‘When?’ But as soon as she asks, Cassie knows. That was why Leah came to the house. It wasn’t to hurt Erin. It was to tell her that she was pregnant. ‘Oh, Leah.’ Cassie feels a thick, sticky guilt seep through her. It extinguishes the last remaining flickers of fear.
‘Don’t bother!’ Leah musters up a tiny spark of anger. ‘You don’t get to pretend you care.’ At the sound of a raised voice, the baby starts to stir. Her eyes flutter open, revealing glossy black pupils. Her arms and legs begin to wave. They all watch as her tiny feet lift and kick and get tangled in the fringe of the blanket. In frustration she starts to cry. Leah shrinks further into herself with each high, harsh, angry yelp. She’s done it now, there’s no going back. She looks at her daughter, then at them, wanting…what? She doesn’t know – for things to be different, to be better, or at least not worse; or maybe just to be on the other side of the room.
No one moves.
The baby stops crying for a moment.
They all wait.
It takes three short, desperate gulps, drawing in the stale air, then it starts crying again, louder, more insistent, more desperate.
Leah doesn’t respond, she can’t. She retreats further away from the child – safer for her and for her daughter. But there is nowhere to go. She’s trapped, her back pressed against the glass and the city beyond. Confession time. ‘They’ve been round already, asking questions. They know about Naz. I ’ave to prove he isn’t staying ’ere. How can I prove he isn’t here? He isn’t. Not most of the time. I don’t want him here. But I can’t stop him. He was supposed to piss off out of it when I got pregnant. But he keeps coming.’
The baby’s crying is relentless and heart-piercing. They all look at her lying on the floor, but no one dares make a move. It’s painful to be so powerless.
Leah stares at her daughter. When she speaks again, it’s as much to herself as to Cassie. ‘No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep her clean, not properly clean. She’s always spitting up her milk, shitting in her nappy. The smell – it gets everywhere, on her clothes, on her bedding, on her, on me. I can’t stand it. I can’t. I just wanted someone to love, someone who was mine. I thought I’d be able to look after her, love her, properly, but I can’t. I can’t.’ She looks away and her voice grows quiet. ‘I don’t think I should have her. I can’t do it on my own.’ Tears slide down her cheeks and drip off her chin, unchecked. Slowly she turns her back on her own daughter. She leans her forehead against the window and closes her eyes.
In that instant Grace and Tom see a pale, unloved little girl – the child who raised their child.
‘You’re not on your own,’ Grace says, compelled by the pressure in her chest to offer hope.
Leah does not respond.
She is done.
She has lost.
It’s a vicious cycle and she’s not strong enough to break it. She must let her daughter go. It’s almost a relief to finally admit defeat and give up, but oh, it hurts – hurts all over, hurts as bad as when they took Cassie away. Leah presses her forehead against the glass and silently begs for them just to take her daughter and leave.
Cassie takes a step towards the child. ‘Can I pick her up?’ Leah can’t bring herself to say ‘yes’, but she doesn’t say ‘no’. Cassie kneels down. ‘Shush, it’s okay. I’m your Auntie Cassie.’ She brushes her fingertips against the baby’s cheek, soothing, tentative, a gesture of comfort and love. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ she whispers. The crying grows softer, less insistent. She slides her hand underneath the child’s head and carefully picks her up. The weight and the warmth of her are intoxicating. She is Cassie’s flesh and blood. Her niece. Her family. She gets to her feet, cradling the baby against her chest, and slowly, carefully carries her over to her mother.
THE END
A new mother is a vulnerable thing, full-hearted, thin-skinned, best watched over, for fear of damage.
And this young mother is alone.
She is disarmed, weakened, prone to dark thoughts and even darker emotions.
The sudden, shocking imperative to care is intolerable. The responsibility of becoming a parent overwhelming.
A newborn baby is not a soft, biddable, calming healer. It’s a hungry beast, full of raging needs and demands. It consumes, leaving no oxygen to breathe, no place to hide, no time to think.
This new mother wants so desperately to respond to her child’s incessant cries, but she can’t. She wants to rise, meet and conquer its ferocious tyranny, but she is too weak and too alone. It’s too much. Her longed-for child is placing too much pressure on the fragile carapace of her soul. She is cracking and buckling under the strain.
This baby was supposed to make everything all right. It was supposed to make up for the past; make her happy, and whole, and strong.
