In the Blood

by Ruth Mancini

  ‘Here,’ he says. ‘This is perfect. We just need to get him to hold onto this instead of your hand. That’s step one. Then, once he’s got used to it, we move onto step two: we let go. Want me to try?’

  ‘OK.’ I sit down on the blanket as Alex unstraps Ben and stands him on the grass. Ben looks at me anxiously when Alex offers him the stick, but Alex lifts his hand to indicate that I should stay where I am and coaxes Ben gently until he clutches it and walks towards me with Alex holding the other end. When he reaches the blanket Ben lets go and drops down onto his bottom.

  ‘Good walking, Ben!’ I encourage him, before rewarding him with a banana and a Marmite finger.

  Ben sits happily on the rug with a plastic plate full of food and I sit back against the tree trunk, relaxed in the knowledge that there is someone else there to take turns in leaping up and running after him if he crawls away or picks up and tries to eat one of the helicopter seeds that are twirling down from the tree.

  ‘You’re so good with him,’ I tell Alex. ‘It’s so nice for me to watch.’

  He smiles. ‘It’s nice for me too. I want to help Ben. And you.’

  I look up at him. ‘It’s a lot to ask,’ I say.

  He reaches out and touches my arm. ‘I wanted to see you; and you have Ben. I don’t mind, anyway. It’s fun. I like kids.’

  ‘It’s different with Ben, though. It’s hard work.’

  ‘Well, for you, it must be relentless.’ He glances at me. ‘And you have a job as well, don’t you? You were wearing a suit when I met you.’

  ‘I’m a solicitor. A criminal defence advocate.’

  ‘You go to court?’

  ‘Yes, most days.’

  ‘Wow. You do a job like that and then come home and take care of Ben?’

  I shrug. ‘It’s what I did before I had him. Life goes on. We have to live. I have to keep a roof over our heads and pay the bills.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘To be honest,’ I admit, ‘although it’s hard juggling both, it’s work that keeps me sane. When Ben was first diagnosed, work was a real escape for me, a chance to immerse myself in something else, a chance to feel normal again. I had to get away... not from Ben, but just... well, just from this permanent feeling of loss I had whenever I was with him.’

  ‘It must have been like losing a child. A bereavement. I imagine it feels the same. You lost the child you thought you were going to have, the future that you were expecting.’

  ‘Yes. That’s exactly how it was.’

  Alex looks up. He can see I’m upset, but I’m glad that he doesn’t try to change the subject. I know that the only way I’m ever going to get over the pain and begin the process of truly accepting the life that’s been handed to me is to talk about this, and for some reason that entirely escapes me, Alex seems to want to listen. So I talk about the times I really did think I’d lost him, how Ben ended up in hospital so many times, with seizures or chest infections. Pneumonia, bronchitis, he’d had the lot. ‘I think some people expected me to give up work and stay home with Ben,’ I tell him. ‘Dedicate myself to him, night and day. I don’t mind admitting that it would have driven me crazy. Really, I wouldn’t have made it this far.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Not many people would. And anyway, what do you do then? Live off the state for the rest of your life? End up with no savings or pension, living in poverty?’

  ‘Some of my work colleagues resent it though,’ I tell him. ‘They think I’m not pulling my weight.’

  ‘I think that’s what most working women experience, even those with children who don’t need extra help, even in this day of supposed equality in the workplace.’ Alex unscrews the thermos he’s brought with him and pours us both a second beaker of coffee. ‘I once overheard a male colleague complaining when another female colleague left work to collect a sick child,’ he tells me. ‘He said it was her choice to have children and his choice not to, and that he didn’t see why he – as a taxpayer – should have to pay her child benefit and pick up her work for her after she’d left for the day.’

  I gasp. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him that one day her children will be the taxpayers who are paying his pension, the GPs that are treating him, or the carers that are looking after him in his nursing home and emptying his bedpan when he’s too old to look after himself. I told him he should be thanking her, not criticising her.’

  I laugh. ‘Good point. What did he say to that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He smiles. ‘What could he say?’

