by Mel Sherratt
Becky clung on to Cathy. ‘Please don’t let me lose my baby.’
‘Let’s get you to your room. Can you walk?’
‘I –’ She folded over in agony, collapsing on the floor.
Cathy stooped down and ran a hand over Becky’s forehead. She was hot and clammy.
‘We need to get you checked out,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you into my car.’
‘Stuff the car,’ said Jess. ‘Won’t she need an ambulance?’
‘Ambulance!’ Becky looked fraught with fear. ‘But that book says –’ She looked up at Liz. ‘That book says it’s the first sign of a mis – miscarriage.’ She looked at Cathy then. ‘Please help me! Please stop the pain!’
Cathy on one side and Liz on the other, they helped Becky to climb down the stairs. They were nearly halfway down when there was a knock at the door. Jess ran to open it. Matt stood on the doorstep.
‘Hi, is Cathy in? I’ve got a number for someone who says he can look at her car. He reckons he can – what’s happened?’
‘It’s Becky. She’s bleeding,’ said Jess. ‘I think she’s having a miscarriage.’
‘NO!’ Becky gave out another loud scream and dropped to the floor again.
‘Come on.’ Cathy tried to pull her back up. ‘We’re nearly there.’
‘Let me help.’ Matt moved past Jess and gently scooped Becky up in his arms. ‘Hang on to my neck,’ he told her. ‘We’ll get you sorted.’
He carried her down the stairs to his car, Cathy following close behind. They both helped her into the back seat. Then Matt held the door open for Cathy.
‘I’ll drive you there and you can sit in the back,’ he said. ‘She needs you with her.’
Without a moment’s thought, Cathy kissed him on his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she smiled. Then she dived into the car. But not before she saw Matt’s face break out into a smile.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It had been three days since Becky had lost the baby. After she’d returned from the hospital, she’d been inconsolable for the first twenty-four hours, and lay on the settee in the living room. After that, she’d refused to come out of her room. Cathy had taken food and drink up to her but hardly any of it had been touched. She wished she could help her more, knowing only too well the feelings of loss that she would be going through. But she knew Becky would have to deal with it in her own way. Grief affected people differently.
Along with it, Becky’s miscarriage had brought painful memories of loss crashing back into Cathy’s head. She’d tried to push them away, instead concentrating on looking after the distraught girl who had turned into no more than a child herself. But still they kept coming back.
At lunchtime, she placed a sandwich and a mug of coffee on a tray and went upstairs. She knocked on Becky’s bedroom door before she went in. Becky was lying on her bed curled up in the foetal position. She held a pillow in her arms. Greasy curls stuck to her pale face, her eyes were puffy and her nostrils red and cracked.
‘I’ve brought you something to eat,’ Cathy said, using her best sing-song voice. ‘Do you think you can manage a bite or two?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
She slid the tray onto the bedside table. ‘I’ll leave it here for a while, just in case.’
‘How can I eat when my baby is DEAD?’
‘Bloody hell.’ Cathy visibly jumped. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack, shouting out like that.’
‘S – Sorry.’ Becky paused. ‘I don’t know what to do now that… now that…’
Cathy sat down beside her and pulled her into her arms.
‘Why is it always me?’ Becky sobbed. ‘I’m not a terrible person.’
‘Of course you’re not. Sometimes it’s just nature’s way. There must have been something wrong with the baby that meant it couldn’t survive.’
‘But that means it’s my fault.’ Becky’s sobs became louder. ‘Did I reject it? Why would I do that?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Cathy tried to back pedal. ‘I meant that maybe it would have suffered if it had been born.’
‘But they can do so much these days. They’ve got cures for most things. They could have saved it, those doctors. But they didn’t because it was me. They looked down their noses but they don’t know what I’ve been through. I wish I’d died as well.’
‘Please don’t speak like that.’ Cathy held Becky closer, as if she could protect her from the pain. ‘Life is too precious: it will always improve.’