It has not.
It has broken her.
It is not a new beginning.
It is another dead-end.
She wanted a child to love.
She wanted her child to love her back.
All she has ever wanted is a family of her own.
But one vulnerable new mother and one tiny, screaming, fatherless newborn do not a family make. Together they are not enough.
It is not the child’s fault. It’s hers. She is useless. At the most basic of human functions – the loving and raising of a child – she is failing, miserably.
She stands, defeated, accepting the inevitable, as the chance of love and happiness slips through her fingers, into the hands of others.
She is desolate.
But this time she is not alone.
She has someone who understands.
Someone who cares.
Someone who might be able to make a difference.
She has a sister.
It might, just, be enough.
Acknowledgements
ALL BOOKS start somewhere – this one began in a warm kitchen, on a dark night, with two complete strangers who kindly shared with me their personal, very bumpy path to becoming parents. So my first thanks go to Heidi and Wendy, for their generosity, openheartedness and their wicked sense of humour.
Then there is Kath, my primary reader. Writing is solitary exercise and you’re lucky if you find someone who wants to share the experience with you. Kath is my writing companion and my friend, and I’m truly grateful for her involvement in my writing.
Thanks are also due to my editors at Corvus, Sara and Susannah. They have both exercised their considerable patience and their sharp critical faculties on this book. Respect to Mandy, the copy editor, as well; she laid bare just how innumerate I am, and how addicted to ‘that’! This book is better for all their efforts. In fact, the whole team at Corvus has been as good as their word in supporting my first steps in what I hope is going to be a long career as a published writer. Professionally I also benefit hugely from the support and advice of Judith Murray at Greene and Heaton. As my agent she is a useful and necessary guide to the often slightly ‘odd’ world of publishing.
My family matter and I thank them for loving me. In a book about sisters a special ‘shout out’ must go to my sister, Sue. She has been a one-woman sales and promotion department for my writing. And I’m proud to say she’s about to join the quiet, dedicated, under-appreciated army of foster carers who make such a difference to so many children’s lives.
Cheers, as always, to my friends, Sam, Kath and Joss, who have played their part in the keeping me sane. I thank them for supporting me, running with me, laughing and crying with me. A special mention also needs to go to Linda, for her strength.
All books are dreamed up, written, fretted over, re-written and edited somewhere… This one spent quite a lot of time in No.54, Fulneck, the café with the best scones in Yorkshire. Thank you Ann, Amy and Neil for the good food and the support.
And lastly I would like to thank every book blogger, librarian and reader who mentioned, reviewed, recommended, bought, borrowed and lent out my first book, The Second Child. A book that
is not read might as well be blank.
Book Club Questions
What happens after the last chapter? (Please feel free to let me know your ideas via Facebook or Twitter for a sequel!)
Did you find the ending hopeful or depressing? Satisfying or frustrating? Why?
Did the story make you question how well you know your own children? Do you always know where they are, who they are with, what’s really going on inside their heads?
Grace falls in love with Cassie at bath time. ‘The simple pleasure of being close to Cassidie’s warm, soap-clean body was so powerful that Grace had to take a few deep breaths to steady herself. The years of aching for a child melted and pooled in her heart.’ What is your first memory of falling in love with your child?
Who is the strongest character in the book for you and why?
Who is the most loyal character in the book?
Do you agree with the author’s premise that our early beginnings fundamentally shape who we become as adults? What passages in the book demonstrate this childhood influence most clearly?
Do you believe we can retain early childhood echoes within ourselves?
Would you be happy for Ryan to go out with your daughter? Why? Why not?
Who is to ‘blame’ for Leah and the way her life turns out?
What are Leah’s strengths – as a child and as an adult?
Could you adopt another woman’s child?
What do you think the book has to say about adoption and the support, or lack of support, for struggling birth parents and adoptive parents?
If Cassie had been your daughter how would you have handled her wish to find her birth mother?
Can a child be ‘unlovable’?
Who has the ultimate right to decide what’s best for a child?
When does a child become an adult?
The author states that ‘one vulnerable new mother and one tiny, screaming, fatherless newborn, do not a family make.’ What does make a family in your opinion/experience?
Is The Forgotten Sister the story of a vicious cycle?
Who is ‘the forgotten sister’?
The Forgotten Sister Page 32