  I look over at Ben, who has finished his food and is starting to moan. I wipe his mouth with a paper towel, and tip some crisps onto his plate: his favourite snack. Ben instantly gobbles them up and holds out his hands for more. ‘Ben’s not going to be looking after anyone, though,’ I say.

  ‘All the more reason why we need to look after him.’

  We. I look at him gratefully. I’m not sure whether he means we as in society, or we as in he and I, but I feel an unexpected tug at my heartstrings as I realise just how much I like this man. ‘So what do you do?’ I ask him. ‘For work?’

  Alex looks at me for a moment. ‘Oh, nothing as interesting as your job. Seriously. Brokerage. Corporate finance. Stocks and shares and hedge funds. It’s boring. Don’t make me go there on a Saturday.’

  I laugh. ‘OK, I won’t.’

  ‘Your job sounds far more glamorous,’ he says.

  ‘Well, I do enjoy it,’ I admit. ‘I love being there for people who are in trouble, people who are scared and need my help. And of course, it’s interesting. No two days are the same.’

  ‘So what’s your most interesting case?’

  ‘What, ever?’

  ‘Or... right now. What are you dealing with at the moment?’

  I hesitate. ‘Well, I’m not allowed to talk about individual cases, not in any way that makes them identifiable. But I have one at the moment, involving a child who’s been hurt.’

  ‘Hurt?’

  ‘Badly hurt,’ I tell him. ‘They say the mother tried to kill him.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But what if she’s guilty?’

  ‘That’s for the court to decide. My job is to test the evidence. Make sure it stands up to scrutiny.’

  ‘And does it?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘So what does she say about it?’ he asks. ‘Has she admitted it to you?’

  ‘Alex!’ I smack him playfully on the arm. ‘You must know I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Go on,’ he says.

  ‘No,’ I laugh. ‘But if you can get some time off work and come along to the Old Bailey a week on Tuesday, you’ll hear it all first-hand, for yourself.’

  ‘The Old Bailey,’ Alex repeats. ‘Wow.’

  ‘It’s been transferred there from another court,’ I tell him. ‘The next hearing is where we enter a plea. Only...’

  ‘Only what?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What?’ he persists.

  Only I don’t know if Ellie will be there. I’m worried she’s jumped bail. I’m expecting a call from the Defence Solicitor Call Centre at any moment to say she’s been arrested. Or worse, she’s snatched Finn from hospital and is nowhere to be found. But I can’t tell him that. ‘Enough,’ I smile. ‘I’m not telling you any more!’

  Alex smiles back. ‘OK. But, seriously, though. It sounds so illustrious – and exciting.’

  ‘Well, it can be hard work. The people we represent often have mental health problems or addictions and can be highly stressed and difficult to deal with – or otherwise uncooperative.’

  ‘Hmm. Yes,’ Alex muses, knowingly. ‘I can imagine.’

  I glance up at him, but he’s now watching Ben, who has finished his crisps and has thrown his plastic plate onto the grass and is crawling off the blanket away from us. Alex gets up, creeps up behind Ben and gives him a quick tickle under the armpits, which has the desired
effect of stopping him in his tracks while Ben tries to work out what just happened. Alex picks up the plate and Ben starts to crawl away again, then seems to change his mind and starts wailing instead. I get up to pick him up while Alex packs the picnic things away.

  As we cross the grass, Alex spots another stick that’s just the right size for Ben to hold. ‘Let’s have another go,’ he says. I put Ben back down on his feet and, holding him up by the arms, I offer him the stick. Ben takes it with one hand and clutches at the buggy with the other, but is soon walking steadily across the grass with just the stick connecting us.

  Alex comes up behind me. ‘Here, let me take the stick,’ he says. ‘You can be the carrot. Run ahead and then crouch down and face him, and let’s see if he’ll walk to you. Here, take these,’ he says, grabbing a pack of crisps from the picnic bag and giving them to me.

