Cal’s daughter was born on a Sunday: Harriet Cally Russell. We were touched by the middle name Lydia had chosen. How proud Cal would have been. Lydia sent a photograph, taken by the Robinsons, the couple she was lodging with. Harriet was small and sweet with tiny hands and feet. Her cheeks were puffed, as if she was about to whistle a tune. You cried tears of hope. You were full of the belief that Cal would live on in Harriet.
Mum looked at the picture. ‘I don’t trust that girl,’ she said. ‘She’s flighty. I wouldn’t put it past her to disappear somewhere with this baby and then we’d never, ever see our grandchild.’
‘Lydia wouldn’t do that,’ I replied, though I knew Mum was right.
At the hospital we showed the picture to Dad. He turned his face away, as if he too couldn’t bear the possibility of an attachment that was likely to be followed by loss.
We posted a black doll for Harriet – we believed that somehow this would give her a sense of us. Lydia sent a thank-you card but there was no invitation to visit. ‘We’ll go to Brighton to see mother and baby very soon,’ you said, but when we phoned to find out when we could go, Lydia told us the Robinsons wouldn’t allow it. ‘They don’t like people coming to the house, they’re funny like that. When she’s older and the weather’s warmer and it’s not such a hassle to travel, I’ll bring her to London to see you.’ You cried again, this time with disappointment.
In May, Lydia wrote a few lines, asking me to visit. Don’t tell Selina was scribbled at the bottom of the page.
I should have been revising but I left the house to catch a train before you were awake, leaving a note to say I was studying in the reference library, my usual subterfuge.
Lydia was waiting by the ticket barrier at Brighton station. As I saw her, I felt yearning, tinged with sadness. A man stood on one side of her, bearded and tanned, with a blue checked shirt over faded jeans. On the other side, there was a woman with long white hair, similarly dressed. Lydia was failing to conceal boredom behind a fixed smile.
I could see a dark green pram. As I approached, straining to catch sight of the baby, but at the same time trying not to seem too curious, Lydia greeted me so effusively that I was overwhelmed. I returned her hug with a stiff, mistimed embrace that emphasised the awkwardness of the meeting. I pulled away from her and moved towards the pram, which was standing neglected in the corner.
Lydia joined me, moving the blanket that concealed the baby’s face. ‘Oh yes,’ she said casually, ‘you haven’t met Harriet, have you?’
Harriet had bright, dark eyes and a skin that was almost white. Her nose was small but slightly broad, one of the few signs of her Caribbean heritage. But she was certainly Cal’s daughter; her relationship to our brother, her belonging to our family, was etched in the smile upon her face.
I scooped her from the pram and held her close, overwhelmed by a feeling of protectiveness.
The concourse was becoming increasingly noisy, the chatter of disembarking passengers punctuated by tannoy announcements of departures, delays and cancellations. I returned Harriet to the pram and we moved out of the station. There wasn’t a car – the Robinsons walked wherever they could, Lydia told me, with irritation. In kitten-heeled shoes, she looked cross as she trundled the pram over uneven paving stones. The Robinsons strode on while Lydia and I lingered behind, trying to talk to one another without being overheard.
‘What are the Robinsons like about the baby?’ I asked.
‘Awful,’ said Lydia, ‘but I have to keep in with them because they babysit sometimes and I need to get out. They’re so po-faced, not a vestige of humour between them.’
‘Are they okay with me being here?’
‘Why wouldn’t they be?’
‘Just after she was born, you said they didn’t like visitors.’
‘Oh that. They’re fine with people coming round. I just needed a way of making some space for myself while I adjusted to everything.’
I was angry; I was being caught up in Lydia’s games again, treated as if I didn’t matter. She caught the look on my face and said, ‘I’m sorry. You do understand, don’t you? It’s not easy, being an unwed mother. The whole thing made me quite ill. I couldn’t cope with anything. But I’m so pleased you’re here now, I really am.’
I was mollified by these words, as Lydia knew I would be. ‘And you’re okay again?’ I asked.
‘Fine now, apart from being bloody bored to death. Pa’s given me a decent allowance so at least I’m not poor. And Harriet isn’t as much trouble as I expected. She’s practically the perfect infant – she even sleeps through most of the night.’
