She is shaking her head at everything I say. Her hands rise up helplessly and push through her hair. Then they drop down by her sides again.
‘Her baby,’ she says pitifully, and I’m not sure if those two words are filled with sadness or joy or despair or something else I haven’t yet picked up on.
‘What about her baby?’ I say. ‘Has she had it? You have to tell me what’s going on.’ I’m conscious of my voice rising in panic as I try to get past her in order to check the rest of the house, but she darts in front of me.
‘No, no, stop it! You don’t know what you are doing.’ She’s crying now. Snot bubbles at her nose and her cheeks are scarlet.
A piercing howl suddenly fills the house and a loud bang from upstairs makes the ceiling light judder.
She turns and charges into the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time. I come up behind her but she easily beats me to the bathroom at the top of the stairs and slams the door closed. I hear the lock slide across at the same time another gut-wrenching moan spills out.
She’s got Pip in there.
I lunge against the door with my shoulder but it won’t open. ‘For God’s sake, let me in! What are you doing?’ I don’t get a reply, but I hear Pip scream. She yells my name twice and then there’s a slapping sound followed by silence.
I thump on the door and try hurling my weight at it several more times but it’s holding fast. I stop, try to think calmly for a moment about what is going on, but it’s too much, too big, to take in. I pace the landing, listening to fresh wails from Pip as her labour marches on.
‘Listen to me!’ I scream. ‘Can you hear me in there? Please, just let me know you can hear me!’
There is an interminable silence, but finally I hear a very weak, ‘Yes.’ Then another soul-gripping noise from Pip as her contraction peaks and eventually subsides.
Over the gentle panting and pitiful sobbing, I try to talk sense through the door. I’m still not certain what she is doing. ‘Pip is having a baby,’ I say, wanting to kick myself for stating the obvious. ‘She needs to be in hospital so she can be taken care of. Surely you want the best for her and her baby, don’t you? Pip is a friend. Why do you want to hurt her? Can you hear me in there?’
She doesn’t reply. Then I hear the gush of running water, as if someone’s filling the bath. It’s followed by a clattering sound, perhaps something metal being dropped. I can’t be certain.
‘No, no! Dear God, please, no! Help me!’ The half screams, half pleas don’t sound like Pip any more.
My phone falls from my shaking hands as I attempt to call for help. I pick it up and dial 999 first, giving details as clearly as I can. Then I call the other number, the one I never thought I would have to use, and calmly give an update. I admit that I have failed comprehensively and will face the consequences, but the screams coming from the bathroom – way more than labour pains now – send me and the entire weight of my life crashing against the door once again. I have to get Pip out of there.
I feel the wood give a little and go further back down the landing. I charge at it again, hurling my hips and shoulder at it with all my might. I hear the wood splintering followed by more screams and banging and I’m lunging at the door like a madwoman. Whatever else I have messed up, I can’t let anything happen to Pip.
Suddenly the door bursts open and I fall into the bathroom, stumbling and banging my cheek on the edge of the basin. I am not prepared for what I see, even though my mind has been wrestling with crazy thoughts from the moment I saw Claudia standing in Pip’s kitchen wearing tight-waisted jeans that even I would struggle to get on.
‘Claudia,’ I say. I am so angry that my voice shakes. ‘No one is going to hurt you if you stay calm. I want you to put the knife down on the floor.’
The bathroom is small and airless and already stinks of death. I haven’t dared look at Pip yet but I am aware that she is lying supine in the bath. I hear her shallow, desperate breaths and know she is still alive. I must not take my eyes off Claudia or the knife that she is clutching above Pip’s naked belly.
‘You must listen to me very, very carefully, Claudia.’
She turns and stares directly at me. Her right arm is outstretched, and her fist grips the wooden handle of the kitchen knife. How can this be the same woman who interviewed me to be her nanny just a short time ago, or the mother who tucks her twin sons into bed at night with the same love as if they were her natural offspring? Something is missing from Claudia’s eyes as she stares back at me. It’s as if her irises have been bleached and her soul scraped clean of any compassion. I am uncertain if she is evil or ill.
