Countless

by Karen Gregory

  Robin reappears after a while and hovers in the doorway.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. I double-check I have two changes of clothes for Rose, in case her nappy leaks. Actually, for when it leaks. A fold-up changing mat. Sun hat and sun cream. And nappies, sacks, wipes, muslins, bottles, socks, a blanket. A stuffed elephant I noticed she seems to like looking at. My phone, not that I’m expecting any calls. I zip the bag up.

  ‘It all takes so long,’ I say. I try and smile, but all I can hear is the whine in my voice.

  ‘Yeah, I … can imagine,’ Robin says.

  ‘What’s that?’ I say, my head in the changing bag.

  ‘Nothing. Shall we get going?’

  Finally, laden with the buggy, car seat and what seems like enough luggage for a week’s trip, we get into his knackered old Vauxhall.

  Robin pats the steering wheel and turns to me, his expression stupidly proud. ‘Hedda, meet Belinda. Belinda, this is Hedda.’

  ‘Seriously? You seriously named your car? People actually do that?’

  ‘Yup.’

  He starts the engine and the rust bucket – I mean, Belinda – rattles and lurches into life. It sounds like the exhaust is about to fall off. Or possibly already has.

  ‘Well, I’ve gotta say, it’s a bit weird,’ I say.

  Robin doesn’t answer, his focus on the road. He drives like someone a few decades north of his age. Like, fifty decades. It’s slightly terrifying, seeing as he does about ten miles under the speed limit yet still seems to brake the way he accelerates: very slowly.

  ‘You sure you’ve passed your driving test?’ I say.

  ‘Oh yeah, I did one of those intensive courses straight after my seventeenth birthday,’ he says.

  I’m not sure it was intensive enough. I shut my eyes as Robin comes out of a street at a snail’s pace, oblivious to the large van bearing down on him. The driver flicks his middle finger up then drives really close behind us, the engine a roar.

  When I’ve managed to find my voice, it comes out shaky. ‘Robin. Do you think you and Belinda could get us all there in one piece? Please?’

  ‘Erm, sorry, what was that?’ Robin says. He fiddles with the radio, only about a third of his attention on the road.

  I decide I’ll shut my eyes and hope for the best.

  The next thing I know, Robin is whispering in my ear, ‘Wake up, sleepyhead. We’re here.’

  Being dragged out of sleep before I’m ready feels a bit like I’m about to have heart failure these days. And it’s a sensation I’m getting way too familiar with. I suck in a huge breath through my nose, suppress a groan and crane my head around the back of my seat to check on Rose. She’s fast asleep. I sit back, everything pounding, shaky and unreal.

  We’re in a little car park on the edge of the woods. It looks like we’ve outdriven the rain, because sun filters through the trees above the car, making patterns that dance across the back seat, a lattice of leaf shadow playing over Rose’s face.

  ‘Shall we picnic now by the car? It seems a shame to wake her,’ Robin says.

  ‘No, let’s stretch our legs first.’ I get out and reach up to the sky. It’s nice to feel the breeze on my face and breathe in damp from leaves rather than mould.

  ‘Are you sure? Shouldn’t we … ?’ Robin trails off when I go to the back of the car and open the boot to haul out the buggy.

  We pick a wide, bumpy path and after a few moments the car park disappears and we’re surrounded by cool, green pine trees, their needles forming a cushion that swallows our footsteps and the wheels of the buggy. Everything has that just-rained smell to it. Rose’s eyes are open and she seems to like the breeze on her face. We walk, not aiming for anywhere in particular, Robin’s shoulder a little way from mine. In the space between us, I sense Molly faintly, watching Robin.

  When we get to a little clearing, Robin perches on the massive trunk of a tree which looks like it was yanked out of the ground and tossed there by some huge creature. All the roots are in the air, naked and trailing splotches of mud. I turn Rose’s buggy away and climb up on to the other end. The bark is rough and pitted under my fingers. I flake a piece off.

  ‘So. How are you?’ Robin says.

  It’s such a Felicity question, it takes me by surprise. I pick at more bark, consider how to answer.

