The Godmother (26 page)

I hope never again to see what I saw that morning. Neil was holding one of the babies above his head, dancing. The other was lying on the sofa between two girls who took turns to coo, and then take long drags on their cigarettes, while discussing their own desire to procreate. I saw one stub out a fag and then, with the same hand, stroke the baby's face. The room was thick with smoke, so what did it really matter?—the boys were already a packet down—but the proximity of her nicotine-stained fingers to that precious baby's mouth filled me with hatred. I went for him first.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing!” I shouted as I hauled the baby off the sofa. I turned on Neil. “These fucking morons clearly don't know better, but you are their father. It stinks in here. There is coke on the table. Are you insane?”

“I did say they shouldn't be in here,” said some hunched bloke from an armchair. I ignored him. I took the baby I was holding out into the corridor and placed him on the carpet. When I returned, Neil was slagging me off. I heard him say “cobweb cunt,” which could not have bothered me less, since I was no longer interested in him. I just wanted to get my godson off him. I went to the heavy curtains and pulled them back, and watched with some
satisfaction as everyone winced like oysters in lemon juice at the bright sunlight that poured into the room. The thick grey smoke lingered around us like wisps of Dartmoor fog. I unbolted the window and threw it wide open. Then I returned for the other baby. Luckily Neil was too pissed to successfully resist, though he did try.

“You don't deserve them, and you don't deserve Helen.”

“Fuck off.” He took an unsure step towards me. “Give me back Tommy, you stupid cow.”

“If you touch me I will call the police. I swear to God, Neil, I will call the police.”

“Leave it, man,” said the bloke from the armchair. “She's right. They shouldn't be in here. Come on, mate, have a drink.”

I left the room, picked up the baby I now knew to be Bobby, and in my heels, started back up the stairs. By the first landing I was out of breath. These boys weighed a bit and didn't offer much help in the way of supporting themselves. My arm muscles soon started to burn. I kicked off my shoes and made it up the next four flights. I could smell the smoke on their matching baby gowns and hated their father deeper and more fervently than I ever would have thought possible. Four round conker-colored eyes stared back at me. I couldn't stop apologizing to them. I kissed them both repeatedly on their round, warm foreheads as the word “sorry” poured out of me. Finally I got them up to the immaculate nursery and closed the door behind me.

“It's all right, boys, we're going to get you out of these stinky clothes and into the fresh air. Godmummy T is in charge.”

I placed Bobby on Peter Rabbit and Tommy on Jemima Puddleduck and went back to Rose's room. I knocked again. This time she answered in her overcoat.

“I need your help,” I said immediately.

She shook her head.

“You don't understand, Helen is exhausted and Neil is with these awful people and I don't have—”

“I'm sorry.”

“But please, I don't know how to—”

“It is my day off.”

“Again?”

Rose frowned.

“Sorry, I didn't mean that. I know you work nonstop. But please can you stay? I'm sure Helen will pay you, I'll pay you whatever you want.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Money,” she said in disgust.

“I didn't mean to insult you.” In my panic I was messing things up. “I desperately want Helen to sleep, that's all.”

“I came back because of the boys. But I cannot stay any longer.” She picked up a suitcase that I had not noticed before and opened the door wider.

“Where are you going?”

Rose didn't answer me.

“Please don't go, not now. Helen needs help.”

“Yes, she does. But not from me.”

“But she's desperate,” I pleaded.

“I know. I cannot help her while she continues in this way.”

“It's not her fault. It's Neil!”

“Tessa, make all the excuses in the world, but I will not stay here and watch Helen do this to herself.”

I knew what she meant. I hated watching it too. I hated what Neil did to her, but this wasn't going to help her. Rose saw the boys lying on their respective rugs through the open nursery door. I thought for a second that she started to lower her suitcase, but then she shook her head again and straightened up. When she looked back at me I thought I saw tears. I watched her descend the staircase and a few moments later heard the heavy front door close with a firm thud. I returned to the nursery, stripped the boys, peered into their nappies to check there was no poo, and, relieved, picked out new outfits that didn't match. Tommy was in something with a train motif. Bobby got the bear suit. T for Train. T for Tommy. B for Bear. B for Bobby. At least I could call them by their names now.

