Blood Ties (20 page)

‘That’ll be the train I’m catching then. It should only be a couple of minutes now.’ He stands up to leave. ‘Well, good luck with baby.’ He walks away and I’m about to call after him because he’s left one of his shopping bags under the chair, but I don’t. I let him get on the train when it arrives and, after he’s gone and Ruby’s fallen asleep again, I hook the bag across the floor with my foot. It is stuffed full of groceries and it makes me think: did he know?

 

Carrying the shopping and Ruby is hard work. It’s forcing more of my insides out. I don’t know if I should still be bleeding like this but I’m not going to the hospital. They’ll just send me home again or, worse, call the police.

I get a bus into the centre of Milton Keynes. I came Christmas shopping here once with my mother and Aunt Anna but they didn’t like it and complained about how expensive everything was. I thought it was magical.

Today it’s not magical. Every shop window has ‘sale’ posters and I feel like I’m walking through melted toffee because there are so many people. I go into John Lewis and find the baby section. It’s warm and filled with the joys of owning a new baby – matching lampshades and quilts and towels and packs of soft sleep suits. Sagging festive decorations hang from the ceiling and there’s a Christmas tree leaning at an angle as if it’s had enough and wants to be packed away.

‘If you need any help, love, just let me know.’ Even though she sounds nice, I bet she thinks I’m going to steal something. I hoist Ruby onto my shoulder, so everyone can see I have a baby and it’s OK for me to be browsing.

‘Just looking.’

‘There’s a mother’s room over there, if you need to change baby.’ She smiles and crinkles her nose. She’s right. Ruby stinks. I don’t have any nappies.

‘Oh, Ruby, you
do
need changing but, silly me, I left your nappy bag at home.’ I don’t normally sound like that.

‘Everything you’ll need is in the mother’s room. With our compliments.’

The room is empty and smells of talc and tepid milk. I lay Ruby on the changing mat and shake out my aching arms. When I pull away her blanket, I see that her baby suit is damp right through. No wonder she’s been restless. I peel away the layers of clothing, right down to the vest that has poppers between her legs. I pause and study the garments, getting a whiff of fresh washing powder through the stench of soiled nappy.

‘Mummy’ll get you cleaned up in no time, chickie.’ I tickle her tummy but she gives me that look again, our souls connecting angrily before a single tear drips out of her left eye. I change her nappy, badly, but have to dress her in dirty clothes again as I didn’t have time to pack a bag. It was a now or never escape. I was lying on my bed then I was lying in the bush beneath my window. No chance of picking out a winter wardrobe.

I sit and feed Ruby and it suddenly hits me that we have nowhere to spend the night. My friend Rachel ran away once. Only for three days. She went to a hostel for battered women. She wasn’t battered and she was only thirteen at the time but they took her in. Then the hostel reported her to the police because they suspected that she was a runaway. She was returned to her family.

Rachel was protesting because she wasn’t allowed a puppy. I’m protesting because I wasn’t allowed my baby.

Another mother comes into the room and says a brief, ‘Hi,’ glancing at me then Ruby. I think she was going to start chatting but changed her mind. She undresses her baby. She has a really nice pushchair. It’s huge and comfortable and has a nappy bag to match. She talks to her baby as if he can understand everything she’s saying. I’d like a pushchair like that for Ruby. It would save my arms breaking.

After Ruby’s change and feed, I wrap her up in her shawl again, get her fixed firmly in the crook of my left arm and stuff half a dozen nappies and a packet of wipes into my grocery bag when the other mother isn’t looking.

‘Bye,’ I say and spend the next hour wandering around the store looking at all the lovely things. I didn’t mean to, but I steal a lipstick. I’ve never had one before. No one stops me when I leave the store and I end up in McDonald’s for a cup of tea, laughing.

It’s dark outside. Ruby and I have a giggle together because she’s happy now that she’s dry and fed and I put on some bright red lipstick, which makes her gurgle even more. I think she really likes me.

