Yet Kate remained quietly confident. There was something about Mel, something that had only just begun to come out. She was a strong kid. Whatever Geoff and Dora had done in their spoiling, they had not taken away the strength.
She got up and straightened first the fire-brasses, then the photographs on the mantelpiece. Her favourite sat right in the middle, Melanie on horseback, her head held high beneath the lovely Edwardian hat. That had been taken on Mother’s wedding day. Mother. Oh, Mother! What would she say if she knew . . . ?
To stop herself thinking about Rachel, Kate went through to the gleaming kitchen, put away her cleaning materials, washed her hands, then got on with her sandwich making. She had not seen Melanie for four months. The bulge had started getting too big, so she had taken herself off to Maureen’s caravan. To protect the unborn, she had neglected her daughter ruthlessly. Would salmon sandwiches and a home-made cake really make up for that?
The table looked lovely. A dark red cloth with matching napkins, china cups, a gift from Arthur – no, she must not think about Rachel and Arthur – and a pretty posy of dried flowers as centrepiece. Next to Mel’s plate was a beautifully wrapped gift, two pretty nightdresses covered in pale blue tissue. It was time. Any minute now. She looked at her watch. Panic peeped over the edge of sanity and she took some deep breaths, trying to empty her mind of all negative thought. It had to be done, must be done properly. If it failed, then she would have to fight them all.
A knock at the back door. Kate composed herself, opened the door and smiled. ‘Come in.’ She embraced her daughter. ‘You’re alone? No-one followed you?’
‘They imagine I’m at school doing choir practice.’ Melanie placed her bag on the dresser, a cursory eye sweeping over the prepared feast. ‘I’m on a diet.’
‘That’s OK, you don’t have to eat it.’
The girl swivelled on her heel and faced Kate. ‘Oh, Mother! Why all the secrecy? Dad and the grans think you’ve moved. Where have you been? It’s months since I saw you.’
‘Sit down, Mel.’
Melanie placed herself in one of the straight-backed chairs while Kate marvelled at all this new poise and grace. ‘You’d improved at the wedding, but now! Oh my goodness! What a beauty you are going to be.’
A loud sniff from the table was followed by, ‘No need to flannel, Mum. Just tell me what this is all about. Months I’ve been trying to see you, months on end. Why? Why did you turn your back on me? Why did you tell the other people in this house to say you were no longer here?’
Kate shuffled from foot to foot. It was almost as if their situations had been reversed – she was the child, she was answerable to this young woman. ‘I wasn’t here. And I had a secret, something to hide.’
‘Boothroyd. It’s OK, everyone knows about that. Dad recognized your work in the paper.’
‘More than Boothroyd.’ Kate swallowed nervously. ‘Look at me, Mel. You’ve . . . well . . . you’ve got a little brother. Michael John, he’s called.’
‘Oh.’ There was shock behind the monosyllable. ‘Where . . . where is he?’
‘In hospital.’
‘Oh.’ Melanie chewed her lip. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘He had to arrive on a prescribed date, so he was Caesarian and premature. Melanie! Look at me, love. Don’t be jealous, please?’
‘I’m . . . not jealous. Were you ill?’
Kate nodded. ‘Very. And I didn’t want you worried. I have diabetes. This means it is difficult for me to give birth to live children.’
Tissue paper rustled as Mel opened her gift and stared soundlessly at layers of pink and white chiffon. ‘Is it . . . Dad’s?’ she managed at last.
‘Of course it is.’
‘Then why aren’t you at home with us?’ There was energy in the tone now. ‘A baby needs a proper home, not just a bedsit with kitchen.’
This was going to be the difficult bit. ‘I’m not staying here. Things are happening. There’s talk of Boothroyd greetings cards and Boothroyd Junior plates and stuff for children. I shall be moving soon. And . . .’ She inhaled deeply. ‘And I don’t want your father or Dora to have Michael.’
The paper crackled again as Melanie closed her parcel. ‘I see. He’s precious, then? It’s OK for them to have me, but you won’t let them near your son.’
‘Stop that! Stop it right now! You can leave home and come to live with me and Michael whenever you wish.’
