Third Child

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘Worried about me? Who’s been worried about me?’ she frowned, why would anyone be worried about her?

  ‘It’s the man you were spending your time with here.’

  ‘Peter Thornton?’ Cecelia’s frown came from puzzlement.

  ‘Yes, he threatened one of the other guests.’

  No, she couldn’t believe that. Peter was a gentleman, true he sometimes could be a little moody, but that was usually when he didn’t get his own way, like a little boy.

  ‘One of the female guests suggested that you should come and join their table. They liked you, they wanted to advise you about him.’

  ‘Advise me of what?’ how ridiculous this was. Here she was a woman in her mid-thirties, she didn’t need anyone to look after her, it was insulting. Although if they were concerned about her, there must have been a reason.

  ‘It happened a few evenings ago when he came to your usual table and saw that it had only been set for one. When he was calling me, one of the female guests explained that you were dining with them. That’s when he exploded. If I hadn’t come out when I did, I believe he would have assaulted the woman.’

  She couldn’t believe this, not of Peter. It was impossible especially when she had caught him smiling at the other guests, it was them that had behaved very snootily. When she had mentioned their attitude to him and how strange they were behaving, he told her that people often got like that towards him and guessed that it must be because he was here on his own.

  How rude some people could be.

  There was an expression of concern and kindness on Mr. Carter’s face, he could see that she didn’t believe him.

  ‘Does Mr. Thornton know you are going?’

  ‘I’m leaving him a message. Would you mind giving this to him when you see him?’

  ‘No, I don’t mind at all,’ Mr. Carter smiled taking the sealed envelope from her, running his eyes briefly over it before putting it into one of the pigeonholes. ‘Have you told him where you are going?’

  This was rude because it was private. ‘If you mean, do I intend keeping in contact with him, no, I don’t.’

  ‘Good,’ he replied. ‘You’ve got to be aware of handsome young men traveling on their own, it’s not natural,’ and then he squinted his eyes conscious that she didn’t believe him, he decided he should explain himself further. ‘I came downstairs one night, seven days ago. It was three-thirty in the morning, and he was letting himself into the house through the emergency door. I stepped back into the shadows thinking he was a thief and believing that I should get to the telephone and ring the police when I saw it was him.’

  Cecelia couldn’t believe that the man Mr. Carter was talking about was Peter, it had to be another person who he meant and not Peter.

  ‘We are not against any guest staying out as long as they want. The way they live their lives has nothing to do with us. As long as they respect this boarding house and be decent to others and pay their way—we all have to get along with each other, don’t we? What I couldn’t understand is why didn’t he ring the doorbell; I would have come downstairs and let him in. I might have complained a little about the hour in the morning, but nothing worse than that.’

  Was he certain that they were talking about the same man? Peter had confessed many times that he enjoyed a good night’s sleep and that there weren’t enough hours in the night to achieve this.

  No, the attention Peter attracted must be out of jealousy, they had probably found out that he was wealthy. It had to be this. Reviewing all her options, Cecelia decided that it was time to keep mute on the subject of Peter.

  ‘I won’t tell him what time you left and where you went,’ said Mr. Carter when Cecelia finalized her bill.

  She smiled and politely said thank you, yet it had spooked her what Mr. Carter had to say about Peter, the man she had seriously thought of living with. Mr. Carter was very kind and well-meaning, but she was able to form her own opinions about the people she mixed with. Of course, Mr. Carter meant well, but it’s how people treat each other, and this is the difference.

  Now she was leaving to go back to her flat and start afresh with her life. And Mrs. Rudge loomed clear on her menu of thoughts. It was she who spooked her telling her that someone was looking for her. And now, why hadn’t she thought of this before jumping to conclusions, it could have been Thomas. It could have been, but probably wasn’t for that was too long ago, but you never know.

  And as for Mrs. Rudge, she was at that age when facts were not as clear as they used to be. She was always prone to be a bit of a gossip, helping nature a bit by providing extra flourishes and trimmings to her story to make it more interesting. Going home was making her nervous.

  Stop running away from life, Cecelia commanded. It’s no good always being fearful and imagining things, this was no way to live. People are all stories unto themselves and everyone’s perspective on life is different from each other. Certainly, old people get frightened of life when there was no need for it. And frightened of the future with all the changes coming with it, well, she was not going to be like that. She was never going to be old or frightened.

  It had been on her mind to go by train with her luggage but now there was so much of it and heavy as well, chances are that she would drop her bags at every step. Besides these cases had become too heavy to carry. It would be much better if for this final time she went by cab.

  Coming back up the stairs, Mr. Carter was still by the window, watching her.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said when he opened the door to her. ‘Would you call me a cab please?’

  Five minutes later the cab arrived at the boarding house and Mr. Carter came out to help the driver put her cases in the cab.

  Inside the cab, while Mr. Carter stood on the sidewalk, Cecelia gave her instructions for the driver to take her home. So, this was going to be the final farewell, she looked out of the window and waves as the cab started its journey back to Cecelia’s studio apartment. Such a great deal had happened since had she left.

