CHAPTER 8

i

Lindy

Gary didn’t want her any more. That was the truth. She was nothing but trouble, he said. A slag who tried to palm another man’s baby onto him, and now she had the whole fucking police force out looking for her.

She knew he would have been rid of her before this, but Carver didn’t want screaming women being kicked out onto the street and nosy neighbours calling the police. Not yet.

She hid behind the door, as Gary signalled her to do, when Carver knocked, oh so politely.

‘Baby’s been quiet,’ Carver said. ‘Not a cry, not a whimper for two nights now.’ Carver noticed everything.

‘Yeah.’ Gary tried a laugh. ‘I kick Lin out to deal with it every time it starts up. Don’t want to wake the whole fucking street.’

‘That’s right.’

A pause. Holding her breath, Lindy could tell, from the jerk of Gary’s head, that Carver was looking at the empty Moses basket.

‘She’s taken it out. Walk in the park.’

‘Is that so?’

Gary tried to make a joke of it. ‘You know, fucking women and babies, reckon they actually like them.’

‘She’s a mother,’ Carver responded, his deep voice thick with sarcasm.

‘Yeah, well—’

‘So leave her to it. Keep your hands to yourself. No blue lights, no trips to casualty, no questions asked. Right?’

‘That’s right, Carver. No trouble. I’ll see to that.’

When Carver had gone, Gary was almost wetting himself. Terrified, wanting to hit her and not daring. Not for now, anyway. He stormed off to get drunk, leaving her alone, soaked from aching, swollen tits, in the room cluttered with baby things.

Carver’s job was going to be soon, she guessed, and then this life of hers would be over. Gary would throw her out no matter how she begged. Or more likely he’d get nicked. He was the sort who always was. Carver would get away but Gary would get caught, and whatever it was, this job, it would be serious, not just a bit of pushing, or something. It would mean big time for him.

A month ago, Lindy would have grieved. He had been everything to her, her Gary. But now— Now she couldn’t get fussed, because the bit inside her that got fussed wasn’t there any more. There was just a great big hole. Empty as the Moses basket.

That was what she wanted – not Gary, her baby. She wanted to be feeding her, changing her, washing her. All those little things for her Kelly.

She could still do the washing and cleaning. She brought out all the Baby Garden stuff, hugging each piece of soft white clothing, because she didn’t have a baby to hold. She even hugged the Pampers.

She heated water, unearthed the soap powder, filled a bowl in the sink and started washing them all. Stripped the Moses basket of its precious bedding, breathed it in to catch the last of Kelly, then immersed it in the soapy water. Everything should be really clean. That’s what babies needed. No germs or stuff like that.

She thumped and rubbed and squeezed, and then she rinsed. She wrung everything out, till she couldn’t get out another drop of water, and then she tied string between the two chairs, and hung it all up to dry. She put 50p in the meter and put the electric fire on. Breathing in the steam. It was like a proper baby laundry. Showed she was a good mother. They couldn’t fault her for this.

It kept her busy, so she didn’t feel the ache so much.

So busy she didn’t hear footsteps, the click of heels.

Tyler must have let the woman in, in one of those rare moments when he was sober enough to stand. A sharp rap on the door of her room made her jump. She grabbed a wet sleepsuit defensively as the door opened. Lindy knew what that meant. Authority. People who didn’t think they had to wait to be invited in.

‘Rosalind Crowe?’ The woman was brisk, with the sort of official smile that wasn’t friendly at all. A ‘let’s keep this as pleasant as we can, shall we?’ smile. ‘Caroline Rothsay, social services. Do you remember me? We met at the hospital? Can I come in? The door seemed to be open.’

‘What you want?’ Lindy said, still hugging the sleepsuit, its dampness spreading across her T-shirt. ‘I ain’t done nuffing.’

‘Please, don’t worry. I said I’d call, do you remember? Just to see if we can help.’

‘Well you can’t!’

‘You never know.’ The Rothsay woman was looking round the room, beady eyes taking in every detail. The steaming washing on the improvised line. The empty basket. ‘You have just had a baby, my dear, and we all know what a difficult time that can be for a new mother. Especially one without support—’

‘I got support!’

‘The baby’s father? He lives here too, does he?’

‘Yeah. Gary. And he won’t want no social services nosing round here.’

The inevitable tightening of that false smile. ‘I’m afraid that’s not up to him to decide. I have a duty to make sure you are all right. You and little—’ She paused long enough to glance at the notebook she was holding. ‘Kelly. I need to know you’re both fine, doing well, being looked after properly.’