‘I’m not living here.’
‘Nor am I. I’m moving to Liverpool soon. And I’ve made enquiries; if you come up to scratch, they’ll find a place for you at Merchant Taylors’. That’s one of the best schools in England.’
‘No.’ The blonde head shook slowly. ‘I can’t leave him. He’d have nothing without me. And I think you’d better come home too, especially if you’re diabetic. What if you get ill?’
Kate paused. ‘I . . . won’t be alone. I’m going with a friend.’
‘A man?’
‘Yes. But it’s not like that. He’s . . . he’s not interested in women. He is not a boyfriend, Mel. Just a very good and caring person. We’re buying a house.’
The young brow was deeply furrowed. ‘All sorted out, then.’ The chair scraped back a fraction. ‘Dad will have to be told, of course . . .’
‘No!’
Melanie half-smiled. ‘Be your age, Mother. A man can’t have a son without being told. He’ll want to see him . . . buy him things . . .’
Kate watched while Melanie digested the idea of becoming second best and second class.
‘And the two grannies ought to know, too. This quarrel with Granny Rachel has gone on for long enough, Mum.’
‘Ah, yes. But what about Granny Dora?’
‘What about her?’
‘Melanie, she ruined your father. From birth he was mollycoddled and given in to, I don’t want that for Michael. If you tell these people about the baby, then my life will not be worth living. Granny Rachel would be almost as bad – she’s always wanted a boy in the family. Don’t you see? It’s not because I think Michael’s special, that’s not the reason for wanting to keep him to myself. It’s because Michael is ordinary and I don’t want him on a pedestal.’ She paused. ‘Your nose would be right out of joint, Mel.’
The girl whistled softly. ‘That’s not the problem. Anyway, I’m fourteen now, I’ve got my own interests.’
‘Boyfriends?’
Melanie blushed. ‘A few. Nothing serious.’
‘I should hope not. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Oh, Mother!’ The exasperation was plain.
‘What?’
‘Well, how can I keep a thing this size to myself?’
‘He’s no size, he’s only four and a half pounds . . .’
‘You know what I mean. Don’t start being silly. I can’t carry on as if nothing’s happened.’
Kate crossed the room and sat down opposite her daughter. ‘Would you rather I had just disappeared without telling you about Michael? Should I have gone to Crosby and never a word to you?’
‘No.’
‘Then my future and that of your brother is in your keeping. I know it’s a heavy burden for a girl your age, but if I didn’t think your shoulders were broad enough, then I would not have piled it on to your back. Bear with me, sweetheart. There is a reason for what I am doing, believe me. I am sane at last, whole at last. Will you help me? Will you?’
Melanie sighed. ‘You know I will. When can I see this brother of mine?’
‘Now. Right away. He’s only round the corner, and I’ve written a note so that you can identify yourself as his sister.’
‘I see. All prepared, aren’t you? What happened to my scatterbrained mother?’ She waited a few moments, her eyes glued to Kate’s face. ‘Is he pretty?’
‘All Caesarians are pretty. They don’t get squashed on the way out.’
‘Prettier than . . . than I was?’
Kate grinned. Here came the child again. ‘No. You were utterly gorgeous. Lo
ok at all the pictures on my walls.’
The girl swallowed a little sob. ‘I wish you would come home. Come home and live like a proper family.’
‘I don’t belong with a proper family.’
‘But . . . but Michael does.’
Kate nodded wisely. ‘Exactly what your father would say. In court, Mel. He will try to take my child away from me. A baby needs its mother. You had me right up to this year, now it’s Michael’s turn.’
‘OK.’ The voice was very small and hurt. ‘I’ll go and see him, then.’ She rose from the chair, clutching the gift of nightdresses to her chest as if it were something really special. ‘I still think you’re wrong, Mum.’
‘I’m glad you have opinions, Mel. But let me stick to my beliefs. All right?’
They hugged one another tightly, then Kate stood at the door and watched the young back disappearing through the gateway. ‘Please, Mel,’ she whispered between gritted teeth. ‘Don’t let me down. For God’s sake, don’t let me down!’
