by Chris Curran
Instead she smiled and sipped the small glass of wine her dad poured for her. ‘One drop to wet the baby’s head won’t harm you.’ The kiss he dropped on her hair felt too heavy. Outside it was icy cold, but the crackling fire, which usually made her feel cosy, seemed to turn the room hot and airless. She pulled at her jumper, which had suddenly become so scratchy she wanted to tear at the skin of her neck and chest.
Downstairs, at 5 a.m., she was woken by Ivy grizzling in her carrycot. Her nappy was dry, so Eve tried to feed her, but the baby turned her head away and continued to whimper. It grew louder and louder and Eve carried her over to close the door tightly. Rocking her and holding her upright she whispered, ‘Please, be quiet, my darling.’
Back on the sofa Ivy finally latched on and sucked away. Eve put her head back and closed her eyes. Just for a minute. A cry brought her back to herself. Oh God. Her hands had loosened and the baby had slipped down onto her lap. She clutched Ivy to her and the cries turned to screams. Pacing up and down, desperately rocking and pleading, ‘Please, please, don’t cry,’ didn’t work. Finally she realized it was a wet nappy this time.
They had changing stuff ready in the living room, so she could do it right away, but she felt clumsy, her hands shaking and slipping as Ivy squirmed. And when the baby was back in the carrycot asleep at last, Eve was completely awake.
She hobbled to the kitchen to make some tea and switched on her phone. Sent Suzanne from school a photo of the baby, then messaged Simon:
Our daughter Ivy has arrived. She is beautiful and we are both very well.
In the sitting room Ivy was sleeping soundly and Eve curled up on the sofa. Her mobile chirruped: Simon.
Insomnia can be useful! Congratulations and welcome to Ivy. Love and best wishes to you and Alex. XX
Knowing he was awake Eve was tempted to phone him, but her voice might wake Ivy and she knew what Alex would think. She turned the mobile to silent and tucked it under the cushion beneath her head.
When she woke it was light and Ivy’s carrycot was empty. She was on her feet, her head spinning before she heard the little gurgling sound she’d begun to recognize as a happy Ivy and Alex rattling dishes in the kitchen.
She collapsed on the sofa again. As Alex brought her in, Ivy began to cry and he handed her over. ‘I think she’s hungry. I know I am.’ Eve smiled at him and nodded as he said, ‘Milk for Ivy and bagels with scrambled egg for Mum and Dad, what do you say?’
They ate with Ivy cooing on the sofa between them. Then Eve took a shower.
When she was dressed in loose trousers and a fleecy top, clean hair combed and dried, she felt a bit better. Alex loved her, Ivy was well and her old self would return in time. Standing at the top of the stairs she heard a rap on the front door and stepped quickly back into the bedroom. She couldn’t face seeing anyone.
Alex’s voice, ‘Thank you,’ and the door closed again. Looking down into the hall she saw him place a huge and beautiful bunch of flowers on the hall table.
She called, ‘They’re so lovely, but you already gave me some.’
He jumped and looked up, his face unreadable. ‘They’re not from me.’ Then he walked into the kitchen.
The card on the flowers read.
Congratulations and welcome to Ivy. With much love Simon X
Stella
Her nana died in the night, and Stella had to spend the next day organizing everything. It was clear that however cheaply she tried to do it the funeral would eat up most of her money. Money she had hoped to use for a deposit on somewhere to live with the baby.
As she moved around Newcastle in a trance, unable to believe that Nana was gone, she had never missed Maggie so much. The people at the home were kind, but she needed someone to confide in. And practical help.
Perhaps she would talk to David Ballantyne at the gallery when she got back to London. He was kind. He really seemed to like her work. And it had sold. Surely she would be able to paint again soon and he might agree to take something. If she admitted she was hard up he might even pay her in advance. It was the only hopeful thought she’d managed to dredge up, and she tried to ignore the voice in her head that kept reminding her that Ben had said the gallery had no future. She knew he was a liar and she had to believe he was lying about that too.
With the funeral organized for the following week, she headed back to London. The B&B was costing money she couldn’t spare and there was nothing else she could do in Newcastle. As soon as she got back she went to the gallery. It was closed, but she rang the bell by the side door and David, in dusty looking jeans and a T-shirt, answered.
He stood back to let her in. ‘You’ve come for your beautiful picture, have you?’ he said.
Ben hadn’t been lying. Apart from a few pictures all packaged up, the gallery was empty. It had seemed such a large airy space before, but with the sofas gone it felt cavernous. There were marks on the floor where the sofas had stood and patches of dust.
David made a little gesture with his hand: a kind of sad and quizzical answer to the question she didn’t ask. ‘Better come into my office. I still have chairs. And coffee too.’ His voice with that soft Scottish lilt was instantly comforting, although she knew there was no way he could help now.
A coffee maker was already bubbling away, and his office still looked lived in. They settled on either side of his desk with their mugs, and he cleaned his glasses with a tissue. Without them on he looked younger, his face naked and vulnerable. Replacing them he pushed back his fair hair.
‘You know my partner, Ben, has had an accident?’