‘I know what social services does. They take kids away. Well, you’re not taking my Kelly away! I can look after her, right!’

‘Yes, I’m sure you can. Doing the washing, I see.’

‘Yeah! Anything wrong with that?’

‘Nothing at all, my dear. It’s excellent.’ She was looking at the empty basket again. ‘And where is little Kelly?’

‘Out,’ retorted Lindy. ‘Gary’s got her. Gone to his mum’s with her, so I can do the washing. What’s it to you?’

‘Ah. No, no, that’s good. Family support. Gary has a mother helping out. That is very good.’ The social worker was jotting down notes. Then she smiled again at Lindy, with a trace more humanity. ‘You know, Rosalind, we are not all bad. You were taken into care yourself, weren’t you, and I’m sure that must have been very traumatic for you, but sometimes it really is necessary.’

‘Yeah but—’

‘No one is saying it’s necessary this time. As long as little Kelly is being looked after properly, receiving all the attention she needs – and you too – it’s my job to help, not to hinder. And we can help, you know. In all sorts of ways.’

That couldn’t be true. No one helped Lindy.

‘Just think of me as a friend,’ Caroline Rothsay assured her. ‘You can call on me if you ever need me. And I’ll call on you to see if everything is all right.’

‘No need!’

‘No, my dear. I am afraid I shall have to call again. I will need to see little Kelly. When she’s not with her grandmother. Tomorrow. Will you try to be in with her, so I can see her?’

‘You’re not taking her away!’

The social worker patted Lindy’s arm. ‘Don’t you fret. I promise I’m not planning any such thing. I’ll call tomorrow, and we’ll talk things through. Fill in a few details, complete a few forms. No need to worry about a thing.’

She was going. Lindy wanted to kick the door shut behind her, but instead she listened to the woman’s shoes click-clicking down the stairs. She went to the window, and looked out as the Rothsay woman emerged into the street, with a backward glance of faint disgust at the house.

Caroline Rothsay paused, opened a case, produced a clipboard and a pen. Lindy, looking straight down on her, could see the sheet of names. Hers, Rosalind Crowe — 128 Nelson Road — Kelly. Lindy could read her own name and address easily enough. There were other names too. A couple had already been crossed out. The woman was beginning to cross Lindy’s out too, but she stopped, put a question mark instead. Then she put her clipboard away, glanced at her watch and marched away.

Lindy looked after her with loathing. No social worker was going to take her baby away.

She looked back at the clothes drying, the empty basket. They couldn’t take Kelly. She didn’t have Kelly. Kelly was gone, and no matter how hard she wished it otherwise, Kelly wouldn’t come back.

What if she asked for her? She’d heard people talking about it on the local radio. The abandoned baby. A policeman asking the mother to come forward, saying she wouldn’t be in any trouble, they just wanted to help. Yeah, like the social services wanted to help. Lindy had heard other people on the radio too, calling in, saying she should be strung up, forcibly sterilised, she wasn’t fit to have babies. That was what it would really come to if she did come forward. The police snarling at her, doctors, social workers looking down on her. Probably just put her in prison. She’d never get to keep Kelly if she went to them.

What if that woman started checking up. Gary didn’t have a mother. What if she came back and Gary was here and there was still no baby? She was coming back. It was only when you really needed them that those people didn’t show up. She’d be back tomorrow, with forms and orders, and maybe a policeman in tow, and a thin-lipped cow with hard eyes to seize the baby and take it away.

Lindy wouldn’t be here. Had to shop, didn’t she? Had to go out, and take the baby with her. She could stay out all day if she needed to.

ii

Heather

‘You really should let me take you, dear.’ Barbara Norris was insistent. She had moved back to her own home but still she couldn’t resist coming round each day, with another knitted jacket for Gigi, or a toy for Bibs, or yet another hotpot. Just to see if Heather needed her help. ‘It won’t take me quarter of an hour to run you in. And I could always—’

‘Look, thanks, Barbara, but really, I’d prefer to go by bus.’ Heather was determined to keep it pleasant. Having her mother-in-law under their roof had dangerously strained their relationship. Things needed to get back onto tolerant separate tracks. ‘I know you think I’m daft, but I just want the chance to manage on my own again. I can cope fine with the bus.’

‘I thought managing on your own was becoming a teensy bit of an issue?’ Barbara could smile and smile and still be a mother-in-law. ‘Poor Martin has begun to feel quite guilty about leaving you alone all day, although Lord knows what he’s supposed to do about it.’ Yes, she was going to nurse every complaint, reasonable and unreasonable, that Heather made. ‘I just thought I could help, in his place.’