  Alex takes the stick from me and after an initial wobble and wail of protest, Ben continues to trot steadily over the grass after me, as I run ahead with the crisps. I stop and hold the pack out to Ben. ‘Crisps, Ben,’ I call. ‘Come and get them.’

  ‘Bah bah,’ says Ben, smiling as he trots towards me.

  ‘Come on,’ I call to him. ‘Come to Mummy. Come and get the crisps, Ben.’

  When Ben is just a few feet away from me, Alex lets go of the stick. Ben is so intent on reaching me, or more importantly, the crisps I’m holding, that he doesn’t notice at first that there is no one supporting him and he carries on, taking his very first steps on his own, his gait wide and unsteady, his hand still clutching his end of the stick.

  I take a deep breath and clap my hand to my chest; my heart surges with joy. I can’t believe it. ‘Ben, you’re walking!’ I screech at him.

  Alex quickly whips out his phone and points the camera at Ben, who instinctively glances over his left shoulder, realising suddenly that Alex is no longer beside him and that he is going it alone. His smile disappears and his face drops in a combination of fear and concentration, but instead of collapsing onto his bottom as I’d thought he might, he carries on walking steadily towards me for at least ten paces, before tumbling into my arms.

  ‘Ben, you did it!’ I wrap him in my arms and kiss him repeatedly. I’m so happy, I could cry. ‘Good walking, Ben. Good walking,’ I tell him over and over again.

  *

  When we get home, Alex helps me in with Ben’s things and comes in for tea. He turns on my laptop and uploads the footage of Ben’s first steps. We play it back to Ben, showing him what he has achieved and cheering along with our own voices on the screen. Later, while I get Ben ready for bed, Alex goes out for pizza and a bottle of wine and we watch Strictly Come Dancing on the telly.

  ‘That looks like a lot of fun,’ Alex says, nodding at the TV screen.

  ‘You like dancing?’

  ‘Hmm. I’d have a go at that,’ he says.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. If you were my partner.’

  ‘How do you know I can dance?’

  ‘Something tells me you can.’

  I look up at him. His eyes are smiling.

  We both sit there facing each other for a moment and I wonder if something is about to happen between us. But then, ‘Whoa, careful,’ Alex suddenly glances over towards Ben, who is standing up, holding onto the TV with just one hand. Right on cue, as we watch him, he lets go and walks steadily across the room. I take a sharp inward breath. Ben just keeps going, across the carpet, until he reaches us on the sofa. I reach out to catch him but as the music on the TV starts up, he pushes himself off my knee and wobbles back in the direction of the telly.

  He is definitely walking. It wasn’t a one-off. He knows he can do this now, and there’s no stopping him. It’s like a light switch has turned on in his brain.

  I feel elated. I can’t believe what an amazing day it’s been, and it’s all down to Alex. It’s as though he’s brought us luck. This is no scratch card: this is the lottery.

  Later, as I show him out of the front door and watch as he walks down the path, I know that I have to see him again.

  ‘Alex,’ I call. He turns and comes back down the path.

  ‘What have I forgotten?’ he asks.

  He steps back through the doorway, and I touch his face.

  ‘This,’ I say, leaning forward. I feel the stubble of his chin graze my cheek ever so slightly, and then his hand is circling my waist and his mouth is on mine.

  ‘I’ll find a babysitter,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s go dancing.’

  Alex kisses me again. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  After he’s gone and after Ben’s gone to bed, I lie awake for a long time and allow myself the luxury of imagining that this might be for real, that this might be the way my future is heading: a world with Alex in it – Alex, me and Ben. This is the point where my daydreams usually end; this is where reality always kicks in. But is it different this time?

  Hope rises inside me like a balloon. This man – this lovely man who has seen my son at his very, very worst – wants to go out with me again. I’ve only met him twice, but I know already that he is a kind, caring, gentle person who has brought a ray of sunshine into my world and who genuinely seems to want to help Ben. For some reason that’s beyond my comprehension, he seems to think that the package that is me and Ben – and he can be in no doubt that we are indeed a package – is one that’s worth having. But why? What’s in it for him? What if he changes his mind about me? What if he doesn’t? What do I really know about him, after all?