‘It won’t.’ Becky sniffed.
‘It will. I know how you’re feeling. I –’
‘No, you don’t! And you haven’t got any children so tell me how you know?’
‘I –’
‘It was my baby!’ Becky began to cry again. She pushed Cathy away.
Knowing when she was beat, Cathy stood up. Her hand hovered over Becky’s head as she contemplated trying again but she dismissed the thought as soon as it happened. She couldn’t reach her yet. Instead, she went to her own room. By the side of the bed, she dropped to her knees and pulled out an old-fashioned toffee tin from underneath it. She sat down and, with a deep breath, took off the lid.
The tin was full of mementos. Photos of times gone by, birthday cards, anniversary cards, tickets for her first concert to see Take That and tickets for last year’s concert to see Take That where she’d nearly lost her voice by shouting ‘I love you, Gary’.
The first photo she came to had been taken on her wedding day. As she picked it up, a lone tear rolled down her cheek. Although she could clearly see his smile, clearly hear his laughter, she couldn’t remember Rich’s touch. She ran a finger over the image. The picture had aged but the twinkle in his eye was still plain to see. She was so grateful that he hadn’t got a clue what had been going on when he’d been inside.
When he’d died, one by one, all their friends had dropped away. Friends she’d thought would stay around forever had deserted her. It had hurt at first: had they only come to see her because of Rich? Why did everyone love Rich and not her? But then she’d come to realise that they were uncomfortable around her now that she was no longer part of a couple. They’d done so much together that it was hard for people to accept her alone. Without him, she was a reminder of what had been and his friends couldn’t cope with it. It was easier for them not to acknowledge her, she could see that now. But it still hurt and three years later, it left her with no one to confide in. That’s why she’d ended up so close to Rose.
Quickly, she flicked through the box to find something that would make her smile. She found another photo of Rich. Bare-chested, he was sipping a beer at a beach café. They’d been in Ibiza. Cathy closed her eyes for a moment, almost feeling the breeze rustling through her hair as she recalled the two of them running along the beach hand in hand, getting drunk on sangria and skinny-dipping at midnight. With so many dreams and wishes, they’d planned their lives down to the finest detail. At least some of it had turned out as they’d expected.
Rich’s memorial card was next to surface. The funeral service had been a mixture of pride and pain. Pride for the man she had spent most of her life with: pain because losing him had torn her apart.
There was nothing of Cathy’s childhood in the tin except her birth certificate. She picked it up. Underneath it was what she was looking for. Folded up inside an anniversary card was another birth certificate. Inside that was a small photograph. She gazed at it sadly before turning it over to read the three words she’d written on the back of it when she was eighteen.
Simon, my son.
The blue ink of the lettering had faded over time but the image was as sharp now as the day it was taken. It was her most treasured possession, a photograph of her baby provided by the hospital. Simon’s tiny hands were up by the side of his head. He had a bush of dark hair, her long fingers, and her stubby nose. Painfully, she recalled she hadn’t had time to notice anything else before he’d been whisked away.
Why hadn’t she told Rich about him? It had be
en her one stupid mistake and it haunted her now just as much as it had then.
Cathy’s tears wouldn’t stop this time. She cursed. Why had she made herself look at the photos? Hadn’t she cried enough over the past few days?
But really she knew why she had opened the tin. It was because, as she’d gone through Becky’s trauma with her, she’d been thinking that now was the right time to do something about making amends for her mistake.
She was going to look for Simon.
Liz awoke with a start. She sat up in bed, sweat glistening on her brow, half expecting to hear a baby cry. Chloe stirred by her side but didn’t wake.
It was one fifteen. She pulled back the duvet, crept out of the room and across the landing to the bathroom. There she sat on the edge of the bath and let her tears go.
