The Daughter Page 3

  The taxi driver took another turn and then they were in her road, pulling up near the house. Tim paid and then ran around to open her door but this time she’d already done it. The taxi driver waited until she’d got out and then he turned his car around quickly, as if he was embarrassed and wanted to be away from whatever it was that had been inflicted upon them, and after a few seconds the tail lights disappeared as he drove around the corner.

  ‘What the . . .?’ said Tim urgently and Kate looked up. ‘Wait here,’ he instructed and then ran up to the front door – which was already open – and then he was in the house and she couldn’t see him anymore. A sudden glow spilled out onto the street as he switched on the hall light.

  Kate followed and tentatively stepped into her hallway. Nothing had changed. She took another step, past the kitchen and then on into the living room where the police had sat just hours before.

  It had been ransacked. Papers tipped onto the floor, books scattered. Recoiling, she backed out. ‘Tim?’ she called out, frightened.

  ‘Upstairs,’ he shouted, then added quickly, ‘Don’t come up.’

  But she already had done and was standing behind him at the entrance to Becky’s room. He tried to take her arms and steer her out, but she pushed him away. Like downstairs, the room had been turned over. The walls suddenly spun, and she grabbed the door frame. Becky’s clothes, books, personal possessions all strewn across the carpet. She stared numbly as Tim punched at the wall.

  ‘The bastards,’ he cried, ‘the fucking little bastards.’

  Right at the edge of the room near the radiator, half-buried under some clothing, was a faded, almost threadbare oval of cloth: an ear. Blue Puppy had been snuffled and stroked and spent the majority of his early years tucked under Becky’s nose as she caressed his ear with her finger. Becky had been so attached to him, Kate had always referred to him as her second child. She stepped haphazardly through the mess, quickly needing to get to Blue Puppy, and then clutched him to her. When she turned back and saw Tim, the look of pity and anguish on his face was more than she could bear.

  FOUR

  1995

  She was mooing like a cow. A low, guttural groaning that spewed out of her body, along with a large number of fluids; in fact everything seemed to be emitting out of her except for this goddamn baby.

  Christ, she was scared.

  Even more so by the worried, tense faces that she glimpsed in short flashes when her eyes actually managed to focus on something, for most of the time the walls rippled, floated around the room, like those in a horror movie.

  ‘I’m going to be sick!’ Kate suddenly shouted out, a brief moment of lucidity, which brought a second of relief, despite the fact she was retching into a cardboard tray that an anonymous hospital worker held at her face. Why would you be relieved to feel nausea, to vomit? Was it because it was a reminder you were still alive?

  When would it end?

  The door opened. The long-awaited anaesthetist. Kate was propped up. Her back swabbed. She was told, instructed, commanded to keep still. The severity of the tone indicated that if she didn’t, there might be dire consequences. How could she keep still when she was speared by pain right through her abdomen? Held down on her back, writhing in agony?

  When would it end?

  Then, a call. Urgent mutters. Barely controlled panic in voices. Something was wrong.

  ‘I need more time,’ pleaded the anaesthetist.

  ‘There is no more time!’ hurtled back the reply from someone at the polar opposite end of her ravaged body, somewhere down by her spreadeagled legs.

  It was like you read in the newspapers, magazines. The awful thing that always happened to someone else, not you. This time it was happening. The baby wasn’t going to make it.

  People were doing things to her, shaving her, rapidly telling her she was going into theatre, bizarrely gaining her permission. What? She had to sign! A nightmarish scrawl. A joke. On her. Then suddenly—

  Leaving them all behind. She was going under. Somehow, despite knowing the outcome wasn’t going to be good, there was a sense of calm, peace.

  Relief.

  Dark.

  Eyes open. A different view. Hospital still, but somewhere else. The panicked people all gone.

  Almost immediately, a nurse appeared. Tall with bobbed dark-blonde hair, the same age as her absent mother. From her position lying down, Kate could see the nurse was carrying something tiny in her arms, which she promptly laid at Kate’s breast.

  ‘She’s a natural already,’ said the nurse delightedly, as the small creature began to suckle.

  Dazed, Kate looked down.

  A baby!

  Her baby.

  She looked again.

  It really was a baby!

  ‘Is she all right?’ she said quickly, the nightmare flooding back.

  ‘Course!’

  ‘I mean, they’d tell me if anything was wrong with her?’

  The nurse looked shocked. Laid a tender hand on Kate’s arm. ‘She’s perfect,’ she said. ‘Scored very highly in her Apgar. Nine out of ten.’

  It sounded good, whatever it was.

  Oh my God, she had a baby.

  Her first visitors were two school friends, Lara Tomlinson with her enviable poker-straight white-blonde hair and her sidekick, Megan Taylor. They came onto the ward with a CD Walkman shared between them, but the single set of headphones rested on Lara’s head, with Megan bent sideways to listen in. They were singing lightly to The Rembrandts’ ‘I’ll Be There for You’, which was swiftly interrupted and replaced by the sound of them freaking out at the noise of another baby screaming blue murder.