‘She’s so beautiful.’
Lydia gave the pram a little shake. ‘She’s gorgeous, aren’t you?’ Harriet beamed at us.
‘Hadn’t we better catch them up?’ The Robinsons were forging ahead, and the gap between us was widening all the time.
‘I suppose so,’ said Lydia. ‘By the way, I said we’d have lunch with them. I thought it would save me cooking and we’d have more time for a chat. Did I tell you they’re vegetarians?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Cranky as anything, this fad, that fad – they’re driving me crazy. They adore Harriet. They have this theory that one day we’ll all be coffee-coloured and see me as a pioneer in race relations. It hardly matters what colour she is, she’s here and that’s that, but I could do without being seen as a walking statement on the wrongs of the colour bar.’
The thoughtlessness of Lydia’s assertion that Harriet’s colour was unimportant set off anger in me again. I remembered all the things that were said about Cal when he died – if a white boy had been killed, it would have been so different. But I said nothing as we moved through a Georgian square flanked by tall, terraced houses.
The Robinsons were letting themselves into the largest of these, on the corner.
We reached the house and eased the pram up the stone steps. ‘Shall I lift Harriet out?’ I asked as I stood in the hall by a large aspidistra.
‘Yes, do. I’ll go and check what time Hils is serving lunch.’
I hugged Harriet tight until Lydia returned and said, ‘We’ve got another hour. Come up and see the flat. Don’t hold the baby too close – she probably needs changing.’
I followed Lydia upstairs. Her door was fitted with a Yale lock and it was open by the time I reached it. I carried Harriet into a sitting room with doors leading off on either side. It was furnished with a sofa in a purple and green print with matching cushions and curtains. The walls were newly papered in cream; the shade matched the deep-pile fitted carpet. I almost bumped into a glass-topped coffee table; it looked fragile and expensive. It was hard to envisage a baby playing here.
‘How have you managed to afford all this?’ I asked.
‘Like I said, Pa’s been generous. It’s a bribe, of course. He’ll keep being generous as long as I stay out of his way.’
‘You called the baby Harriet. Isn’t Harry your father’s name?’
‘I thought it might bring him round.’
‘But it hasn’t?’
‘According to him and Joyce, I’m an absolute Jezebel.’ She looked sad for a moment but she shook the mood off, almost physically, with a lifting of her shoulders, and said, ‘Come and see Harriet’s room.’
It was a proper nursery, full of toys and bright streaks of colour. It had the same orderliness as the rest of the flat, making it seem the way a baby’s room looks before the child arrives, rather than one that was actually inhabited.
‘It’s nice and bright. Where’s your bedroom?’
‘I sleep in the sitting room – the sofa converts into a bed. There isn’t a lot of space and it was either that or sleep with Harriet.’ Lydia wrinkled her nose. ‘She reeks, doesn’t she? You’d better let me take her; I really should get her changed.’
As I passed Harriet to Lydia, I said, ‘Selina would have loved to have seen her. Why didn’t you ask her? And why didn’t you want me to tell Selina I was coming?’ I was thinking of the effort it had been to keep my day trip hidden from you. It would be hard not to share all my news of Harriet when I got home again.
‘No offence to Selina, but I couldn’t face all the tears and sentiment she would have created. You’re much easier to deal with in that respect.’
The words, which Lydia knew to be untrue, were deliberately dismissive. By insulting you, she could flatter me – it was another of her strategies for dividing us. Yet even though I knew this, I was pleased; I still wanted to be the chosen one.
As Lydia changed Harriet’s nappy, with her usual brisk efficiency, she said, ‘You won’t tell Selina you’ve been here, will you? She’ll probably come charging down on the train, wanting to know why I didn’t ask her as well, and I don’t think I can face that yet.’
‘I won’t say anything,’ I replied, though I was intending to keep it from you on my own account, not Lydia’s. I knew how disappointed you would be if you found out I’d seen Harriet without you. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’
‘Go on,’ said Lydia.
‘Why haven’t you told Selina about the night we spent together?’
‘Why would I tell her about that? It was between you and me. Besides, I can just hear her saying I’d led you astray even though it was the other way round. She’d never forgive me.’
