The years she stole, p.26
The Years She Stole, page 26
‘Aww, glad you think so.’
I linked Doug as we leaned over the carrycot.
‘Int she funny looking?’ he said, after a while.
Cheeky bastard. Though of course, I don’t say it out loud.
‘Well, some folk say I’m funny looking, so happen she got that from me.’
‘She dunt look like any of my other kids.’
‘Yeah, coz Vera hasn’t had an ’and in this one. What are you like, Doug? She’s ours. Nobody else’s. Aww, I love her so much, you know.’
‘It shows. You’ve kept her ever so nice. Clean and tidy, and . . .’
I cut him off. ‘I keep everything nice. It’s what I excel at.’
What I didn’t tell him was I’d given Rachel an extra dab of gin before he got here. I didn’t want her waking up all the time and bawling and showing me up so he’d see that sometimes I couldn’t cope with her. Coz most of the time I could.
I needed to prove I was better than Vera. I needed to prove I was a better investment than Funke.
He went to the window and opened it, then struck up a cigarette.
‘What, you’ve started smoking?’
‘It’s the stress.’
‘But what about your heart?’
‘Don’t you start an’ all.’
‘Oh, does she have a go, does she?’
‘Shurrup.’
‘Well, good. It’s bad for you, smoking. It’s a killer.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I didn’t come down with the last shower, you know.’
‘Have you told her yet? About Rachel?’
He shook his head and looked up at the mountain.
‘But you will do. Eventually. Yeah?’
And he nodded his head, took a drag on his ciggie and said, really quietly, ‘Yeah.’
And that was the thing with him. I couldn’t tell if he was being quiet because he was dreading telling her. Or he was going all soft because he was lying, and he had no intention of telling her. Either scenario didn’t bode that well for me.
‘I can’t be a kept woman forever,’ I added, trying to sound all virginal.
He flicked half his ciggie away, out of the window and into the garden.
‘Litterbug. That’s how forest fires start,’ I gently cajoled him, and he turned and shut the window.
‘They’re a bugger a lot, the Taffies, you know,’ he said, all cocky.
‘You what?’
‘They find out you’re English? They’ll set fire to this place and kill the pair of you.’
‘Don’t be soft.’
‘They do that! The Welsh nationalists. They set fire to English people’s country cottages. That’s why me and Vera hardly ever come.’
Liar!
‘Well, her next door, she’s from London. She’s never had her house set fire to. Plus she’s a nosy beggar. She’d spot anyone coming down this street with a petrol can and call the police.’
He nodded and looked down into the carrycot. And said again, ‘Funny looking fucker.’
This was beginning to upset me, as if she was my own. I really wished he wouldn’t say stuff like that.
‘So, go on. What was the labour like again?’
‘Oh, you know. I cried a lot. Screamed a lot. Nurses were nice. Bit put out you weren’t there.’
‘You or them?’
‘Both!’ I said with a wink, and my best Alma Cogan chuckle.
‘I thought you were having a boy.’
‘Yeah, but that was just a gypsy I met. She was meant to be a good gypsy. Maybe she’ll grow up to be a tomboy.’
‘It’s weird, int it? Usually such a foolproof thingy.’
‘It’s an old wives’ tale and well you know it, Dougie.’
‘Thought you said the gypsy had never put a foot wrong.’
‘I’m happy having a little girl, Dougie. Whether you are or not.’
‘Oh no, I am happy, Shirley. Dunt make any difference to me.’
Huh, sounded like it. He were sounding right common today. I could tell from this he was stressed. I were so glad I weren’t common.
‘Weird though, int it?’
‘What is?’
‘How you were so sure.’
‘She were meant to be a good gypsy.’
And now he turned to me and looked at me and grabbed me by both arms. I could see fear, terror in his eyes. They seemed to well up from nowhere.
‘Be honest with me, Shirley.’
‘Eh? I am being honest with you.’
