Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Stan’s face softened. ‘That’s good to hear. Don’t worry about Mickey and the wife – they’ll double cross you anyway. I’m a man of my word.’ He leaned in close. ‘But if you want out, I’ve got the cash to make that happen. All you’ve got to do is help me sort a few things.’

  Cheryl Parker had so much booze inside her, she nearly fell flat on her face when she reached her landing.

  ‘Bollocks.’ The word ended on a loud burp. Then she smiled. She loved this new estate and its local best of all. The Old Swan knew how to pull a pint. Still smiling, she fumbled in her bag for her key and tried to stick it in the lock. But the lock kept swaying.

  ‘Ah, there you go,’ she muttered triumphantly. Then she heard a noise coming from somewhere to the side of her. She cocked her head and listened. There it was again, a whimper.

  Cheryl shifted along the balcony until she stood outside her new neighbour’s place, that lovely girl who was up the duff. Babs, Cheryl recalled in her drunken haze. She didn’t approve of a young girl in her condition being on her own. She should be at home being looked after by her mum, or better still, the bastard who knocked her up.

  Cheryl pressed her ear against the door. This time she heard a cry of pain. She might be several sheets to the wind, but she knew when something wasn’t right.

  The situation knocked some of the booze out of her. She marched quickly to her door and yelled for her eldest boy to get his arse out here.

  ‘There’s something up next door. Break the friggin’ door down. The girl’s not far off having her baby.’

  What they found inside the flat wiped the rest of the gin from Cheryl’s system.

  Babs was on her back, writhing in agony.

  ‘Please . . . please,’ she pleaded, tears streaming from her eyes. ‘I’ve called an ambulance but it’s not here yet.’

  Cheryl got on her knees beside her. ‘You’re alright now, luv.’ Then she turned to her son. ‘Go and tell the fucking ambulance people to move it.’

  Twenty-Eight

  The following morning, Rosie Wilson cried out, ‘Where’s my daughter?’ like a woman possessed as she raced down the corridor of Mile End Hospital. George, wearing a worried expression behind his glasses, tried to keep up with her. ‘Where’s my girl?’

  A nurse went over to them. She was old, her face as starched as her uniform. ‘Is there a problem?’

  Rosie grabbed her arm, nearly dropping the bunch of flowers she held. ‘My Barbara, my daughter has had her baby. But the baby weren’t due yet. I’m going out of my mind with worry—’

  George calmly interrupted, pulling her gently to his side. ‘Our daughter has had a baby and we’d like to find out where the maternity ward is.’

  As soon as the nurse gave them directions they were on their way.

  ‘What if something bad has happened?’ Rosie asked, her voice faltering.

  He patted her hand. ‘Stop being a worry-wart. Babies come early every day of the week. Anyway, our Babs is from tough stock and so is our first grandchild.’

  Rosie’s face broke into a smile for the first time since the news had reached her.

  They finally reached the maternity ward and found a black nurse at the desk. ‘We’re looking for our daughter, Barbara Wilson,’ George said.

  The nurse looked at him in a funny way that had his heart beating like the clappers. If anything had happened to his precious Babs he wasn’t sure he could survive it.

  ‘The baby came early,’ Rosie pushed in, her husband’s grim face making all her worries come into the open again.

  ‘The mother’s fine but baby’s had a few teething problems,’ the nurse said. The way she tilted her head reminded George strangely of when his mum’s neighbour had broken the news that his mum had been killed in the Blitz all those years ago. She went on, ‘the baby’s in the special baby unit but she’s improving all the time.’

  ‘She,’ Rosie squealed, almost bouncing. ‘Oh, it’s a little girl.’ She looked into her husband’s eyes. ‘We’ve got a granddaughter.’

  The proud grandparents made their way to bed number nine.

  Her mum’s voice woke an exhausted Babs. She’d been going out of her mind when the little one had arrived. She blamed herself. If it hadn’t been for Cheryl and her boy she hated to think what might’ve happened. She’d been screaming blue murder when the ambulance had arrived.

