Dot

by Araminta Hall

  ‘I can’t believe how’ – he searched for the word – ‘how violent it was. Did it really hurt?’

  Alice nodded. ‘D’you want to hold her? I think she’s finished.’

  Tony looked down at his daughter, so small it was ridiculous. He stood up and lifted her into his arms and she was so light it was almost as if she didn’t exist. Alice shut her eyes and he went to stand by the window, looking down into the car park as the sky over the hills broke into a pinkish dawn. A cacophony of emotions knocked at his heart and it felt dangerous to let them all in. I will be a better man, he promised himself as he held his daughter in his arms. I am a lucky, blessed man. We’ll get through this together, I won’t let you down.

  ‘So,’ Dora said from behind him, ‘has baby got a name? I like to know the names of all the babies I deliver.’

  Tony looked over at Alice, who opened her eyes. He’d been trying to discuss names with her for weeks, but each time he’d made a suggestion, she’d shrugged him off.

  ‘You’ve got some ideas, haven’t you?’ she said and so Dora looked at him.

  He ran through his top three girls’ names in his head: Holly, Jasmine and Isabella. None of them were right, none of them captured what it meant to be standing here holding this little life.

  ‘Dot,’ he said, surprising even himself.

  ‘Dot?’ repeated Alice.

  He blushed. ‘Well, Dorothy, I suppose, but we’ll call her Dot.’

  ‘Dot,’ Alice said again.

  ‘Obviously only if you like it.’

  Alice wrinkled up her nose. ‘How did you think of it?’

  Tony worried that she was playing for time. He could feel the midwives busying themselves and he felt suddenly self-conscious, so he lied. ‘Oh, I had an Aunt Dot. She was lovely and I just thought, you know …’ Dot, he thought, let her be Dot. Because she is a beginning. A tiny dot of a life that will grow into something wonderful. The need for her to be Dot tugged at his heart.

  ‘Well, I think it’s a lovely name,’ said Alice, shutting her eyes again.

  Tony smiled and looked down at his daughter. At his Dot.

  15 … Recklessness

  Alice’s heart sank when Sandra called her on the morning of their circus trip to say that she’d been up all night being sick and didn’t want to risk going anywhere because of the baby, but that Gerry would take Mavis and drive them all there. It had seemed too rude to balk at this after Sandra had gone to all the trouble of organising the trip and buying the tickets and, besides, Dot was very excited.

  So Gerry picked them up at the appointed hour in his battered white Chrysler and the girls giggled in the back while Alice asked him polite questions about his teaching and music as he drove them to Cartertown. Once they got there the girls were so overcome with the bright bodies throwing themselves around the big top and the huge animals within touching distance that Alice only had to smile occasionally at Gerry from behind Dot’s bobbing head.

  It was getting dark by the time they filed out into the night, a group of excited people who dispersed into a cold evening, all going back to warm homes and cups of tea. The girls pulled on their parents’ hands, tired out by the excitement. Alice strapped them both into the back seat and then settled herself into the front. Gerry turned on the heating and put the Police into the tape deck. Both girls were asleep before they’d even left Cartertown.

  ‘How’re you feeling now?’ Gerry asked as they bumped along a deserted road, so dark that his headlights carved two neat lines out in front of them and nothing seemed real.

  Alice had become used to Sandra’s openness and only blushed slightly at the question. ‘Oh, you know, good days and bad days.’

  ‘San says you haven’t heard from him at all.’

  ‘No, still nothing.’ Alice turned her head and saw herself reflected back by the window, Gerry glancing at her from over her shoulder.

  ‘Well, he’s a bloody fool.’

  ‘Apparently he left with a barmaid called Silver.’ Alice didn’t know why she was saying this, but the car was like a bubble of life which wouldn’t exist when she left it.

  ‘I know. God knows why.’

  ‘You met her?’ The link was tenuous but intoxicating.

  ‘Yeah, I drink at the Hare and Hounds sometimes.’

  ‘Did you see them together?’