‘Help is on the way, Claudia. If you do as I say now, then we can sort this out. I know you don’t want to hurt Pip or her baby.’
‘It’s not fucking fair,’ Claudia says in a voice I don’t recognise. ‘I just want her baby.’ Her arm is shaking violently and tears are rolling down her cheeks. She turns rigidly to stare down at Pip, who is clutching the side of the bath and weeping. There is a pink tinge to the few inches of water in the bath and I’m worried that she’s been wounded.
I recall the contents of the keepsake box in Claudia’s wardrobe – a desperate stash of pitiful memories and lost hope. ‘I know it’s not fair,’ I begin. ‘But it’s not fair to hurt Pip either, is it?’
‘I need her baby,’ Claudia says, kneeling down at the side of the bath. ‘I have to get it.’ I can see the lines of muscle tension in her face. ‘The baby is coming and I must get it out safely.’ She sounds eerily calm as she places her left hand on Pip’s belly, rubbing her palm over the dome.
I take a step forward, but she swings around so the knife is pointing directly at me. I back off, and her attention returns to Pip.
‘I want you to tell me when you’re between contractions,’ she says in a changed voice, as if she is a midwife and has the situation under control. ‘I will have baby out of you in no time.’ The knife is still fixed in her right hand, her knuckles white from the grip.
Pip can’t speak. She lies on her back in the bath, trying to control the pain that sweeps through her every couple of minutes, consuming her even more than the fear. For a brief moment she stares up at me, imploring me to help her. From behind Claudia, I nod slowly and mouth It’s OK, hoping she will understand.
Then I hear it, noises coming from the street below. I pray help has arrived. I wait for Claudia to react but she is too preoccupied with feeling along the muscle striations on Pip’s abdomen to notice anything. I don’t know which way to turn. If I leave her alone and go downstairs, Claudia could sink the blade into Pip in a second. On the other hand, I can’t risk any knocking on the door because a sudden threat could have exactly the same result.
‘Why don’t you wait a moment, Claudia,’ I say. ‘Take it slowly. There’s no rush and you want to get it right, don’t you?’ It’s the only thing I can think of. I’m not trained for this sort of thing. ‘Shall we make Pip a nice cup of tea?’
Slowly, Claudia looks up at me. The knife tip is resting on Pip’s pale skin. Pip is shaking as another contraction takes hold. I stand in the doorway, praying I have distracted her enough to postpone the ghastly procedure. I could make a lunge for her, grab the knife, wrestle her to the floor and smash her head against the side of the toilet, but if I get it wrong or she overpowers me then it’s over.
I hear another noise. It’s definitely coming from beyond the front door. There are people outside the house. It must be the police.
Claudia’s head whips round.
‘How about it? Pip looks as if she could do with a biscuit, too,’ I say with a dredged-up laugh trying to cover the noise downstairs.
To my utter disbelief, Claudia is nodding, frowning a little, as if the horror of what she is doing is gradually dawning on her. She stares at her own hands, at the glint of the knife in her right fist, at half-naked Pip lying helpless and wheezing in pain as the contraction finally wanes. She shuffles on her knees and grips the edge of the bath with
both hands. The knife knocks against the plastic as she stands up, still frowning, thinking, seeming almost remorseful. ‘A cup of tea, yes,’ she says, and a wayward smile is set free on her face. She stares into the mirror as if she is gazing into infinity, not at herself. The knife is loose in her hand, dangling down her thigh.
‘That’s right,’ I reply. ‘We can talk about your baby.’ I glance at Pip who is in a moment of lucidity despite her shaking, despite the froth of spit in the corners of her mouth. ‘Come on, Claudia, let’s—’
But the sudden banging on the front door changes everything. Claudia loses her moment of sanity, drops heavily to her knees and presses the tightly gripped knife against Pip’s skin again. ‘You think I’m stupid, that I can’t do it, but I’ve been practising,’ she says determinedly. ‘I’ll get it right this time.’ Licking her lips, she tilts her head sideways, studying the area of skin below Pip’s navel.