  Too early, too early. The words had been tearing up her mind as she’d sweated and laboured. Two hours after going into the delivery room her little girl had been born. The doctor had given her the briefest of glimpses . . . there were no words to describe it. She was so tiny, with a gorgeous face and ten fingers and toes. All the heartache she’d been through seemed worth it. Then they’d whipped her child away. Told her that the baby needed special care. Babs had sobbed like she’d never sobbed in her life.

  Babs struggled up, wincing from the stitches down below, as her parents almost ran towards her. Her mum was all over her with kisses. ‘We got the fright of our lives when the ozzie called.’

  Her dad grinned as he pulled off his hat and patted her lightly on the shoulder. ‘Well done, my girl.’

  ‘I can’t believe my own little girl’s a mother,’ Rosie said, tears glistening in her eyes. She peered over at the cot beside Babs’ bed, which was empty. ‘The poor mite, having to be in the baby unit.’

  The nurse standing at the bottom of the bed stepped in and explained that the doctor was keeping the baby under observation. But she’d speak to the doctor and see if a brief viewing would be possible. The nurse looked like she wanted to hang around and see the fun. Babs had already decided this particular angel was a complete bitch.

  The nurse hurried off to find a vase for the flowers. When she came back, she took up position at the bottom of the bed again. Babs raised her head slightly. ‘Not keeping you from your work are we . . .’ Bitch?

  The nurse’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, it’s one of the rewards of the job to see grandparents meet their first grandchild.’

  Babs’ expression turned to hate and she would’ve mouthed ‘Fuck off’ if her parents weren’t there. With a quick look at her watch, the nurse moved, but she didn’t go far. Babs turned away and tuned out while her parents wittered on about babies, difficult labour, responsibilities, life-changing moments and how much joy children brought into people’s lives. Rosie made a remark about the father but George cut her short: ‘Alright, dear, this isn’t the time.’

  Her parents’ questions went unanswered. Her worried gaze was fixed on where the doctor would appear.

  Her mum grew concerned. ‘Aren’t you talking, Babs?’

  ‘Give it a rest, she’s just given birth. You weren’t doing a song and dance act with Babs, were you?’

  Babs closed her eyes when she saw the doctor coming. She heard her parents getting up and the doctor asking, ‘Are you the grandparents?’

  Her dad proudly chimed, ‘We certainly are.’

  ‘I’m afraid the new addition to the family is a little poorly at the moment but don’t worry, we have everything under control. I think we can permit a sneak peek!’

  Her grinning parents got to their feet. Go on, tell them, before they see her. Go on! But Babs couldn’t, she was so wrung out. Still, she wasn’t letting them see her new daughter alone.

  ‘Doctor, can I come as well?’

  He frowned. ‘You’ve just given birth . . .’ He read the anxiety in her eyes and nodded.

  Babs accompanied her excited parents to the baby unit in a wheelchair.

  ‘Ah, poor wee things,’ Rosie whispered as she looked through the glass at all the newborns fighting for their very survival. Two nurses, wearing special uniforms, were also inside.

  George turned to the doctor. ‘Can we go in?’

  He shook his head. ‘The room must be kept warm and as free of germs as possible. I’ll get one of the nurses to bring your granddaughter over.’

  Babs steeled herself for what was to come.

 
A nurse walked over to show off the newest addition to the Wilson family. Babs’ heart lurched with love as she looked at her beautiful baby. Her eyes were shut in her tiny brown face. Her hair wasn’t, surprisingly, curly, just wisps of dark hair that looked like they’d been painted on with a fine brush.

  There was total silence. Not a gasp. Not a yell. Babs’ heart leapt in hope. Maybe her parents weren’t going to see her baby’s skin colour as a problem.

  Then her mum burst out laughing. ‘I think you’ve made a mistake.’

  The doctor sounded confused. ‘No, Mrs Wilson. Is there a problem?’

  Her father turned to Babs and said in an emotionless voice, ‘I suppose you think this an enormous joke, don’t you? Eh? I hope you enjoyed your little bit of fun with your West Indian gentleman—’

  ‘No, Dad. I—’

  But he was incapable of letting her have her say. ‘You were the apple of my eye and you repay me by spitting in it. We’ve always been able to hold our heads up and you and your brown bastard are not going to stop that.’ George Wilson pulled himself straight. ‘You’re dead to us.’