‘Thank you, really. But, today, I’m fine, and I want to prove I can manage.’

Not that getting into town for a dental check-up was going to be a doddle, on the bus, with a frisky toddler and a new-born baby, but Heather could cope. She was sure of it. The new buses were easier, more accommodating, and she was going to be well clear of rush hour. Of course, when they’d moved here she should have changed dentists, like the doctor, found a nearer practice, but she hadn’t got round to it. Maybe next time.

And maybe a baby sling next time. She’d seen a mother in the next street with one and thought what a wonderful way it was to carry her baby. Against her breast, feeling her all the time against her own body. But maybe a bit avant-garde for the Hopcroft. The mother did draw a few disapproving stares and sniggers. Anyway, Heather couldn’t afford to think about buying something new, when she had the old fashioned but perfectly serviceable carry-cot pram that Bibs had used, donated by Martin’s sister when her three had done with it. A bit of a handful, but Heather had learned how to have it up and down in no time when a bus appeared.

Eleven o’clock. The buses weren’t crowded at this time of day, so no jostling. The driver was relaxed enough to give her a hand, and most of the passengers were old ladies, keen to inspect the sleeping infant. Abigail, under their scrutiny, was as good as gold. Bibs was not. A bus was a place to run up and down, if a little unsteadily, making aeroplane noises. Or was it supposed to be a mechanical digger?

‘Bibs, come here and sit down!’ said Heather for the twelfth time, trying not to let her irritation show. Bibs clambered onto the seat opposite her and jumped up and down, looking out of the window. A few frowns of disapproval now from the old ladies. Well, what was she supposed to do? He wasn’t molesting them, was he?

The bus was busier by the time they reached the town centre. Reassembling the pram in the general rush to exit, she barked her shins, and nearly lost hold of Bibs.

A brisk walk to the dentist’s. Not far, but uphill. Other pedestrians staked their claim to the pavement as if gold had just been discovered there.

‘Take a seat in the waiting room,’ said the receptionist, and Heather was glad of the chance to sit, though she was up every few minutes to drag Bibs back. Then Abigail woke and wanted a feed. Faced with a grumpy old man and two leery teenage boys, Heather retreated to the cramped toilet, begging Bibs not to start whining.

Abigail was hungry, not to be rushed. When Heather emerged, she had missed her go, and had to wait another half an hour. Her check-up would have been quicker if the dentist’s nurse had not spent most of the time trying to keep Bibs from helping himself to all the instruments. What had got into the boy? Was he being deliberately difficult?

No, she admitted. He was being his usual self, exploring his potential, pushing his limits. He was just like this at home, but at home it didn’t matter. It gave Barbara something to tut about, but Heather could cope with him. Out in town, with things to do, it was another matter.

This was a mistake, she thought, emerging at last onto the street, this pointless bid for freedom. She should have accepted Barbara’s offer of a lift, or left the children in their grandmother’s care. Why had she had to be so obstinate? Still, it was done now, and there was nothing for it but to tackle the bus again and get them all home. Maybe when she was back at her front door, she would feel suitably triumphant. But for now, with no Barbara to notice, she just felt weary.

At least the walk back to the bus stop was downhill. Bibs decided an old iron bollard at the entrance to Miller’s Lane was exactly what he needed to clamber on, but there was a number 42, the last of the queue just boarding.

‘Bibs! Come on!’ Could she do it? Run with the pram and a toddler?

Bibs would not budge.

‘I said come on!’ She grabbed him and tugged him howling behind her. She would do it if the bus driver chose to be generous. He could see her hurrying, surely?

Maybe he could, but it wasn’t his generous day. The doors hissed closed and the bus swung out into the traffic.

‘Shit!’ Heather came to a halt, ignoring a look of disgust from an old lady. ‘Please shut up, Bibs!’

The boy continued to howl.

What now? Wait here another half an hour for the next 42? Walk to the bus station? A hundred yards down the road was the shelter for the number 43. Every quarter of an hour, to the other side of the Hopcroft estate. Take that and deal with a long walk home at the other end?

Bibs was bawling still, dragging back towards his chosen bollard.

‘Listen,’ said Heather. ‘How about we go to the park? Swings and roundabouts?’

Bibs stopped crying instantly.

Forget the buses. If they were going to have to wait, they might as well enjoy it. Walk through the park, give Bibs his half hour of playtime, and there was always the number 16, which ran down Buckingham Road. It didn’t go into the Hopcroft, but it stopped close to the roundabout, less than half a mile from Linden Close.

