The Bad Mother's Handbook (30 page)

I sat up like a queen, like a mummy, while he suckled
on. ‘Well,’ I said after we’d sat in reverent silence for a
while, ‘pigs can do it, and cows and sheep.’

‘Dogs and cats.’

‘Mice and rats.’

And we both started to laugh.

*

I
T WAS THE
first time in all the pregnancy I’d realized you
were an actual person, and although you’d got your dad’s
blue eyes, the expression behind them was mine. Stubborn.
Perhaps that’s why we’ve argued so much, being so alike.
I knew you’d be trouble though, even then, but there was
nothing at all I could do about it because I’d just fallen
down a big well of love.

*

Baby Jesus
had the Three Wise Men: I had Dad, Daniel
and Nan. Dad came first, shuffling in as if he had a poker
up his bum.

‘What’s up with you?’ I asked, amused.

‘I ’ate hospitals, me. Brrrrrrr. Even the smell of ’em
makes the hairs on my neck prickle.’ He sat down in the
easy chair by the bed but kept his back straight, alert for
any sign of attack. ‘How are we, then? Oh, I see him. He’s
a grand little chap, in’t he? Very nice. Well done.’

‘How have you been getting on? What did you do
about Nan’s bag?’

He grinned. ‘Oh, I phoned that woman from
Crossroads and pleaded with her to send someone, I said
it were an emergency, like. I told her to send a nice young
nurse, preferably a blonde.’

‘And did she?’

‘Aye. His name were Simon.’

I sniggered. ‘Serves you right.’

‘P’raps it does. Hey, before I forget I brought you a
book. I know you can’t get enough on ’em.’ He pulled
out a carrier bag from under the chair and extracted a
Penguin Classic. ‘There you are. I looked at the cover an’
I thought, That’ll be right up our Charlotte’s street. I got
it off a bloke at work, he has whole van full of ’em.’

I picked it up off the bedspread.
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
,
I read. ‘Oh, Dad, you are priceless!’ I gave him a hug.

‘What’s up? You’ve not read it, have you? I dunno
what it’s about but it looks like the sort of thing you like.’

I muffled my laughter on his shoulder.

He didn’t stop long but before he went he gave me
something else.

‘Come here an’ I’ll tell you summat you’ll bless me for
over the next few weeks. It’ll be t’ best piece of advice
anyone gives you. Come closer, I’ll have to whisper it.’

I moved closer, intrigued.

‘When that baby of yours cries you’ll want to run to it
right away. And that’s fine, most o’ t’ time. But there’ll be
some days as you can’t cope and he’s screaming away and
you think you might throw him out the window. Well,
at times like that you change his nappy, try him with a
bottle, get him burped and then you leave him. You close
the door, go downstairs and have a cup of tea. Nobody
phones the police, God dun’t strike you dead with a
thunderbolt; you give yourself five minutes and then you
go back. And if you’re really lucky, little bugger’ll have
gone to sleep.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’

‘No problem.’

Next came
Daniel, bearing a huge bunch of flowers.
There was also a book on babycare by Miriam Stoppard.

‘I don’t know if you’ve got this already, but my father
says it’s a definitive work.’ He tossed it on the bed and
lounged in the chair. ‘I can’t believe how normal you look
after all that trauma.’

‘Get away, I look like a dog. And I feel as I’d been run
over. Just as well he’s so good.’ I nodded at the cot.

Daniel rose and peered across. ‘Skinny little chap, isn’t
he? Dad says he wouldn’t have had a chance to lay down
all his fat stores but that he’s a good weight for his age.’
He poked the baby experimentally but it didn’t stir. ‘Does
he do any tricks?’

‘None at all. Very disappointing. Oh, yeah, he does
black poo.’

‘Lovely.’ He sat back down again. ‘Decided what to
call him yet?’

‘Nope. I was going to have a chat with Mum about it.
She might know some family names I could use.’ I looked
across at the cot again and got another electric shock of
disbelief. ‘It feels so weird having him here.’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ Daniel took his
glasses off and began to clean them on his shirt. ‘I’m sorry
I was so crap towards the end.’

I turned to him in surprise. ‘You weren’t. You were
great. I’d never have got through the first few hours on my
own.’