  And without another word, he turned on his heel and began walking away from them both.

  Rosie Wilson turned to her daughter. ‘I hope you’re pleased with yourself, breaking your father’s heart.’ Then she followed her husband without looking back.

  Babs tried to get out of the wheelchair. ‘Mum! Dad!’ But there was no life in her body. She started sobbing again, ‘I want Stan. Where’s Stan?’

  Twenty-Nine

  That evening, as she lay on the hospital bed with her eyes closed, Babs didn’t need a fortune-teller to tell her that her life had hit rock bottom. Her baby was ill, Denny had disappeared like a puff of smoke and her mum and dad had disowned her. And Neville had turned his back on her for the second time.

  ‘Babs?’

  She opened her eyes to find Stan standing by the bed. He had a wide grin on his handsome face and a bouquet of roses in his hand. ‘Nearly gave me heart failure when word reached me you’d had the kid. Thought you had another month to go?’

  She didn’t smile. Maybe he was here to stick two fingers up at her as well. But when he leaned over and kissed her cheek, she clung to him. She should’ve known that Stan wouldn’t let her down. He was the only one who had never judged.

  When he sat in the armchair, his face was grim. ‘I heard about the little one.’

  Babs’ throat bobbed as she swallowed. ‘They won’t let me see her again today. She needs to rest.’

  He passed her a silver hip flask under her blanket. ‘Here, have a bash at that. You look like you could use it.’

  ‘I’m not supposed to.’

  He winked at her. ‘Doctor Miller’s finest. It’ll perk you up.’

  Babs looked around and then took a couple of sips on the sly. She passed the flask back to him.

  He said, ’I saw the baby in the unit. She’s in a bad way but I know a thing or two about fighting and that kid’s a fighter, I just know she is. She’ll go the distance. Probably turn into an athlete or something. Poorly kids like her always do. Now – what are you going to call her?’

  Babs bit her lip. ‘Someone told me once that you shouldn’t name babies born early . . . you know, bad luck if they don’t make it.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. That fighter deserves a name.’

  Stan was so good. ‘I’ve always liked the name Desiree. It’s kinda posh and special.’

  ‘A special name for a very special little girl. Have your mum and dad seen her?’

  Babs sagged further into the mattress. ‘They took one look at her and told me never to darken their door again.’

  Stan put a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m not a told-you-so merchant, but I did say that if you weren’t straight up with them it was going to make stuff worse.’

  ‘And as if that weren’t bad enough, I bumped into two-timing Neville. He was with some woman who’s had his kid as well.’

  Stan leaned in close. ‘Fuck Neville and screw your parents.’

  ‘But Neville knew something about Denny.’

  Stan abruptly leaned back, the skin tight around his mouth. ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘He told me that Mickey runs this knocking shop on the other side of Mile End Road. I went and talked to a tart called Cleo. She spun me a story about Denny doing a bunk.’

  Stan took out his flask again and tipped it to his mouth. ‘This is the first I’m hearing about Mickey and a house of ill repute.’ His mouth curled. ‘I always knew he was a shifty bastard. That blow-up doll of a missus of his too. I don’t want you anywhere near this. Mind you, this Cleo bird might be telling you the truth. Why would she lie?’ He patted her hand. ‘You’ve got enough to worry over with your kid, leave this Denny business to me like I told you to. If Mickey’s involved, I’ll get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘But shouldn’t I tell Denny’s mum what I found out?’

  Stan placed the tip of his finger on Babs’ lips to still her words. ‘Your problem is you’re always thinking about other people. Whatever’s happened to your mate, she put herself there, not you. You can’t go to Denny’s mum with a half-arsed story. All you’ve got is the word of a tom. If she goes to the Bill with that they’ll show her the door.’

  She sniffed some of the tears and hurt away. ‘You’ve been great to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  Stan cleared his throat. ‘You can’t go on like this. You’re a mum now. You’ve got responsibilities. You’re going to have to sort yourself out to bring that girl up right when she gets out of here.’

