In the Blood

by Ruth Mancini

  ‘Check the bedroom,’ she calls out to me. ‘If it’s not here, it’s gonna be in one of the drawers in there.’

  I find the door to the bedroom, which is pretty and feminine. Lilac drapes hang from the small window and there are matching lilac cushions with patchwork hearts scattered over the bed, along with a fluffy pink throw. Finn’s cot is wedged tight between the bed and the wardrobe, a lone stuffed sheep sitting on top of the baby blue summer duvet.

  I open the top drawer of the chest of drawers and feel around inside, the soft sensation of silk underwear cool against my hand.

  Marie appears in the room behind me.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ I tell her. ‘I shouldn’t be here. I should go.’

  ‘Do you want El to go back to the slammer?’ she asks me, taking over and rummaging through the drawers below.

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘So come on then.’ She checks the bedside cabinet and then slides back the mirrored door to the wardrobe. It’s full to bursting with expensive-looking dresses and handbags and a shoe rack that’s crammed with an impressive selection of patent leather heels. Is Ellie shoplifting? I wonder, suddenly. Is that what she’s up to? Or are Marie and Darren stealing for her? Is that why she’s giving them money? How else could she afford clothes like these?

  ‘I’ll wait out there,’ I tell Marie, nodding towards the hallway.

  A moment later Marie finishes looking through the bedroom and pushes past me to the living room. I follow her and watch as she lifts sofa cushions and rifles through more drawers and shelves.

  Eventually she stops and puts her hands on her hips. ‘It’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere,’ she says. ‘There ain’t nowhere else to look.’

  I nod. ‘OK.’

  ‘Did she definitely say it was here?’ she asks me.

  I think about this for a moment. ‘Not exactly.’

  We stand in the living room for a moment looking at each other. Suddenly, there’s a loud bleeping noise, which makes me jump out of my skin. Marie wrestles her phone out of her jeans pocket. She glares at it for a moment, utters the word, ‘Bastard!’ and then makes a bolt for the door.

  ‘Marie, wait!’ I run after her into the hallway, but she doesn’t stop. I follow her outside and slam the door behind me, watching as she wobbles unsteadily along the balcony and, seconds later, disappears into the stairwell.

  I follow her down the steps and then walk along the road in the direction of the Oval, back to the bus stop.

  My phone rings. It’s Anna.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ she asks.

  ‘If you mean with Ellie, I’m not sure, to be honest. What do you know about a grandmother who lives in Kent?’

  Anna hesitates a moment before saying, ‘What grandmother?’

  ‘She asked me to get her bail varied so that she could go and visit her this weekend. She’s sick, apparently. Dying.’

  ‘She’s never mentioned her to me,’ Anna says. ‘She told me she had no family at all. I’ve asked her the question, outright, and she told me “no”. It would have made all the difference with the child protection proceedings if she’d had a family member who could have supported her in keeping Finn with her.’

  ‘Hmm. That’s what I thought.’ I contemplate this for a moment. ‘She’s supposed to have handed her passport into the police this afternoon. I went to her flat. She’s not there and neither, it seems, is her passport.’

  ‘What? So what are you saying?’ asks Anna.

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just a hunch – and I hope I’m wrong. But I think she may have jumped bail.’

  6

  When I get home on Friday evening, I make pasta and cheese and run a bath for Ben. I’ve heard nothing from Alex since Wednesday and have just decided that I’m not going to – and that it’s probably for the best – when my phone bleeps and then his name is there, sitting on my phone screen, in my hand, just as if it belongs there, as if he’s someone that I know: Alex. I realise then that I don’t even know his surname, that I didn’t ask, or tell him mine. There is so much that I don’t know about him, so much to be anxious about. There are innumerable ways in which this could all go horribly wrong.

  But then I open the message and read: Fancy a coffee? and I laugh out loud as I realise that he is someone that I know, a little bit at least, and who knows me a little too – and that’s how it starts, isn’t it? Andy, after all, was once just a Christian name tapped into my mobile phone. And in spite of the way things turned out, I’ve never once regretted meeting, knowing... loving him.

