by Paul Clayton
She saw his genuine concern at the loss of his baby. His emptiness was as great as hers. He made her meals. He took her for short walks to the end of the path and back. He held her hand when it all became too much and the tears came. He learned sometimes that words weren’t enough and that his silence was the best gift he could offer. Slowly they became closer.
A week later the front door opened and Mrs Heaton stepped back into their lives. If her painted eyebrows could have risen any higher, they would have left her face. She made her feelings clear. ‘We gave you home for a reason, because you were the mother of Craig’s child. If there’s no child, there’s no need for you to be here, is there? It’s about time you packed your bags.’
‘Where would you like me to go?’
‘You can get back to that shithole of a place we had to rescue you from. That’d be a start.’
Craig stepped in front of Lottie. ‘Lottie’s not going anywhere. She’s my wife. And whether we got a child or not, she stays here. If you don’t like it, why don’t you find somewhere else?’
Mrs Heaton’s upper lip curled and the lower side of her right eye twitched. She fought to hold in her reaction, then turned to pick up a bottle of gin from the sideboard and disappeared into her bedroom. It was the last time they saw her for two days.
***
Lottie snapped out of her reverie and watched the red car pull up outside the house and Mrs Heaton climb out a little unsteadily. She was back from another supposed visit to her sister’s, the excuse Mrs Heaton used to leave them for days at a time. Lottie watched her pick her way up the front path and heard the key make several attempts to find the lock. Lottie had no desire to step out of the room and greet her mother-in-law.
She looked at the cot in the corner and smiled at her child. Mrs Heaton kept a distance from the baby when possible. She had brought Craig up as a single mother and, although she’d been keen to take in Lottie and keep the young family together, she had no wish to be part of it. Most evenings she went out and returned the worse for wear. Lottie and Craig had space to themselves to watch television, Craig playing games of Snake on his phone and lifting his eyes every so often to catch up with the programme, Lottie half-listening to the presenter and half-listening to the baby monitor plugged into the wall next to her.
It would take most of the evening to change and feed the baby and then settle him back. Loneliness seeped into the cracks of her life so easily.
When she had lost the baby, it had brought them together. Craig had changed. He had barely left Lottie’s side, making meals for her and running errands, almost as though he had something to make up for. Lottie had felt stranded. Living in their home without a purpose, married to a man she had never fallen in love with, and yet she felt her best option was to give him a chance.
Once he’d left school Craig had got a job at Marks & Spencer. ‘Good promotion prospects there, love,’ slurred Mrs Heaton. ‘You’ll be a manager by the time you’re twenty-three. He’s got a wonderful sense of organisation our Craig, hasn’t he, Lottie?’
Lottie smiled and nodded. She wondered how different her life would have been if Craig had been able to organise a condom.
‘He’s a diamond in the rough, is our Craig.’
Lottie knew what she meant, but she saw Craig through new eyes. To her, he had simply become a diamond. Their world could be as rough and unpredictable as the choppiest of seas, but it never seemed to affect him. She saw him shine with an inner beauty that had never been there in the schoolboy, and that was what had won her over. Lottie loved his sparkle. Suddenly the poser on the fence from school seemed to have turned into a man who adored her. And one evening, while Mrs Heaton was out in search of gin and company, she rewarded his adoration.
Craig played the role of father to be to perfection. When the time came, he held Lottie’s hand and burst into tears of relief and joy at the sight of the baby. Through her exhaustion, Lottie smiled at him then looked at the baby laying on her bare skin. She cried the sweetest tears, knowing this was the happiest moment of her life.
On their arrival back home, Craig’s mother kept her distance from both of them. Lottie realised that Mrs Heaton didn’t expect the couple to spoil her life for much longer. Within weeks of the birth, she started reading aloud ads for flats in the local paper and often commented about having ‘looked in the newsagent’s window’ for nice cheap accommodation.
One Tuesday afternoon she returned triumphant. ‘I’ve found you somewhere to live. A lovely studio flat. Its got its own little entrance. I think you’ll like it. If you’re careful, with Craig’s wage and your child benefit you should manage just fine.’
Lottie wasn’t sure what to say. Although occasionally she’d dreamed of having her own home with Craig, at least there was her mother-in-law to interfere. In their own flat she’d be on her own with the baby for the entire day while Craig was away at work. Not for the first time, Lottie felt a little sick at the thought of the solitude.
‘And then as soon as he goes to nursery, Lottie, you could get a couple of hours work at a supermarket or something.’ Mrs Heaton had booked a viewing to see the flat that afternoon.
The studio flat was a bedsit in all but name, one sizeable room at the back of a Victorian house with its own front door at the end of an overgrown path to the side of the house. Opening the door, Lottie’s heart sank. Painted magnolia and sparsely furnished, the room had a large double bed shoved into one corner. A battered chest of drawers was propping up a wardrobe that looked as if it might collapse as soon as they hung anything in it. A sofa with an odour of wet dog stood against one wall and, in front of it, a small scratched dining table and three chairs. There was an enormous bay window that overlooked the rear garden of the house; it made the place feel exposed to the ragged unkempt lawn and forbidding hedgerow of trees.