I had to get out of my ridiculous dress, so I crept into Helen's room and found a tracksuit and trainers that looked like my size, but were, of course, too small. I didn't dare go back in, so I squeezed into the pink velour and hoped that I didn't bump into anyone I knew. You have to be very beautiful to wear pink velour well. I carried the boys back downstairs—no mean feat—to the basement, where I knew the pram was parked. I had made three more jour
neys to the nursery when I remembered I should take supplies. I fetched the frozen milk but forgot the bottles. Then I needed something warm for them to wear. Then Bobby was sick, so I had to carry him back up for a whole new outfit. Luckily, there was two of everything, so another bear suit was easy to find. At least I remembered the nappies on that trip. By the time I left the house I was exhausted and Tommy had been waiting in the pram for forty minutes. He was clearly pissed off. I couldn't face another ascent, so I found something for him to amuse himself with. The jam-jar lid went straight in his mouth and he promptly fell asleep. One bonus to all of this was that Neil had vanished along with everyone else.

I left a note for Helen, telling her to call me when she woke up and that I had the twins and everything was fine. Then I set off down the street with my charges to find some fuel for me. I glanced at my watch. Was ten-thirty too early for a stiff drink? Caffeine would have to suffice. Notting Hill Gate was full of lovely little cafés to sit in and idle away a morning, but there was no way I could get the pram through the doors, let alone navigate the tables. The pram may have been state-of-the-art, but it was still preposterously large and, frankly, a little too showy to gain much sympathy. I noted that as I stood outside one café emitting enticing warm, doughy smells, and wondered whether there was any chance of getting in, those on the other side of the glass glared at me with open hostility. With little sleep and terrible clothes, I looked perfect in my role of frazzled new mother.

I walked away and headed for the one place I knew I could hang my hat and dump my load. I avoided Starbucks like the plague usually. There was nothing that made me feel the pinch of my ovaries more than a visit to Starbucks. You were usually confronted by a mammary gland, or several if a Lamaze class was “getting together,” before you reached the incomprehensible barista, and by the time it took the twenty minutes for your cup of warm milk to arrive, you'd heard several women discuss drying their nether regions with a hairdryer and could list nipple creams off by heart. But there were double doors, and women with babies to help hold them open. No one sneered at me. Instead, I got a look of pity from some and a knowing look from others that said “IVF was it, dear?” I ordered a triple-shot dry cappuccino and sat down on the scurf-covered brown velvet chair with relief. Someone had left a paper and for a few glorious moments I read it, drank coffee and thought, Hey, this isn't so bad.

Bobby woke up first and started crying. Fine, I thought. Milk. No problem. I got a large cup of hot water and plonked a bag of frozen milk in it. That was probably my first mistake. I should have got two. The milk seemed to take for ever to defrost, meanwhile Bobby got increasingly restless and soon got tired of crinkling brown sugar packets in his chubby little fingers. Personally, I thought the twins could probably do with skipping a meal or two, but clearly they didn't. Tommy woke up and went straight from sucking the jam-jar lid to full scream. I returned to the counter and asked for more hot water. One sweet girl offered to heat the milk in the microwave for me. I could have kissed her.

“I have twins,” she said, which surprised me, since she only looked about twelve. She took the bags and the bottles from me and a few minutes later, which felt like hours, she returned with an apologetic look on her face. I knew immediately something was wrong.

“I am so sorry,” she said, above the increasing din of Tommy's hunger. “It seems to have curdled. There wasn't a date on the bag. How old is it?”

I shrugged. “They're not mine. I'm looking after them for a friend.”

She looked concerned. I felt terrified.

“What shall I do?”

“Go to Boots and buy a carton of ready-prepared baby milk.”

“But they only have breast milk.”

“Or find their mother.”

I swore silently under my breath.