  I lift Ben into the bath and sit down on the toilet seat to watch him. As I do so I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, seeing my face as Alex might see it, lit up and twinkling, alive with the possibility of something more than Friday-night bathtime with a five-year-old. I may not have Anna’s long legs or Ellis Stephens’ striking looks, but I’m aware that I have a pretty face and nice eyes, and that my thick fair hair – when it’s freshly washed and hanging in loose, shaggy waves around my shoulders – is worthy of a second glance.

  I click inside the box below Alex’s message and type in: Sorry, not tonight. Am washing Ben’s hair! I tap the send button and glance back at Ben, who is leaning forward and putting his face into the bathwater, trying out the sensation against his nose and mouth. When he lifts his face up, he has beard-like bubbles stuck to his chin and the tip of his fringe is drenched with water, which is now running down his nose. I see him first glance at the green and yellow plastic jug on the side of the bath and then at me, as he tries to figure out where the water is coming from. His eyes narrow and squint as they focus in on his nose, as if it might hold a clue. He looks so funny that I start to giggle, and Ben looks up at me and giggles too.

  A second later my phone bleeps and a new message appears. Tomorrow then? As planned? I will wash my hair too.

  I chuckle again. Ben is delighted with this new game of cause and effect: the phone bleeps and then Mummy laughs – this is a good game!

  ‘AAAAY.’ He applauds our interaction, loudly. His voice is deep and echoes round the bathroom. He brings his hands up into the air and crashes them, palms down, against the water.

  ‘Careful, Ben,’ I warn him, still laughing. ‘Big splash. Too wet.’

  Sure, I text Alex back. What time?

  A thrill of anticipation runs through me as I shampoo and rinse Ben’s hair, lift him out of the bath and wrap him in a towel. I take him into the bedroom to get him into his nappy and pyjamas, and then put him on the floor and follow him as he, predictably, crawls out of the door and into the living room towards the telly. He pulls himself up and presses his nose to the screen.

  ‘Bah bah,’ he says.

  ‘All right, Ben.’ I smile. ‘Bah bah it is.’

  I slip the Teletubbies DVD into the Panasonic and flick on the telly. I can hear my phone bleeping from the kitchen table, and I savour the moment of not knowing what it says, but knowing all the same that I have a... A what? What do I have? I have a text exchange with a man going on, a man who likes me, is interested in me, a man who wants to see me tomorrow. It’s more than I’ve had for a very long time. It feels as though he’s... well, my boyfriend. The thought is intoxicating, after so long without this, after so many nights of getting Ben and myself ready for bed with nothing more to look forward to the following day than the prospect of having to keep Ben entertained all weekend on my own.

  I pick up my phone. There are two messages. I read them in the correct order. The first one says: Shall I pick you up at 10.00? I’m making a picnic. I’ve got hard-boiled eggs and bananas for Ben. The second one says: And coffee for you.

  I laugh again and Ben looks up at me with a smile.

  ‘Ben, look,’ I tell him, excitedly, and show him my phone. ‘We have a date!’

  Ben reaches out his hand and taps the screen of my phone, which of course fails to bleep on cue as he’s expecting.

  ‘Bah bah,’ he say
s, unimpressed, and turns back to Tinky Winky, who at this moment in time has far more to offer than I.

  I type back: :) See you tomorrow.

  *

  Amazingly, for once, Ben sleeps right through the night, and this time doesn’t wake until eight thirty the following morning. When I look at the clock on my phone I realise with alarm that we’re left with only an hour and a half to get up, dressed and ready before Alex arrives. But when I check myself in the bathroom mirror and see my even, bag-free eyes and rested face looking back, I know it’s going to be worth it. Instead of the foggy-headed woman who drags herself through the day and divides it up into quarters, it’s my fresh-faced, clear-headed former self that is meeting Alex today. Plucked eyebrows and painted nails are definitely of secondary importance when compared to a fully functioning brain, and it’s only once I’ve given Ben his breakfast and got him dressed, our teeth and hair brushed and a picnic packed, that I turn my mind to my own wardrobe.