  ‘How can you put up with that?’ asked Lara as she approached Kate’s bed.

  Kate didn’t want to explain that Becky made the same noise, although she was thankfully asleep at that moment. Lara and Megan leaned over the cot, cooing at how sweet she was.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ asked Lara.

  Kate grimaced. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t think I could do that, push something that big out of my fanny.’

  ‘You don’t really have a choice.’

  ‘Well you do . . .’ started Lara loftily, leaving the rest of it unspoken: if you don’t get pregnant in the first place.

  Kate looked down at the bed and then sensed Megan nudge Lara as they offered up the CD Walkman. They shared the music with her, raving about the new series that had just started on Channel 4.

  ‘Joey’s soooo cute,’ said Megan.

  ‘How you doin’?’ asked Lara and she and Megan burst into fits of laughter and Kate found herself smiling along even though she didn’t know what they were talking about.

  She attempted to get back into the conversation. ‘How are the exams going?’

  ‘Only chemistry and Latin left,’ said Lara. ‘Then the summer is all mine,’ she drawled.

  Megan nodded. ‘We’re going to the grammar in September. How about you?’

  They were both looking at her expectantly, guileless, while Becky lay mere metres from them.

  ‘Um . . . I’ll probably give it a miss this year.’ She saw them twig and glance over to the cot, and she smarted at their badly hidden pitiful looks. ‘Got a full-time job lined up anyway.’

  Lara sat up. ‘Oh, right. Cool! Where?’

  Damn, why had she said that? They were staring at her now, waiting for her answer. ‘Garden centre,’ she muttered.

  They nodded again, pretending it was something good.

  ‘It’s just until I can get back to school,’ said Kate quickly, knowing as she did that it would be almost impossible. Then suddenly Becky woke, and Kate was reminded of how such a small person could make such a piercing noise. She leaned over the cot and picked her up. Her two friends were watching, bemused.

  ‘I need to feed her,’ said Kate pointedly.

  Lara and Megan still sat there, uncomprehending. Kate had no choice but to open the top button of her nightdress, her cheeks reddening as she did so.
She tried to hide her enlarged breasts and cracked nipples but knew by her friends’ horrified reactions they had caught a glimpse.

  ‘Probably time we should be going,’ said Lara suddenly, and Megan leapt up after her.

  Kate watched them leave, knowing it would be a long time before she saw either of them again.

  A day later, and in contrast to many of the ward’s other grandparent visitors, her dad arrived without a cloud of balloons or weighted down by teddy bears. She’d wondered if he would come and couldn’t help being overwhelmed by seeing him.

  ‘Hello, love.’

  ‘Dad.’ Same old soft, brown eyes and slightly pinched face, worn down by her mother’s anger, disappointment and sadness – feelings Kate herself had accelerated in her mother at an unbelievable pace from the moment she’d fearfully announced her pregnancy. (On a Sunday, with her mother just back from church, in the vain hope that some of the Lord’s bountiful forgiveness was still lingering in her mother’s scarred, hardened heart. No such luck.)

  Her dad didn’t look in the hospital crib at first, as if he was too scared. Then his eyes flicked across to it and his face lit up and, for a brief moment, Kate got a glimpse of how it was meant to be.

  ‘She’s as cute as a button, Katie.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Looks just like you did.’

  He turned and smiled at her and all Kate wanted was to sink into her father’s arms. But his smile faltered, and he glanced away.

  ‘We’re moving,’ he blurted out.

  A rising panic. ‘What?’

  ‘Back to Cork.’

  It was like a punch to the gut. ‘What about everything here? Your work?’ She wanted to say What about me? but didn’t.

  ‘I’ve been offered a post at a secondary school.’

  ‘That was quick,’ she said accusingly.

  He coughed. ‘Maternity cover,’ he said, embarrassed at the irony.

  ‘When?’

  He spoke but it was so quiet, she didn’t catch it at first.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Next month. I’m sorry, Katie . . . but your mother’s sister – your aunt. She’s ill. Your mother wants to be near her. It might not be for long. Just till she’s on the mend.’

  It was always the lies that were designed to spare you that hurt the most.

  ‘You’re leaving me.’

  ‘Katie, you’ve already moved out.’

  ‘I was kicked out.’

  ‘Your mother has her faults, but she never did that.’

  ‘Does not talking to me for seven months, literally not one word, not mean I was no longer there – in her eyes?’

  As usual, his face clouded over, torn between the two women in his life. Kate didn’t have the energy to feel sorry for him. Not anymore. The birth had taken it out of her, but it was something else too. A realization of who her father really was, of his profound weakness. She glanced at him in his brown corduroy jacket. He looked every inch the dusty maths lecturer, a man who withdrew from real life and hid behind his subject. Clinging to the only things he still understood, that never changed. Algebra. Statistics. Geometry.