‘Yeah, but when you started having those terrible
pains . . . I didn’t know what to do, and it was awful
watching you like that and not being able to do anything.
Plus, I think in retrospect I should have worn a placard
round my neck saying NO, I’M NOT THE FATHER.
There were one or two embarrassing moments with nursing
staff. One of them asked me whether . . .’ He gave an
awkward laugh. ‘I’ll tell you some other time. Hey, did
you ever actually use Julia’s birthing tape?’

‘Oh, that. No, I forgot all about it. Actually being
strapped to the monitor was bad enough, I couldn’t have
coped with headphones as well.’

‘You can listen to it now; it might help you relax.’

‘Good idea,’ I said. But even as he was digging in my
suitcase I realized that I couldn’t put my phones on
and
listen for the baby. It was going to be a very long time
before I wore my Walkman again.

Nan came
in the evening. She looked smart, as if she was
going to church, in a red two-piece and pearls. You could
tell she was worked up, though.

‘Where’s little thing,’ she quavered. Mum guided her
round to the cot and she gazed at the baby in total
adoration. ‘Eeh, little lamb. It’s like our Jimmy, safe and
sound. In’t he beautiful? Eeh. How can they hurt ’em,
honest? Oh, Charlotte love, he’s beautiful.’ She gave me
a perfumy kiss and Mum installed her in the best chair.
Her whole attention was focused on the cot. ‘They’re all
as matters really, babies. Han’t he got a lot of hair? He
does favour our Jimmy.’

‘Who’s Jimmy? He can’t favour anyone, can he?’ I
mouthed at Mum.

‘No,’ she whispered, ‘but don’t say anything.’

I watched Mum watch Nan and I thought she seemed
different with her, somehow. Nothing I could put my
finger on, but sort of calmer towards her. I might have
been imagining it of course; I was brimming with hormones.

‘Can I hold him?’ asked Nan, her face shining.

I glanced at Mum. ‘Will she be all right?’

‘She’ll be fine. I’ll keep my arm round him. Let her,
Charlotte, it’ll mean such a lot.’

Mum scooped him up and laid him gently across
Nan’s lap so that his head was cradled in the crook of
her elbow. He was coming round and his blue eyes
were peeping. Nan sat stiffly as if she hardly dared
breathe.

‘Have you got any further with names yet?’ asked
Mum.

‘No. I keep thinking, who does he look like, but then
getting depressed . . . I don’t
think
he looks like Paul, do
you?’

‘I only ever saw him twice, if you remember, and that
was nearly a year ago. But it doesn’t matter, even if he
does. Who you are is the way you were brought up, it’s
nothing to do with your genes. I’m sure of that.’ She
pulled a strange expression.

‘If you say so. But you’d better tell the scientists so
they don’t waste any more time on research. Anyway, I
hope to God he isn’t like Paul, I hope he’s a nicer person
than that.’

‘We’ll bring him up right,’ said Mum. ‘He’ll know the
difference between right and wrong.’

‘And if he doesn’t we’ll smack his bottom.’

‘No, we won’t,’ said Mum quickly. ‘We’ll find
other ways. You shouldn’t hit children, not for any
reason.’

It took a second for this revelation to sink in. ‘Bloody
hell, Mum,’ I said outraged, ‘I wish you’d thought like
that when I was small. You never had any problem
slapping
my
legs. My God, there was that time in Stead
and Simpson’s . . .’

‘I know, I know. I’m sorry.’ Her mouth had gone all
funny, as if she was going to cry, so I left it. Maybe these
hormones were infectious.

Nan began to sing to the baby in a wobbly voice.

‘How can I be poor

When there’s gold in your darling curls?

How can I be poor

When your dear little teeth are like so many pearls?

Your lips to me are rubies

Your eyes are diamonds rare

So while I have you, my baby,

I’m as rich as a millionaire.’

‘Oh, Nan, that’s lovely. He hasn’t got golden curls,
though.’

‘He hasn’t got teeth, either, but I don’t suppose he’s
going to put in a complaint.’

‘What should we call him, Nan?’

‘Eeh, tha’ll soon be spittin’ in t’ fire,’ she told the
baby. ‘Tha will. Yes tha will.’ He stared up with round
unfocused eyes as she waggled her head at him.

Mum opened her handbag and pulled out her diary.
‘I made a note of some family names for you.’ She
flicked through the gilt-edged pages to find the scrap of
ribbon. ‘Here we are. There’s Bill, of course; William
if you like. It’d make Nan’s day if you called him that.’
She smiled over at Nan but got no response; Nan was
too wrapped up in a baby bubble to notice. ‘Harold;
you could shorten that to Harry; that was Nan’s father’s
name. Jimmy, or James of course; that was Nan’s little
brother.’