Problem solved. Pleasanter than waiting here. They would go to the park.

iii

Lindy

Gary was hungry. Lindy fried him eggs and bread, but they didn’t have any bacon or sausages. He curled his lip at that, but how was she to know he’d want a cooked breakfast? He usually rolled off the mattress at about midday and just groped for a can of beer and a cigarette.

Today he was up by eight, looking important, like he had a proper job to go to. ‘Got things to do,’ he announced, rubbing the eggs off his mouth.

‘All right, Gary.’

‘I’ll be out. Mind you keep things quiet here, remember?’

‘Yes. Are you going to be out all day?’ It was good that he was going to be out early, because that Rothsay woman could come calling any time. Gary wouldn’t give her the time of day, probably just throw her out, but best if he weren’t here to see her. Or for her to see him.

‘What’s it to you? Mind your fucking business and keep your mouth shut.’ He was playing the big man, throwing his weight about. She knew, when he did that with her, he was worried, needed to give himself a boost. It was going to be very soon then, this job. Maybe today even. And who knew what would happen then? She wanted to put her arms round him and kiss him but he pushed her away. He was a man, about men’s business; no time for all that kissy stuff.

As she watched him swaggering off down Nelson Road, her own criminal instincts told her he was doomed. Bound to muck up. And then he’d be answering to the police or to Carver. Which would be worse?

It was sad but she had other things to think about. The Rothsay woman would be coming here demanding to see Kelly. If Lindy wasn’t in, she couldn’t see her, so Lindy would be out, with Kelly, till dark if she had to be.

She picked up the shawl, donated by Baby Garden. Soft and white and lacy, with a fringe, so pretty. The weather wasn’t that warm. Kelly would need to be wrapped up.

There was no Kelly. No baby to wrap up. Again that huge devouring emptiness. It only went away when she pretended it wasn’t true. All these baby clothes, dry now, ready for the baby that wasn’t here.

Lindy took up a sleepsuit, hugged it to her, rolled it. Rolled another round it. A jacket, a dress, she wrapped the shawl round them all. It felt like a baby, wrapped and hooded in the shawl, clasped to her aching breast. She stood for a moment, rocking back and forth on her heels, soothing it to sleep.

Better go, or they’d be here to take her baby away. She clomped down the bare dirty stairs, clasping Kelly to her as Tyler, with bloodshot eyes and four days growth of stubble, lurched across the hall.

‘C’m here.’

‘Geroff! Don’t you touch her!’ She edged past him, prepared to kick, and made it to the liberty of the front door. Out into Nelson Road. It stretched forever. Lindy didn’t want to be walking along it as Caroline Rothsay drove down. She ducked into a side road, kept walking, anywhere, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as long as she wasn’t at home when the Rothsay woman called.

Headed for town. It was okay except that nosy cows kept trying to look at her baby. She wasn’t having none of that. She was starving too, but stopping for something to eat was a problem. Women at counters, they wouldn’t keep their eyes to themselves.

Maybe town wasn’t such a smart idea. She climbed up on the footbridge that crossed high over the Stapledon link road, with its roaring traffic. It was like being up in the sky up here. She’d stood up here with Gary once, when he was pissed. He’d dropped something on a car below. What had it been? Half a brick probably. She remembered the loud crash as it hit a car roof and they’d both run, haring off the bridge into the alleys beyond, before anyone could catch them.

Seemed stupid now. Now she was here on her own and she didn’t have anything to drop. Except the baby. Supposing she dropped Kelly, down in all that traffic. It would be horrible. Better move on. Where? Where could she while away the day?

The park maybe. She could hang around there and no one would notice. Sit on one of the benches. Or on the swings. No wardens any more. No nosy bastard in uniform yelling at her for playing on the swings because she was too old. There were the toilets. People hung around there, with stuff. Something to make the day pass easier. Except that she wasn’t supposed to be touching stuff any more because of Kelly. But she could sit on the swings.

Like being a kid again, instead of a seventeen-year-old. She liked it, the feel of swaying backwards and forwards, the creak of the chains, letting her heels drag on the broken tarmac. Get up a nice rhythm. Twirl round even, winding the chains together until they were tight and she was on tiptoe, then lift her feet up and whiz round till she felt light-headed. That was great.

But maybe not so good for the baby. And there was only so much you could do on a swing if you were holding a baby. You couldn’t go up really high because that needed both hands and she didn’t want to put Kelly down. So she left the swings and took a couple of turns on the roundabout. It would be good, sitting there with Kelly, watching the world go round and round, but she had to keep dropping down to push it on. The gears were rusty.

