was it? People didn’t take their friends from school away from Gimmerton with them, did they? People didn’t have their friends from school come live with them in their nice big house. She needed something more.
Edward cleared his throat. ‘So it was lovely to see you today.’
Cathy smiled. ‘And it would be nice to go to the pictures.’ She looked at the floor. ‘If you still wanna.’
‘Yes. Absolutely.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I’d like that. I… er…’
He was leaning towards her. Cathy stopped herself from grinning. She knew how she needed to be. Demure. That was the word. Sweet. That was it. She tilted her chin up ever so slightly. Edward pressed his lips against hers. It was nice. She imagined herself floating outside of her body, looking down at this lovely young lady kissing her handsome young man. She reached her arms up around his neck, gently, not too hungrily. That was right. She was doing it right.
A blare of a siren jolted them both out of the moment. Edward stepped back. ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘I… was that all right?’
Now she allowed herself to smile. ‘Yes. Yes. It was lovely.’
The siren blared again. Edward twitched and glanced down the street.
‘It’s a police car.’
‘Right. I hope there isn’t any trouble.’
Cathy shrugged. There was always trouble around here. The plods turned up and got pretty short shrift. It didn’t matter what problems you were having – nobody round here would give you the time of day if they thought you’d talked to the police about anything.
‘They won’t hang about long.’
‘Maybe I should walk you all the way home, though?’
Cathy shook her head. Mick would be off work by now, and probably drinking. She wasn’t having him scaring Edward off. And Heathcliff might be home too. Heathcliff, who had no right being funny with her about Edward. Apart from… that he did and he was and… Cathy closed down the thought. She was with Edward now. She leaned forward and popped a peck of a kiss on his cheek. ‘I’ll be fine.’
She ran off before he could object, but glanced behind her as she turned the corner. He was still standing watching as she disappeared. That was good.
Around the corner the source of the blaring siren came into view at the far end of the street. Cathy peered to see what was going on. The ambulance – not a police car like she’d thought – was stopped sideways on, across the width of the street, but they didn’t seem to be picking anyone up. There were people all around the ambulance. Under the streetlight, she could see them clearly. Some of them were just kids – younger than Cathy – and all of them were chucking stones, cans, chunks of brick at the ambulance. She recognised some of them. Kids her dad had warned her off, even at primary school. They wouldn’t care if it was pigs or not. A flashing light was a flashing light. Cathy wrapped her coat tight around her, dropped her head, and turned. She wasn’t getting involved in that. Not now she had Edward to concentrate on. She could walk the long way round to home.
At home she stuck her key in the Yale and jiggled the lock. Maybe Frances would be up and Mick wouldn’t be too bad. She pushed the door open.
‘Heathcliff?’ Mick’s voice rang down the stairs.
‘No. S’Cathy.’
She followed the voice up the stairs. Everything upstairs was wrong. Mick was kneeling on the bathroom floor. She saw that first, almost like her brain was letting her deal with the easiest thing before it could take in anything else. The second thing she saw was Frances, lying on the floor, her face white, her nightdress pulled up round her waist, the floor beneath her swimming in blood. Mick knelt over her, gripping her hand, whispering all the time, whispering words Cathy couldn’t make out. And then she saw the baby. A tiny little purple thing lying on the floor. It didn’t look like a baby at all. Babies were noisy, lively, wriggly things. This wasn’t anything at all. She leaned towards it.
‘Don’t touch it.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t touch it.’ Mick snarled the words out. ‘Where’s Heathcliff?’
‘I don’t know.’
Mick dropped Frances’s hand and stood up, poking a finger at Cathy in the doorway. ‘Of course you know. You always fucking know.’
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him. What happened?’
Beneath them the door clicked and then slammed. Footsteps came up the stairs. ‘That Indian doctor’s coming. He’s getting his bag and he’s coming.’
The first swing of Mick’s fist carried Heathcliff off his feet and back into the wall. Cathy shoved her body between them.
‘The doctor’s coming,’ she yelled. ‘He said the doctor’s coming.’
Mick’s body went limp. He nodded.
Cathy waited, keeping Heathcliff’s bent body behind her own until Mick had returned to his position kneeling next to Frances on the bloody floor. Very slowly Cathy stepped forward, and bent down behind the door, scooping the tiny baby into her arms. He wasn’t cold. She stepped into the hallway and stared at Heathcliff. The little baby wasn’t wriggling or crying or anything. Tiny babies were supposed to cry. She jiggled him in her arms like she’d done with her Tiny Tears doll when she was a little girl. She stared into Heathcliff’s eyes. ‘What do I do?’
He reached out and whacked the baby hard across the back.
Cathy gasped. ‘Hey! What are you…?’
In her arms the baby hiccupped, swallowed and let out a tiny cry.
Chapter Fifteen
2008
Nelson Lockwood could walk from the Grange to his next appointment. The doctor’s surgery was now in a purpose-built modern building on
the edge of the new housing estate that surrounded the Grange. He tried to remember where it had been back in the day. Somewhere up by the mine, he guessed, or in the centre of town. That was where all the people had been back then. Not any more.
The new surgery was already decidedly roughed up around the edges. The laminate stuck to the window proudly declared it had been funded by the EU and the National Lottery, but it didn’t look like either of them had sent anything for the upkeep of the place once it was built, and there was now graffiti on the side wall and a crack in the glass panel in the front door. Lockwood ignored the display of informative leaflets about his sexual health and smiled at the receptionist.
‘I’ve got an appointment with Dr Sangupta.’
The receptionist shook her head. ‘Dr Sangupta has a meeting this morning. He’s not seeing patients.’
Lockwood shook his head, but the woman had switched her attention to her computer screen. ‘If it’s an emergency I could get you in with Dr Rahil at the end of morning surgery.’ She narrowed her eyes at Lockwood. ‘Is it an emergency?’
‘Sorry. No.’ He fished his ID from his pocket. ‘I’m Dr Sangupta’s meeting. DCI Lockwood.’
The woman sighed. ‘Well, you didn’t say. Have a seat.’ She waved a hand half-heartedly towards the cluster of chairs set in rows around the room.
Lockwood did as he was told. He didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere so far. Maybe that was his own fault. Maybe he needed to focus on what he was supposed to be looking at – the death of Luke Earnshaw – and put the rest out of his mind. But it wasn’t just one suspicious death, was it? It was decades of them. He closed his eyes for a second. Was that even true? People died. It was one of the few things that could be relied upon. Suspicious was his word for those deaths. Heathcliff Earnshaw had been the one that got away twenty years ago. Making sure he wasn’t getting away with anything now mattered.
‘Mr Lockwood?’
The man tentatively calling his name from the other side of the room was older than Lockwood expected, which was stupid. Everyone who remembered anything Lockwood was interested in would be old now. And Dr Sangupta had been here right from the start. Things couldn’t have been easy for an Indian doctor back then. Maybe they weren’t always easy for an Indian doctor now. He wore a waistcoat and bow tie like a traditional old patrician GP, but Lockwood would guess there had been some moments back in the day.