  Gerry shifted. ‘Well, not really. I saw him talking to her in there a few times.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘But she’s nothing compared to you. Honestly, he needs his head reading.’

  Alice smiled at this; she was learning to take what she could out of small kindnesses, even when it felt like termites were burrowing into her skin. ‘Thanks.’

  Gerry looked at her and so she looked back and smiled at him, wishing he would keep his eyes on the road. ‘No, really, Alice. You’re amazing.’ The car was slowing and Alice looked forward, trying to see what might be stopping them, but there was nothing, just a hedgerow that flashed past as the car crunched to a stop.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked, flicking her eyes back at the sleeping girls.

  Gerry leant over and put his hand on her knee, the movement so unexpected that she flinched from his touch. He laughed. ‘Come on, Alice. I know you must be lonely. I can read those eyes of yours.’

  Alice pulled her skirt down, smoothing it over her legs. ‘I’m sorry, what?’ Sting’s voice pulsated through the steamy car: Don’t stand, don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to me. Gerry leant forward, his breath hot and smoky on her neck. Alice pushed him hard on the shoulder and his head jerked back so that it banged on the side of the door.

  ‘What the fuck?’ He put his fingers to his head and when he brought them down they were bloody.

  ‘God, I’m sorry, it’s just, I mean, what were you doing?’

  ‘I was trying to kiss you.’ Gerry found a tissue in his pocket and dabbed at his head.

  ‘Kiss me?’

  ‘Oh come on, don’t play dumb. All those little smiles and Lady Di eyes, I know what you want.’

  ‘What I want is to go home.’

  ‘“What I want is to go home.”’ Gerry mimicked her voice and Alice realised she sounded prim and proper. He started the engine. ‘You’re nothing but a prick tease.’

  Her mouth floundered like a fish until she found the right words. ‘But Sandra’s my best friend. Your daughter’s asleep in the back of the car.’

  He laughed at this, turning the music up and lighting a cigarette without opening the window. ‘Are you for real? Are you really that naive or is it just part of the act?’

  Alice dug her nails into her palms to stop the tears. ‘What act?’

  ‘Jesus. I’m starting to see what Tony saw in Silver.’

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. If Alice had been alone she would have asked to get out, not caring that they were in the middle of nowhere on a dark night. And she felt sure that Gerry would have obliged. But of course she wasn’t on her own any more and Dot was more important than anything that happened to her. When they arrived she lifted Dot out of the car and walked up the path to her home without speaking or looking back – not that it mattered as the car had turned the corner before she’d even opened the front door.

  Once inside she carried Dot to her bedroom, managing to take the little girl out of most of her clothes and tuck her into bed without waking her. She kissed her podgy cheeks and smoothed her hair off her face, wishing that she could climb into bed next to her daughter and cuddle up to her tiny body. But it was only half past seven and Alice knew she had to put on a better show than that, so she went downstairs and made herself a cup of tea, which she took into the sitting room where Clarice was reading in front of the fire.

  ‘I’ve made some soup if you’re hungry,’ she said, not looking up.

  ‘No, I’m fine with tea, thanks. I’m shattered actually. It was a long day.’

  Her mother laid her book on her lap and looked at her over her glasses.
‘Was it fun?’

  ‘Yes. Dot loved it.’

  ‘Good.’

  Alice thought her mother knew there was more to say, but was glad that she simply picked up her book and started reading again.

  The idea of sleep was so much more appealing than the actuality. However tired Alice felt, and most nights she climbed into bed with a bone-aching exhaustion, as soon as she was lying on her back with the light off her mind jumped to attention and sleep ran from her side. By the next morning she had resolved not to say anything to Sandra. Surely she had been mistaken, surely Gerry felt foolish and stupid himself, surely he’d just been swept up in some strange emotion. And what good would come of saying anything? Sandra was due to give birth in four months and Alice didn’t want her friend going through the same pain as she had.

