Motherlove

by Thorne Moore

People didn’t hug or have emotional crises in the Linley’s dining room. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  They walked on high open downs and they strolled in hushed beech woods, they ate lunch in a quaint pub by a duck pond, and they idled the day away as if the rest of the world did not exist.

  Sitting in his car, his arm around her shoulders as they gazed at clouds drifting above interlaced branches, Ben sighed. ‘I suppose we had better get back.’

  He had to see his mother and he was doing his best. ‘Yes,’ she said, reaching for her seat belt.

  They drove back into Lyford, to the Linley. ‘I’ll drop you here. Pick you up later for dinner. Stay in my room, if you like. Use the spa. You don’t want to come with me for this.’

  She put her hand on his arm to silence him. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘You won’t like it,’ he said. ‘She certainly won’t like you.’

  Kelly smiled. ‘I’m that hard to take, am I?’

  ‘She doesn’t like any woman I’m with.’ He changed down a gear, manoeuvring into a different lane. ‘She’ll be rude. I’m just warning you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t storm off. And I won’t interfere. I’ll just give you moral support.’ She had tears in her eyes just thinking of him needing moral support to speak to his mother.

  His fingers brushed hers.

  After a hesitation at a crossroad, Ben performed a neat three-point turn in a side street. ‘Have to get my bearings. She’s only moved in recently. I got it wrong at the last lights.’ They finally pulled up in a street of 1970s semis, garages and maisonettes. He sat for a moment, staring at one of them, then unbuckled his seat belt with a sigh and got out.

  Kelly followed him up the path. He braced himself and knocked at a door.

  A tired-looking woman emerged from the next property, pulling her coat on. ‘You looking for Mrs Parish?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ben’s inner conflicts disappeared behind a friendly smile. ‘I’m her son.’

  ‘Ah. Well, she’s out, I think – gone for her walk.’

  ‘Oh. Yes, of course, she would.’

  ‘Likes her walking, doesn’t she? Keeps fit, I expect.’

  ‘Fit. Is that what it is,’ said Ben under his breath. He still smiled at the woman but Kelly could feel his anger. She could feel it, but she couldn’t understand it.

  ‘Is it bad going for a walk?’ she asked, following him back to the car.

  Ben gave a hollow laugh. ‘She knew I was coming, so she took a walk. To the park, of course.’

  ‘Well, you’ve been out all day. You don’t expect her to sit around waiting for you to show up, do you?’

  He scowled then laughed. ‘No. No, why should she?’

  ‘Are we going to the park to find her?’

  He settled in the driving seat, starting the car up again, staring at the wheel. What was the problem? He heaved another sigh. ‘I suppose so. Stupid to leave without seeing her.’

  Back down the main road, into a car park by a leisure centre. He pulled on the handbrake, oozing resistance. ‘Do you mind another walk?’

  ‘I’d love another walk.’

  They went down a short lane to the park entrance. Ben stopped, staring a moment at the open iron gates, then shrugged.

  Kelly slipped her hand in his.

  Wide folds of lawn beyond the ornate railings, scattered with purple beech, horse chestnut and cherry trees, a serpentine lake and a distant bandstand. A relic of a former age. At the gates was a small wooden kiosk, and a uniformed warden looked out, an elderly black man with grey hair. He raised a hand in greeting.

  ‘Hi.’ Ben said. ‘Lewis, isn’t it? Have you seen my mother by any chance?’

  Lewis strolled towards them. ‘Mrs Parish? Yes, she’s here. Down by the lake now, feeding the ducks.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ben, through clenched teeth.

  ‘Surprised she doesn’t avoid the place,’ said Lewis.

  ‘Why?’ asked Ben.

  ‘There’s been trouble.’ Lewis’s friendliness was qualified, Kelly realised. He was equivocating. ‘Bad feeling.’

  ‘There always is,’ muttered Ben. ‘Thanks anyway.’ He turned to Kelly. ‘You still want to come?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Kelly. He was hurting, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, and his distress tugged at heartstrings she hadn’t known she had, but she was with him and that was all she wanted.

  The lake was grimier round the edges than it had looked from a distance. Ducks were outnumbered by floating litter. Still, there were a few weeping willows, a scenic bridge, and the paths were a pleasant enough stroll for the handful of elderly people who still thought a daily constitutional was a good idea.

