Grace, page 6
‘Oh, Rob,’ she said, rubbing her eyes which were now streaming due to the smoke. ‘Wake up, Rob. Wake. Up.’ But his eyes remained shut. She could not tell whether he was breathing.
She assessed the situation. She could leave him there, but what if he had inhaled too much smoke? What if his lungs were no longer working? And it was freezing in here, despite the fire in the cooker. She knew from experience that you got very ill when you got cold. There was nothing for it. She’d have to move him.
She knew she was weak from lack of food and water, but the adrenaline that had surged through her body in the last few minutes had given her a burst of energy. She flung her makeshift mask aside, lifted both of his arms and heaved. Her best efforts managed to move him a few inches, his limp fingers dragging streaks of vomit across the floor. She paused and dipped down towards the floor to take a deep breath, before sitting back up and yanking his arms once more. This time she took them both across the kitchen threshold, and into the living room. There was much less smoke in here, she realised. Thank God for that.
Within seconds, all of her strength dissipated. She only had enough energy left to turn around, grab the blanket they used to keep warm while watching TV and drape it over Rob’s corpse-like body. Then she collapsed on top of him, surrendering once more to unconsciousness.
*
The baby’s hand was soft and warm. It was reaching out for her finger. She ran her index finger down its palm and felt its tiny digits enclose it, grasping hard, refusing to let go. She looked over the edge of the cot, inching ever closer to the infant’s face.
‘Chelle?’
Its eyes were open, and it was looking directly at her, unblinking. She moved her face closer so that she could smell its warm breath. But something was wrong. Its face, at first placid, was now distorted into a grimace. Its eyes had turned dull, and its skin had turned a stomach-churning blue.
‘No!’ shouted Michelle. ‘Noooooo!’
‘Chelle? Are you awake?’ said Rob, before sitting up suddenly, knocking Michelle off him and onto the floor. Her head thumped into the sofa as she fell, but despite this she was incredibly glad, for once, to be awake. She pulled herself up to a sitting position, her head thumping. She felt her forehead, and noted a bump was growing there.
‘Yeah,’ she replied. ‘Just.’
‘You were makin’ weird noises.’
‘I was dreaming,’ she replied, inhaling deeply. She was glad that the air had cleared in the flat. She was glad that they were both alive, come to that. But she was freezing cold, she realised.
‘There was a fire, Rob,’ she said, reaching out so that she could share the blanket. ‘Loads’a smoke. You nearly died.’
‘Shit,’ he said, rubbing his hands through his hair, and looking around. ‘Yeah, I can see that.’
Michelle shuffled so that she was sitting next to Rob, shoulder to shoulder. From their position on the floor, Michelle could see that the kitchen walls, inexpertly decorated with a stripey white and blue wallpaper by a previous tenant, were now mostly black. There was also a thick black border of soot around the archway which led into the lounge, making it look like the entrance to a railway tunnel.
‘Did you leave something under the grill?’ she asked, looking down at her hands as she did so.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ he replied. ‘I was starvin’. When did we last eat, d’ya reckon?’ Michelle thought for a moment. She realised she had no idea. ‘Ah yeah, that’s it. Was cookin’ sausages. It was all we had left in the freezer. And then I…’
‘You were unconscious, Rob,’ she replied. ‘On the floor. And then you threw up.’
Rob looked down at his t-shirt, nodding as he took in the vomit stains.
‘Yeah, I see that…’ he replied, slowly. ‘Oh well. Never did like this top,’ he added, inspecting the damage.
‘Shit, I thought I’d lost you,’ Michelle said, tears in her eyes, remembering those few desperate minutes the night before when she had thought her only friend, the only person she actually trusted, had been a goner.
Michelle’s relationship with Rob had begun on a sweaty summer’s night in Worcester. It had been just a few weeks after she’d turned sixteen, the magical age where she’d finally been able to legally instruct social services to leave her alone. Leaving had felt like a better option than staying put. She’d been forced to leave her final family foster placement – a great place, that had been, one of the only places she’d ever felt safe – a year before and the twelve months she had been forced to spend in a home after that had been horrendous. The boys had tried to shag her or sell her drugs, and the girls had been vicious to each other, genuinely frightening. Social services had told her that it was a well-run home, but as usual, they had been lying.