“You sure I can't give them that?” I looked at the bottles for the first time. She was right, the milk had curdled.

“It doesn't smell right,” said the woman. “You go, I'll watch the babies.”

I could have kissed her again. There is such goodness in the world, I thought, my spirits rocketing back up from around my ankles as I ran out of Starbucks.

There were several brands, for several stages. I didn't have time to read the tiny writing and anyway, I didn't know what the boys weighed, so I bought two of each, which set me back a bit. Then I ran back to Starbucks. The waitress was rocking the pram backwards and forwards and singing something in Spanish.

“Thank you so much. This is probably the last thing you want to do; you probably come to work to get away from the kids.”

She shook her head. “They are at home in Chile with my mother.”

“Wow,” I said. “That must be hard.”

“They are well fed,” she said smiling bravely. “So how old are these boys?”

“Five months.”

“Big boys. My colleague cleaned the bottles, you can start again now.”

I wanted her to stay but a party of eight came in and she had to go back to work. I ripped open the carton with my teeth and noticed a woman looking at me disapprovingly. I smiled at her then poured the contents into the bottles, tightened the lids, and without remembering to warm them, offered them to the two hungry mouths. They started sucking furiously as soon as the plastic teats touched their lips, and despite some excessive dribbling, they seemed completely unfazed by this dramatic change in their young lives. As they stared up at me from inside their pram I thought about the slight girl behind the counter and her babies miles away and thought how very lucky we all were and how easy it was to forget. My confidence was soaring as the boys drained every last drop. I picked up Tommy to wind him and was rewarded with an enormous belch. I picked up Bobby and was coated in a thick slick of milky slime while he simultaneously filled his nappy. The rapturous noise was competing with the steam machine but still won. People turned to look. I smiled apologetically.

“Gee, thanks, kiddo,” I said to Bobby, and placed him back in the pram alongside his brother so we could all pay a visit to the loo. There was no way the pram would get through the door, so I returned to my seat, lifted Bobby out again and asked the woman on the next-door table to keep an eye on Tommy. He was happily sucking the jam-jar lid again, so I didn't think he'd be any trouble.

“I'll only be a minute,” I said, feeling pretty competent at this point, and picked up my bag of tricks. It was a disaster. As soon as I removed the odorous nappy, Bobby pooed again. Thick, squitty, sweet yellow poo. It was disgusting. I tried to wipe it up with loo paper but it ran down his legs and, more choicely than that, up his rather hairy back. The skid mark quickly soaked through two layers of clothes. I ferreted around in the bag, knowing full well that I hadn't factored in a change of clothes. The recycled loo paper came
apart in my hands and only managed to smear the excrement further afield. Was this putrid-smelling stuff normal? Maybe I had poisoned him with the baby milk?

In the end, I used up a whole precious nappy wiping him up, hoping that Tommy had a firmer constitution than his brother. I finally got the last of the clean nappies under his bum, when from out of his willy shot a perfect arc of pee. Luckily, I had turned away at that moment so most of it went in my ear and trickled down my neck, rather than in my eye. By the time I had grabbed more loo paper, he and I were soaking. There was a knock on the door.

“It's occupied,” I shouted rudely.

“Your child is screaming.”

“Oh, sorry, can you…” No, she couldn't. I didn't know who this woman was. “I'll just be a minute.”

“That's what you said fifteen minutes ago.”

Fifteen minutes! Lying toad. I glanced at my watch. Shit. She was being generous. It was more like twenty. I unlocked the door and heard the bawling.

“I'm so sorry. Had a bit of a nightmare.”

The woman glanced over my pee-soaked shoulder. A pile of poo-covered paper and nappies were piled high around a wet, poo-stained baby who lay in a messy state of undress. He was smiling, though. Bless him.

“I can see,” she said.

“Would you mind just—”

“I'm terribly sorry, but I have to go.”

I was in a jam. I didn't dare leave Bobby unattended on the changing-table, since I hadn't bothered harnessing him in, but I couldn't leave Tommy screaming the place down.

“Look, I'll push the pram over here.”