In the far corner of the room was a recess with a compact kitchen. A huge old American fridge stood in the corner of the living area. Off the hallway was a bathroom with a toilet, sink and a shower and some sort of pink mould on the tiles. The only thing in the place’s favour was its price.
***
Lottie scrubbed the flat from top to bottom. She put the baby’s cot in the bay window. As cash was scarce, she visited local charity shops and found two mismatching curtains, some cushions and a rug. Mrs Heaton gave them a few pieces of crockery which didn’t match, and a belated wedding present of a second-hand microwave.
It was a brief walk from their new flat to a parade of shops which had a small convenience store, a chemist’s and a newsagent’s. Often that was as far as Lottie felt like going. When the baby needed to sleep, Lottie felt like sleeping too, but often this was the only time she had to do her cooking and cleaning.
Craig became less and less involved in the family. He was trying to do his best in his job, but Lottie wished he had a little more time for his child. Sex was perfunctory, both of them seemingly having lost the desire for it. Afterwards Lottie would lie still and let loneliness wash over her while Craig showered. She would cry for her misfortune, for the things that had brought her here. She felt as if concrete were drying in her chest, but she forced herself up from the bed to attend to the baby or put something on a plate in the microwave for Craig’s dinner.
One day she woke up feeling calm after the reboot of sleep. Craig had left early and her day stretched ahead with possibilities. After she’d done her jobs, she longed to get out of the flat for a long walk. She bundled up the baby and pushed the pram past the shops and up the hill into town. After a while, she realised she would pass the home where she had spent so much time with Little Girl.
She stood on the opposite side of the road and looked at the house, remembering how large it had seemed when she’d first arrived all those years ago. A cool wind blew and she pulled her coat around her. A chill of memory. The passing time had made the place look smaller and much less daunting. Here she was,
a mother with a child, no longer a helpless girl climbing into a car and trying not to look back.
She pictured Little Girl standing on the steps and felt a sudden rip of sadness. There was no joy inside her and she wanted to walk away and leave the past behind. Something in her stomach told her she had done wrong.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the pram up the steps and rang the doorbell. An unfamiliar motherly figure in a green overall came to the door. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I was wondering …’ She asked for Little Girl by name.
‘Nobody here by that name. But then I’ve only been here two months, love. You wait a minute.’ She disappeared.
Lottie gripped the handle of the pushchair. If Little Girl was here, would the sight of Lottie’s baby heal the rift that had torn their friendship apart? Could she say sorry? Should she?
The woman returned. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. I know who you mean now. I’ve checked the records. She’s no longer with us, not been here for a long time now.’
The disappointment welled up in Lottie’s throat. She nodded and drew the pram handle towards her.
‘But we do know what happened to her. Nothing nasty.’ The woman beamed with pride. ‘She was one of our success stories. A lovely couple came to meet her and fostered her. Special people. She went to live in Dubai.’
Chapter Forty-One
On the Wednesday before Christmas, Frankie spent the early part of the afternoon at the retail park Christmas shopping for the children and starting to collect the mountain of food she knew they’d devour over the four days of the holiday weekend.
As she was loading the car with groceries, she noticed a new shop in the far corner next to B&Q. Pet Zone: the perfect place to pick up something for Dimwit that the kids could get some fun out of. There were numerous toys with squeaks and bells in them, but she knew from Christmas’s long ago how these irritated after a short while. Then something hanging up in front of her caught her eye and made her smile. It was a little doggy coat made to look like an American football jersey.
Pleased with what she’d found, she headed back to the car. She picked up Henry from school. Shannon was staying behind for a Christmas carol concert, and Jonny had announced at breakfast: ‘Be in later, Mum.’
Henry helped her take the bags into the kitchen. With the food stashed into what was now a very full fridge, Frankie was putting the remaining items in the kitchen cupboards when Henry noticed the bag from the pet shop. ‘What’s this, Mum?’ Before she could stop him, he’d pulled the item out of the bag and was holding up Dimwit’s doggy sweater. ‘Oh wow! How cool is this? It’s the best thing. I’ll even take him to the park wearing this.’
Frankie laughed. Dimwit was Henry’s responsibility, something he managed to forget most of the time. The dog had become another box to tick on Frankie’s list of chores.
‘Can I try it on him now, Mum?’ he asked.
‘It’s a Christmas present. You’re supposed to wait till then.’
‘Oh please, Mum, please! Just let’s see what he looks like in it. Then it can go back in the bag. The others will get to see it at Christmas.’
Frankie knew Henry would get his own way. ‘Okay. Go next door, collect him from Mr Jenkinson and let’s have a look.’ She carried on putting the groceries away as Henry opened the door to the small yard.
There was an ear-splitting scream. Henry stood stock still in the doorway. Frankie couldn’t see what had stopped him but pushed past to look for herself. She clutched at her mouth but not quick enough to prevent herself bringing up most of her sandwich lunch. ‘Oh, God.’
Henry stood silent and still, his mouth stretched wide in horror as tears began to cascade down his face.