  ‘All right, I guess. Bit tired, you know. But then, what did I expect?’

  The question hangs in the pine needles around us. Wind whistles through the tops of the branches and they seem to make a hushing sound.

  ‘Do you know what you’re going to do? When Rose is a bit older, I mean?’ Robin says.

  For a second it seems like my eyes go blurry, but then I realise it’s just the sun dipping behind a cloud, making the clearing shadowy. I think about Molly, and the List, imagine her smiling gently over Robin’s shoulder, saying, ‘What are you going to do, Hed?’

  ‘You OK?’ Robin says.

  ‘Sure.’ I smile at him. ‘You mean college? Job? All that stuff?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  But I’m not convinced that was the question he was asking. He’s giving me a look that seems both worried and something else. Interested, maybe, like he wants to know more about me. I consider what to say, leave it too long. He drops his eyes. Underneath the strips of bark I’ve flaked away, the tree trunk is pale and smooth.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not thinking past the next feed and when I’m going to get some more kip at the moment,’ I say.

  I had a brief email conversation with college last week. Turns out all the spaces in their crèche are full, and besides, Edward the maths tutor said I’ve missed too much to catch up now. So on top of everything else, looks like I’m a drop-out. I suspect, given how fast she fired a terse email back, that the principal wasn’t too sorry to see me go. Probably mucked up their attendance stats for one.

  ‘You could …’ He leaves it hanging when he spots my look.

  ‘What could I do? I’ve got no qualifications. There’s nothing I’m good at.’ I’m discounting Nia here so it’s true. ‘There’s nothing I’m bothered about doing. I just want to look after Rose, and then …’ I break off.

  I’ve been counting up all this time, counting how old Rose is, how many weeks we’ve been together, but it hits me now: somewhere deep inside I’m also still counting down, like I was before Rose was born, to the day everything goes back to normal.

  To a place where it isn’t me and Rose at all.

  I never had any plans except for Nia.

  So then, what is Rose? A stopgap?

  ‘… helping other people like you? You could do psychology or counselling or something.’

  I tear my eyes from the soft white tree innards, wishing I could put all the bark back. Robin is all hopeful, sparkling eyes and flashing teeth in a big smile, like an overenthusiastic puppy.

  I narrow my eyes. ‘You know what I think about people who’ve had “troubled pasts” and then go on to “save” other people just like them? I think that’s a pile of crap.’

  Robin blinks.

  ‘I mean, when I was on a unit, it seemed to me like half the staff had their own problems. Why else would they want to work somewhere like that?’

  ‘Maybe they wanted to help.’

  I snort. ‘Bollocks to that.’

  ‘OK. I was just saying.’

  I sigh. ‘I know, I’m sorry. But I’m no Mother Teresa and I never will be.’

  Robin looks like he’s about to say something, but I’ve had it with the spotlight on me. Molly, Felicity, now Robin – all of them asking questions and never giving any answers. Maybe it’s time to turn things back the other way.

  ‘What about you? Why did you end up at the Yewlings? Really?’

  It’s a shot in the dark, except that the little alarm I sometimes get about people, when there’s something going on underneath, is blipping away, and it seems I have this need to pull back all the layers, even if I don’t like what’s underneath. There’s somet
hing else too. I guess Robin’s the first person since Molly who I really want to get to know properly.

  Robin pushes himself higher on the tree trunk and looks away. ‘I told you. My parents and I were fighting –’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About … well …’ He stares down at Rose’s buggy like some answer might be found in there. Then he looks at me, and his eyes shimmer. ‘I just … can’t go into it. It’s too …’ He spreads his arms wide, lets them fall.

  Painful, I think. Whatever it is, I know that look. I’ve seen it on Molly’s face, for one.

  ‘All right then, Mystery Man,’ I say and smile, because I don’t want to see that look any more – not on Robin.

  Robin smiles too. He scoots up close to me and nudges his shoulder into mine. Then he hops to the ground and before I can tell him to get off, he’s grabbed hold of me round the waist and lifts me down too. A frown flickers across his face. He puts me down super slowly, like he’s worried he’s going to smash me, and holds on a second longer than he needs to.