  The woman standing by the railings did not seem old – too erect, her shoulders too straight, her hands gripping the railings too strong for old age. But her short hair was grey.

  Ben stopped, ten yards short, his jaw clenching. ‘Mum?’

  The woman turned, her jaw firm, her eyes glaring with anger, before she recognised him and broke into a distracted smile. She was not fat but well built. The sort who could deliver a killer left hook if she chose, and she looked as if she might. Yes, thought Kelly, she looks the kind of mother you would fight with. An eternal battle of wills. Was that how it was for Ben? How sad.

  ‘Ben. It’s you. I thought for a moment… That damned girl is here somewhere.’ She looked away, across the lake, caught sight of a distant figure and nodded. ‘I knew it. They just won’t leave me alone. So, how are you?’ It was weird, the way his mother spoke, neither surprised nor delighted to see her son again. ‘I suppose you’re still with that…’ She stopped, seeing Kelly. ‘Oh for God’s sake, you haven’t brought another one.’

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ said Ben resolutely ignoring her reaction. Keeping his distance. No kiss. ‘How are you keeping? This is Kelly. She’s with me.’

  ‘Very nice, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Parish, glancing briefly at Kelly then back at Ben. ‘Nice to be able to move on.’

  ‘Yes! It is! That’s what I’m doing, Mum. Moving on. And hoping you might try it some time.’

  ‘Just walk away, you mean.’

  ‘Okay! I’ll walk away!’ He turned, hustling Kelly with him.

  ‘Ben!’ called Mrs Parish.

  ‘Stop, Ben,’ said Kelly gently, holding him back. ‘Look, I don’t know what it is between you, but you ought to sort it out and I’m not here to make things worse. She doesn’t feel happy with me around—’

  ‘Then she can do without me too!’

  ‘No! That’s not the way. Go back to her. Talk with her. I’ll be fine. I really don’t want to come between you.’

  ‘It isn’t really anything to do with you, Kelly.’

  ‘No, I know. Whatever it is, go and sort it out.’

  He hesitated, ashamed of his petulance. ‘Dealing with it like an adult, eh? I don’t know.’

  ‘I do. Go and talk with her. I’ll take a walk.’

  He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘All right. You sure?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He took a deep breath, then turned. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Don’t rush.’ She watched him march back towards Mrs Parish, who was still staring after him, hands clasped. Then Kelly wandered on through the park.

  The solitary figure that had been watching across the lake disappeared into the far trees.

  Kelly was chatting to an old lady when Ben returned, an hour later, anxious and apologetic.

  ‘Kelly, sorry. Sorry!’

  She laughed. ‘You did talk with her? That’s good.’

  Ben sighed as they turned up the lane to the leisure centre. ‘Yes, I suppose it’s good. Or it could be. One day.’

  ‘You’re getting there. You’re trying.’

  ‘And you…’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘…are extraordinarily understanding. I bet you never have trouble talking to your mum.’

  ‘No. Never. Sorry.’

  ‘You don’t kn
ow how lucky you are.’

  ‘Yes, I do. We’ve always been best friends. Do you think you’ll ever be friends with your mum?’

  He laughed, less bitterly. Duty done, he was free. ‘That would take a miracle and I gave up expecting those years ago.’ He clicked his car keys as they approached and the locks flicked up. ‘The sad thing is I can’t actually remember when things used to be different. I can only remember that I used to remember. Maybe it’s just as well.’ He opened the door for Kelly.

  She waited for him to settle himself in the driving seat. ‘How long have you been at odds?’

  ‘God, years. Look, Kelly, you don’t want to talk about all this.’

  ‘Yes I do. I want to know everything about you.’

  He smiled at last. That smile again. ‘Wish I were more interesting. What can I say? My family split up, that’s all. I had a baby sister who died, that was what started it. It was – tricky. A bad time. Mum was upset, of course. Then more than upset. Obsessive. Lying.’ He was back nursing his anger.

  ‘Lying? That’s a hard thing to say.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t—’ He shook his head, shrugging himself clear. ‘Yes. I shouldn’t say it. It doesn’t matter, because after that she was out of my life.’ He switched on the car. ‘Let’s talk about happier things. Like dinner. Where shall we eat?’