‘Inside, darling. Go inside, please.’ Frankie pushed Henry back into the kitchen, closed the door and took a deep breath.
She picked up her phone and started to dial the number PC Ashley had given her. Her hands were shaking, and she had to start dialling again. She couldn’t get the picture out of her mind, the picture of blood-stained sheets on the washing line flying in the wind and below them Dimwit, staked to the ground, slashed open from throat to tail.
Chapter Forty-Two
The day after Lottie left her, and while her stomach was still curdled with despair, Little Girl met her new foster parents. She sat in Mr Dale’s office, knuckles white from clenching her fists too hard. Her hunched body exuded animosity. Mr Dale started to explain the situation. ‘These very kind people want to look after you. They want you to become part of their family.’
The couple smiled at her. They might have been picking up a puppy from a rescue home. Little Girl’s face was red with suppressed rage; when Mr Dale touched her on the shoulder, she swung round ready to snap. But her strength had gone. She was alone here now and her heart told her that being here without Lottie was not what she wanted. She turned back to the couple sitting in the chairs in the window and pushed her face into a smile.
***
After her new foster parents, Erich and Marta, had filled in all the forms, attended all the interviews and were deemed suitable, one Friday afternoon they took her to a flat in the city. She had her own bedroom and they looked after her extremely well, yet from the beginning she knew something was wrong. Erich seemed utterly unconcerned with her. Given how her father had acted towards her so many years ago, that didn’t bother Little Girl – but it did make her wonder why he and Marta had chosen to foster someone. She’d always thought that if she was lucky enough to get foster parents, they’d be people who genuinely wanted her to be part of their family.
Erich was Dutch and she couldn’t help thinking he looked like an older version of the guy in a film who’d been the robot. Handsome but craggy, with the fearsome gaze of a tiger. Looking at her, he constantly made her feel as though she had done something wrong.
Erich worked in international finance and said he lived in London in the flat where she was staying, but Little Girl started to doubt that. The flat had remarkably little furniture and there were few belongings. It was uncomfortably large, more of a hotel foyer. There was a polished concrete floor, white walls and a set of cream furniture on which Little Girl was hesitant to sit. There was room here for dozens of children, yet she doubted if even one would be welcome. She was due to spend a weekend with them before an appointment on the following Monday with a new social services officer.
On the Saturday, Marta took her shopping. They bought lots of clothes – bright clothes, expensive clothes, clothes for a holiday. It was so long since she’d been anything new that Little Girl didn’t complain. Marta seemed happy to hand over a credit card at every opportunity, and Little Girl took great pleasure in collecting more and more bags.
Marta dressed with tremendous style; that was the first thing Little Girl had noticed about her. Her blonde hair was swept back from her face, she wore very little make-up, but she was striking. Her tailored clothes fitted perfectly, right down to the T-shirt and culottes she wore around the flat. Little Girl thought she might have been a model at some point, or an air hostess, and was dying to ask if this were true.
On Saturday evening, Marta produced an enormous suitcase and told Little Girl to pack all the new clothes and any other belongings she wanted to keep. Little Girl thought this odd but pushed as much as she could into the case. When she’d finished, Marta opened a bottle of wine and pushed a glass across the kitchen counter to her. Little Girl picked it up and sipped at it as she had seen people do. It was tart and bitter, but she held her face tight so as not to show her unfamiliarity with it.
Eric arrived home carrying a large brown envelope. He tipped the contents onto the kitchen counter. There was a small red booklet, which Little Girl picked up.
‘Careful,’ said Eric. ‘Hot off the press that.’ He laughed and looked at Marta.
Marta took the booklet from Little Girl’s hand. ‘It’s a surprise
, my darling. Tomorrow we’re all going away for a little while. Somewhere special.’
Little Girl saw them exchange looks and smile. One thing life so far had taught her was to grab any opportunity with both hands when it came along. To her, elegant Marta and sexy Erich looked like one hell of an opportunity.
***
The plane touched down in darkness. Marta told her the time was after midnight, though Little Girl’s new watch still showed eight o’clock. A man holding a sign saying ‘Skura’ met them in the airport. Little Girl wondered if both Erich and Marta shared this name, but she had no time for further thought as they followed the man down a long white corridor past a glass booth where a handsome Arab in white robes held out his hand.
She handed over her red booklet, as instructed by Erich, and the man gave it the most cursory of glances before handing it back. They moved on.
The car they got into outside the airport was the biggest Little Girl had ever seen, so grand that she thought she could make it her home. Ice-cold bottles of water stood on a narrow rack circled by blue-neon lights which stretched along the side of the door under the handles. Little Girl felt as though she were sitting in a spaceship. The driver took the bags and she clambered into the back with Marta. Erich sat up front with the driver.
Little Girl remembered a film they’d all watched on television one Saturday evening in the home. It starred Harrison Ford and it was all about robots and people who weren’t real. What she recalled most was the fantastic city where it was set, a mix of an old town market and huge skyscrapers. If anyone asked her to describe where she now lived, that’s what she would say: ‘I live in a film. That’s Dubai.’