I am braced in the doorway. The banging downstairs is more insistent now, and a paramedic is yelling through the letterbox. But I’m certain Claudia will strike if I go down to open the door. I can only pray the police will batter their way in. As long as I’m up here, there’s a chance I can stop her.
‘I should have cut this way, see?’ Claudia says, drawing a line horizontally across Pip’s lower belly with the point of the blade. Pip lets out a little sob and grabs the side of the bath. With one deft movement, Claudia has her head slammed back. I hear the dull crack as her skull connects with the tap. ‘There are no shortcuts, you see,’ she says, looking up at me with a fistful of Pip’s hair, while pressing the knife against her skin.
The line of blood doesn’t emerge immediately, but then I see the bead of red seeping out from the surface cut. Claudia concentrates on it, as if it’s whetted her appetite to continue. I am in no doubt she will go through with this now so, as the front door smashes open, I finally make my move on Claudia, lunging at her with all my strength.
For a second, I feel nothing.
Then I hear Pip screaming. I hear the roar of the officers as they charge up the stairs. I hear Claudia’s grunt as she sinks the knife into my shoulder. I hear my own breathing, rasping in and out, as something slowly registers in my brain; that something is not right.
Then I feel the hands on me, yanking me back so that my head whip-lashes against someone’s thigh. I feel a moment of doubt as the officer sizes me up, deciding whether to haul me to my feet and cuff me or rescue me, and I feel the beginnings of pain as the first stab of agony winds its way to my brain.
‘Drop your weapon!’ the second officer screams. His cheeks are scarlet from effort and spit flies from his mouth. I see the hard lines of muscle in his arms as he gets a grip of Claudia’s wrists and virtually ties them in knots behind her back. I see the look of shock and despair sweep across Claudia’s face as she realises that she has failed; that it’s over.
‘I’m bleeding,’ I say quietly. I stare at my fingers, not even aware that I had touched the wound on my shoulder. The officer who is restraining me slackens off a little and helps me to my feet. ‘It’s OK,’ I tell him. I automatically reach for my back pocket but the pain in my shoulder prevents me from retrieving my ID. ‘I’m a police officer. This woman needs immediate medical help.’
Then I’m shoved aside as the first officer manhandles Claudia out onto the landing. The knife is lying on the bathroom floor, a bead of red on its tip. I leave it exactly where it is while the officers take her into a bedroom.
Meantime, a paramedic and I attend to Pip, helping her out of the bath in a dripping mess of water and blood. Surprisingly, she composes herself and focuses her eyes on mine as the next contraction comes. She grips on to me, wincing and groaning and breathing through it in a controlled way just as she has been taught. Another paramedic comes and between us, amid the chaotic scene going on around us, we get Pip lying on her bed and much more comfortable. The second paramedic grabs her bag, lays out some equipment, and begins a speedy assessment.
‘There’s no time to get you to hospital, love,’ she says. ‘I don’t think baby will be very long coming.’ She stares at the ceiling as her gloved hand confirms the late stage of Pip’s labour. The other paramedic takes her blood pressure and attends to the minor wound on her stomach, while I retreat from the bedroom. Pip is in safe hands. A portable ultrasound machine hisses the comforting swishing sound of new life as I go down the stairs clutching my shoulder.
‘You need to get that sorted,’ the detective in the hallway says.
I freeze on the bottom step. He is glaring at me. His partner is beside him. She frowns at me as I clamp my hand to my wound. Our eyes lock momentarily, each sizing up the other.
‘Yes, sir,’ I say. This time the fingers of my good hand manage to delve into my pocket and retrieve my ID. Habit forces me to flash it at them. ‘Undercover, in case you hadn’t already figured that one out,’ I say, predominantly for DI Fisher’s benefit. She is looking more incredulous than anything else.
Something inside me wants to send out a delirious and inappropriate grin but it just won’t form on my face. After this, I doubt I’ll be working anywhere ever again. I reckon it was my last chance to make a good impression and I blew it. I’ll be sorting files in the basement from now on.