What else? Round the lake maybe. The boatyard. That would be great, taking Kelly out on a paddle-boat. They could drift under one of the weeping willows and hide there like it was a fairy house, and snooze the day away. Except that the boat man would come prodding them with his long pole when their time was up. Anyway, she couldn’t afford a boat and they only ran the boats at the weekend. The yard would be locked up.

Unless there was a way to sneak in. But the lock wasn’t smashed for once, the wire fencing was intact and all the boats were drawn up on the tarmac, upside down to drain. Lindy would never be able to drag one down to the water, not holding Kelly. And anyway, there were too many people around. Office people, eating their sandwiches, reading newspapers, finishing off their lunch break.

There was the crazy golf, up the other end of the lake. She walked up but the kiosk was shut. She climbed over the fence – all the office workers had gone back to work – and mooched around on the empty course, littered with cigarette butts and empty cans, but it wasn’t any fun with no ball. You couldn’t pretend to hit a ball.

You couldn’t pretend…

She ran, like someone was after her, heart pounding. She might trip, running. Must be careful, with the baby. There was the summerhouse. She could sit in that. Sit and watch and wait. With her baby.

She sat there for a bit, but it smelt too much of pee, so she went and lay down on the grass among the trees and she knew she was dead tired. She let herself doze off.

She woke feeling stiff; the grass was damp. Better go back to the swings maybe. She walked round, through the trees, among the squirrels. Gary chucked stones at them; he got one once, killed it, and kept wanting to do it again. He made Lindy throw stones too, but she always missed. She was glad. She liked the squirrels, she liked anything furry, if it didn’t bare its teeth and snap at her, but she didn’t tell Gary that. She had hated seeing the squirrel dead, however proud Gary was.

Plenty of squirrels today, dashing across the grass, darting up the trees, afraid of her. That was sad. She would have happily picked one up and cuddled it. Cuddled a squirrel. Cuddled her baby. Sadness twisted inside her.

Out of the trees, onto the rolling grass, past a clump of bushes. Some of them had little red flowers. And there was the pram, and the baby.

Blue eyes peeking open, the head stirring as the baby woke from contented sleep.

Like a great slap, it winded her.

Lindy held her Kelly closer, but she knew it was no baby at all. Just a shawl. Kelly had gone. Where?

Panic filled her. Her baby was gone. No. No she wasn’t. She was here. Here in the pram. She must have slipped out of the shawl. Pick her up, wrap her up safely again. There she was, safe and sound, heavy against Lindy’s breast. Just where she belonged. So quiet. Such a good baby. She probably needed feeding and changing by now. Maybe it was time to go home.

Yes, she’d do that. Take Kelly home. She’d had enough of the park.

iv

Heather

They’d stopped at a Spar, one of the small shops on the periphery of the town centre. Bibs wanted sweets, and Heather was tempted to buy him his usual chocolate buttons, but she had just been to the dentist, and the threat of dental misery was still fresh in her thoughts. She shouldn’t be giving him sweets, should she? Fruit maybe. How about a banana? But Bibs didn’t want a banana. Never mind that he usually loved bananas, today he wanted sweets. Biscuits then. Were biscuits better for his teeth than sweets? At least they looked more wholesome, so she wouldn’t feel so bad. She could have bought him a Penguin or a Kitkat, but she knew that once it had been devoured he would have been pestering for more, so she bought a packet of chocolate digestives. Not intending to give him more, but as long as he knew they were there, in the bag slung from the pram handle, he could be bribed into good behaviour.

A packet of chocolate digestives. Looking back, afterwards, she thought, why didn’t I buy him the chocolate buttons?

The park was quiet, a few wanderers distant among the trees or across the lake. A weekday, lunch hour over. A couple of office workers lingered over the last crust of their sandwiches, before hurrying off. The playground was abandoned. She’d been afraid it might be occupied by a mob of truant teenagers, but today they were nowhere in sight. Bibs had it all to himself, the baby swings, the roundabout, the see-saw, the smaller slide.

She was getting good at this, a uniquely maternal form of ambidexterity. Pushing a swing with one hand and rocking a pram with the other. Encouraging words to Bibs and coos to the baby. Wipe the chocolate from round Bibs’ mouth while tucking Abigail’s blanket round her.