‘What do you mean, it was the other way round? Is that really how you see it?’
Lydia just laughed, lowering Harriet into a cot, and it was obvious that she wasn’t going to elaborate.
I hid my hurt at this version of events behind a weak smile, too proud to allow Lydia to see it. There was silence for a while. Then I said, ‘Selina is still in quite a bad way over Cal. Our dad too. He’s in hospital.’
‘Your dad? Why is he in hospital?’
‘He’s had a sort of nervous breakdown. He’s depressed.’
‘Well, he would be, wouldn’t he?’ said Lydia, holding up her hands in exasperation.
We smiled at one another, then laughed, the tension between us fading. I realised that Dad’s depression was being treated as an illness when it was entirely appropriate. If he hadn’t been depressed there would have been something wrong with him. Mum had seen this, which was why she had been so opposed to us clearing up the clutter, and Lydia’s speedy grasp of the situation was refreshing. There was no tiptoeing round things with her. I remembered why I cared for her so much.
She stood up. ‘Come on then, it’s time to see what’s on the menu at Chez Robinson. We can leave Harriet here. I’ll prop the door open; we’ll hear her if she cries.’
The meal turned out to be some kind of bean stew. It was too peppery but it was still edible. The Robinsons were irritating, though – they didn’t believe in light conversation, only ponderous statements on everything from Indian politics to Russian literature. I was glad when we’d waded through some kind of fruit junket and could escape.
Lydia put on a slightly sturdier pair of shoes and suggested we went out. She normally hated walking and it would be even less inviting with a pram, but she really seemed to want to; she said she liked to get away sometimes and see for herself that there was still a world out there and that life didn’t only consist of sterilising bottles and changing nappies. So I said my goodbyes to the Robinsons and we went for a walk along the seafront.
The sun was still out but it was a breezy day; the wind whipped up the waves that crashed upon the beach, tossing pebbles wildly back and forth. Sun worshippers were lined along the seafront in stripy deckchairs turned towards the sea, pale and goose-pimpled in bikinis.
We walked down a ramp, passing stalls selling Kiss Me Quick hats and vivid pink sticks of peppermint rock as the vinegary smell of fish and chips mingled with the salt smell of the sea. I remembered it all from family day trips – you, me and Cal building sandcastles and splashing through the waves – and I was lost in sadness.
‘Stop dreaming, Zora, and help me with this.’
Lydia and I eased the pram along the beach. Shells and stones crunched underfoot as we walked towards the shoreline where the mud was full of frothy, swirling pools. I tossed my sandals into the bottom of the pram and tucked the hem of my skirt inside the elastic of my knicker legs. I waded into the sea, feeling the coldness of the water and the tingling slap of the waves that rushed towards me. Exhilarated, I ran, while Lydia looked on amused, her back against a breakwater.
I returned exhausted and cold, my legs and the edges of my skirt dripping wet. Lydia handed me the spare blanket from the pram and I used it to rub myself dry.
‘I fancy an ice cream,’ said Lydia. ‘Do you want one?’
I was still full from the bean stew but I nodded. The ordinariness of licking an ice cream was suddenly desirable. I went to fetch two double ices, strawberry and vanilla, and brought them back to the breakwater. Beside us, Harriet spat squeaky little sounds that made me laugh.
‘She’s always doing that,’ said Lydia. ‘She’s a strange little thing.’
I swallowed the last mouthful of ice cream and scooped Harriet from the pram, placing her on my lap. It felt good to be hugging her. She was so warm and soft. ‘It must be nice, living so close to the sea,’ I said as I looked out across the water.
‘It’s not so bad now, but in winter this place is so deadly quiet and bleak it’s just not true. I hate it then. I doubt if I’ll stay.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t think about that now. I need to get the trial over with first. I’ve been summoned as a witness. Hils and Richard have said they’ll have Harriet until it’s over. I suppose I’ll have to stay with Pa for a while. In some ways it will be nice to be home again, even if it isn’t permanent.’
The mood changed once more. The memory of Cal’s death fell sharply between us.
‘I want to come home for good,’ continued Lydia. ‘I really need to get away from here.’