  I’ve spent most of the warmer months of the year in three-quarter-length leggings, tunic tops and trainers, but I settle instead for a simple navy gypsy skirt, a white vest-top and a matching bolero-style chiffon cardie. I’ve no idea what the top and cardie will end up looking like after a day out with Ben, but it’s the newest-looking outfit I’ve got and I do at least want to look as though I’ve made an effort.

  Alex pulls up outside a few minutes before ten. He’s driving a silver BMW, which is really smart, but not too flashy. I make a mental note that he’s one of those people that’s actually on time for things, unlike me; I’ll have to mend my ways. Nonetheless, Ben and I are all but ready, Ben’s bag is packed, as is our contribution to the picnic – tuna sandwiches and a Ben-friendly onion- and dressing-free Greek salad of chopped up cucumber, tomatoes and feta cheese.

  I walk outside to meet Alex with Ben in my arms. He waves as he gets out of his car. ‘Is it all right here?’ he asks, from a distance.

  ‘It’ll be fine for a moment,’ I tell him. ‘We won’t be long.’

  ‘Can’t we walk there?’

  I shake my head. ‘We’d probably need the car nearby, just in case.’

  Alex nods and I’m struck once again by the knowledge that he isn’t exactly a stranger to me. I know already that I don’t need to explain the ‘just in case’ to Alex: he gets it. He’s standing next to the car looking at his phone when I leave the house with Ben’s car seat in one arm and Ben in the other. He immediately looks up, pushes his phone into his pocket and walks over to help me, taking the car seat and putting it in the back of the car. He then takes Ben from me and puts him into his seat. He stands back and watches as I strap him in.

  ‘You look nice,’ he says, from behind me.

  I feel myself blush and swing round to face him.

  ‘Thanks. So do you.’ I smile. For an awkward moment we stand in the road, looking at each other. He’s quite a bit taller than me and I have to look up. In the bright morning light, with his face just inches away from mine, he appears a little older than I remembered, but he’s every bit as handsome. His navy-blue eyes crinkle up at the corners with mirth as we both try to think of something to say, the easy conversation we had just a few days ago lost in the realisation that we’ve now progressed from a man helping out a stressed woman with her shopping to a couple on a first date.

  Alex resolves the situation by gently touching my arm and saying, ‘It’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure if you’d change your mind.’

  I look into his eyes to see if he’s teasing me, but he’s not. ‘Why would I do that?’ I ask.

  He smiles and shrugs by way of reply and then opens the passenger door for me before walking round and getting into the car. I glance across at him as he revs up the engine, baffled by his diffidence. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the one in the driving seat – in more ways than one.

  I glance back over my shoulder at Ben, then duck my head down behind the seat and pop up again, making a funny face. A smile breaks across Ben’s face. He seems remarkably relaxed and although I’ve brought his nursery rhyme CD for a bit of reassurance and familiarity on the journey, I don’t want to inflict it on Alex unless I have to.

  I direct him straight across Seven Sisters Road, which is tailed back with traffic. Alex glances round at the run-down shops and B&Bs that line the street.

  ‘Hmm. Exotic, indeed,’ he comments as we pass a hair salon of the same name.

  ‘You’re not from round here, right?’ I tease.

  Alex looks momentarily embarrassed. ‘No. I live with a friend. Lewisham,’ he adds.

  ‘Lewisham’s nice.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a bachelor pad, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So, what were you doing on the Holloway Road on Wednesday?’ I ask.

  ‘Wednesday? Oh, I’d been up north. For work,’ he says. ‘I thought I’d head down the A1. Just stopped off at the shops to get a couple of bits on my way home.’

  Alex slows down outside the entrance to the park.

  ‘Go on in,’ I tell him. ‘You can park inside.’

  We follow the road round to the right and park up next to the basketball courts, which are covered in a pretty sky-blue concrete that makes them look from a distance like a swimming pool.

  Alex cuts the engine. Ben spots the boating lake on the other side of the road, where a large mêlée of gulls, geese, ducks and swans is gathered, both on the water and spilling onto the path beside it. A flock of pigeons alights from its midst and settles in an orderly row along the railings.

  ‘AAAAY!’ Ben applauds loudly.

  Alex laughs. ‘AAAAAY,’ he cheers back at Ben.

