Before She Was Mine (18 page)

My phone bleeped.

‘Sorry,’ I said, and pulled it out of my pocket. ‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

‘What is it?’

I dropped the phone back. ‘Hogden.’

‘Who the hell’s Hogden?’

‘A hedgehog. It’s Oggy, pretending he’s a hedgehog and texting me. He does it all the time. He ate a bowl of cat food last night, apparently. The hedgehog, I mean, not
Oggy.’

Michael turned away and picked up an
Autotrader
to study.

‘I know, he’s a fuckwit. I don’t encourage him,’ I said.

‘Don’t you?’

‘No.’

Perhaps I should have argued but sometimes the more you protest, the falser it sounds. Outside, under a spitting sky, Larry was assessing the Hillman Avenger, walking round it with the owner and
making notes on a clipboard.

‘I wish you were coming with us this afternoon.’

He chucked the magazine back on the table. ‘Yeah, well. If we weren’t up to our eyes here . . . But give that baby a wave from me, won’t you?’

‘I will.’

‘And remind Mel to buy a scan photo.’

‘Like she’d forget.’

He laughed. ‘You’re cool now?’

‘I am.’

‘Go have fun, then.’

He walked me across to the Mini, holding an
Autotrader
over my head to keep off the rain.

It was only as I drove away that it dawned on me, with a pang of terrible guilt, what memories a pregnancy scan room would have held for him.

Melody was in high-energy mode when I picked her up. She talked at me all the way to hospital, so that by the time we got there, my head was ringing.

‘I already need a pee,’ she said as we signed in. ‘I’m bursting. How am I going to last till two-forty?’

‘The toilets are by the vending machine,’ I said, pointing.

‘But I can’t, I’m not allowed. My bladder has to be full.’

‘You’ll have to cross your legs, then.’

She took herself to the nearest chair, and I watched her as she walked. The bump, though there, was neat and not too pronounced. Glancing round the room I could see that some other women looked
vast by comparison. ‘It’s to do with whether it’s a boy or a girl,’ Melody had explained when she was about fourteen weeks. ‘You carry them differently.’
‘Rubbish: old wives’ tales,’ Liv had said when I’d passed it on. I suspected it had more to do with how taut your stomach muscles were, and your general build.

‘There are some women who don’t even know they’re pregnant till they give birth,’ said Melody, picking up a copy of
Heat
.

‘How far on were you with me when you realised?’

She made an Oh God face at me. ‘It took a while before I’d accept it. I kind of knew when my first period was late, but I kept thinking, I’ll be all right. And then my school
skirt got tight and Abby spotted me struggling with the zip, and she cottoned on straight away.’

‘But she was fine about it, wasn’t she?’

‘In the end. At first she was bloody furious.’

‘You always told me she was cool.’

Melody squinted at a photograph of Cheryl Cole. ‘Yeah, I did, didn’t I? But to be truthful, she was mightily pissed off, for ages. Basically she couldn’t be bothered with a
baby, the expense, the lack of sleep. Plus she was annoyed there was no father to pursue, and also she hated the idea that the house would be full of people in suits marching in and telling us what
to do, judging us.’

‘Did they? Tell you what to do?’

‘Not really. My social worker was great, actually, because she was neutral where every bugger else around me seemed to have an opinion. I felt like a parcel of meat sometimes, sitting
there while they talked over me.’

‘What was Michael’s take on it?’

‘He was only seven or eight, he had no idea what was going on. His dad just wanted to hunt down the boy who got me pregnant and lamp him. Mum was OK in the end, once I’d agreed to
sign the forms. Mainly I remember her going, “It’s too much, we can’t cope.” But I don’t blame her. She was pretty much right. The one thing I did know through all the
confusion was that I’d make a crap mum.’

With someone else that might have been a cue for me to go, “No, no, you’d have been brilliant,” but it would have sounded hollow; we both knew it. Even a well-organised
fifteen-year-old would have struggled, never mind one as chaotically minded as Melody. Instead I said, ‘That was ages ago.’

‘Yup. And this time, it’s going to be different. You’ll see. I’m grown up, I’m independent. I’m going to do a bloody good job. A whole new start for both of
us.’ She patted her belly, pleased with herself.