  I freeze – I’m not used to anyone close to me except Rose, or the feeling of Nia – but then he lets go and grabs Rose’s buggy and steers it in the direction we’ve just come from.

  ‘Time to picnic,’ he says.

  Before I follow him, I pick up a long strip of bark and try to slot it back into the hole I made, but it curls at the edges and won’t fit at all.

  Chapter 21

  5 WEEKS

  ‘Well, it looks like Rose is getting on very well.’

  Joanna passes me back Rose’s red book from the health visitor which lists all her weights at the clinic, plots her growth on a line. She’s right where she should be – exactly, in fact. I make sure I take her down to the clinic to be weighed twice a week, even though the health visitor said I could start coming less frequently now. I have another notebook for Rose as well as her red book, listing all her feeds, to make sure she’s getting the right amount. I don’t want to overfeed her.

  Joanna snaps a file closed while I pretend I wasn’t trying to look at what she’s written in it. I don’t know whether to be relieved the assessment I’ve been dreading is finally happening, so I can stop worrying about it, or if I just want to curl up as small as possible and pretend I’m somewhere else. I put one hand on Rose’s head.

  ‘But I’m more interested in you,’ Joanna continues. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine. I’m good.’

  ‘What about your support network?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m getting out and about plenty … Would you like some tea?’ I say.

  I catch her eye and work to keep my face from falling. Joanna is one of those ones. Sees too much for my liking.

  ‘No thank you. Are you attending your counselling?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, which for once is the truth.

  We go through a questionnaire and it’s like a game of Russian roulette. I’m trying to work out what to say and what not to say, and not to take too long over any of the questions. When Joanna asks about my plans for the future, I’m stumped for a moment and then I remember the conversation with Robin.

  ‘Well, I was thinking about an Access to Nursing course. I just think …’ I take a big breath and look up at her, my eyes wide, put as much sincerity into my voice as I can muster. ‘I’ve been through a lot and I think I could really help other people. I want to help other people. And of course, it would be a stable income.’

  Joanna holds my gaze and I keep absolutely still until she purses her lips like she’s considering it.

  ‘I did some research. There are bursaries. And there’s help with childcare on the course.’

  ‘How would you manage with shifts?’ Joanna asks.

  ‘I read that some lone parents …’ I’m mastering the lingo, ‘find childminders who can cover unsocial hours. And once I was qualified and in a job, I could find something with fixed shifts perhaps.’

  ‘Well, I can see you’ve given it a lot of thought.’

  ‘I have. I’m going to put an application in for September,’ I say. ‘The college has a crèche and Rose will be older by then and sleeping a bit more.’

  Joanna nods, but I can’t tell if she’s convinced. ‘Finances OK?’

  I’m suddenly very glad she didn’t want a cup of tea. No opportunity for her to get an eyeful of the empty shelves in the fridge.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, but she must catch my expression because she produces a slightly crumpled photocopied leaflet.

  ‘There’s a course on managing money at the community centre – budgeting, that sort of thing. Though it’s in the evening and it doesn’t look like there’s childcare provision. Oh, it says here it’s for the over-eighteens actually.’ She pushes the leaflet back into her leather folder. ‘Well, as you’re coping, I’m sure you won’t need it anyway, but I could see if there’s anything for younger people. Or we could ask if they’d make an exception for you.’ She looks doubtful about this.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ I say.

  I’m too scared to check how much money is in my account.

  Before she goes, Joanna stops to examine the mould around the window.

  ‘I’m going to speak to someone about that. Maybe make a complaint,’ I say quickly.

  To my surprise, she nods and says, ‘I might be able to have a word with someone at the council.’

  I shut the door after her and stand holding on to the handle. Remind myself to breathe. I can’t tell if the assessment went well or not.