  Money was there to help you get out of a problem but only when you can afford it, and really, she couldn’t. Because of the debt, she had accrued since leaving her apartment, she regretted her impetuous decision which had been made on impulse and fear.

  Good and bad sensations came with the journey home, it was like going back through her life to find the missing ends of herself, the part she didn’t like which were now waiting to be exorcized. The old part of her life which she needed to stand up to and exile to some other place.

  Yet, it was the smell of her apartment that needed standing up to first. Stale as if life had stopped living, the place needed serious airing.

  But a surprise, her flat was tidy, this was not how she remembered it. Her bed was made and the drawers on her dresser were all shut which was strange but gladdening. She renewed her ownership with it by touching its smooth shiny surface. There wasn’t any dust yet, but of course, there shouldn’t be, she hadn’t been away long enough for that.

  Her fancy incorporated that to start with, she needed to give the place a good cleaning. Strange because, she didn’t remember closing the drawers, but she must have done, there was nobody else to do this for her except herself.

  It was now nine o’clock in the morning, the clinic would be wondering where she was, they were now probably realizing that she wasn’t going to turn up this morning. Impossible to go to work. By now, Mr. Deer would find his safe had been tampered with and even that someone had taken some of his stuff. He would find that one of his syringes had gone missing and after counting the vials of morphine, he would see that one of them had gone as well.

  Perhaps he would look around with an open mouth and wonder at himself. Had it been him who had done this and come out from his trip with a loss of memory? He had never once lost his memory; he knew himself and his habit. Which meant that someone else had entered with a key.

  The worst problem was that if someone had a key to his door and had managed to open
the combination of his safe, what else had they found? Now Mr. Deer would be talking to security to find out if there were any unwanted visitors recorded on his office security cameras.

  Security cameras! She had forgotten about the security cameras. A stupid mistake. Once they knew who it was and seen her on the footage helping herself to his stash, he would get in touch with the police and let them know that his office had been burgled… or would he? If the police came into his office, they would fingerprint everything which might mean even the cooler. And what was in that cooler?

  Their investigation would be too complicated for him. Too many secrets, it wasn’t safe. Unless he took the baby out of the freezer for disposal. If he disposed of this little body his insurance would be gone, for Cecelia judged this must be his insurance over Blaine. People like Mr. Blaine were dangerous, which is why he needed his guarantee. But the price of keeping a little dead child would also be as incriminating for him as well.

  Like Mr. Deer, she wouldn’t trust Mr. Blaine if anything should happen to his children. An unlikeable man, who wasn’t to be trusted, the dealer in the deaths of millions, one more wouldn’t matter.

  For the first time, Cecelia felt sorry for Ruth. A stupid woman whose life’s aim was to secure herself a rich husband, so she would never be in want again. One only had to look at them to see there was no love between them. And now she was lying in her room, her used up body attached to a syringe of agony.

  Should she give Ruth just one last call to see how she was? Or wasn’t it more the truth that she wanted to know what happened after they had found out that Ruth had been given morphine? What was the harm in phoning to find out? It was Ruth’s own private cell phone.

  Quickly, making herself some coffee, Cecelia switched on her cell phone and saw that someone had been trying to get through to her for over forty times. It could only be Ruth.

  ‘Hello Ruth, it’s me, Cecelia.’

  ‘Who?’ it was Ruth’s voice, but she hadn’t recognized Cecelia’s voice.

  In a panic, Cecelia knew what she had done wrong, she had given her real name instead of the other. She snapped off the call instantly. For two or three minutes, Cecelia sat on her sofa thinking about her mistake. What did it matter now if Ruth knew that Cecelia was her real name?

  ‘Ruth,’ Cecelia had relented. ‘I’m just ringing you now to see how you are. It’s me, Clara. How are you?’

  ‘Clara,’ she sighed. ‘Is that your real name?’ she sounded tired and worn out.

  ‘For you, it is.’

  ‘You’re not coming to work here anymore, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’

  Cecelia could hear her breathing heavily and guessed that she was drugged out of her head.

  ‘I thought we two could be friends.’

  Cecelia put a hand to her mouth, she had the idea that there would never be any friendship between them, they were so very different, but life changes on the spin of a wheel or the flip of a card.

  ‘Everything’s gone bad, Clara; Hadleigh is blaming me for it all. The oldest twin is blind, and it looks like the youngest one is not going to survive.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ gasped Cecelia.

  ‘Yeah, well I’m not. I think we were owed this. We have done something very wrong, but Hadleigh won’t admit it. I didn’t want any children—not at all. I’m not a mother, but a social climber.’ And then she giggled, it was so strange to hear her laugh.

  Cecelia didn’t know what to say to this strange and unhappy woman.

  ‘I can’t even get a divorce from him; he is convinced I can have more children for him and his empire. Unfortunately, when Deer scrapped out that third child, he ruptured my womb which is why he was tearing me open to get to that last child. This kid never cried because he was already dead or almost. I don’t care anyhow. I’m not a good advertisement for Mother Nature, am I?’

  ‘How are you now?’ this was all that Cecelia could say.