  She got Dot dressed and took her downstairs where she made her a boiled egg and looked out of the kitchen window at the greyness of Sunday, wondering how they would fill all the hours between now and bedtime. Clarice came in carrying her portable radio blaring out the news which Alice couldn’t listen to if she tried. It all just went in a pattern anyway: stories she found interesting stopped being talked about and depression ruled the airwaves. Dot pushed another mouthful away, spraying tiny flecks of yellow and white egg on to the floor which would have to be swept up in a minute.

  The phone rang and Alice looked at her mother, who herself had stopped to look at her. The same thought spun in both their minds: how could it be anyone else at ten past nine on a Sunday morning?

  ‘Shall I get it?’ her mother asked.

  But Alice stood up. The symmetry of Tony ringing this morning after all that had happened last night was so perfect she felt she could perhaps forgive him.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Alice.’ It wasn’t his voice.

  ‘Sandra? Are you OK?’

  ‘No, I’m bloody not. How could you?’ And even though her friend’s voice trembled down the phone, still Alice didn’t make the connection.

  ‘How could I what?’

  ‘Gerry told me everything when he got in last night. Don’t play innocent.’

  ‘What did Gerry tell you?’

  ‘That you made a pass at him on the way home. He had to pull the car over or you might have crashed. I thought you were my friend.’

  Alice put her hand to her head, she almost wanted to laugh. ‘Come on, Sandra. You believe him?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ But Alice could hear the doubt.

  ‘I would never do anything like that to you. I don’t even like Gerry. He made the pass at me and I pushed him away.’ Silence vibrated down the line. ‘I thought about ringing you last night, but I didn’t want to upset you. I mean, I’m sure he didn’t mean it, and there’s the baby and everything.’

  ‘Don’t, Alice, for God’s sake don’t mention the baby.’ Sandra’s voice was catching on her tears.

  ‘But, Sandra, you’re my best friend. You’ve been so good to me. You know I wouldn’t do that. He’s got a cut on the back of his head if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘What does that prove?’

  ‘That I pushed him away. If he’d pushed me I’d be the one with the cut.’

  ‘Please.’ Sandra sounded young and far away.

  ‘Can’t we forget this ever happened? It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It might not matter to you, Alice, but this is my life we’re talking about.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant—’

  ‘I can’t, Alice. Every time I look at you …’

  Alice realised she was crying as well. ‘What are you saying, San?’

  ‘Look, just don’t call me again, OK?’

  Then the phone went dead and Alice slid down the wall, as if she was too heavy for herself, as if life itself weighed more than she could bear. She raised her head and saw her mother and daughter staring at her, their eyes wide, their mouths open.

  Every fibre in Alice’s being wanted to go back to bed, but Clarice made her sit at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and tell her what had happened and somehow it made her feel slightly better. There would be more friends like Sandra, her mother told her, and really Alice should count herself lucky not to be in her shoes, not to be stuck with such an awful man. Although being stuck with an awful man, especially if he was Tony, sounded quite appealing to Alice. Her lack of judgement shocked her. Her total inability to read people and understand what they meant. Life raced at her like a storm, whipping away her ability to see or think straight.

  Yet Dot was now an urgent presence in her life and by the end of that day Alice knew she wouldn’t go back to bed ever again. But she always remembered that she wasn’t to be trusted, that her grip on emotions was tenuous and she mustn’t let her bad judgement rub off on Dot. That the only way her daughter was ever going to be happy was to learn nothing from her, that it was a hard ask, but that she must make her own way. Alice decided she would give her all she needed to be as complete a person as she could be, but that she would step back where judgements and emotions were concerned. I can do this, she thought to herself as she put Dot back into her bed that night, I can shut myself up and dedicate myself to her. The thought ran through her like cold water as she saw her life stretching into the future and she wondered how many mornings and nights there were to get through before Dot wouldn’t need her any more.