I never thought that I’d run away. I never thought it would be so easy. Maybe that’s where I’ve always gone wrong – I never think. I didn’t think I’d get pregnant or that anyone would ever like mousy me enough to make me pregnant but I don’t want to remember that so I screw up my eyes until it goes away.

I’m sitting next to a large window. With the night a black background outside, I can see my reflection. Big holes for eyes, grey skin stretched across bones that are too, well, bony. My hair hasn’t ever been styled and my fringe is ragged. Mother doesn’t believe in vanity. Since I could listen, she drummed into me the terrible hardship the Polish people suffered during the war, the Nazi invasions, the Warsaw Ghetto, the uprisings. She said that alone cancelled out all the vanity in this family. My forebears suffered for me to live but I would never possess an ounce of the courage that my grandparents had when they fled Poland.

I never understood what she meant. I learned about the war in history and it didn’t sound very nice but it was hardly my fault. I make a promise to myself to get vain, because Mother isn’t around, because the war’s over now.

 

I’m doing all right. Ruby and I are in the Holiday Inn. Finding a place for the night was important, with a baby to look after, and I didn’t want to crouch in a shop doorway in this freezing weather. I walked away from the shopping centre and, like a welcoming beacon, I soon saw the neon sign of the hotel. I’ve always wanted to stay in a proper hotel but Mother and Father insisted on bed and breakfasts with fusty sheets and orange swirly carpet whenever we went away. This is much nicer.

I’m looking a bit conspicuous in my old parka and trainers but I think the lipstick helps, makes me going on twenty. There’s a nice bar with settees and lamps, and music flutters around like summer butterflies even though it’s mid-winter. Ruby certainly likes it here. She was howling but as soon as she heard the tune, she stopped crying.

Uncle Gustaw once told me that the trick to getting what you want is confidence. He should know. So I hold my head up high and smile at the receptionist as I walk past, shifting Ruby up onto my shoulder for everyone to see. Babies make you credible, I’ve discovered.

The sign above me says: ‘This way to the pool’. A swim would be nice. I find the ladies’ changing room and two middle-aged women are forcing their bodies into swimsuits. I can smell warm lady-flesh and chlorine. I sit on a bench and fiddle about with Ruby until they pack their belongings into a locker and curse because the lock won’t take their pound coin. It makes me think. They’re talking about their grandchildren as they go through to the pool.

Ruby and I take a shower instead of a swim. Ruby’s naked body is pressed against mine as we get squeaky clean. There’s even a soap dispenser. The towels are soft. I hope the two women won’t mind too much me helping myself but it’s hardly my fault that the locker was jammed. They should have used another one.

Inside their sports bags I find an assortment of huge underwear, a towelling tracksuit, a couple of T-shirts, a size 18 skirt from BHS and a toiletries bag stuffed with really nice things. I put my own clothes back on for now but wrap Ruby up in the tracksuit because her stuff stinks. I rinse out her dirty clothes in the basin, pack the groceries that the man at the station left behind into my new sports bag and head off into the warren of corridors.

Carrying a load of luggage through a hotel looks credible. There are doors every few feet, mostly bedrooms but some of them have names on them like Balmoral Suite and Windsor Room. I rattle the knobs but they’re locked. We go up in the lift to the next floor and twist a few more knobs. Two cleaners are chatting halfway down the corridor. They’re leaning on a trolley loaded with sheets and sachets of coffee and little packets of biscuits outside what looks like a storeroom. By the sound of it, they’re packing up for the day.

‘I’ll sort it in the morning, Sandra,’ one of them says. I’m walking slowly past, to find out what’s going on. I’m being confident, like Uncle Gustaw said, and they don’t notice that I stare right into that cosy little storeroom, nor do they notice that I hang around about ten feet away pretending to look for something in my bag. And they certainly don’t notice when, after they’ve parked their trolley in the storeroom and walked off, letting the door swing shut by itself, I scamper up and jam my trainer just in time to stop it locking.