The baby needed fresh air. All babies needed fresh air, and the back yard just wasn’t big enough. Apart from which, Kate felt she had imposed enough on the two loyal Misses and on the upstairs tenants. Michael didn’t often cry, but when he did, it was with feeling, volume and enthusiasm. He got plenty of outings at the weekends, when Steve and Mark would drive everyone out to the moors in their car, but weekdays were becoming a gigantic problem.
Then there was herself to consider. She wasn’t getting enough sleep, food or exercise. The lack of sleep was Michael’s fault, while food was no longer attractive. But the absence of exercise was due solely to her fear of discovery. Perhaps if she got some good walking in, she might enjoy her food. After all, daily points had to be balanced; a coma could well be achieved by too few calories measured against her insulin dose.
Kate was tense. Part of this anxiety was attributable to her concern for others in the building, particularly for the poor couple who lived up the servants’ stairs. They had not complained, but they were certainly missing out on their full eight hours each night. Most of her tension, though, was caused by new motherhood and her very mixed feelings towards her young charge. Life was a constant round of drudgery; feed him, clean him, clean up after him; soak the nappies, wash the nappies, boil, hang out to drip; empty the bottle, wash the bottles sterilize, fill up again; scrub the teats, salt the teats, soak them in Milton.
She became a zombie after a while; the flat was her tomb and she walked around it like the living dead. A secondhand television was acquired by Steve, and she gazed upon this endlessly, sitting with the baby over her shoulder and staring at the picture until it shrivelled into a tiny dot at the end of each transmission. She knew nothing of what she had ‘watched’. Things were rapidly approaching the stage where she might really need a Dr Coakley to look into what was left of her mind.
The flat was turning into a mess. There was a permanent look to the wooden airing maiden that surrounded the fireplace. Two lidded buckets in the kitchen were constantly filled by soiled linen and nappy cleanser. The baby’s cot took up a lot of spare space by her bed, while his pram sat where Boothroyd had used to live, in the alcove by the window. Her work now covered the dining table in the kitchen, and although she had managed not to fall behind, she had little in hand for newspaper and comic strip.
Michael was dominating her life, taking away energy, personality, drive, ambition. She wanted nothing for herself, because she was no longer a person. Kate Saunders had been reduced to a mere appendage of this newborn man. How easy it was. Perhaps this would go on for years, perhaps this was how it had started with Dora.
Sometimes, Kate couldn’t quite manage to like her son. He had Geoff’s eyes for a start, very dark and oval in shape. He screamed and was always hungry, yet he never finished a feed properly. She did not know how to stop the screaming, especially that six o’clock knees-up-to-the-chest-I’ve-got-colic yelling. It was a six o’clock episode that finally made her snap. Although it was a winter evening, and in spite of all the warnings about premature babies and fog, she bundled him into a dozen layers, shoved him in the pram, then stalked out of the house.
After that, their relationship improved no end. She was up at five every morning, and by six-thirty, come rain, hail or snow, she and Michael were out on the road. By eight, both would be exhausted and hungry, so she would eat her points of toast and diabetic jam while he guzzled his bottle. When the washing was done, they shared the bed and slept until lunchtime. He thrived on this strange treatment. Once or twice, when the crying was really bad, she even pushed him out in the dead of night, whispering to him about stars and frost. In the pram, he was always good, but she would not take him out in proper daylight unless she was in Steve’s car. If anyone saw her, the secret would be out before she achieved her escape to Liverpool.
Maureen still did the shopping, arriving almost every tea-time with fruit and veg, meat and bread, SMA baby milk and all the other necessities. She also undertook to drive Kate and Michael to evening surgeries, so that diabetes and infancy might be properly monitored. One evening a week, Maureen paid a proper social call, having told Phil that she was taking an evening class in Spanish. They sat by the coal fire, Maureen cooing over the baby as she gave him his bottle.
Kate leaned forward. ‘What’ll your husband say when he finds out you don’t know any Spanish?’
‘I’ll tell him I was thick at it. He won’t be surprised. But it’s better than admitting I’m seeing you, isn’t it? Geoff’s convinced you’ve moved on now, especially after the Misses acted daft on your behalf and redirected that pile of mail to Edgeford.’