  ‘High as a kite and I don’t care. But I won’t be like this forever. Once I am strong, I’m getting out of here, and I’m not going back to Blaine. He has ruined me, but not everyone wants children, at least, I hope not.’ She was beginning to fall asleep.

  ‘Did they find out about the robbery from Mr. Deer’s safe?’

  ‘Yes, of course, and now they are looking for you. I suggest you leave the country or something. There again, where ever you go Hadleigh will find you, he always does. He’s got someone on you already, looking for you. Don’t try to go to the police, they won’t help you. Thanks for what you’ve done, I’ll try to put in a good word for you.’

  Someone was looking for her. Someone who now had a picture of her would one day soon find her. By switching off her cell phone completely, there was no way they would be able to track her. Someone was hunting her. But what would he do to her if, and when he found her? What would she do to a person who knew her darkest secrets? That is easy, for Cecelia, these people wouldn’t be safe, they would have to go.

  17

  Everyone has a voice they can use, and after the first spate of panic on where she would run and hide, Cecelia recognized that her only salvation was to write the story. Under this story, she would find her mercy because she had something that was dangerous to them. A live baby has been pulled out of its mother’s womb in a gruesome way. No one should do this when there was a firm chance for life. It’s only a woman’s body and her rights for so long, but when life kicks in, it belongs to the child.

  She wouldn’t go out of this apartment until she wrote her story.

  ‘I’ve got a story for you,’ Cecelia was on the mainline phone to her editor.

  ‘You’ve got a story for me. I’ve got a story for you,’ snapped Don, the newspaper editor. ‘Don’t come back. You’re fired.’

  ‘I’m sorry I left without telling you what was going on…’

  ‘Your position is filled. There are a lot of hopefuls waiting outside to step into someone else’s shoes, and you have obliged.’

  She felt he was about to hang up on her.

  ‘You’re right, and I don’t blame you for doing it.’

  ‘Too right, well what did you expect?’

  ‘I’ve got a big story for you…’

  She caught his interest. ‘A big story?’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I had to go undercover.’

  ‘Cecelia, you’ve never written a big story before in your life.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I want you to trust me. I think I’ve put my life into danger.’

  ‘Then go to the police.’

  ‘I can’t, these people have connections with the police.’

  He was listening and by the deadly silence at the other end, he was also thinking. ‘When can you get it to me—and what’s it about?’

  ‘Abortion.’

  ‘Oh, abortion. Yeah, I know. The pro-life group has been on the march again—it was in all the newspapers including ours and on the television. There’s nothing you can say about it that’s new.’

  ‘When a fetus reaches over eight months, is that called an abortion as well?’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that at a certain clinic, there are fetuses that when they reach a certain age, they can be delivered and will survive, but because of image and vanity, they are gotten rid of by being pulled out bit by bit. Sometimes these children are still alive.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  ‘No, unfortunately not.’

  ‘And you have evidence of this? I mean, you have proof?’

  ‘Yes, I have the story, I can give you names and photographs.’

  ‘Oh my god, not photographs. You mean, this sort of thing really happens?’

  ‘Yes, Don, it does. And the way that they can get around it, is by pulling the infant to pieces ─ bit by bit in what is classified as an abortion. If the fetus is taken out by cesarean and cries, then it becomes a real baby.’

  ‘This is sick.’

  ‘Yes,
but it is being performed.’

  ‘Okay, get the story to me as soon as you can. Where are you now?’

  ‘I can’t tell you until I get this story down and off to you.’

  ‘Well, you take care of yourself, kid. I don’t know how dangerous it is, but I’ll take your word for it.’

  18

  Never had life been so exciting as it was now. Her world from the past was flying by her with the screams of an angry banshee. She was alive to live, and now because she was alive there was someone after her. For the very first time, she wanted to live.

  Three exhilarating days passed and for nearly all this time, Cecelia sat at her desk typing and editing her piece. Whenever there was a sudden noise in the block, she knew that someone had come for her. To live on the sharp edge of life made every moment of the day special. Cecelia was grateful for every passing second.

  Plenty of baked beans in the flat and tins of tomatoes, this was what she was living on, that and the coffee she was rationing. Once it ran out, she would drink hot water. She could exist like this for a while, everyone could who were determined to reach their goal.

  It was on the fourth day after another one of those nights of sleeping in fear when a knock hit her door. Mrs. Rudge often got lonely and knowing that Cecelia was at home all day, would give her a knock just for a quick chat. Sometimes, Cecelia would let her in and make her a cup of tea. It was pleasant to have this break, but often it wasn’t. Usually, Cecelia looked to the window as if she hadn’t heard or pretended that she was having a bath.

  The knock said that it was Mrs. Rudge again, but this time it was okay because Cecelia was coming to the end of her edited story.

  ‘Hello Mrs. Rudge,’ she said as she pulled open the door.

  But it wasn’t Mrs. Rudge, Peter was standing there.

  ‘Hello Clara, it took me a long time to find where you were,’ he was looking for her to let him in.

  ‘What are you doing here? Didn’t you get my letter?’ nothing could have prepared her for this.