The baby was awake, but not fretful, blue eyes gazing on a world that as yet meant nothing to her. Was it wonder at the sight of the swings, the grass, the trees, the glint of water? Or was it merely contented incomprehension? At least she liked the rocking of the pram, Heather could see that.

‘Come on, Bibs.’ He had had his quota of fun, surely. A full half hour of swinging and sliding and spinning, and two biscuits.

‘No!’ He was running from her, back to the roundabout.

‘All right. Just this and we go.’ She heaved the roundabout into motion for him while he squealed in delight. Nothing else would make his life worthwhile. What would make mine worthwhile, she thought, was a cup of tea. She grabbed Bibs as the roundabout slowed and he prepared to dive off it for the slide.

‘That’s it. Time to go home now.’

‘No! No!’ Dragging her back.

She wasn’t going to have it. ‘No, Bibs. That’s enough. You’ve had a nice play. Now we’re going home.’

‘I want—’ He was straining, pointing at the slide.

‘You’ve had plenty of goes on the slide. Now. Don’t make me cross. Be a good boy.’

Petulantly, he fell into step beside her. Her grip loosened as he stopped yanking away from her. He was still pouting, but he was holding her hand and trotting beside her, accepting defeat.

Abigail, drifting back into sleep, stirred a little, shifting the blanket, and Heather released Bibs’ hand to pat it smooth.

Only a second, but it was enough. They were on the path leading to the back gate and the number 16 bus stop. Bibs had seen the lake, worse, the ducks on the lake, and all else was forgotten – swings, slides, going home. Released from her hold, he gave a shriek and ran tumbling down the grass to the lake’s edge.

‘Bibs! Come back! Come here now!’ She had a moment of panic. There were railings round the lake, but was he small enough to squeeze through? In a flash, she pictured him falling in, drowning. ‘Come back to Mummy, Bibs. Please. Not down there! Come back and you can have another biscuit.’

But he was not listening. The ducks had his full attention and, seeing him approach, they turned in the water like a well-trained cavalry charge, heading for him and whatever bread, buns or bird food he might have to offer.

She would have to fetch him back. She turned the pram, felt its wheels skid in the mud that edged the tarmac path. There had been so much rain lately. Today’s weak sun wasn’t enough to dry out the waterlogged grass. She didn’t want to get bogged down, wrestling with the pram as well as Bibs. Abigail was sleeping, peaceful and oblivious; she would be all right. Heather parked the pram up on the path, in the shelter of a bush, slipped the brake on, grabbed the packet of biscuits and hurried down the slippery grass to retrieve her son.

Bibs was reaching through the railings offering grass to the ducks. A dozen were waddling out, up the bank to investigate. He laughed in delight. What child would not, at the absurd sight, the waddling bottoms, the thunderous chorus of quacks, the eagerness? Heather couldn’t be cross with him.

‘Come on now.’ She crouched down beside him. ‘They’ll nibble your fingers. You don’t want that, do you?’

But there was nothing that Bibs wanted more than having his fingers nibbled by ducks.

Heather glanced back. The pram, partly concealed by the bush, was safe enough. There was no sound of crying. Abigail would sleep on unaware. ‘All right, but they don’t want grass.’ The ducks were already telling Bibs that in no uncertain terms. ‘Here, see if they’d like this.’ She had brought the biscuits as a lure for her son, to bribe him to follow her back, but now she broke pieces off a digestive, and let him toss them through the bars to a raucous clientele. Grass no, biscuits yes. The ducks liked them. Oh yes, very much, indeed.

‘There.’ The biscuit was finished. And then another.

Bibs stamped his foot and grabbed the railings. This spectacle was too good to leave.

‘All right, one more, but just one.’ She was going to make sure he understood this time. ‘Just two pieces, Bibs, and then we’re going.’ The armada of ducks was being followed by a small flotilla of swans, gliding disdainfully towards the source of the excitement. Ducks she could cope with, even in Hitchcock numbers, but swans were alarming. Beautiful at a distance, but far too frightening close up. ‘Last piece, Bibs. And I mean it, this is the last one. Who are you going to give it to? What about that poor one at the back?’ She held his hand, helped him throw the last crumb to a lone drake, and on cue the horde of ducks turned and speed-waddled in pursuit. That would do.

‘Come along now. No! No arguing. Be a good boy. I let you feed the ducks, now we’re going back to Gigi.’ A pout, a show of resistance, but he bowed to her superior strength, trotting with her back up the slope to the waiting pram.

Afterwards, she thought, had there been a time warp down by the lake? Had hours flown past, while they had fed the ducks? She could have sworn it was a minute, two, three at most.

