Love Is a Secret (22 page)

There was a heavy vase on the occasional table next to her.

‘There’s plenty of bedrooms upstairs.’ He leered. ‘I fancy the one with the striped canopy. Ow!
Ow!
’

The piercing screech of the rape alarm – which Joy had advised her to buy when she’d taken the job ‘just in case’ – shocked her too.

‘You bitch. Turn it off. Turn it
off
.’

‘Everything OK in here?’

‘No.’ Susan wheeled round, clutching her torn blouse. ‘No, it’s not.’

Thank God! It was the Joneses.

‘I do apologise, Mr Jones,’ said Simon, thickly. ‘My colleague and I were having a discussion.’

‘I think you’d better leave,’ said the older man.

His wife went to Susan’s side. ‘Are you all right, dear?’

She nodded numbly.

Simon shook off Mr Jones’s hand. ‘All right, I’m going. And don’t worry about your resignation letter, Susie. We’ll take it as read that you won’t be coming back next week.’

The Joneses, who had returned on impulse for a third viewing on the off-chance that she was still there, were adamant about driving her home. They insisted that she should ring the area manager on Monday and tell him what had happened.

But who would the manager believe? Simon, who had been there for ages, or a new, inexperienced trainee?

The house was dark when she went in and it was difficult to fit the key into the lock. The phone started to ring before she had turned on the hall light and she fumbled for the switch. It stopped just as she got to it, then rang again.

Susan’s skin crawled. Simon had her home number. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s me, Steff.’

She hadn’t recognised the low, tearful voice. The internal bits of her chest bunched up inside her.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Tabitha’s had a fall.’ The sobs were whooping out of her. ‘Can you get over to the hospital, Susan? As soon as you can.’

34

A and E! They were in A and E? The words seemed unreal and she floundered for a moment, unable to think. Then, somehow, she picked up the phone again and rang the local taxi company she used if Dad couldn’t make the long drive over, and stammered that she needed someone
now
.

At the main entrance, she’d sprinted towards the reception desk, almost colliding with an empty wheelchair. ‘My daughter. Tabitha Thomas.’ She was gasping so much she could barely get the words out. ‘Her father brought her in about an hour ago.’

‘Sit down, dear. Now, let’s start again, shall we? Tabitha Thomas, you say. Date of birth? Family doctor?’

‘I need to see her
now
!’ She was almost screaming.

The woman was tapping something into the screen. ‘I understand but I need to find out where she is first. Right. Got her. She was seen by a doctor in A and E about twenty minutes ago. Let’s see what’s happened to her, shall we? Won’t be a minute.’

Susan wanted to bang her head on the desk. She’d seen kids doing that at the centre and, for the first time, she understood why it made them feel better.

‘Right. She’s in X-ray. Don’t panic. It seems like an arm injury. Nothing too awful.’

‘What kind of arm injury?’ Visions of Tabitha screaming with pain shot into her head.

‘I don’t know, but the department is along the corridor, past Maternity and first left. OK?’

She wanted to run but too much was going past her. A trolley with someone grey poking out from a white blanket. A wheelchair with a youngish woman in it being pushed by an older man. Past Maternity and first left, then through heavy doors.

‘Tabitha!’ She flew towards her. ‘Darling, it’s all right. Mummy’s here.’

Tabitha’s thin right arm – the left was in a sling – reached round her neck. ‘Mummummum.’

Gently, Susan mopped her daughter’s face, which was streaked with tears. Then she confronted her ex. ‘What happened?’ she demanded.

Josh was sitting with his head in his hands on the other side of the wheelchair, Steff next to him, pinched and pale. ‘We were getting her out of the car. We’d had a lovely evening at the cinema and everything was going great. But when we got back to the house, the light wasn’t good in the street – one of the lamp-posts must have gone out—’

‘I said, what happened?’

‘Josh was trying to help her out of the car and I was putting up the chair and she slipped.’

‘So you dropped her,’ she spat. ‘You
dropped
her.’

‘She slipped, Susan.’ Josh raised his head and his eyes were raw with agony. ‘She’s so heavy. She just slipped. It’s her wrist that seems to hurt and part of her arm.’

‘She’s had the X-ray,’ said Steff, ‘and we’ve got to wait for a few minutes – look, here’s the radiographer.’

‘Tabitha Thomas?’

