Authors: Graham Hurley
I
got
a flannel, turning on the
tap in the handbasin, sponging
my face.
The cold water made me feel a little better.
I washed my
mouth out, then walked unsteadily back towards the kitchen. The last
ten minutes, I seemed to have lost touch
with reality. Had I really been
there in the kitchen? Or was I in some fantas
y world? A nightmare of
my own making?
The kitchen was a mess. A big bottle of olive oil had smashed and
the floor was slippery underfoot. I knew I had to get a grip on myself. I
knew I had to cope. I owed it to myself, to the baby. Breaking down,
giving up, just wasn
’
t an option.
I hunted half-heartedly for the dustpan and brush and I was on my
hands and knees, working clumsily around the edges of the wreckage,
when I heard a knock at the front door.
It was the man from the water board. I stood in the hall and reached
sideways to the wall for support. He was old, as old as my dad would
have been. He took one look at the state of me and when I gestured
wordlessly back up the hall, he found his
own way to the kitchen. I told
him about the leak from upstairs, gestu
ring feebly at the stain on the
ceiling, but he was over where the cupboards had once been,
examining the plasterwork. At length, he ran a finger across the wall
then lifted it to his nose. I was still talking gibberish about Gilbert
’
s
skylight. The roofers must have upset the pipework, I muttered. There
was definitely a leak.
The man from the water board glanced back at me. It was obvious
he didn
’
t believe a word.
‘
Begging your pardon, miss,
’
he said,
‘
but someone
’
s been pissing
through your ceiling.
’
I had the baby that night. I went into labour shortly after six and Nikki
drove me to the hospital. The contractions went on
until
the small
hours and the baby arrived around half past three in the morning.
Nikki was there to hold my hand and all the nurses said how
marvellous I
’
d been. The baby was a little girl. I called her Billie.
I
stayed in hospital for five
days. Something had gone wrong
with my end of the umbilical cord and it took a minor operat
ion to sort
it out. Nikki came to see me
and my mum took the train up
from Petersfield. I got visits from ma
tes at Doubleact and from Metro
as well, and my corner of the four-be
dded ward ended up looking like
a flower shop. I tried to get hold of Tom a couple of times, to tell him
the news about Billie, but his mobile wasn
’
t answering. Of Brendan,
to my intense relief, there was absolutely no sign.
Gaynor came on the third day. I
’
d phoned the police station from
the ward and we
’
d had a brief chat but she
’
d been too busy for me to
go into real details. Now, she settled herself beside the bed. She
’
d
brought a big box of chocolates as well as her notepad. Billie was
asleep in a cot beside the radiator. Gaynor thought she looked
smashing.
I told her about the cupboards falling down, and what the engineer
had said. I gave her the water board
’
s number, and the key to the
house. No one would have touched the kitchen. She could take a
look for herself.
She came back next day. She
’
d been round to Napier Road with a
colleague whose job it was to collect samples for scientific analysis.
He
’
d scraped away at the plasterwork behind the cupboards and
with luck the results should be back within twenty-four hours. She
’
d
also phoned a couple of lads she knew who owed her a favour and
they
’
d be in first thing tomorrow to tidy the place up. When I tried to
thank her, I found myself in floods of
tears. She fetched some Kleenex
from the nursing station out in the corridor and sat with me f
or an
hour or so, just chatting. The smell
in the kitchen, she agreed, was
dreadful.
By the time the results came through, Billie and I were down in
Petersfield, tucked up with my mother. It was obvious from the
moment we arrived that she was out to make a tremendous fuss of
us, and it was equally obvious that the arrangement wouldn
’
t survive
more than a week or so. My mum was kindness itself but I felt
hopeles
s
ly claustrophobic. Billie was the new start I
’
d been praying
for. The sooner we were out on our own, the better.
On the phone, Gaynor came to the point at once.
‘
Urine,
’
she said.
‘
Definitely.
’
I asked her what would happen next.
‘
I
’
ve already been up there. Talked to him about it.
’
‘
What did he say?
’
‘
He admitted it. He said he
’
d had a little accident.
’
‘
Really?
’
My heart sank.
‘
How many little accidents?
’
‘
Just the one. Though he was a bit vague.
’
‘
But he
’
d been up there? All the time it was happening?
’
‘
Probably, but we can
’
t prove it.