  The next morning was bright so Alice decided to take Dot to the swings on the green early, to avoid any of the other mothers she’d recently started nodding to on the street. But of course Ellen was already there with Freddie and by then Dot was excited, pulling her along by the hand so she almost tripped over herself. Ellen was the last person, after Sandra, that Alice would have chosen to see, as the two women lived on the same cul-de-sac, their houses opposite each other. As she got closer she saw the strain on Ellen’s face and wondered with fresh horror if Sandra was spreading news of Gerry’s version of events.

  ‘Have you heard?’ Ellen asked, before Alice even had a chance to lift Dot on to the swing.

  ‘No? What?’

  Ellen put her hand out and touched Alice lightly on the arm. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you. Sandra had an accident yesterday.’

  ‘An accident?’ Dot was screeching now and so Alice bent down and lifted her into the bright yellow swing. ‘What sort of accident? Is she OK?’

  ‘She’s alive. In hospital. A few broken bones, but she lost the baby.’

  ‘Oh my God, what happened?’ The weight of responsibility hovered above Alice’s head, ready to crush her.

  ‘I don’t know exactly. I saw a police car pull up after lunch yesterday and then Gerry came rushing round and asked me to look after Mavis. He didn’t say what was going on but I could tell he was beside himself. He came back a few hours later and said Sandra had crashed their car and was in the hospital. I felt so sorry for him: he nearly cried when he told me about the baby dying, Mavis stayed the night in the end. He came to get her early this morning and he looked in a right state – my God, you should have seen him. Can you imagine?’

  Alice didn’t seem able to stop pushing the swing backwards and forwards.

  ‘They’d obviously had a row,’ Ellen was saying. ‘I heard some raised voices coming from their house in the morning. He must feel so awful. Do you know what it was about?’

  The question didn’t seem real. ‘No.’

  ‘Because you all went to the circus on Saturday, didn’t you?’

  ‘Sandra didn’t come actually, she was sick.’

  Alice could feel Ellen staring at her, as if the answers to all her questions might be written on her face. ‘That’s odd. She’s too far gone for morning sickness. Or at least, was. God how terrible.’

  ‘It was just a bug, I think. Do you know which hospital she’s in?’

  ‘Cartertown General.’

  Alice walked back home in a daze. There was no need to put two and two together, what had happened was obvious and rooted in something
she’d done, as if she’d gone round and stuck a knife deep into her best friend’s belly. Hadn’t Gerry called her a prick tease? Maybe she’d said the wrong things to Sandra? Maybe she should have pretended it had been her who had made the pass and saved her from the truth? Or maybe there were words that she would never know that could have made her friend feel better, stopped her rushing off into a terrible disaster? She felt so ragged by the time she got home that she immediately went to find her mother and told her everything without being asked, before asking her to watch Dot while she went to visit Sandra.

  Clarice told her to take the car so she drove back along the roads she’d been driven down only the night before last, wondering which bend in the tarmac and which stretch of hedgerow they’d stopped by. And all the way she tried to imagine what Sandra must be going though, how violent it must feel to have a baby taken from you in that way.

  She was directed to the maternity ward when she got there, which seemed barbaric to Alice, and made her angry enough to ask a nurse if Sandra really had to be surrounded by women with their stomachs rounding out their bed sheets. But the nurse looked at her as if she was mad and pointed in the direction of a bed with all the curtains drawn around it.

  Sandra looked miniscule in the bed, as if her flesh had sunk on to her bones. Her bump was still there like some ghastly reminder of what might have been. At first Alice thought she was ignoring her, but then realised that she wasn’t focusing, so she walked forward and brushed her arm. Sandra started when she saw her, but then her face relaxed and the tears fell. Alice sat on the side of the bed.

  ‘God, Sandra, what happened?’

  ‘I killed my baby.’ And she said it so bluntly, it made Alice feel dizzy.

  ‘Don’t say that. You had a car crash.’

  ‘I was driving too fast. I wasn’t taking any care.’ Her fingers twitched at the bed sheets.

  ‘I saw Ellen by the swings this morning, she said Mavis stayed there last night.’ They sat in silence, questions circling like hungry wolves. ‘Ellen said you and Gerry were arguing?’