Susan leaped up. The radiographer was looking at her and then Steff. Had Steff passed herself off as Tabitha’s mother?

‘I’ll take those. This is
my
daughter. Can you tell me if her wrist is broken?’

‘I’m sorry. The doctor needs to see you first. Can you take your daughter and the X-rays back to A and E? Do you remember where to go?’

They walked down the corridor, Susan pushing Tabitha, who had stopped weeping now.

‘They didn’t want to give her a drink until they’d taken the X-ray in case they had to operate,’ whispered Steff. ‘Such a brave soul, isn’t she? You know, Sue, I could probably tell you if it’s broken if I peep at those X-rays.’

‘No.’ Susan clasped the large brown envelope firmly under her arm. ‘No. You’ve done enough already.’

The doctor had been quite clear. The wrist was badly swollen but it wasn’t broken and neither was the arm. There was no need to plaster it, although Tabitha should wear a splint support. He also recommended anti-inflammatory tablets. If it still hurt in a few days, they were to come back.

‘He was certain there wasn’t a crack?’ Steff kept asking, as they went back to the car. ‘X-rays don’t always pick things up. When I was on Orthopaedics, we used to do a scan to make sure.’

‘He seemed definite enough.’ Susan gritted her teeth as she lifted her daughter into the back. ‘No, Steff, I can manage. I do it every day. He said her wrist was badly swollen . . .’

‘Oedema,’ said Steff, smartly.

The woman could be
so
infuriating! In contrast, Josh was still very quiet, slumped in the passenger seat as Steff took the wheel.

The relief that Tabitha hadn’t broken anything almost made Susan sorry for him. ‘It’s OK, Josh.’ She lowered her voice before she got in to join her daughter in the back. ‘She is heavy. I find it difficult too.’

‘It still shouldn’t have happened.’

‘Well, it did and she’s OK.’

‘We’ll take you home.’

‘All right.’

No mention of next weekend. Would she trust them to have Tabitha again?
No
. On the other hand, her daughter needed to see her father regularly. And – such a selfish thought – she’d then need to ask her own father to have Tabitha if she wanted to find another job.

Simon! She’d almost forgotten about him during the panic over Tabitha. But as Josh drew nearer the house, the reality of what might have happened began to sink in. Should she complain? He was so much more senior that they might not take her seriously.

Better, surely, not to go back at all.

35

Lisa only just had time to finish her dinner duty at the special needs centre before her baby-room shift. The ‘Oh, Lisa, what
would
we do without you?’ chorus from the centre mums made the rush worthwhile, even though Mandy, Mrs Perkins’s deputy, was a right old cow when she got back to the nursery a few minutes late.

‘Ah, there you are, Lisa. Hurry up. I haven’t got much time and this is important. This one, Scarlett, has just started on solids. But it’s essential, absolutely
essential
, that you don’t give her any packet baby food that contains milk. She’s allergic. See the notice at the end of the cot?’

Lisa nodded, listening carefully to Mandy, the nurse in charge of the baby room. Her qualification always impressed parents looking round Acorn House, although Mandy and Mrs Perkins never let on that Mandy hadn’t worked in a hospital for years and had only just started at the nursery after an eight-year career gap. She probably knew more than Mandy did, thought Lisa, thanks to the new-babies section on
What Mums Know.

‘When you make up the bottles, make sure you only use the ones that have been in the steriliser. And follow the instructions carefully on the milk tin. When it says three scoops, that’s three level scoops, not heaped ones.’

She wasn’t that daft.

‘You don’t have children of your own, do you, Lisa?’

What was that supposed to mean? That she didn’t know what to do? Lisa could have screamed with frustration. The parents were the same. When she told them their son – it was always boys – had been naughty that day, or had refused to eat his lunch, they would nod as though it was the norm and then ask if she had kids of her own. Well, she did. Two, to be precise. And a third on the way.

Mandy’s double chin wobbled. ‘You need lots of patience in the baby room, Lisa. Even when we’re busy, you have to pretend you’ve got all the time in the world. Babies pick up on tension. Now, do you know how to change a nappy?’

‘Course I do. It was in my training.’

They had practised on a doll with rosebud lips. She could still remember it clearly. She had just turned sixteen. The course had been her school’s idea when she’d said she wanted to work with children. The careers teacher had found it for her: a nursery assistant course that didn’t need GCSEs.