  Kelly believed in talking, exploring, but she saw his desperation to change the subject, so she laughed. ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘God. That means I’d better find somewhere special.’

  ‘Anywhere with you is special.’

  Brake off, foot hovering on the clutch, he turned to face her. ‘You don’t want to go back to the Balmoral B&B, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Stay with me tonight.’

  Stretching the seat belt, she leaned across to kiss him. ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER 6

  i

  Lindy

  ‘Here we are, dear.’ Marion, the friendly, plump, black nurse was helping a pale, fretful new mother into the vacant bed on the ward. ‘And your baby’s here. See?’

  The woman looked to the cot, then shrugged off further attention without a word. She waited until Marion had gone, then looked across at Lindy. She pulled a face of exasperation that she obviously expected Lindy to share.

  Lindy didn’t share it. There was nothing here to exasperate her. There was an institutional feel, okay, but it wasn’t like the home. No bullying, no watching your back, no scowling adults looming over you. The nurses could be quite pushy, of course, and one of them was a bit ratty, but she didn’t feel lost with them. She felt special. She had her baby.

  She wasn’t even fussed about the food, although Lindy, by choice, would have gone for burger and chips not mash and cabbage but still, three meals a day, served up to her like she was a queen! A comfortable bed in a heated room, and baby Kelly beside her. Wanting nothing. Except Gary. ‘Do you want us to let anyone know?’ they had asked, and she had wanted to say Gary but didn’t dare. He was going to be furious, she knew. She was supposed to have had it secretly at home, so that they could dump it. What would he do?

  She reached out to stroke Kelly’s tiny fingers, and smiled at the pale woman. Perhaps she’d had it rough in the delivery room.

  ‘Are they all like that?’ the woman asked, nodding at the door.

  Like Marion? No, not all of them were that friendly and jolly. ‘Some,’ said Lindy.

  ‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ asked Jackie, an experienced mother of three, who was going home as soon as her husband and children arrived. She was dressing.

  The pale woman lay back on her pillows. ‘Boy. Just as well or my Kev would go fucking mad. When I had to give up work, he was that furious, said in that case it had better be a bloody boy.’

  Jackie forced a smile. ‘Have you got a name?’

  ‘Anita.’

  ‘For the baby?’

  ‘Oh. Yeah, Kevin like his dad.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Jackie. ‘Very patriarchal.’

  The door opened, Balgeet returning from the bathroom. She had the bed next to Lindy; her baby Deepinder had beaten Kelly into the world by forty minutes. ‘Oh, a new baby! That is lovely. Is it—?’

  ‘Don’t touch!’ said Anita, with a hostility that lowered the temperature in the ward by several degrees.

  Jackie looked across at Lindy with raised eyebrow, then smiled broadly at the Sikh woman. Balgeet looked abashed, but only for a second. No point in making a fuss.

  Lindy accepted it as natural. Race was an issue that had always surrounded her. Verbal abuse, violence, graffiti. For most of her life, she had hung around with people who thought nothing of chanting racist slogans or singling out Pakistani shops for vandalism. But for herself, she’d no real sense of tribalism, because she had no tribe. She was always the outsider. There were law-abiding respectable citizens, white, black, brown or yellow, and there were the outlaws, white, black, brown too, and she was lost among them, somewhere between Tyler on the ground floor and Carver upstairs.

  So she was happy now in this pretend home with Jackie the white ex-teacher and Balgeet the Sikh lady and Marion the West Indian nurse.

  Visiting time. Varinder Singh with two aunties, a grandmother and three children filled the ward with noisy delight, despite Nurse Patricia’s disapproving reminder that only two visitors were permitted at a time. They knew how to handle Nurse Patricia. Suddenly, the entire Sikh family was having trouble with English, although they were fluent the moment the nurse was gone.

  Jackie’s beaming, slightly harassed husband arrived with their two children, a carrycot, and endless carrier bags. ‘Good. You’ve got my jacket. And the shawl? Oh, Frankie! There was a brand new shawl your mother made. This is the dog blanket!’ Laughter and bustle and they were gone, with one last hug and a kiss for Balgeet and Lindy. Lindy was sorry to see them go, to lose a part of her temporary family, though Jackie had only been in for twenty-four hours.