  I go back in and scoop Rose up from the play mat. I sit her on my lap and just look at her, like she’s a map I’m trying to read so I don’t have to ask for directions any more. Her palms are so soft, the lines on the backs of her fingers like mine in miniature. I stroke her head and across her eyebrows, which are light blonde and very neat. Her lashes are long and curled, her eyes a deep blue with a darker ring around the edge of the iris. She’s so beautiful she makes me breathless.

  Rose looks at me.

  I stare right back, and say, ‘Well, we’re doing all right, I think, aren’t we?’

  And suddenly, her lips stretch up and her whole face lights into a smile that’s just for me. It lasts only a couple of seconds, but I know it’s a real smile, not a wind-related one, and something in my heart opens and rushes like this shining river that could wash away anything that’s ever been bad in the world, until there’s nothing but the two of us.

  Me and my girl.

  My beautiful Rose.

  6 WEEKS

  ‘Awww, she smiled at me!’

  Laurel has lost weight. She’s been disappearing at lightning speed while I looked the other way. I’m worried about her, obviously. Also, a bit jealous. I’ve come out with Rose to meet her in a coffee shop, but Laurel won’t have anything except water, not even black coffee. I go in for a cup of tea but, conscious of Laurel’s eyes on me and the way she felt when we hugged hello, I don’t put in any sugar. Laurel’s cradling Rose, but her arms don’t look strong enough to hold on.

  ‘Here, pass her over. She probably needs a feed,’ I say.

  Laurel drops her eyes and looks for her phone when I plug Rose in.

  ‘Does she always make those noises?’ Laurel says, and I can tell she’s trying not to sound disgusted.

  ‘Only sometimes,’ I say.

  Laurel fiddles with the sachets of sugar in a bowl on top of the table, pinching them at one end and running the sugar along. She leans forward, a furtive look on her face. ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘What’s what like?’

  ‘All of it. Being pregnant. I wish I could’ve seen you pregnant!’

  I bet you do, I think.

  ‘Giving birth must’ve been something. Did it kill?’

  ‘In more ways than one,’ I say.

  ‘It’s just so weird. Every time I look at you with her, I can’t believe it. I mean, you were always so … focused,’ Laurel says.

  She means on Nia. I start to feel like she’s enjoying it, seei
ng me like this, feeling like she’s finally winning after all this time. And the worst thing is, I have no idea which one of us really is.

  ‘Well,’ I say. ‘I guess I’d better get up to the unit to see Felicity.’

  We say our goodbyes and arrange to meet again even though I’m stuck now, between admiration and envy, between hatred of her, of myself. I gaze at Rose in the buggy, remembering how I felt the other day looking at her, like there was nothing else in the world except her, and I try to reach out and scoop that feeling up. It works for a moment. Then a flash of Laurel’s narrow shoulders pushes back, and I feel that sense of Rose being the only thing that matters slipping through the spaces between my fingers until only a tiny piece remains.

  I sigh and push Rose’s buggy through the coffee-shop door.

  I’ve barely got off the scales and sat down before I’m saying to Felicity, ‘I hate this.’

  Felicity makes a disapproving noise before she writes down the number. She doesn’t bother to go ‘Mmm?’, but waits for me to arrange the words in my head into some sort of order that will make sense.

  ‘I don’t know what I want any more,’ I say. ‘Nothing is the same. It’s not just Rose. Well, it is. Everything was so clear before and now it’s … complicated.’

  There’s A Silence.

  Then, Felicity says, ‘I wonder if it would help if you tried to consider your eating disorder in a different way?’

  I don’t really know what she means.

  ‘I know you like research and lists. Why don’t we make a list of everything you can think of about your anorexia? What you believe you’ve gained from it and what it’s cost you.’

  I give her a suspicious look, but Felicity ignores me and gets out an actual flip chart and marker pens.

  I go over, rolling my eyes, but when I write NIA in big letters at the top, she stops me.

  ‘No. I think you need to detach from your eating disorder. Despite what you think, it is not a person. It’s not. And it doesn’t have to be a part of you either. I think you know it, deep down.’

  I stand with the red pen in my hand. The fumes from it are making me feel sick. I stick my chin up and stare. I’m not doing this.