  My father’s voice creeps into my head: ‘If something seems too good to be true, it usually is.’ I contemplate this long after the streetlights have dimmed and the traffic noise that normally reaches me from the Holloway Road has dulled into an occasional distant swish and hum. I try to summon up my mother’s voice instead of my father’s, to hear her talking to me, to imagine what she’d tell me, what advice she’d give, but it’s been so long since I’ve heard her speak that I can’t quite reconstruct the intonation, the pitch, the cadence of her voice.

  But as tiredness finally sweeps over me and my body stills and my mind opens itself up to the funny, random, abstract thoughts that pop into your head when you’re on the cusp of sleep, I feel her hand in mine. I suddenly remember something muddled about strangers being angels, and never being afraid.

  7

  The prosecution papers arrive on Tuesday as directed by the court. I phone and leave yet another message for Ellie – yet another call that she doesn’t return. By Friday afternoon, I wonder if I should notify the court that I’ve lost touch with her. On the one hand, I have a duty to let them know if I’m unable to prepare her case for a fully effective hearing. On the other hand, there’s still time. She may yet appear. I wonder if the police have discovered she’s missing yet. Has she been arrested? Am I about to get a call?

  I send an email to Will: Still no sign of her. Not looking good.

  Will emails back, Give her until Monday. Call me if you’ve heard nothing by then.

  Alex texts on Friday evening to tell me that he’s been working late all week and will be spending the weekend at a conference, but will call round early the following week – that he has something for me, or more specifically, for Ben. I spend both days of the weekend in the park, walking Ben round and round the duck pond. He intermittently grabs at the railings or the leg of my jeans, but quickly lets go again and pushes my hand away if I try to help him, keen to prove to himself and to me that he can go it alone. This is the first time I’ve experienced this aspect of his character, this will to be independent, and although I’m under no illusion that he’ll ever, in fact, be truly independent of me, this new development still fills me with hope and joy.

  On Monday I drop Ben off at nursery and head to court for a morning trial. I’m halfway through when I get a message from Lucy to say that there’s a client waiting for me at the office. I call her while the magistrates are out making their decision.

  ‘It’s Ellis Stephens,’ she te
lls me.

  ‘Tell her to wait for me,’ I insist. ‘Don’t let her go anywhere. Lock her in if you have to.’

  ‘Isn’t that illegal?’ asks Lucy.

  I sigh. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  When I arrive back at the office an hour later, Ellie has gone.

  ‘She said she was going to the shops,’ Lucy tells me. ‘She’s left her number though. She said to call her when you get back.’

  Lucy hands me a pink post-it with a mobile number scrawled on it in her big bubbly handwriting. I note with irony that it’s the same number I have stored for Ellie, the number I’ve been calling for the past week. I take out my phone and ring it.

  ‘Hi,’ says Ellie, picking up.

  ‘Ellie, where on earth have you been?’ I reprimand her. ‘I’ve left you a billion messages.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that. I... I lost my phone.’

  ‘But you found it again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So how’s your gran?’ I ask her.

  A pause. ‘OK,’ she says.

  ‘And what about your passport? Where is it?’

  ‘I’ve just been and handed it in.’

  ‘And they didn’t arrest you?’

  ‘No. They just took it. I don’t think they’ve been round.’

  ‘Jeez, Ellie. You’ve been sailing close to the wind,’ I say. ‘Are you OK? I’ve been worried.’

  ‘Really?’ Ellie sounds surprised.

  ‘Really. The court hearing’s tomorrow. I thought you’d done a runner.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Thanks for trying to help. Marie told me you came round.’

  Did she tell you that I was inside your flat with her, poking around? I wonder. ‘Yes, well, I’m sorry if I intruded,’ I tell her. ‘I was worried that you’d get arrested and banged up again. Neither of us wants that.’

  ‘No,’ she agrees.

  ‘Well, hurry up and get back here. We’ve a lot to get through.’