The pram was where she had left it, brake still on, the bag suspended from its handle. Inside, the blanket was pulled loose, rumpled. There was no baby.

v

Lindy

It was such a long way home, back to Nelson Road. It had seemed no distance this morning, but Kelly had grown heavier. And more fretful. Cradled in Lindy’s arms, she had slept at first, but now she was showing distress. She needed changing. Well, she’d have to wait until they got home.

So long, Nelson Road! 128 was a million miles away. But she was there at last, as Kelly began to bawl in earnest. Let the door be open, please. She didn’t want to have to thump and get Tyler to open it.

It was ajar.

‘Miss Crowe. Ah good, I caught you. I was disappointed to find you’d gone out. I said I’d call, remember?’

That woman, Caroline Rothsay, with her smart jacket and her smart shoes. Wanting to take Kelly. Lindy clasped the baby tighter to her.

‘What you want?’

‘I just want to talk, my dear, to see how you’re coping with little Kelly there. To see what help we can offer.’

‘Well, I can’t talk now.’ Edge in through the door, hope the woman would go away. ‘She’s wet. I’ve got to change her.’

‘Of course, Rosalind.’ She was following. ‘You see to Kelly. Don’t worry about me. I can wait.’ Coming up the stairs after her. ‘When you’ve changed her, we’ll have our little talk.’

Lindy knew women like this. No keeping them out. But she had to think about Kelly, poor wet little thing, still bawling. Lindy grabbed a clean nappy from the cupboard then took the baby upstairs, locked the bathroom door on them. Could she stay here until the woman had had enough and left? Maybe, if she took her time. Not that she wanted to linger here. She was the only one who ever gave the bathroom any sort of a clean, and it stank. The floor was wet with shaving water and pee. The bath was okay though. Old green stains under the tap and round the plughole, but no one ever used it, so it could be worse. Lindy laid the baby down in the bath, unwrapping the shawl to let her little arms thrash around. Stripped off her clothes. Lindy didn’t like those clothes. They looked all wrong. Stripped off the sodden nappy, dropped it into the plastic bag she left tucked out of sight.

The baby was gurgling now. Was there any hot water? Sometimes, someone put money in the meter. She let it run. Not hot, but lukewarm. She’d have liked it hotter but it would have to do. Tenderly, she wiped the baby down. There was baby talc on the shelf. Just a tiny bit left. Where had the rest gone? Some wanker had been using her baby talc.

Kelly was quiet now, letting Lindy dress her in the newly washed clothes that had been wrapped in the shawl with her. There, she was almost like her old self. A bit bigger. A little bit more fair fuzzy hair. But babies were like that. They changed every day.

‘There you are, Kelly. My little Kelly.’

The baby looked at her. No recognition. Well, of course not, she was too young for that. But there was something she would recognise, surely. Lindy put the lid down and settled on the toilet, lifting the child to her breast. She still wasn’t used to this, the bottle felt more decent, but this would keep her here, in the bathroom, away from that woman.

Then the baby was asleep again. She couldn’t sit here forever, rocking Kelly in her arms. She’d have to go down. Maybe the woman would have gone by now. She stuffed the old clothes out of sight in the bag with the dirty nappy. Deal with them later. The shawl would need a wash. She snatched it up and headed downstairs.

Caroline Rothsay was waiting for her. Poking round the bedsit, prodding at the window frame. Who did she think she was? Lindy ignored her, laying Kelly in the Moses basket, covered her up, put her little pink mouse next to her.

When she turned, Caroline was smiling as if she had just witnessed a cute nativity play. ‘I’m sure you take great care of her. But we do need to consider—’

‘No you don’t. I don’t need your help. I can look after her. You’re not taking her.’

‘I am sure you are a wonderful mother.’ The woman was trying to reassure her. ‘But we need to think about other things. Are you receiving the proper benefits you’re entitled to, for instance? And is this really the best environment for your baby? I am sure you and – Gary, was it? – are doing your best, but perhaps we could find you somewhere better to live.’ Her glance was taking in every facet of the miserable room – the mattress on the floor, the rotting window, the peeling wallpaper, the seeping damp stains on the ceiling. ‘I can help you apply to the council. Wouldn’t you like that? A nice clean council flat maybe on the Nanwell estate?’

Lindy’s fingers clenched on the shawl. A real flat, somewhere proper for her and Kelly to live. Enough benefits so she wouldn’t have to keep nicking things and a home when Gary kicked her out. But it was a trap. It had to be. They’d say things like this so she wouldn’t make a fuss and the moment she complied, they’d have Kelly in care.