Since Becky’s miscarriage, Liz had been having recurring nightmares of losing her own child. Her baby would have been eighteen weeks old now, as big as an orange. It would have had eyelashes, maybe even some hair. It may have been able to hear her singing in the shower. It would have been growing rapidly and she would have been growing with it. She rested her hand on her empty stomach. It had been too soon to know if it would have been a boy or a girl, but either would have done for her. She’d wanted another child so desperately.
She ran a hand through her hair, hating herself for even thinking it but secretly she was pleased that Becky had lost her baby. It would have been agony if she’d had to stay at Cathy’s and watch her grow, watch her give birth, see her walk around with a child that she didn’t want.
Liz ran the cold water tap and swilled her face. How selfish was she? She knew how much Becky would be hurting because she’d been there. She could still feel the longing to sense the baby move, to wish that it were still part of her. She’d tried talking about it to Becky but twice she’d been rebuffed. She couldn’t blame her for being angry. She had felt angry too, still did.
Flashbacks of a fist plunging into the soft flesh below her chest made her gasp and she began to cry again. Why had he done that to her? What had she done to deserve such treatment? Kevin should have loved her, protected her. He shouldn’t have killed their child.
She swilled her face again and then went back to her room. Chloe was still asleep, her arms above her head on the pillow. Liz got into bed, trying not to disturb her. She lay there, gazing at her child, feeling the pull to hold her, protect her from the outside world. At least there was one thing she could be grateful for. She had Chloe, she would always have Chloe. No one, not even Kevin, could take her away.
Early the next morning, Jess knocked softly on Becky’s bedroom door.
‘Do you fancy coming out today?’ she asked, standing on the threshold.
‘No.’
‘We could go shopping. Or do anything that you want to.’
‘No.’
‘How about coming downstairs for a cuppa before I start off on my exciting day of doing nothing?’ Jess tried again.
‘Please leave me alone,’ whispered Becky.
‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘I know, but you can’t. No one can.’
Jess took a step nearer. ‘But you’re young, Becks. You can have another baby when the time is right. I mean, let’s face it. Getting pregnant at sixteen isn’t exactly a blast. It sucks up your life forever. You need to live a little before tying yourself down with a kid. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to be…’
Becky squeezed her eyes tight and pulled the duvet over her head until Jess finally got the message.
Jess stormed downstairs to moan at Cathy. She found her in the kitchen with Liz. They were washing and drying dishes.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said to them.
‘About what?’ said Cathy.
‘About Becky. She won’t talk to me. She won’t come out of her room. I’ve even offered to take her shopping.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘But I can’t get through to her.’
‘She’s had a terrible loss. It’s not like breaking a leg or having a stomach ache.’
‘But she was too young to have a baby. I keep on telling her that.’
Liz reached a wet mug from the draining board. ‘It’s not a question of whether she wanted it,’ she couldn’t help saying. ‘It’s a question of losing something that was a part of you and now isn’t. You need to realise that.’
‘Says the voice of experience,’ mocked Jess. ‘Just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean that you know everything. You’ve never lost a baby, so how would you know?’
Cathy saw Liz get ready to defend her corner. ‘That’s enough, Jess,’ she interjected, not wanting another argument to start. She threw a tea towel at her. ‘You can help to dry the dishes while you’re sitting doing nothing.’
‘That’s so not fair. Why do I –’
The door opened and they all turned to see Becky standing in the doorway. Her skin was blotchy, her eyes barely visible due to the dark circles beneath them. She wore an over-sized, over-stretched T-shirt and slippers, a cropped cardigan pulled close as if trying to keep out the pain.
Cathy was the first to react. She ushered her into the room and sat her down at the table.
‘Would you like a warm drink?’ she asked. ‘Jess, put the kettle on and then be on your way.’
‘But –’ Jess complained.
‘I thought you were going shopping.’
‘Not on my own.’
Cathy raised her eyebrows.
‘Fine! I know when I’m not wanted.’
Ten minutes later, coffee and toast had been made. But Becky hadn’t touched either.
‘I…’ She looked up at Cathy through watery eyes. ‘I… can I talk to you?’