‘What d’you think, Ruby?’ My voice is dulled by the piles of linen and towels.

How proud I am for securing us a room for the night! I don’t reckon they’ll be back until morning, which gives us ages to indulge in the stack of pillows and duvets and sheets and little bottles of whisky and sugar sachets to dip my finger in like a sherbet dab.

I dump Ruby on a pillow and spin around with my arms wide. There’s only just enough room to do that, what with the trolley and the shelves taking up most of the space. I kick off my trainers and pull a pile of folded duvets onto the floor. I make a nest, padding up the walls with pillows, just like a mother bird. Then I unzip the sports bag and dig out the food that the station man gave us. I open a packet of Nice biscuits and eat three at once. There’s a tin of peas, which are useless since I don’t have an opener, an Iceburg lettuce, a bag of carrots, a can of Spam, which I love, and a packet of cream crackers.

‘We’ll have a feast tonight then.’ I squeal with delight and Ruby spits up all her milk on the duvet nest so I get another one down from the rack.

I make an early supper of crackers with Spam and lettuce followed by a nice crunchy carrot. Then I start on the sugar cubes and whisky and then I sleep for hours with Ruby curled up beside me. Really, she is a very good baby.

I had to leave in the end. I folded up the sicky duvets and put the pillows back in their place and fiddled about with the trolley so it looked untouched but after two nights in the cleaners’ store, I reckoned it was only a matter of time before I got caught.

On the first morning, after my Spam-fest, I woke feeling quite ill. I tidied up the room and lingered the day away in the shopping mall. I spent a few quid on maternity pads and a cup of hot chocolate and agonised over a vacant pushchair left outside the ladies’ loo. I would have had it, too, if she hadn’t come back so quickly.

Then, in the evening, I did exactly the same as I had the night before. We even had another shower. Curled up in the storeroom, I dreamed of finding us a nice house and a job where I earned hundreds of pounds a week. Then we left without a trace because no one’s luck lasts that long.

So now we’re trekking along the icy verge, thumbing a lift to London. I know we’re near the motorway because I can hear the rumble of traffic. A couple of cars slow down and the drivers stare at me but they don’t stop. A van goes by and a hundred yards up ahead I see its brake lights flash on and off, like he’s not sure whether to stop. But he does and once again I’m running with Ruby wedged in my left arm and the sports bag bumping against my back. My throat is burning from the cold.

‘Where you going, love?’ He’s blond and messy, probably a builder.

‘London,’ I pant, leaning on the passenger door.

‘I can take you up the road to the motorway junction but that’s all. It’ll get you a couple of miles closer.’ Builder-man grins, exposing horrible teeth that are the same colour as the flashes of yellow in his hair. But he seems nice so we climb in beside him. His van is warm and smells of oil and coffee.

‘What’s a young girl like you doing hitching a ride so early on a Monday morning?’ He drives on, glancing at me a couple of times, his sly grin telling me that he doesn’t really care but wouldn’t mind knowing anyway.

I stare straight ahead, keeping quiet until I think of what I can tell him. Ruby squeals and squirms on my knee.

‘Cute baby,’ he continues. ‘How old?’

‘Not very,’ I reply, thankful for the diversion although I can tell he doesn’t really care. Builder-man is humming along to the song on the radio and tapping his fingers on the wheel but he’s obviously been thinking.

‘And you’re hitching a lift with a not very old baby?’ The song has ended.

‘Yeah,’ I reply, picking my nails. I can see the motorway junction up ahead now so I get Ruby locked into position, even though she’s screaming, and gather up my bag. I just want to get out. Builder-man drops me in a lay-by without any more questions. He toots and drives off.

In the cold, with my toes like fossils and my cheeks stinging from the bitter wind, Ruby and I stand at the head of the motorway slip road. It’s nearly an hour before anyone stops and this time it’s a juggernaut with about a hundred wheels that smoke and wheeze as the great truck comes to a stop.