‘Be honest with me and I’ll cope with it. I promise I will.’
‘About what?’
And now he let go of me so I sort of skidded across the carpet, while he went in his bag, his little one he’d packed for his overnight jaunt. It was then that he pulled out a Sun newspaper.
There on the front page was a pencil drawing of a woman, carrying a baby.
I felt sick.
It could’ve been a drawing of me.
Sod that. It was a drawing of me.
‘They’ve done an artist’s impression of you, Shirley. So please . . . stop lying to me.’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about!’
‘This!’
And now he jabbed his finger on the picture, then hurled the paper at me.
The headline just said ‘BUS STOP LADY’.
‘What? Who’s that?’
‘Never mind who that is, Shirl. Who’s this?’ And he pointed to the baby. ‘Is it baby Diana?’
I started to cry. ‘How can you even say that, Doug?’
‘Because none of this adds up!’
‘How d’you mean, though?!’
‘Your baby’s three weeks early. That does not look like a baby who’s premature!’
‘Maybe I got my dates wrong!’
‘PLUS. She’s the double of baby Diana.’
‘Is she heck as like. Oh what, so I drove down to Birmingham and took a baby from under the noses of a new mam and dad? Do you really think I’m capable of doing all that? Well, thanks a flaming lot, Dougie. Thanks a flaming lot!’
I went careering down the stairs and ran out into the back garden.
How dare he?
How DARE he!
How dare he think me capable of doing such a horrible thing? And he was meant to be in love with me. How could he love someone who could be capable of that? It’s the worst thing to imagine about someone you like, never mind are meant to love. Fancy thinking I’d stolen a baby! It didn’t bear thinking about.
It didn’t bear thinking about because he was onto me. He’d worked it out. What did I do now? Run?
And why was I being so incensed when all he was thinking was the truth?
I had done that horrid, horrid thing. I was worthy of his condemnation.
That bitch at the bus stop had dropped me in it. That bitch at the bus stop had been staring at me after all. Well enough to be able to describe me in intimate detail.
How was that even possible? If someone said to me, What does Dougie look like? I’d be hard pressed to ring up an artist and describe him so well that they could jot down something worthy of the Tate gallery.
I realized I was getting angry, and I realized I was getting angry because I had been rumbled. And I’d not spent too much time working out what the implications of this would be. The worst-case scenario for me was going to be Doug not wanting to know me or the baby, and so it all having not been worth the while. I didn’t seriously think I was going to get rumbled. And certainly not by HIM.
My sphincter was doing a real ten-pee/two-pee contracting motion. My insides were dancing a rumba. And all this was not due to excitement. Jesus, I was stood here in the garden and for all I knew he was inside on the phone to the cops already.
But how would I stop him?
He’d want to stop me, wouldn’t he? He seemed so angry about it all.
Typical. Probably fancied Diana’s mother. Probably saw this as his way of getting to meet her. I was probably as throwaway as his last piece of fluff.
What did I do now? What COULD I do now? I couldn’t lie to him forever. And if he called the cops that’d be the end of me. They’d lock me up and throw away the key. And everyone would know. Everyone would know it was me.
I’d thought if it all went tits up with him I could just get the baby back to her mum, the proper one.
But I’d thought he’d take one look at her and melt.
What I needed to do now was get him onside.
Get him onside for what, though?
Right. This would look bad on him, too, I fancied.
If I said he’d told me to do it, would they believe me? Probably not.
But if I was honest, and said I’d only done it to win him back . . . his name’d be in all the papers, and folk’d know I was his mistress. He’d hate that.
Yes. I had to get him onside.
I’d tell him he was right, I’d tell him I’d made a big mistake. But now I needed his help to put it right. Then we could get the baby back to its mother together. Then we’d be in on it together. And that way nobody would know we’d ever had a thing.
And if losing him was the price I had to pay to get out of what I now saw was an incredible mess, then so be it.
That was better than going to prison.