‘Good. The nappies are kept over there in the cupboard. We change them every two hours and more if they soil them. Here’s the cream for nappy rash but never use the same finger twice or it can infect the rest of the cream in the tube. And always wash your hands afterwards.’

‘I know that.’

Mandy glared at her. ‘You probably know quite a lot of what I’m telling you but it doesn’t hurt to go over it again. This room carries more responsibility than any other room in the nursery.’

Lisa thought longingly of Daisy. ‘I don’t think you can say that. Surely every child is important.’

‘Yes, you’re right. But babies are particularly vulnerable. Last year a nursery not far from here was prosecuted because a baby with a rare allergy was given the wrong kind of powdered milk. The nursery had to pay thousands of pounds in compensation and was forced to close.’

‘And the baby?’ She could hardly bear to ask.

‘It died. Now, let me tell you where we keep clean liner . . .’

The baby died
. The words lumbered heavily round her head as she followed Mandy to the linen cupboard. Mandy might have kids, but she didn’t know what it was like to lose one.

‘Mrs Smith! I didn’t see you today. Where were you?’ Daisy ran up as Lisa was putting on her jacket to go home. ‘I missed you. Joe pushed me off the slide and Mrs Perkins wouldn’t let me paint.’

Lisa bent down and put her arms round the little girl. ‘I was in the baby room, Daisy, but next week I’ll be back with you. I missed you too.’

She stroked her curls. ‘What a pretty hair-slide. I used to have one like that when I was your age.’

‘You must be Mrs Smith.’

Lisa looked up to see a large woman with slightly greasy hair tied back with a rubber band. She was puffing as though she’d been running or walking fast. ‘Daisy’s always talking about you. I’m her mum. You usually see my husband, don’t you?’

Lisa nodded. Daisy’s dad was a smallish man who dropped off his daughter without hanging around and was always on time to pick her up. Not the type to stop for a chat, like most of the other parents. Then she saw Daisy’s mum’s bump.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ The woman sat on a chair to catch her breath. ‘It was my last day at work.’ She pointed at her belly ruefully. ‘Not long to go now.’

‘That’s nice,’ Lisa heard herself say. ‘Daisy, you didn’t tell me your mum was having a baby.’

‘She’s not. She’s not.’ Daisy flung her anorak on the floor.

The woman sighed. ‘Now, duck, we’ve been through this before. You know I’m having a brother or sister for you. We’ve felt it move. Look, it’s kicking now to say hello to you.’

‘No. Tell the stupid baby to go away.’

Daisy’s mum smiled awkwardly. ‘We’re hoping she’ll change her mind when it gets here. Trouble is, she’s the youngest. I’ve got two others and she’s used to being spoilt.’

Four? How could this woman have four while Lisa had none?

The woman yawned, revealing large silver and black fillings that made Lisa wince. ‘God knows how we’ll manage. I’ve got to keep on working with the mortgage, so when it’s three months old it’s coming here like Daisy did.’

‘Don’t want the baby coming here.’ Daisy jumped up and down, pulling at her mother’s coat.

‘Stop it now, Daisy, you’re hurting me. Well, nice meeting you at last, Lisa. Come on now, duck. Let’s get back for tea.’

MESSAGE TO FREDDY SUMMERS

No one likes you at school. Face it.

EMAIL FROM LISA SMITH

Hi Mum. Your probably wondring how I’m getting on. Not long now and you’ll be a nan. It would be nice to see you sometime.

LETTER FROM MARK

Dear Hilary,

I thought you might like these photographs of the kids . . .

EMAIL FROM CLIVE HASTINGS

Dear Mark,

Thank you for your explanation. However, I am deeply concerned that if you send wrong messages to me, you might do so to others. Please ensure such mistakes do not happen again.

Yours (please do not take this literally),

Clive

CV – DRAFT ONLY

Susan Thomas

Age: 36

Experience: Telesales, Voluntary care worker, estate agent assistant

Now looking for similar post. Flexible hours, if possible.

LETTER FROM CAROLINE

. . . so you see, I feel as though I’ve lost a kind of 22-year marital no-claims-bonus but, at the same time, found something I never knew was out there. Does that make sense? I wish you weren’t so far away, Janie. And make sure you tear up this letter before anyone else reads it.