After she’d left care she had tried to find a job – any job – by day, and had slept rough by night. She’d been incredibly naive, she realised that now; not only about her job prospects, but also about her safety. She’d bedded down for the night in the cathedral grounds beneath a huge cedar, feeling (falsely, she now realised) that both the historic building and its religious inhabitants would somehow keep her safe. But Nate, well, he had found her there in the shadows. He was a brute, well known amongst the homeless crowd as a brawler. He’d stank of fags, dried-in sweat and cheap spirits. He’d set himself upon her, ripping at her clothes, grasping her private parts and squeezing so hard, she’d screamed in pain. He’d held her so tightly, she’d felt paralysed. She hadn’t been able to breathe.
‘Get off her, you bastard.’
That had been Rob. Rob, a man she’d hardly even spoken to before. She’d recognised him because he came into Worcester regularly for drugs, and he’d sometimes shared them with her, and had given her money for food. But that was all. Nothing else. But on that dark, dangerous night, Rob had pulled that thug off her and had battered him, hard. Nate had limped off afterwards, back to whichever hellish hole he’d come out of. And then Rob had taken one look at her, at her bruises and her cuts, and suggested that she should come to clean herself up at his place. So, she had done – and she had simply never left.
Rob reached out for Michelle’s hand under the blanket and clasped it. ‘I’m sorry, Chelle. Honestly I am. I had no idea that I’d got us such shit. I’ve never reacted like that before, have I? And giving it to you, your first hit for months… That was stupid of me. Fuck knows what was in it. Dave promised me it was kosher, but… I’ll be having words.’
Neither of them spoke for a minute. Michelle could hear kids kicking a ball about outside and footsteps on the floorboards from the flat upstairs. They belonged to the old lady who lived there. She complained to the council about them at least once a month. The letter they received about it every thirty days had become almost a tradition.
Then, the sound of Michelle’s rumbling belly called her to arms.
‘Did we really only have sausages?’ she asked Rob, hauling herself up from the floor.
‘Dunno. Prob’ly,’ he replied, holding out his hand for her to help him get up. He swayed for a few seconds when he reached standing, as if uncertain of gravity.
Confident that Rob was not going to fall over, Michelle walked into their kitchen and began to open their blackened cupboard doors. They had two which usually contained food. Today she found: teabags, a half-empty tub of value mixed herbs, half a bottle of tomato ketchup and a tub of brown mustard, surrounded by a mystery, sticky puddle. Opening the fridge door, she noted an almost-empty milk bottle in the door, two cans of cheap beer and a takeaway box of pizza which was starting to smell. She grabbed it and thrust it in the bin behind her, several ancient, fat-speckled slices of pepperoni slipping out onto the floor as she did so. The freezer was no better. Its sole occupant was a tray of ice, liberally dappled with frozen peas and other sundry gnarled vegetables.
‘You’re right, Rob,’ she shouted into the lounge. ‘We’ve got fuck all.’ She walked back into the living room and took a seat on the sofa, where Rob was now sitting.
She sat up and drew her legs beneath her.
‘When does that food bank open, Rob? The one in Malvern Priory?’ she asked.
‘Dunno, babe. But it won’t be open today, will it? It’s Sunday.’
‘No, it isn’t Sunday, it’s Monday,’ she said, with a certainty she did not feel. They’d always managed to avoid using the food bank so far – it felt embarrassing to admit they might even need it – but needs must.
‘Jesus, was I passed out for that long?’ Rob asked, grinning as he scratched his head. Michelle smiled, despite herself.
‘Honestly Rob, I’m not sure. That stuff was… strong.’
Rob dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen was smashed into hundreds of tiny, interconnected shards, but by some miracle it was still functioning. ‘Ah, I’ve still got some battery left. Amazing. It’s…’ he squinted. ‘Monday. You win.’