Liz saw this as her cue to make herself scarce. ‘I’d better get going. I need to –’
‘No, please! Will you stay?’
Liz sat down at the table with them, trying not to look too surprised. It took Becky a few moments to compose herself and then it all came tumbling out.
‘My baby was the only thing I had that was mine. I can’t rely on my dad. I’ll probably never see him again.’ She looked at them both. ‘I bet you’ve been wondering why he hasn’t come after me?’
Cathy nodded, unable to tell her that fathers hardly ever came after the girls that she looked after.
‘My mum died when I was seven and I went to live with my granny.’ Becky smiled. ‘I never knew my Pops but I loved my granny, she was the best. I saw my dad every Sunday. He always came around after he’d been to the pub and most of the time he’d fall asleep when he’d had his Sunday dinner. But I didn’t care. When she died, I had to go and live with him.’
‘How old were you then?’ asked Cathy.
‘Eleven. That’s when everything changed for me. It was like… like living with a stranger. I spent most of the time on my own. My dad would be either at work or at the pub. All of my friends from school lived too far away for me to visit so I used to be in my room a lot. Then Uncle James started coming around.’
Cathy froze as she feared what was coming next.
‘He used to make such a fuss of me at first. I remember him buying me lots of nice things – toys, comics, sweets. Then one night when they’d both come in from the pub, he came up to my room. I was asleep and he woke me up when he tried to get into bed with me. I thought he was drunk and I pushed him away but he kept trying to kiss me and run his hands all over my body. Then he grabbed my chin really hard and told me to shut up or else he’d tell my dad how naughty I was. That was the start of it all. It just got worse from there. I –’
‘You mean –’ Liz started, ‘you mean, he touched you.’
Becky laughed, a cackling sound that made Cathy inwardly cringe.
‘He did more than touch me,’ she said. ‘Whose baby do you think it was?’
‘I didn’t mean it to sound as if it wasn’t true.’ Liz sounded distraught.
Cathy gave Liz’s arm a reassuring squeeze as Becky continu
ed.
‘The first time I thought I might be pregnant, I chucked myself down the stairs because I didn’t want to have his baby. I was only fourteen and he’d been coming in to my room once a month since that first time. I didn’t have anyone to talk to then either but I just knew.’
‘Didn’t your dad suspect anything?’ asked Cathy.
Becky shook her head. ‘I hardly ever saw him, remember? So it was easy really. I stayed away from school while he was at work sometimes anyway, so I stayed off a little longer. But I hurt my arm when I fell and it was so painful that I went to the hospital. Before I had it X-rayed, I told one of the nurses about the things that were happening to my body. She asked me how old I was. I said I was sixteen. They did some tests and she told me that I wasn’t pregnant anymore. I never told anyone else.’
‘Oh, Becky.’ Tears streamed down Liz’s cheeks.
‘When I thought I was pregnant again, I knew I had to do something about it. So I got a knife.’
‘Dear God!’
‘I wasn’t going to hurt myself,’ Becky explained. ‘But I was going to make sure he never came near me again. On the night I left home, I stabbed my uncle in the leg and then I made a run for it. I thought I’d killed him.’ She shuddered. ‘That’s why I was so scared to come out of my room when I first got here. I thought the police would be looking for me. I swear he was dead when I left him. But he must have been so drunk that he passed out. I took off because I thought he’d stopped breathing. I couldn’t have killed him though, because it would have been on the news, wouldn’t it?’
‘Becky,’ said Cathy gently. ‘None of it was your fault.’
‘It was! Don’t you see? I could have stopped him doing it but I was a coward. I thought he’d tell my dad and then I’d have to go into a home because there was no one else to look after me. I didn’t want to go into care. Look what’s happened to Cheryl. She scares me: her mind is definitely twisted. So I stayed quiet. I did try once or twice to stop him but he made sure that I didn’t try again. He was too strong for me.’