I wanted Lydia to come home for good too, not because I missed her – though of course I did – but because of Harriet. Having her around would make such a difference. Our dad might stop hunting for useless things. You might lose the anxiety you now exuded. Mum might reconnect with us. And I might start to be happy again. Did Lydia really mean this? Was she really intending to come back?
‘What about your flat? I thought you liked it. Would you really want to leave it? Will you be allowed to come back if your father is so against it?’
Lydia lit a cigarette. ‘I’m not going to hang around here for the rest of my life. I’m on my own with her all the time. What do you think that’s like?’
‘I know it can’t be easy—’
‘That’s the bloody understatement of the year. I get out for one evening a month if I’m lucky. The rest of the time, the only people I see are Richard and Hilda, and I don’t need to tell you what they’re like. If I stay here, I’m just going to be trapped with Harriet all day and all night. You can’t imagine what it’s like to be penned in like this. What will I be in five years’ time? Or ten? Just her mother, nothing else at all. I don’t want that for myself.’
‘But you had her, even when everybody said you shouldn’t.’
‘Don’t remind me. Most of the doctors and nurses were vile at the hospital. They treated me as if I was a slut, especially once they realised Harriet’s father wasn’t white. I hated them, I can’t tell you how much. They made me feel dirty.’ Lydia’s face became brooding and tense. ‘It’s not as if I ever wanted to get pregnant. I tried to go on the pill but the doctor went on an absolute rant, he wouldn’t give it to me. He said it was for married women only and I needed to have more self-control. At the hospital they were as rough as they could be with me. They wouldn’t give me anything for the pain. I called out for my mother. Funny really, I don’t think of her much, but I wanted her then. One nurse said I didn’t deserve any help; I was a disgrace. The only disgrace was her. How dare anyone say that to me? Some social worker wanted me to give her up. She made me feel like I was committing an even worse sin than having sex in the first place by trying to keep my baby. You wouldn’t believe the way they pressured me, but I was determined to fight every single one of them. It’s my life; no one should be allowed to tell me what to do.’ Lydia sounded more cold, more brittle than I’d known her before. I sat tensely, wondering what it must have been like to have been subjected to such indignities. I felt hurt for her, and angry too, and I realised that in spite of everything, deep down I still loved her.
‘They all said I couldn’t give her a decent life on my own and I should let some nice, upstanding, childless couple have her instead. I wished with all my heart that my mother was still alive. She would have helped; she would never have sent me away. But Richard and Hilda came to the hospital and they kept insisting it was up to me. I don’t know what would have happened if they hadn’t been there. They can be a complete pain, the pair of them, but at least they made it possible for me to keep her. I would have married Cal, you know. I would have done. We would have been a little family right now. I’m not wishing Harriet away, I’m really not, it’s just hard sometimes, that’s all. I don’t get out like I need to and I feel shut in sometimes. It would have been different if Cal had lived. We’d have done things together. I wouldn’t have been lonely.’ Lydia came to a halt. She looked shattered.
‘Selina and I will always be here for you and Harriet, you know that.’
I was trying to take away her desolation but she just looked at me.
‘It was brave of you, keeping her because of Cal,’ I added.
‘Not just because of Cal.’
‘What else, then?’
Lydia lifted the shoulder nearest to me in a shrug, making it clear that she wasn’t going to expand on this. She got out another cigarette, lighting it with the smouldering butt of the first.
I still wanted to know if Lydia really meant it about returning. I didn’t want to cherish the hope that I might be able to be close to her and Harriet if it wasn’t a real possibility, so I said, ‘I wish you could come back for good. It would be fantastic. Do you really think you will?’
Lydia didn’t answer.
I put Harriet back in the pram. The sun had gone in. It was getting colder now and I was still shivering from being in the water. Lydia got out a woolly hat and tied it tightly round Harriet’s head. ‘The wind’s getting up, it’s time we were going,’ she said, tucking Harriet into the pram.
I took my sandals out of the tray beneath it and put them on. I felt stiff. As we hobbled over the pebbles, sea birds rose up around us in sudden, anxious flight, dipping and squawking. I lingered behind. I gathered a small pile of flat stones and sent them skimming across the waves.