‘You’ll have to streamline the house. All those ornaments and tassels and beads, a toddler’ll have a field day. You’ll be forever at A & E.’

‘I’ve thought of that. I’ll just shift everything swallowable up to a higher level, get Michael to help me stick some shelves up. I’m not going all wipe-clean and
sterile. God, no. This baby’s going to grow up surrounded by colour. And music. I’ll rock it to sleep with reggae and I’ll wake it up with ska. And we’ll dance.’ She
went misty-eyed for a moment. ‘I danced with you, you know, hun, in those few days we had in hospital before they took you off. You won’t remember, but I did. I used to hold you and bop
about the room. “I Wanna Wake Up with You”, I used to sing. You liked it. It stopped you crying.’

I’d heard that story before. In fact she’d given me the single (Boris Gardiner, Creole Records) on our second ever meeting.

My phone bleeped again and I jumped guiltily.

‘You’re not supposed to have them on in here.’

‘I know, I’ll shut it off. It’s only a text from Nicky to say she’s found the perfect pair of white satin shoes.’

Melody sniffed dismissively.

‘I’ve had it with men,’ she went on. ‘Had it. They’re way more trouble than they’re worth.’

‘Joe was an idiot—’

She waved her hand to stop me. ‘You don’t have to keep telling me. I’m over him. Michael understood; I got myself in a state but there wasn’t any real feeling behind it.
It was like, when I was little and I fell over, I’d sometimes carry on crying after I’d stopped hurting because Mum made a fuss and it was nice. So with Joe, I knew I ought to be upset,
and it felt good to go through the motions, but there wasn’t any depth there. It was more the shock of it.’

Briefly my mind jumped to Liv, frowning as she held up a page from Melody’s folder and reading it out loud. ‘“Hippy to Hip – Killer Dressing for Pear Shapes.” Is
that supposed to be me? “Hide your behind with a flattering smock-top?”’ ‘It’s only the back of something else,’ I’d replied. But it wasn’t. The
other side was just more of the same.

I said, ‘Was it deliberate, the baby?’

‘To keep him, you mean?’

‘No. Well—’

‘It’s OK, I don’t mind you asking. I know what people have been thinking. The pregnancy wasn’t a strategy. It was more like, a last chance. I thought I’d stop the
Pill and just see. See if I could have a baby of my own. And then if it happened, it happened, everything would come together. Dad included.’

‘Couldn’t you have picked somebody nicer?’

‘Oh, he could be incredibly charming, could Joe.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘You didn’t see how he was at the beginning. He could charm anyone when he smiled. But nice smiles are poor currency, when it comes down to it. You should know that, Freya. I should
know it. God, I’d sell my soul for a pee. How many patients do you reckon there are in front of me?’

I glanced round the room. ‘Two, three. It depends how many scan rooms they’ve got on the go.’

‘Only, if I don’t get in soon, my bladder’s going to explode.’

‘Does it hurt, giving birth?’

‘It nips a bit, yeah. And you, you got bloody stuck, you did. Turned the wrong way, so you were facing the front, and then my pelvis was too small and they had to use forceps.’

‘Sorry.’

‘So you should be. I couldn’t sit down for a week afterwards.’

I’d seen photos of Melody when she was a teenager. She’d been one of those girls who looked their age; certainly no older. Her hair had been permed in a long poodle style, held back
at the left side with a comb. She’d favoured long, oversized jumpers and leggings, and when she did wear make-up, it was amateurish and brash. How many double takes must she have attracted as
she walked down the street, the woman’s swollen belly and the round young face. Yet she didn’t hide away. ‘I wasn’t ashamed of you, hun,’ she told me at that first
meeting.

Another woman was called. Melody sighed and shuddered.

‘What’s up?’ I said. ‘You’ve not wet yourself?’

‘Not yet. Listen, I know it’s a bit late in the day to be asking, but you are OK with this, aren’t you?’

‘With the baby?’

‘Yeah.’

And if I said no, what then?

‘Because it was a different time, when I was pregnant with you. I did what I could, what was right for then, and what was right was that I handed you over to someone who could look after
you properly. It wasn’t that, you know, you mattered less. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah, ’course.’

Melody thought I was jealous. But how could I be when Liv had wanted me so badly? No child could have been more joyfully received into a household than I’d been. Growing up I’d
lacked for nothing except a dad, and that was no one’s fault.