‘Adam?’ I hear DI Fisher say as I retreat to the living room. I feel dizzy and need to sit down. I swing the door shut behind me. I don’t want to hear him telling her or her figuring it out. I just want to sleep, but it seems I am not allowed. Another paramedic is beside me, snipping at my clothing to expose the knife wound on my shoulder.
‘Nasty, but you’ll live,’ he says, sucking in air through gritted teeth.
‘No doubt,’ I reply. ‘Anyway, not all that mess is stab wound. I fell off my bike the other day.’
I hear more screams coming from upstairs, but this time they are different. They are not screams of fear.
The paramedic cleans me up and puts on a dressing. I thank him. We both pause, tilting our ears to the door. I smile. ‘Hear that? There are two cries now,’ I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. Pip’s screams of pain have turned into emotional sobs of joy, while the second cry is much softer, much newer, and only just audible from downstairs. I imagine the baby snuggling against its mother. I feel utter relief at its safe arrival and wonder if it’s a boy or a girl.
I decide not to see Pip now but to wait and visit her in a day or two when she’s recovered. Already several neighbours have called round, no doubt alerted by the police cars and ambulance arriving. I see that one of them has had the good sense to fetch Lilly from school. Then, when Clive finally arrives home, anxious, flustered, and desperate to see his wife and new baby, I make a quiet exit. For me, it’s the right thing to do. The detectives won’t be pleased that I left without making a formal statement, but I need to go home.
It’s only when I step out into the street that I realise I have absolutely no idea where home is.
42
WHEN THEY ARRIVED, the driveway at the end of the cul-de-sac was already cluttered with police cars and an ambulance. Half a dozen neighbours had come outside and were drawing close as if the house was a giant magnet, pulling them towards the drama in the usually quiet street.
‘Looks as if we missed all the action,’ Adam said, unclicking his seatbelt.
Lorraine yanked on the handbrake and they got out of the car, striding up the drive.
The call had come just after Matt had left, as they were trying to absorb what he’d told them about Grace. Adam had briefed Lorraine on the way with the little information he had so far been given, and they’d spent the speedy journey trying to fit the irregular-shaped pieces of the investigation together. An unfamiliar police officer met them in the doorway and brought them up to date.
‘Sir, ma’am, we’re not sure if it was a domestic situation yet or what. There’s a pregnant woman with minor injuries upstairs. We can’t move her, she’s in advanced labour.’ The officer was panting as if he had just been inv
olved in a scuffle. ‘It seems as though one woman went psycho, had a knife, was about to wreak all kinds of mayhem. I’m thinking she was disturbed by a friend or something because there’s another female in there who was handling the situation before we arrived. Not taken any statements yet but things are currently under control with no fatalities or serious injuries.’
‘Good. Thank you,’ Adam said dismissively.
They went into the property and took stock of what was going on. There were far too many people in there for Lorraine’s liking. She was at Adam’s side when a woman came down the stairs clutching at her shoulder. She stopped on the bottom step.
It was that nanny, Zoe whatever-her-name-was. There was blood on her clothing. Lorraine stared at her, and for a moment, their eyes locked. There was something about her, as if she was carrying a deep pain, and not just from the wound. And then Adam spoke.
‘You need to get that sorted,’ he said in that ridiculous manner again.
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied in a voice that was the same yet subtly different to when Lorraine had encountered her before. She was more authoritative now, as if she had shrugged off a false layer. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her police ID. ‘Undercover, in case you hadn’t already figured that one out.’ It was directed mainly at Lorraine, although her glance whipped to Adam. There was a certain getting-one-over tone to her voice.
Lorraine felt a tightening in her throat, looked over at Adam, and read his staunch poker face as a direct response – some kind of subtext perhaps – as if he’d known about Zoe all along, as if they’d shared a secret.
‘Adam?’ Lorraine said, as Zoe retreated to the living room. A paramedic followed her in, closing the door behind him. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ he said, without looking her in the eye. ‘But my first thought is that we’ve got ourselves another amateur Caesarean.’
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