She sipped her coffee and nodded. He clearly knew nothing about her involvement.
‘It was very serious. He’s still in hospital and they don’t expect him to walk again, poor guy.’ His chin wobbled; then a breath. ‘It means the gallery has to close, at least for a while, I’m afraid. Otherwise I’d love to offer you an individual exhibition.’
Swallowing down her misery she asked, ‘What will you do?’
‘Oh, my wife and I have a house down on the south coast: Hastings. There’s a little shop we plan to buy. Our own gallery.’ He shook his head, looking at her with those kind grey eyes. ‘It will be much lower key than Houghton’s, of course. Mostly local artists. So although I’d love to give your work a spot, it wouldn’t be worth your while. But I’ll put a word in for you with some friends in other London galleries. Just let me know when you have a few new things to show.’ He passed a card across the table.
She tried to thank him but, to her horror, a flood of tears filled her eyes. He pushed back his chair and came to sit beside her, handing her a tissue. She wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that my nana, my grandmother, died a few days ago.’
He patted her hand. ‘Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.’ They stayed sitting together, and she was glad he didn’t try to say more. After a while he refilled her cup and she took a sip. He gave a tiny laugh. ‘I would offer you something stronger, but I see that might not be appropriate.’
And that did it. She found herself spilling everything out to him. Not the situation with Ben, but her pregnancy and the fact that her nana’s funeral had swallowed up all her earnings.
‘First of all don’t even think of carrying that painting home. I’ll have it delivered. Then please come to me if you need money for the deposit on somewhere to live. I’m not rich and I’m having to use every penny I have to buy the new gallery, but I know you’ll be able to pay me back as soon as you have some work to sell.’
She thanked him. Couldn’t say that she hadn’t been able to paint for months. ‘Thank you for everything and good luck in Hastings.’
He shook her hand. ‘And the very best of luck to you. Please don’t forget my suggestions. I really would like to help.’ At his office door he turned to smile at her and paused. ‘A possibility has just occurred to me. If you wanted a quiet place to work and to be free from money worries for a few months before the baby comes, I’m sure my wife would be very happy for
you to have our spare room. It’s lovely and light. Plenty of space too. And later on there will be a flat available above our new gallery.’
Her face felt hot and red. This was so unexpected she couldn’t answer.
He went on. ‘No need to answer now. It may not suit you at all. Just think about it. We, my wife and I, love children. Haven’t been able to have our own, but Jill wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t offer to help you out.’ His face flushed pink, and he took off his glasses again. A laugh. ‘And selfishly, I’d be able to boast I helped you on your way when you make it big, which I know you will.’
She could only blurt out her thanks. ‘That’s so kind.’ There was no way she could accept, but it made her feel just a little more hopeful.
He had already turned away, putting his glasses back on and his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘You can let yourself out. Just make sure the door closes properly. I’ll have the painting delivered tomorrow and that offer is there if you ever need to take it up.’
Alone in the empty gallery she looked around her, thinking back to the evening of the exhibition.
Then the main door came open and Pamela Houghton stood there dressed as elegantly as ever, but her eyes puffy and her mouth a thin line. Stella stretched as tall as she could, folding her arms as if that might distract from the obvious bulge under her shirt.
Surprisingly, Pamela’s smile was almost gentle and she spoke softly. ‘After our meeting I talked to Ben and he admitted there was some truth in your story about the forged pictures. But he claims you passed the drawings off to him as the real thing that you found in a secondhand shop and recognized as genuine. So he sold them on innocently.’ A toss of the blonde hair. ‘To be honest I’m more inclined to believe you, but my opinion will count for nothing if the police get involved.’
She glanced down at Stella. ‘And it looks as if you could do with a quiet life for a while.’
‘I’m not going to say anything. I just want to put this whole thing behind me.’
‘Good. I’m glad we’ve been able to clear the air.’ Another glance down and a lowered voice. ‘But remember, if you have any ideas about claiming from Ben for that child, there really is no money.’
Before Stella could speak – and she was so surprised it took a moment to understand Pamela’s words – David’s office door opened and he called out, ‘Pamela. How are you? Come in, come in.’
And she stood there staring as the door closed behind them.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Eve
It was strange seeing Simon for the first time in a plain white T-shirt instead of a suit and tie, but he still managed to look stylish, even Skyping from home at 9 p.m. She had emailed him to thank him for the flowers and perhaps said too much, because he had suggested using Skype:
Get yourself a drink and we can pretend we’re in a café. Being at home with a brand-new baby must make you stir-crazy.
Tonight had been really difficult. Ivy had screamed for hours and nothing Eve could do would comfort her. So Alex said he would take her out for a walk. ‘The movement of the pram seems to soothe her and if that doesn’t work I’ll pop her into the car and drive round for a bit.’
So she decided to take Simon up on his offer and by the time they had talked for a few minutes she was already feeling more like her old self. It was good to chat to an adult who was more interested in her than the baby. She burst out, ‘I don’t know why you’re wasting your time listening to me moan.’
He smiled, leaning closer to the camera, and she wondered how he could look so handsome even on Skype. Didn’t dare think about her own image.