’
I half-listened to her explaining the legal situation. Technically,
Gaynor could arrest him for criminal damage but to do that she had to
establish intent. Gilbert
’
s little accident proved no such thing.
‘
What about these stalking laws?
’
‘
It
’
s still tricky.
’
‘
Why?
’
‘
He
’
s not really done anything, not on purpose, anyway. Nothing
we could stand up in court.
’
‘
He
’
s barmy,
’
I said.
‘
Isn
’
t that enough?
’
‘
No, I
’
m afraid not.
’
I heard my mother returning from the garden. Billie was beginning
to stir.
I thanked Gaynor for everything she’d done, especially cleaning up the kitchen.
She said it was no problem.
‘
There
’
s one other thing,
’
she added.
‘
What?
’
‘
I
phoned your old number. That one you gave me in De Beauvoir
Square? I thought you
’
d be there.
’
‘
And?
’
‘
I
talked to your partner, boyfriend, whatever he is. Brendan.
’
I could feel the blood thudding in my head. This wasn
’
t Gaynor
’
s
fault at all. When we
’
d last been in touch, back in the summer,
Brendan and I were practically glued together.
‘
What did you tell him?
’
Gaynor hesitated a moment, unusual for her.
‘
I mentioned the kitchen,
’
she said.
‘
You know, what had
happened.
’
‘
And what did he say?
’
‘
He sounded very
interested.
’
She paused again.
‘
I
got the feeling he
was hearing all this for the first time. Bit late, I know, but it
’
s better I
tell you.
’
I thought about it for a second or two. Then I shrugged. What
’
s
done
’
s done.
‘
Fine,
’
I said.
‘
And thanks again.
’
The baby and I returned to London in the New Year. Christmas had
been a non-stop succession of relatives queuing for a glimpse of my
beloved Billie, and what little time I h
ad to myself who wholly devoted
to being a mum. Nature, I
’
d conclude
d by now, was truly miraculous.
In three short weeks, Billie had transf
ormed my life. The bond between
us was quite extraordinary. We slept
together, awoke together. I had
no trouble breastfeeding and afterw
ards she
’
d lay peacefully in my
arms, making gummy little noises that signalled t
he purest con
tentment. Now and again she
’
d yawn, a
nd flex her little fingers, and
smile a private smile and, watching he
r doze off again, I came to the
conclusion that - despite the traumas of the last few months
- I
was the
luckiest woman alive. In every respect I c
ould think of, she was perfect.
Just looking at her made everything seem possible.
Nikki loved her. She
’
d already agreed to be godmother (my brother
was godfather) and she drove down to pick us up. That night, at her
insistence, we pitched our tent at her flat. Next day, we
’
d go back to
Napier Road.
The evening at Nikki
’
s was a riot. Billie was on her best behaviour,
farting softly when we took it in turns to s
erenade her, and the three of u
s had Christmas all over again. We ate turkey, opened presents,
drank loads of wine. Afterwards we had mince pies and brandy butter,
neither of which would do much for what had once been my figure.
That night, all three of us slept in Nikki
’
s huge double bed, and when
Billie needed changing, it was Nikki who did the honours.
The baby and I were back in Napier Road by ten o
’
clock next
morning. I carried Billie around the front room, showing her the bits
and pieces that Tom had sent her from Mothercare. Three weeks in
Petersfield had given me plenty of time to think. Tom
’
s gesture had
been wonderfully generous but the ti
me had now come for him to take
some kind of responsibility for his brothe
r. If he didn
’
t then I
’
d bloody
well find someone who would. Gilbert, this time, had gone too far.
To my surprise, though, when I finally ventured into the kitchen, it
looked immaculate, completely untouched by last month
’
s disaster.
Not only had the mess disappeared bu
t someone had
put the cupboards back up. I opened them on
e by one. New plates,
new cups, even a new litre bottle of extra
virgin olive oil. I transferred
Billie to my other arm and opened the li
ttle card waiting for me on the
table. It had come from Gaynor. She
’
d
been talking to Gilbert again.
He
’
d insisted on paying for the wo
rk, and for all the replacement
crockery, and all the other bits and pieces that had come to grief. He
’
d
left the choice of dinner plates to her, and Gaynor hoped I approved. I
heard myself laughing and I looked up to check the ceiling. Sure
enough, the stain had gone.