I did not want to go to prison.
Going to prison was one of the worst things I could imagine. Ever.
But would he go along with it?
We could drive together to the nearest hospital. I could leave her in a bin. Or pull my hood up and just leave the carrycot by the entrance to the casualty department. He’d probably have a better idea.
Right. The game was up. But there was a way of coming out of this unscathed.
I’d appeal to his better nature, and then I’d be free. Free of him, free of this, and free of this pea-souper of anxiety that overwhelmed me every waking hour.
I’d appeal to his vanity. Say how poorly this was going to reflect on him. Say how angry Vera was going to be. I’d be contrite. I was good at being contrite. And I’d say I only did it for him.
Well, which was, let’s be honest, God’s honest truth.
I turned to head back in. I could see him through the door off the kitchen, in the sitting room, putting the television on.
As if things weren’t already bad enough I could hear the opening music of the telly news. Like we didn’t need reminding I was already in the shit. No doubt that picture of me would be the leading story.
Here she is!
I wavered. There was the small matter of Myrus next door.
But then I reminded myself that she had no idea who I was. And by now, no doubt she’d have clocked that my ‘husband’ was back. All we had to do was get out of here, drop the baby somewhere, and return to our normal lives, and it’d never cross her mind what had gone on. Baby Diana would’ve been found, and she’d never put two and two together and think I bet it was them lovebirds next door.
Thank God I was a thinker. I could think things through rationally, and see all possibilities.
Now I just had to convince Doug about the next step.
And at least I hadn’t walked in to find him on the phone to the boys in blue.
As I stepped cautiously into the living room he mustn’t have heard me coz he shouted out, ‘Shirl! Quick! Come and listen to this!’
‘What is it?’
‘Shh!’
And he knelt in front of the telly and turned the sound up.
Selina Scott was reading the news. And what she said shocked me so much I nearly fainted.
‘Police are following a tip-off that baby Diana’s abductor is living in the Paisley area of Glasgow. A woman today called a helpline anonymously to say that she had Diana and that all was well. She asked to be left in peace and to tell the baby’s mother . . . not to worry. Some people might find the following report upsetting.’
And then there was some Scottish woman walking down a high street, through the shoppers, saying someone had come to ‘this phone box’, and she pointed to an actual phone box where the anonymous call was made and said that we were going to hear it, as the police thought the caller was genuine and that ‘someone must know who she is’.
Then they cut to a close-up of a tape recorder playing.
And then we heard this voice.
And I felt the room was spinning.
The voice sounded young. Scottish. A young girl. Sounded like she was still at school.
‘Hello, yes, I’ve got her. I’ve got little Diana. See, I lost my baby and now I’ve got one. I’m sorry. Tell her mammy I’m sorry and not to worry. But she’s in good hands and she’s well cared for. And tell everyone to stop looking for her, coz she’s safe.’
And then for good measure there was a baby crying in the background, and then the caller hung up.
I couldn’t listen to any more of the programme. It was going on in front of my eyes and the noises were heading into my ears, but the room was spinning too much. I felt like I was on a carousel and I couldn’t jump off. I had to push myself into the settee so I wouldn’t drop to the floor, fighting that gravitational pull that was gonna drag me down.
I felt something on my hand. It made me jump and shriek. But I looked and it was Doug sitting beside me.
‘Oh, Shirl,’ he said, tears pricking his eyes. ‘I’m so, so sorry. How will you ever forgive me?’
I looked back to the TV screen. Selina Scott’s lips were moving but no sound was coming out.
Where the fuck did I go from here?
It appeared that where I went from there was that I was completely exonerated in Doug’s eyes, and he clearly felt so guilty about what he’d thought me capable of that he felt he had to roger me all weekend long in every single room in the cottage.
‘Not surprised this place is called Lovers’ Leap,’ he’d say, ‘coz I wanna leap your bones every time I look at you!’
And then he’d take my titties out and ask me to give him some milk.