‘I like you, Eve, it’s as simple as that. And my dad’s affairs caused me and mum endless unhappiness even before his accident. Now they’ve brought you along – a good thing to stack up against all the bad.’
She turned away to hide her expression. If he’d been in the room she would have been tempted to kiss him.
‘And even if I never get any further with finding out what happened to my birth mother I’m glad I started. Or we would never have met.’
‘I’d say you’ve done pretty well anyway. Finding two possible fathers is a lot more than some adopted folk manage. And if it helps I’m very willing to give a DNA sample.’
‘Thank you. I might take you up on that.’
He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I shall be disappointed if it turns out we’re not related. I’ve kind of got used to the idea.’
‘We can still be friends though, can’t we?’
‘Absolutely. And will you be all right if this is as far as you can go?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Since Ivy has come along I haven’t had time to think about it. But I don’t think I can give up yet.’
The front door opened. Alex coming in very quietly. Ivy must finally be asleep. Eve was in the office with the door closed, but she spoke softly and a little hurriedly. ‘That’s Alex and Ivy. I should go. Thank you so much for listening.’
‘Not at all. Go back to your family. But call me anytime.’
When she ran down to Alex he put his finger to his lips and pointed to the pram. ‘Let’s leave her there. Come and sit with me. I feel as if we never speak to each other nowadays.’ He put his arm around her, and she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cold cheek.
He had bought a bottle of wine and persuaded her to let him pour her half a glass. They sat close together on the sofa and it felt just as it used to. She held her glass up to watch the firelight glinting in the deep red.
‘This is lovely. And you’re right: I need to talk.’ When he kissed the top of her head she took in a breath. ‘It’s a lot harder than I expected.’
‘I know.’ His breath stirred her hair.
Then Ivy began to cry from the hallway, and they both sighed. ‘She needs feeding,’ she said. ‘You stay there and finish your drink.’ As she stood Alex took her hand and squeezed it.
Upstairs she sat in the rocking chair, and Ivy was soon feeding greedily. To keep awake she picked up her phone. She had some likes and comments on Instagram. Lots of the likes were for a picture of Ivy she’d posted, and there were several comments about how beautiful she was.
There was a single comment under the painting of Stella that James had sent her.
Ivy had finished feeding and was lying contentedly in her arms. With utmost care, because she didn’t feel quite steady, she stood and put the baby in her cradle.
The comment was by someone called intheshadows, and when she looked the account up she saw it had only a few followers and most of the posts were rather bland pictures of landscapes. If this was a troll it was a strange kind. But it was one who clearly knew how her mother had died. So, although she was tempted, she didn’t block it. Even though the comment made her feel sick.
It said:
Burn, baby, burn!
Stella
After her nana’s funeral, Stella headed straight back to London. A few of their old neighbours had turned up at the church and were obviously put out that there was no food or drink on offer, but she couldn’t afford it and hated the idea of standing around in some pub or hotel while other people behaved as if they were at a party. She had lost the last person who mattered to her; the last one who cared whether she lived or died.
At the flat Laura was sympathetic. ‘Come out for a drink with me and Gary tomorrow night, why don’t you.’
Stella nodded. ‘Thanks,’ knowing and hoping they would have forgotten about it by then. Upstairs she emptied her bag and put out the few things she’d kept from Nana’s room at the home. There was a photo album with lots of pictures of herself and a few of her mother as a child. None of Nana’s wedding. But her grandfather was there. He had died in his forties and looked a bit of a roughneck. Stella couldn’t remember her nan saying anything nice about him. She had told Stella that Karen, Stella’s mother, took after him, adding as always, ‘But you’re more like me.’
At the time Stella had just been glad her
nana loved her, but for a mother to talk about her own daughter the way Nana talked about Karen was surely wrong. And Karen had been indifferent to Stella. Nothing mattered to her but her next fix. So, what if Stella couldn’t love her own child?
There was just one happy family photograph in the album. Nana and her brother with their parents. It was old and faded, but there seemed to be real affection in their smiles. Stella suddenly felt lonelier than ever.
And for some reason David Ballantyne’s face, smiling so kindly at her, came into her mind. What had he said? My wife and I love children. Haven’t been able to have our own, but Jill wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t offer to help you out.
If Jill was as lovely as her husband, it might be good to be with them while she went through the pregnancy. And there was the possibility of a flat later on. Above all it would be a relief to be out of London. She still didn’t feel safe. Didn’t know what to believe of the things Ben and his wife had said. Of the threats they’d made. But if they knew she was no longer around she could at least hope they would forget about her.
She took one of her nana’s notelets. Best to write and address it to both of them so Jill could refuse if she wasn’t keen. She asked to come stay with them soon after Christmas. The baby was due in February and that would give her time to settle in and arrange things with the hospital. She promised not to overstay her welcome and would understand if David had changed his mind.
Eve
It was a couple of days before she mentioned the Instagram comment to Alex. He said, ‘And this was under a picture of your mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘Must be some nasty troll who’s read about her and thinks that kind of thing is fun. You should block them.’
‘I don’t know. It seems personal.’