‘Monday,’ said Michelle. ‘Okay. Do we have any cash?’ she asked, still hoping she might be able to buy something from Mr Chaudhury’s, rather than face the long walk up to town.
‘Nah, love, I’m sorry.’
‘Didn’t you get benefits last week?’
‘Sanctioned.’
‘Again?’
‘Yeah, I didn’t go to the job centre, did I? I was taking you to ’ospital.’
‘Rob.’
‘But you’ll get child benefit, right?’
Michelle felt bile rise in her throat.
‘For fuck’s sake, Rob. No. I won’t. Think. Because I’ve given her up, haven’t I? You only get that if you’ve got a baby to feed.’
Michelle leapt up and strode into the bathroom, where she slammed the door shut and slid the bolt across. She sat down on the toilet and thrust her head into her hands. She closed her eyes to try to clear her head but found that Grace’s face was burned into her retina.
‘Chelle? Can you ’ear me? Chelle? I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’.’
Michelle could hear that Rob had sat down on the other side of the bathroom door.
‘I should ’ave thought, Chelle. I know you miss ’er. I miss ’er too. That bump of yours was ours, wasn’t it? Ours. Just for a bit.’
Still with her eyes closed, Michelle remembered the red Ford Cortina driving away and the woman in the back window, waving. She had been carrying her favourite teddy in her arms and had struggled to wave back. After that car had become a red speck of dust, the skinny old woman had put her hand on Michelle’s shoulder and guided her indoors, into the dark hallway beyond. Into the noise.
‘We couldn’t keep her, could we?’ she whispered through the door, asking a question that didn’t need an answer. She looked around her at their grimy bathroom, the plastic shower attachment on the taps, the grey tidal marks on the bath. ‘We couldn’t give her a good life.’
‘No, we couldn’t. Imagine us in charge of a child, Chelle! Poor kid would have to like her sausages flame grilled.’
Michelle hugged her arms to her chest and tried to smile.
‘She’ll have a nice home, love, just like you’ve always said,’ said Rob, through the door. ‘No chopping and changing. No lies from those bastards at the social. She’ll have stability. Everything she needs. And wants.’
‘Yeah,’ she replied, remembering her tears as they’d driven her away from her final placement. ‘Yeah.’
‘Can you unlock the door, babe?’ he asked, his voice calming, cajoling.
Michelle opened her eyes, stood up and pulled the bolt across.
‘Come in,’ she said, retreating backwards.
Rob walked in and stood in front of her, his arms open.
‘Come ’ere, babe. I’ve got you,’ he said, beckoning her, and she did not wait. She threw herself into his arms and sank into his bony chest, her tears soaking through his thin t-shirt. But he didn’t shrink from her; he never did. He was always there. And this gave her peace. Even now.
They stood there in silence for a minute or so.
‘You know what we need to do about the food, babe?’ he said, finally.
Michelle did know, but she wished she didn’t. She was far too tired to face the walk to the food bank today.
*
Michelle stood outside Chaudhury’s Megamart, playing with the zip on her hoodie and clutching the 20p piece she’d found down the back of their sofa. It was their local shop, only about 200 metres from their front door. Its glass front was littered with adverts for second-hand leather sofas, dubious rubbish disposal services and even more dubious offers of ‘adult massage’.
She had been a regular customer here since she had moved in with Rob. She liked Mr Chaudhury, the old man who owned the place. He smiled at you, really smiled, and she liked that. Not many people did that, did they? Almost no one. Not genuinely.
But now she was going to have to steal from him.
She’d done it a few times. It was easier for her to do it – Mr Chaudhury, the owner, didn’t trust Rob, and so he watched him like a hawk. But he seemed to like her. She hated doing it though, because, well, she really liked Mr Chaudhury too, and it wasn’t as if he ran a huge supermarket and wouldn’t notice the difference. She’d have much preferred nicking stuff from a big shop, but they didn’t even have money for the bus fare at the moment.
That was her own fault, really. She should never have allowed Rob to give her that stuff. She’d been so long without it. Somehow, the baby had made it so much easier to say no. But now she had no such excuse, and that desire for oblivion, for a ticket out of her messy life and even messier emotions, had been too much to refuse. And now she’d started again, it would be incredibly difficult to stop. She’d learned that from experience.