But when I thought about Melody holding a newborn, conjured the image and focused on it, something did prick at me. Not jealousy – envy. The idea of this brand new person coming into the
world with a blank sheet, everything to look forward to, no failures and cop-outs and disappointments trailing in its wake. Only years of being looked after and supported and having decisions made
for it. How blissful would that be?

‘I’m fine, it’ll be great.’

‘Oh, well, that’s good,’ she said with obvious relief.

‘Anyway, I don’t really think of you as my mum.’

Her eyes widened slightly, and just for that fraction of a second I knew I’d hurt her. It wasn’t even true; I don’t know why I said it.

‘What I mean is, you’re like a friend. A very special friend.’

The thing about Melody is, she recovers quickly.

‘Of course I’m your friend. You’ve no other friend like me, that’s for sure. God, I honestly am going to pee my pants if we have to wait much longer.’

Then the door of the scan room opened and a couple came out, and at the same moment a receptionist called Melody’s name.

I levered her up off the chair, and we went to meet the baby.

The scan room was small and hot with a leather-covered table in the centre. The sonographer was a starchy-looking woman with tight grey curls.

‘Bladder nice and full?’ she said.

Fuck off
, said the thought bubble over Melody’s head.

With a little difficulty she slid herself onto the table. I noticed a suspiciously phallic attachment hooked up by the foot end, and was struck by a sudden fear that they’d strip her and
I’d have to see her privates. I wasn’t clear about what a scan involved.

Melody seemed to know, though. She pulled up her top so it was round her bra line, and wiggled her leggings down to the level of her pubic bone. I thought she’d be chatty and hyper about
the whole business, but instead she lay quietly, waiting for the scan to start. There was that atmosphere about the room, almost like a chapel or a confessional. I sat myself in a corner next to a
trolley full of latex gloves and sterile wipes, to wait.

The sonographer squirted a dollop of something slimy on Melody’s bare skin that made her gasp. Then the overhead bulbs dimmed and the scanner screen lit up, and the sonographer came
forward holding what looked like an oversized computer mouse and started it push it against Melody’s bump. Up and down and around she stroked it, sweeping the area, squashing hard into the
flesh. I couldn’t see the screen that well from where I was, so I tried to edge round the trolley for a better view. By craning forward I could make out fluid white shapes appearing on the
screen, ovals of bright and dark blooming and retreating, specks and blobs. A tiny head, a spine, I glimpsed, picked out in light. I felt a surge of excitement that made me gasp.

‘What is it?’ asked Melody.

I assumed the sonographer would swing the screen round to show her, but she just carried on moving the sensor back and forth. Then I happened to glance at her face. Her expression was utterly,
heart-stoppingly grim.

Oh, God
,
no
, I thought.
Let this woman’s misery be for something else. Let her simply be ready for a coffee break, or still stewing over a row she had with her husband
this morning. Let her break into a smile and say, ‘Here’s your baby, and everything’s grand.’

But the silence carried on, the grinding of Melody’s uterus, the unreadable glowing shapes. With every passing second, bad news became more of a solid presence in the room with us. At last
the machine froze and whirred, froze and whirred.

‘Please, what is it?’ said Melody again.

‘I need to speak to a colleague,’ said the sonographer, pressing a pager.

‘Is there something wrong?’ Melody tried to sit up so she could study the screen. ‘My twelve-week scan was fine. If the baby’s disabled, I don’t care. I’ll
love it anyway. If it’s got Down’s. I don’t mind, anything, I can give up my job to look after it. Or if it needs an operation, that spine thing, it doesn’t matter. I want
it. Please.’

The sonographer met her gaze briefly, then looked back at the screen. I think we all knew it was hopeless.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid this pregnancy’s not going very well.’

From Liv’s diary,
11/05

So furious not sure what to do with myself. Can’t believe F would drop out of degree course so soon, without even giving it a proper chance & to tell me over
phone, so cool! ‘You need to come pick me up, Mum.’ What she expecting me to say? Knew if I let myself start I’d never be able to stop so I managed ‘If that’s what you
want.’ Wouldn’t mind so much if F leaving to pursue some specific goal but far as I can see she’s just stepping out into void! Thank God it was telephone & she couldn’t
see my face.