  Babs shuddered. ‘I’m trying my best. I ain’t ever done this before.’

  ‘And you’re going to need help. I’m going to be plain with you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I think I’m the man for the job.’

  His hand went inside his jacket. He pulled out a box and laid it on the bed. Babs inhaled sharply.

  She gazed at him, wide-eyed. ‘Stan?’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Me and you fancy the socks off each other. We’ve already made love and I’ll be honest with you . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s the best I’ve ever had.’

  Babs’ face pinked all over. ‘Stan, you don’t mean—?’

  ‘I do. And I want you to say I do too. Let’s get married, Babs.’

  She was too shocked to respond. Flippin’ hell, she hadn’t seen this coming. Of course she thought Stan was a bit of alright, but getting married to him was another story.

  ‘You know it’s the right thing to do,’ he coaxed her.

  You could do worse than Stanley Miller. A lot worse.

  ‘Alright Stan. I’ll marry you.’

  He opened the box. Babs gasped when she saw a yellow-gold engagement ring with twin emeralds at the front. He took it out and gently placed it on her finger.

  A shattered Rosie was woken from a restless sleep by someone banging on the door. George hadn’t uttered a word after leaving the hospital. As soon as they’d got back to Whitechapel he’d headed straight to the boozer. Rosie had known him long enough to know he wanted to be alone. But that didn’t mean she liked it. She went home, curled into a ball and bawled her eyes out.

  How could Babs have gone with a coloured chap? The only woman she’d heard of with a brown baby was a former prostitute. Oh God, what were the neighbours going to say when they found out? That her Babs was a slag, a tart, easy; that her parents hadn’t brought her up right. The shame of it!

  The door banged a second time as Rosie uncurled herself, sniffing back fresh tears. She opened the door to find a legless George propped up by two of his drinking buddies.

  ‘He got himself into a right two and eight,’ his friend Alan said as she helped get George into the house.

  George looked up at his wife with bloodshot, mournful eyes. ‘I’m not going to be able to lift my head high ever again.’

  His mates shook their heads. Alan said, ‘Don’t know what the trouble is, Rosie luv,
but we thought it best to bring him home.’

  She thanked them and saw them out. Back in the sitting room, George had his head in his hands. Rosie knelt by his side. ‘It’s gonna be alright Georgie, you’ll see.’

  He lifted his ravaged face. ‘Where did I go wrong? I loved our girl like she was an angel sent from God.’ His face screwed up. ‘I can’t get its face out of my head. All that dark skin—’

  ‘Stop torturing yourself. Let’s sleep on it and then in the morning we’ll go back—’

  George shot out of the chair, nearly making her tumble over. His voice was like thunder. ‘We’re never clapping eyes on her again. You hear me. That woman in the hospital wasn’t my Babs. If she comes round here, you’re to slam the door in her face.’

  Thirty

  A week later, the air in the washhouse was filled with sympathy as the women gathered around Babs and listened to her sad story about Desiree having to stop in the hospital. Babs had been discharged two days before and it had broken her heart to leave her baby behind.

  Cheryl kissed her on the cheek. ‘Don’t you worry yourself. That girl of yours is a fighter.’

  ‘My Josh was a preemie,’ one of the women announced. ‘The ozzie told me if he made it he’d probably have a few problems walking.’ Her chest puffed out. ‘He’s representing his school up at Crystal Palace now, he’s one of their fastest runners. Your daughter will come right, just you wait and see.’

  Babs smiled a little. She could have kissed every last one of them for trying to make her feel better.

  ‘I just want her home.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘You should see her. She’s got gorgeous hair, a little button of a nose and beautiful brown skin.’

  ‘Brown skin?’ someone said hesitantly. “What, is her dad an Italian or something?’

  There was an uncomfortable shuffling in the room. Babs wondered what she should say. Of course they would’ve assumed her baby was white. She caught Beryl’s eye and the other woman lifted her eyebrow, making it clear, without words, that this was her story to tell.