Rob had told her to get as much stuff from Mr Chaudhury’s shop as she could, but she wasn’t going to. She was going to get the bare minimum, just enough to tide them over until she could get over to the food bank. And really, how much could she nick without him spotting her? She didn’t want to be arrested. She couldn’t stand the police. And she’d had more than enough of the courts already.
She took a deep breath and pushed the door of the shop open. A ding alerted Mr Chaudhury to her presence. He was behind the till, pulling bags of sweets out of a large box.
‘Hello, love,’ he said, smiling.
‘Hi,’ she said, as quickly and as calmly as she could manage. She looked about her as if scanning with purpose before walking further into the shop, glad that Mr Chaudhury was busy and hopefully distracted enough to not notice what she was doing.
She walked up to the pasta section and took a small bag of fusilli and a jar of pasta sauce off the shelves, putting one in each pocket. Then she approached the fridge and picked up a pint of milk and put this under her hoodie. Finally, she found a small bag of porridge oats and a tiny pack of cola bottle sweets. She put the porridge in her trouser pockets, kept the sweets in her hands, and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging the milk underneath. Then she walked up to the till, praying that Mr Chaudhury didn’t look at her too closely.
‘Just these, please,’ she said, handing over the sweets.
‘That’ll be 20p, love,’ he replied, still smiling. Michelle held the milk up with her left hand whilst delving into her back pocket for the 20p with her right. She tried to smile as she handed the coin over.
‘Thanks, love,’ he said, looking straight at her. ‘How are you doing? How’s…’
He’s going to ask about the baby, she thought. Shit.
‘How’s… things?’ he said, finally.
‘Okay,’ she replied. He looked doubtful, so she decided to be honest. ‘I’m a bit tired,’ she added.
‘Then you’d best get home and have a rest, love. Enjoy your sweets.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, before turning and walking out as fast as she could, convinced that she’d hear him yelling after her, accusing her of theft, at any moment. She didn’t risk slowing down until she was almost home.
But she’d done it. They had food now. Enough for tonight, anyway. She’d worry about everything else tomorrow. She ripped open the sweet packet and poured them into her mouth, before discarding the packet in a nearby bin, savouring the sour sweetness as she chewed and swallowed. She was hugely grateful for them; she needed them to take away the bad taste in her mouth.
7
October 17th
Amelia
Nineteen weeks until the final hearing
The doorbell rang while Amelia was kneeling on the floor, peering beneath the kitchen units, searching for her car keys. She’d needed to pop out to the shops that morning to get a few last-minute provisions and hadn’t been able to find them anywhere. She’d asked Piers if he’d seen them, and he’d reminded her that she was always misplacing things – not exactly a helpful comment, but definitely true these days – and lent her his keys instead. She couldn’t think for the life of her where she’d put them. She’d already turned over her bedroom, searched the bin and gone through all of her coat pockets. Oh well, she thought, they’ll have to wait. There are more important things to think about now. She stood up and dusted herself down, ready as she’d ever be, she felt, for what was to follow.
‘I’ll go,’ shouted Piers, out of nowhere. The corner of her eye caught him running from his study at speed, beating her to it. He had been in that room all morning, doing exactly what, she was not sure, but no doubt he’d say it was important. He was addicted to work, something she’d discovered went hand in hand with his ambition. The stupid thing was, though, he’d taken the day off – in fact, he had the next couple of weeks off as adoption leave. The school had brought the deputy housemaster in to run the house while he was otherwise engaged. But Piers always had an eye on his career path, she understood that. Her father had been just the same.
She followed in his wake, hearing him opening the door as she did so.
‘Mr Howard,’ said the voice at the door. ‘Hello again. I have Grace in the car. Are you ready?’
‘As we’ll ever be,’ he replied, sounding like he was gleefully anticipating the delivery of a three-tiered chocolate fudge cake. He smiled and put his arm around Amelia as she reached his side. ‘It’s going to be fine, darling,’ he whispered. ‘In fact, it’s going to be great.’