  He was looking at the brand-new changing bag on the chair next to her bed. ‘It arrived then?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He’d posted it to her the week before, and she knew it was a secret parcel that her mother had known nothing about. Kate had come home from her job at the garden centre to find her new neighbour, Iris, had taken it from the postman to save her the mile-long walk uphill to the delivery office – something she would have found hard with the huge bump she was carrying. Inside were disposable nappies, Babygros, a blue puppy toy, £500 rolled up and tied with an elastic band, and a four-pack of Smarties, her favourite chocolate when she was little that her dad had always bought her as a special treat. It was this that had made her choke up, as it made her feel as if she were the child, not her imminent baby. And in many ways, she still was. The card had simply said, ‘Love, Dad x.’

  ‘I didn’t know much about what to put in,’ he said. ‘The lady in the shop had more of a clue.’

  He seemed to be looking for praise that he’d done the right thing.

  ‘It’s perfect. Got loads of stuff to keep me going.’

  ‘Here’s a bit more,’ he said, tucking an envelope into the bag.

  She knew it was money. And quite a bit of it, judging by the glimpse she’d got of the thickness of the envelope. She made a mental resolve to save it, put it aside with the other sum he’d given her. Suddenly she knew it was just from him, her mother didn’t know about it.

  ‘You ever think of telling her where to get off?’

  ‘Katie!’ he admonished.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘She’s lost four babies.’

  ‘Foetuses. And one “baby” is still very much around.’

  He said nothing, and her eyes still blazed.

  ‘Did you ever consider . . . it might be difficult for her?’ said her dad gingerly. ‘Trying for all those babies and failing, then you get one by accident?’

  Her mouth dropped open with hurt and incredulity. ‘So, she’s jealous of me? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘No . . .’ He shook his head, giving up. ‘I’ll write and send you things,’ he said.

  Kate nodded. ‘She won’t like it.’

  ‘She won’t know.’ It was a rare moment of defiance from her father. If only they weren’t conducted in secret, she thought angrily. If only he had the balls to stand up to her.

  Her father indicated the crib. ‘Can I hold her?’

  ‘She’s sleeping right now. Don’t wake her.’ Even as she said it, she knew that one day she’d regret her childish stubbornness. But she didn’t retract her words.

  He left soon after and, seemingly in protest, Becky began to cry. Kate picked her up and, as she fed her, Becky quieted.

  ‘It’s just you and me now,’ said Kate to her daughter’s tiny head, her voice catching. She swallowed back the tears, determined not to cry. Who was going to mop her tears anyway? It was a waste of energy. ‘I’m not going to leave you,’ she said fiercely. ‘Not ever. We’ll do it, eh? Me and you.’

  FIVE

  2017

  ‘Would you like to know more details about the accident?’ Sarah, the Family Liaison Officer, perched on the sofa, not too comfortable, not too formal. Her mug of tea sat on the table. She linked her fingers together on the tops of her knees and her voice was soft with empathy.

  It was what Kate had been dreading, and yet she had to know. She nodded.

  ‘Stop me at any time. If it gets too much.’

  Kate quickly rubbed her face with her hands and realized she was holding her breath. She made herself exhale.

  ‘Becky was on her bicycle cycling south on Red Lion Street—’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘It’s just north-west of Chancery Lane underground station.’

  ‘So, it was near her office?’

  ‘Yes, about a mile away. A lorry was driving along the same street. The lorry turned left in front of her path and . . . she was trapped underneath. Are you OK?’

  Kate blinked back her tears and nodded quickly. Get it over with, she thought; I need to know.

  ‘You are aware of her injuries?’ said Sarah, carefully.

  ‘They told me she . . . she suffered massive internal injuries.’ Kate’s hands started to shake, and she held them tightly in her lap. Then she forced herself to ask the thing she’d been dreading. ‘Was she . . . was she conscious? When she was under the lorry?’

  Sarah paused. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, she was.’

  ‘How? Tell me how, exactly,’ demanded Kate.

  ‘Her pelvis was held under the wheels. She was able to ask people passing by for help.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Kate started to sob.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Sarah placed a hand on hers. ‘The investigation has already started,’ she said. ‘The police are appealing for witnesses.’

  By spring, Sa
rah had become a regular visitor to the house. She was in uniform today, noticed Kate, with her blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail.

  ‘Have you heard anything about the break-in?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Nothing. The police have had no leads at all.’

  ‘How about insurance?’

  ‘I’ve filled in the forms. They only seem to have taken Becky’s laptop, it was the only thing of any value and . . . I don’t know . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘It seems pointless claiming it.’

  Sarah offered a sympathetic smile. ‘Well, I do have some news.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Sarah took a preparatory breath before her announcement. ‘The police have concluded the investigation and we are going to recommend to the CPS that they press charges against the driver.’

  Tears threatened to well up in Kate’s eyes. ‘Thank God. What’s the charge?’

  ‘We are going to recommend Causing Death by Careless Driving.’

  Kate frowned. ‘Careless? What does that mean? It sounds . . . insubstantial.’

  ‘There’s a maximum sentence of three years.’

  Her mouth dropped open. ‘Three years?’

  ‘I’m sorry . . . I know it might not sound adequate, Kate, but we have to go with the evidence, and also present what we think will enable the CPS to make a strong case.’