‘Let me just take a few details,’ Caroline was saying, opening a case full of papers. ‘You are Rosalind Crowe…yes? I have your date of birth and Kelly’s details. Your partner, Gary. His name is?’

‘Gary Bagwell,’ said Lindy reluctantly. She didn’t want to be answering this woman’s questions. Certainly not questions about Gary.

‘Is he employed?’

What was she to say? Yes, he’s doing a job for Carver upstairs? Next it would be all about his mother, and where she lived, and how she could help with the baby. Then this woman would be off investigating and find there was no mother.

‘What’s it to you?’

‘I just need to know what help you need, Rosalind. If Gary is supporting you both—’

‘I’m not staying here.’

‘Ah?’

‘No. I’m not staying with Gary. I got family, in Barking. I’m going to them, going to take Kelly with me.’

‘Ah. I see.’ The woman was scribbling notes. Would it stop her asking questions? She went on, wheedling, and Lindy went on prevaricating. It wouldn’t work, not in the long run, but at least it would get rid of the woman today.

The Rothsay woman went at last, with her notes, and her smile, leaving Lindy alone with her baby.

She stood looking down on the Moses basket, at the baby, her baby, asleep so peacefully. It was like Peter Pan and that fairy. You just had to believe. If you believed hard enough, then it would be true. Everyone would believe it was true. But if you stopped believing, then it would die.

All she had to do was believe.

vi

Heather

There was no baby. The world had stopped moving. Clouds were frozen in the sky. The noise of everyday life was switched off – drowned out by the roaring in her ears. Heather shut her eyes, gripping the pram handle, knowing that she was having a stupid nightmare. When she opened her eyes, she would find the baby there, safely tucked up under her blanket.

She opened her eyes. No baby. Just a rumpled cover.

It wasn’t possible. It was not physically possible for Abigail to have wriggled her own way out of the carrycot. She was only three weeks old. What had happened? A gust of wind, sharp enough to tilt the pram, and throw the baby out?

Pushing Bibs aside, Heather fell to her knees. It would be all right. Abigail would be down here, under the bush, lying happily. Please, don’t let her be injured by the fall.

There was no Abigail under the bush. Nothing but an empty cigarette packet. No sign, anywhere, of the baby.

This was stupid. She would be kicking herself in a minute, laughing at her own stupidity. She hadn’t looked properly in the pram, that was it. Abigail had somehow jiggled around, under the blanket. Heather got to her feet, pulled the blanket off. Nothing. A bare mattress. She pulled up the mattress, revealing the bottom of the carrycot. Nothing.

She couldn’t breath. It wasn’t happening. She was confused. There was something here she wasn’t understanding.

Bibs tugged at her sleeve.

‘Not now, Bibs!’

‘I want a biscuit.’

‘Not now! Be quiet! Please be quiet.’ She was having to gulp for air. Her shins were turning to jelly, collapsing under her. She had to cling to the pram for support. How could Abigail just vanish?

Someone had taken her. It was the only explanation. Heather stared around. Nothing would focus properly. The nearby trees were swimming, boughs moving in the breeze. She blinked hard. No one in sight. No one anywhere. Just a couple of dogs running wild on the far side of the lake.

Dogs! Dogs could have taken her baby. Like dingos. She let out a scream. A small scream already stifled in her throat. She wanted to shut her eyes again. She wasn’t really here in the park with an empty pram. She was at home asleep and dreaming. A nightmare.

‘I want a biscuit,’ whined Bibs.

‘Shut up, Bibs! Shut up, shut up, shut up!’

What could she do? She wanted to run, shouting and screaming, to search the entire park, find her baby, find the person who took her baby.

But what if she had it all wrong? What if Abigail were around here somewhere? She had to be. Somehow she had fallen. If Heather moved she would be leaving her.

She couldn’t cope with this. No one could cope with this.

A man. There was a man coming her way. Big black overcoat, hurrying through the park towards the Buckingham Road gate. Brisk walk, eyes fixed ahead, deliberately not seeing her. That was how people behaved in public. No eye contact, no need to share this universe. He would pass without a word.

‘Please.’

He was almost on them, preparing to skirt them without altering his stride.

‘Please. Help me.’ She lurched to grab him.

He recoiled. His hostile eyes glance over her then he hesitated.

‘Help me,’ she repeated. She mustn’t be hysterical, mustn’t scream and sob. She must be calm. ‘Help me please. My baby’s gone.’

And then she couldn’t help herself.