‘I can’t do that yet,’ I’d say. ‘Nurses said what with me age it might take a while.’
And guess what? He bought it.
Though, cheeky bastard, guess what he said when he saw me with no clothes on?
‘Hey, you’re not looking TOO bad, considering you’ve just give birth.’
What could I say to that apart from go along with it?
‘Oh. Ta.’
‘I mean, few months from now and you’ll be normal-sized.’
‘Yeah. Thanks Doug. Means a lot.’
I supposed I’d better be grateful for small mercies. Thought this was God’s way of telling me it was time to go on a diet.
When we weren’t bonking each other’s brains out we were going for runs out in his car. He had a lovely saloon on him, with quite the impressive gearbox, and once we’d tucked baby on the back seat in a special strap for her carrycot he liked to get out there and ‘open her up’.
‘I’m a chancer,’ he’d say, ‘a risk taker. I grab life by the pubes, Shirley. By the down-and-dirty, good-for-nothing pubes.’
And with the general public thinking the police were looking in Paisley for the missing baby, nobody suspected a thing as we ate in pubs, and drank tea in cafes. North Wales was our plate of oysters. And we got high on them. He lavished me with love. He lavished me with sex. He lavished me with nappies for the baby and food for the larder. And best of all, he lavished me with cheques that I could cash once he was gone. He was only meant to be staying till the Sunday night but he ended up leaving Monday lunchtime. So you could say he lavished me with time as well.
On the Monday morning we’d just been to Kwik Save and piled the boot high with provisions for my week ahead and we were unpacking in the driveway. I wanted to be quick because I could see the nets at Myrus’s place twitching away like Larry-oh.
‘Let’s get this lot in,’ I said to Doug, ‘quickly! I don’t want Nose Almighty sticking her oar in.’ We ran between the Lada and the front door, dropping off bags and running back for more. Ever the gent, Doug offered to take the carrycot and get the baby changed upstairs. I stayed behind to check the car.
Which was when I found a plastic bag under the driver’s seat.
A plain boring white plastic bag.
But I checked inside in case it was something for Lovers’ Leap.
Inside was another plastic bag, a Mothercare bag.
Oh God. Was this a little present for me? Was he going to give me this as he left? Oh, God love the BONES of him.
I couldn’t help myself. I had a little peek inside.
I was right! I must’ve been. Inside was a little yellow Babygro. And a card in an envelope.
But. Hey up. The card had been ripped open. I pulled the envelope out for closer inspection.
Scrawled on the red paper in biro were three words.
Douglas and Vera.
I pulled the card out. It showed a dull picture of some balloons.
Inside it said:
Congratulations on your fantastic news, Mummy and Daddy! Love Gwen, Charlie and the twins xxx
I felt sick.
I left the car door open and took the Babygro and the card inside. Doug was in the kitchen, aggressively opening a baby’s mobile from an overly wrapped cardboard box using a pair of scissors.
‘Is Vera pregnant?’
I almost didn’t recognize my own voice. It was so listless and one level. It took him a while to realize I’d said anything. He slowly put down the scissors and looked over at me. He saw what I had in my hand.
‘Is she?’
He said nothing.
‘Well, come on, Doug. Either she is or she isn’t.’
He nodded.
I snatched the scissors from his hand, held the Babygro in front of his eyes and tore away at it with them, ribboning it to frig.
He didn’t make any effort to intervene. Just stood there watching me hack the Babygro to death.
I was so angry. I was raging. The blood in my veins seemed to bubble up like hot soup in a tiny pan, no room to breathe, nowhere to go but upwards and out, to spill over and hurt, boil, sting. I hurled the offending item of clothing across the room, then the scissors too.
‘Well, that was grown-up.’
‘Oh, fuck off.’
‘You don’t have the monopoly on having kids, you know.’
‘Oh, do I not? I thought I did.’
‘No need to be sarcastic.’