  Anita’s husband Kevin came in. No chocolates or fruit but a football for his baby son. Kevin had the thickest neck Lindy had ever seen. Red and raw and shaven. ‘Fucking hell,’ he said to his wife, glaring round the ward. ‘You better not come home bleeding stinking of fucking curry.’

  Peace. Visiting hours were at an end. Jackie had left. Kevin had swaggered away, on the firm insistence of a male nurse. The Singh family had emerged from the curtains around Balgeet’s bed, and Anita had drawn her own in response. Now Balgeet was sleeping and all was silence.

  Lindy was alone with Kelly. The baby stirred, looking around with uncomprehending eyes. Lindy lifted her out of her cot and cradled her. All the rest, the illusion of home and family, was fake, a pretence that would vanish into thin air when Lindy was turfed out of this place, but Kelly was real. Kelly was for keeps.

  Lindy’s gift, or curse, was her ability to see and not see, to be selective in what she chose to know. It was her means of survival. The happy thought was enough – Kelly was for keeps.

  No visit from Gary. He didn’t know she was here. She wasn’t going to think about what he would say when she arrived on his doorstep with Kelly. It was a long way off, because they were keeping Lindy in a bit. Anaemic, they said. And very young, and although she’d given an address, like a proper home, they would have to have a word with social services about her, make sure she had support.

  ‘I’ve got my Gary,’ she’d said, letting herself believe it.

  That was a problem for another day. Today, she had Kelly. Such a pretty baby. And dressed like a princess too. Proper baby clothes, and bedding and nappies and a quilted Moses basket that had arrived at the hospital just after Kelly’s birth, with a potty and bottles and rattles and a pink furry mouse and a rubber duck and a bunch of flowers. The manager of Baby Garden had been photographed by the press, handing them over to one of the admin staff on the hospital steps – Marion had told her about it, chuckling.

  All this – for her baby.

  Her hungry baby. She could ask for a
nother bottle for her. Or she could try that other thing. While no one was watching. She raised Kelly to her breast. Not quite sure how to arrange it, but after a minute they settled down together. It felt odd. Hurt a bit but it felt sort of – natural.

  The baby slept again. Lindy placed her back in her cot, then padded out to the toilets. At the nurses’ station in the corridor, Patricia was shuffling notes, while Marion stretched, hands pressed into the small of her back. ‘Have security up here next time.’

  ‘Shouldn’t allow people like him in the place,’ said Patricia. ‘You could sue him, you know, for what he said to you.’

  ‘Oh, men like him don’t fuss me,’ Marion laughed. ‘But not very nice for the patients.’

  ‘The wife’s just as bad. You know what? We should do a quick swap of babies. Kevin Rainford for Adebayo in 3B. Black as the ace of spades, ’scuse my language. Switch the labels, and tell her he must have developed overnight. Wouldn’t you give something to see her face?’

  ‘Ah, no. Take pity on poor Adebayo, woman.’ Marion saw Lindy and smiled broadly. ‘You all right, Lindy?’

  Lindy nodded, shuffling into the bathroom, disturbed. Nurses swapping babies; it didn’t bear thinking about. She hurried back to her bed, where Kelly was lying alone and vulnerable.

  She picked her up and held her tight.

  The taxi pulled up on the corner of Heighton Road, because the kerb outside 128 was blocked by parked cars and a skip. A real taxi, not one of the minicabs that would have dumped her and made off at speed. The hospital had arranged it. They needed the bed after four days. The doctors had checked her over and a social worker called Caroline had promised to visit Lindy at home.

  The taxi driver helped her out, with baby Kelly. Even carried all the Baby Garden stuff to the front door for her. Carver was coming out as she went in. He paused, watched the taxi driver dumping the Moses basket on the step, looked at the baby clasped to Lindy’s shoulder. No smile, but then Carver never smiled. No frown either. He just took note. Then he picked up the basket and carried it upstairs for her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, and opened her door.

  Gary lay on the mattress, empty beer cans around him, smoking and dozing. Most of his work tended to be at night. He opened his eyes as she came in, propped himself up on his elbow to look at her. Then he saw what she was holding.