Kate nodded. ‘They’ve been good friends, lying for me like that. Amazing how much these so-called old maids understand about life.’
‘Good sorts. I still think you’re crazy, though. This little one could have his own nursery back in Edgeford.’
Kate sniffed loudly. ‘And Dora crowing over him and turning him into a nancy.’
‘Shut up!’ There was anger in Maureen’s tone. ‘You’re running off with one of those.’
‘Steve’s no nancy!’ Kate’s eyes were flashing ominously. ‘If Geoff had been half the man Steve is . . . Oh, you wouldn’t understand. Sexual preferences have little to do with true manhood, I can assure you.’
Maureen wiped the baby’s chin and placed the bottle in the hearth. ‘What about your mother?’
‘What about her?’
‘Aren’t you going to tell her where you’re going?’
‘No.’
‘That’s cruel, Kate. I saw her on the market last week, and she looked worn to a shadow. Talk to her. Tell her about her grandson.’
‘Her grandson was aborted,’ whispered Kate.
‘But . . .’
‘Stop this, Maureen!’ Kate jumped to her feet. ‘It’s hard enough being post-natal and alone without having my only visitor nagging at me once a week.’
‘Sorry.’
‘The only thing I know is that I can’t go back. Michael and I don’t belong there. I don’t know much else and I’m not good for anything at the moment, but I’m not going back.’
Maureen placed the dozing infant over her shoulder and began to rub his back gently. ‘OK. Calm down.’
‘I’ve been close to giving in, I can tell you. Some nights, I’ve been an inch away from using the Misses’ phone to call my mother. But I never gave in to the urge, no matter how lonely I felt. She cursed me for having an abortion that might have saved my life . . .’
‘An abortion you never had anyway, and thank goodness, because he’s lovely. Aren’t you lovely?’ She gazed at the baby now. ‘And I never guessed you were coming, Michael, not till Mammy told me. And Mammy’s going to have to do her own shopping for a while, ’cos Auntie Maureen’s car’s on its last wheels . . .’
‘Oh dear,’ interrupted Kate. ‘What if I’m seen by anyone who knows me?’
‘Wear dark glasses and a scarf.’
‘Middle of wi
nter? That would be enough to make anyone take a closer look. It’ll have to be Steve. I’ll get him to run out to the shops for me.’
Maureen paced up and down with Michael while Kate began to tackle the seemingly endless pile of ironing. ‘Good boy,’ crooned Maureen. ‘Get that nasty wind up. Who’s a clever little lad? Your daddy would have loved you, yes he would. Hey, Kate?’
‘Hello?’
‘Don’t depend too much on this Steve Collins.’
Kate banged the iron on to its asbestos rest. ‘Why not? He got me the interview, found me the bloody job. And he’s arranged for the lady next door to mind Michael while I’m at school. Seems a very dependable sort to me.’
Maureen coughed quietly. ‘But . . . but what if he wants his boyfriend to move in? Won’t you feel de trop?’
‘No more so than if I lived with a married couple. Your ideas are so quaint, Maureen. I must do a Boothroyd cartoon of you and Geoff, the original Victorian pair. Yes, you should have married my husband.’
‘I’m not Victorian! I like the men too much to be Victorian!’
Kate nodded. ‘Ah, yes, but that’s the essence of Victorianism. Sex mad, they were, but their minds were closed in public. Geoff’s a dirty old man underneath all those folded shirts and starched hankies. And you’re a manhunter, though you pretend to be respectable.’
Maureen’s mouth fell open. ‘Good God! Will all this go in your cartoons? Depravity behind the doors of middle-class suburbia?’
‘Abso-bloody-lutely.’
Maureen placed the sleeping infant in his cot. ‘Well. There’s my Spanish lesson over. I’m not hanging about to be analysed by you.’ She kissed Kate’s cheek hurriedly. ‘I’ll have to watch what I say in future.’
Kate laughed. ‘Especially about the dentist and the young Reverend.’
‘Eh?’
‘Oh, never mind. Just something you let slip in a moment of stress.’
Nest of Sorrows Page 28