smile, then purse again into their little bud shape. Such beauty.
I turn off the engine just to gaze at her.
No, Frances, I think, not now. You’ve no time to brood, you must move on. You’ve stuff to buy, a hotel to find. Then you’ll have time and you can lay her down and brood all night.
As I go to turn the key again, she lets out a sigh, soft as fleece, and I wish I could climb inside her dreams and dissolve.
I let the engine idle, lean back, shut my eyes and listen to her breathing. My face is warm and smiling. Flickering sunrays penetrate my eyelids, splashing yellow streaks across the blackness. I feel weary, but calm. Cars are whizzing by. The whirring sound of the traffic ebbs until it becomes a distant hum and seems like it’s oceans away.
I drift off into a warm, easy sleep and sink to the bottom of the ocean. I’m lying on the seabed, watching tiny fish swim above me, circling me like a baby’s mobile. Each fish is eitherbaby-pink or powder-blue. They’re blowing bubbles. I reach up and touch a pink one with the tip of my index finger. It falls, flopping on to my stomach like jelly and wriggling about as if it’s out of the water and struggling for breath. Frantically, I try to put it back on the revolving mobile, but when I scoop it up, I realize that’s it’s not a fish at all, but a tiny baby, cold and slimy and slipping from my grasp.
The traffic roars and the fish dart through the water and disappear. I can hear the sharp, shrill cry of a baby, but when I look down, she’s no longer in my arms. The water is draining away and the sun is blasting down on me like angry steam.
I wake with a jolt, look behind me and see that the baby’s blanket is draped over her erect legs. Inside her mouth is as red as cherries and her lips are vibrating like plucked harp strings. What in God’s name is wrong with her now?
I stagger out of the front seat and climb into the back beside her. My hands are shaking. My throat feels dry and acidy. Picking her up out of the carrycot, I see that her baby-gro and the sheet are drenched. After rummaging through the baby bag, I find a clean vest and baby-gro, a nappy and her soother.
‘Good girl, good girl,’ I wheeze, my head spinning so fast, I think I’m going to faint.
The soother pacifies her as I cradle her in one arm and pull the wet sheet off the mattress with the other. Then I turn the mattress over, take off my cardigan, spread it across the mattress and lay her down. Bending her limbs very carefully, I strip her down to her nappy. When I lay my hand on her stomach, I notice that her skin is clammy … or is it mine? I don’t know, so I blow on her skin anyway to cool her down. She gurgles and shivers, her eyes widening with the cold sensation. I lean over her and blow again, this time on her chest and neck. She shudders and gasps in amazement. A lorryrattles past, causing the car to shake. The fright urges me to hurry up and move on. Her nappy is heavy and sodden and feels like warm dough. As I peel back the sticky strips to open it, she smiles at me and for a moment I breathe easy.
‘What the – Jesus Christ! You’re a boy,’ I cry. ‘A boy.’
My face is tingling from perspiration. What have I done? Who is this child? And where is his mother? When I lift the nappy out from under him, his legs flap like socks on a line on a blustery day. I hold his feet in my hands and put them to my damp cheeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ I cry over and over, but all he does is smile and gurgle.
If only I could turn back the clock and start the day all over again, I’d choose the silver necklace and not the gold. Then I’d go home, place the necklace in the box at the bottom of my wardrobe, lie down on my bed and watch her dancing in my dreams. I’d see her on a stage, in the spotlight, smiling down at me, sure of my admiration. And I’d smile back, the proud mother in the audience, until sleep would come along and draw the curtains on me.
I don’t know what to
I turn off the engine just to gaze at her.
No, Frances, I think, not now. You’ve no time to brood, you must move on. You’ve stuff to buy, a hotel to find. Then you’ll have time and you can lay her down and brood all night.
As I go to turn the key again, she lets out a sigh, soft as fleece, and I wish I could climb inside her dreams and dissolve.
I let the engine idle, lean back, shut my eyes and listen to her breathing. My face is warm and smiling. Flickering sunrays penetrate my eyelids, splashing yellow streaks across the blackness. I feel weary, but calm. Cars are whizzing by. The whirring sound of the traffic ebbs until it becomes a distant hum and seems like it’s oceans away.
I drift off into a warm, easy sleep and sink to the bottom of the ocean. I’m lying on the seabed, watching tiny fish swim above me, circling me like a baby’s mobile. Each fish is eitherbaby-pink or powder-blue. They’re blowing bubbles. I reach up and touch a pink one with the tip of my index finger. It falls, flopping on to my stomach like jelly and wriggling about as if it’s out of the water and struggling for breath. Frantically, I try to put it back on the revolving mobile, but when I scoop it up, I realize that’s it’s not a fish at all, but a tiny baby, cold and slimy and slipping from my grasp.
The traffic roars and the fish dart through the water and disappear. I can hear the sharp, shrill cry of a baby, but when I look down, she’s no longer in my arms. The water is draining away and the sun is blasting down on me like angry steam.
I wake with a jolt, look behind me and see that the baby’s blanket is draped over her erect legs. Inside her mouth is as red as cherries and her lips are vibrating like plucked harp strings. What in God’s name is wrong with her now?
I stagger out of the front seat and climb into the back beside her. My hands are shaking. My throat feels dry and acidy. Picking her up out of the carrycot, I see that her baby-gro and the sheet are drenched. After rummaging through the baby bag, I find a clean vest and baby-gro, a nappy and her soother.
‘Good girl, good girl,’ I wheeze, my head spinning so fast, I think I’m going to faint.
The soother pacifies her as I cradle her in one arm and pull the wet sheet off the mattress with the other. Then I turn the mattress over, take off my cardigan, spread it across the mattress and lay her down. Bending her limbs very carefully, I strip her down to her nappy. When I lay my hand on her stomach, I notice that her skin is clammy … or is it mine? I don’t know, so I blow on her skin anyway to cool her down. She gurgles and shivers, her eyes widening with the cold sensation. I lean over her and blow again, this time on her chest and neck. She shudders and gasps in amazement. A lorryrattles past, causing the car to shake. The fright urges me to hurry up and move on. Her nappy is heavy and sodden and feels like warm dough. As I peel back the sticky strips to open it, she smiles at me and for a moment I breathe easy.
‘What the – Jesus Christ! You’re a boy,’ I cry. ‘A boy.’
My face is tingling from perspiration. What have I done? Who is this child? And where is his mother? When I lift the nappy out from under him, his legs flap like socks on a line on a blustery day. I hold his feet in my hands and put them to my damp cheeks.
‘I’m sorry,’ I cry over and over, but all he does is smile and gurgle.
If only I could turn back the clock and start the day all over again, I’d choose the silver necklace and not the gold. Then I’d go home, place the necklace in the box at the bottom of my wardrobe, lie down on my bed and watch her dancing in my dreams. I’d see her on a stage, in the spotlight, smiling down at me, sure of my admiration. And I’d smile back, the proud mother in the audience, until sleep would come along and draw the curtains on me.
I don’t know what to
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