  I look up at him. ‘That’s really great,’ I comment. ‘The way you copy him. I’ve heard you do it before. It’s what the speech therapist told me to do. When you mirror his noises back to him, it’s reinforcement for him.’

  Alex says, ‘OK. I’ll remember to do it some more.’

  From the back of the car, Ben suddenly lets out an enormous raspberry. I’m not quite sure which end it’s come from, to tell the truth, but the look on Alex’s face is priceless as he turns to me and says, ‘You want me to do that too?’

  Ben erupts in peals of laughter the minute we do, and we are all three still giggling as we get out of the car. Any enduring first-date tension is now easing right out of me and we continue to joke easily as we unfold the buggy and unpack the picnic and walk across the road in the direction of the lake. As we reach the water, I take Ben out of his buggy and let him stand, holding onto the railings, where he reaches up to the intrepid pigeons – who are sitting there within arm’s length of us – and launches them one by one into the air with a tap on each plump chest. He continues down the line, moving with the aid of the railings, tapping each pigeon in quick succession.

  ‘It’s real-life Angry Birds,’ I laugh, as each pigeon takes off, only to land again a little further up the railing. ‘He really does think it’s some sort of game. They have touch-screen computers at nursery. When we go to the aquarium, he taps the glass as each fish swims past. I have to stop him, because it frightens them. He doesn’t realise that, of course. It’s just cause and effect to him...’

  Ben moves himself along, hand over hand, towards the newly formed pigeon line-up. Suddenly, without warning, Alex leaps forwards and pulls Ben back with one arm. The pigeons swoop up and take off over the lake.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t think he should get so close to the water,’ Alex says.

  ‘But there’s a railing...’

  ‘Not further up, there’s not.’

  Alex takes Ben’s hands and walks him away from the lake and onto the grass, towards the playground. ‘One... two... three,’ he counts Ben’s steps.

  I stand there for a moment, wondering what just happened. Did Alex just overreact? Or am I a careless parent? I’d have caught up with Ben easily before he reached the end of the railings. Maybe Alex doesn’t realise that Ben can’t move that fast.

  But
Ben seems satisfied with this change of direction and Alex seems to be genuinely enjoying himself. I watch them for a moment, my confusion turning to delight as I notice how at ease they are with each other – or, more to the point, how uncharacteristically at ease Ben is in the company of someone new. His face breaks into a smile as Alex continues to count, ‘Seven, eight, nine...’ so I call out to Alex and ask him to watch Ben for a moment while I go into the café for some birdseed, which they sell behind the counter with the teas and coffees.

  When I come out of the shop, Alex is walking Ben over the grass towards me, holding just one of his hands. I watch him as he leans over Ben, his back bent. Ben is stretching his arm up and holding on tight to Alex’s hand, his face racked with concentration. At the same time, he looks pleased with himself and I hear him say, ‘Bah bah,’ when he sees me coming into view. While Ben is distracted by my reappearance, Alex takes the opportunity to let go of his hand. Ben wobbles a little and Alex bends and quickly catches him.

  ‘He’s nearly there, isn’t he?’ he says as I approach them. ‘I’d bet he could let go of my hand and keep going.’

  ‘He has the balance,’ I agree, ‘but he panics. Of course, it’s much further to the ground for him than it is for a baby that’s learning to walk.’

  ‘OK. Well we should try it again on the grass. I have a plan.’

  I smile at him, gratefully. ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

  I give Ben a handful of birdseed which he tries to eat and then drops. He then takes my hand and pushes it in the direction of the water, indicating that he wants me to feed the ducks myself. Alex picks Ben up and straps him into his buggy as we move closer to the lake. I throw a few handfuls of seed into the water and there is an immediate flurry of activity as the gulls and pigeons swoop down over the ducks and geese and try to get in on the action.

  ‘AAAAY!’ cheers Ben, appreciatively, and flaps his hands.

  When all the birdseed is gone we head up past the café. We stop at the playground, but it’s too busy for Ben, who wails when I try to unstrap him. Instead, we follow the path until we find a patch of grass in the shade between a beautiful russet maple tree and a lush green hornbeam. I spread out the blanket I’ve brought while Alex reaches down and picks up a small piece of branch that has fallen from the tree.