‘I didn’t know she had a brother.’

‘Oh, he died very young. I think he was knocked
down by a tram. Or that might have been her dad, I’m
not sure. She’s had a tragic life, really, because her mum
died when Nan was only in her thirties, and she lost her
father when she was a teenager.’

‘Like you.’

‘Yes, like me. He’d have loved that baby, you know.’
I saw her eyes flick over Nan’s pink-and-white head
and over the tiny black-haired scalp inches below. The baby’s skin was still dark purply-mottled; Nan’s was
pale and blue-veined and liver-spotted. Mum heaved a
great sigh which turned into a yawn. ‘Sorry, love, I’m
done in.’

‘
You
are?’

‘I know, I know, I remember what it’s like.’ She peered
in the diary again. ‘Oh and then there’s Peter, that was her
grandad, so your great-great-grandad.’

I shifted my bra strap and winced.

‘They’re a bit like icebergs, families; all that hidden
history.’

‘I don’t think icebergs are anything like as hazardous,
though,’ said Mum closing the book.

*

MY VERY first memory is rocking our Jimmy in his cradle by
the fire and gazing into that terrible red glow deep down in the
coals, while Grandma Marsh sang to lull ’im to sleep.

‘Th’ art welcome little Bonny Brid
But shouldn’t ha’ come just when tha did.’

She allus called him Bonny Brid; well he were, a little angel.
I were never jealous; I just couldn’t wait for ’im to grow up so’s
we could play together. By eight he were t’ best in our street
at spittin’; he’d fortify himself wi’ pop beforehand then give t’
others monkey nuts, casual like, so when it came to it they were
dried out; he won all sorts that way. An’ if I were feeling down
he’d sing ‘Tickle me Timothy, Tickle me do’ till I cheered up;
he were allus full o’ fun. That time he got under t’ table playin’
Pirates and pulled t’ leg so th’ end dropped down, I told me
mother it was me even though her best cup were broken. An’ I ought to have tekken more care of him. If I’d been with him
that day down by the canal—

*

Out of the corner
of my eye I became aware of movement.
‘Nan?’

Nan was slowly slumping forward, the baby sliding
down her lap. My heart thumped with fright but Mum
made a grab for him and caught him as he began to roll.
I saw a thread of saliva hang from the corner of Nan’s
mouth and stain her red top.

‘Quick, Charlotte,’ said Mum, dropping the baby
back in his cot and rushing to Nan’s side. ‘Press that
buzzer of yours and get a nurse.’ I hesitated for a second,
stunned at the sight of Nan deflating like a balloon. ‘Do
it!’ she shouted. ‘I think Nan’s having a stroke.’

?

THEY SAY as it’s a tunnel wi’ a light at th’ end, but I found
mysen on t’ canal bank at Ambley, wi’ Jimmy.

‘Awreet?’ he says, big grin on his face.

‘You’re looking well,’ I say, ‘considering.’ He just laughs and
puts his arm through mine.

He tugs me over in the direction of the bridge – it’s a
beautiful day, all reflections in the water, very peaceful, and as
we get near I can see all sorts of folk sitting on the opposite
bank having a picnic. They’ve a blanket and some bottles of ale,
a basket full of barm cakes and pies and things. There’s a lot of
babies lying on t’ ground, waving their legs in the air or sitting
up and patting the grass round them, chuckling to themselves
the way babies do – and the queer thing is, there’s not one on
’em skrikin’. One’s crawled ovver an’ cadged itssen a barm cake
and it’s chewin’ away, must have a tooth coming. There’s a
little girl laid out on her front in a summer frock and cardigan,
blowing bubbles at them out of a basin of soapy water, she’s got
a bit of wire bent in a loop. Jimmy’s arm tightens on mine and
I squeeze back, all warm. I’m dying, I think, and it’s lovely.

‘Look,’ says Jimmy, pointing under the trees, and it’s
Grandma Marsh and Grandma Fenton; Grandma Marsh is
holding up a skein of red wool while Grandma Fenton winds
it into a ball. They’re nattering so much neither of them take
me on. Jimmy digs me in the ribs and makes a face, so I give
him a hug.

‘You han’t changed,’ I tell him. He shrugs. I want to ask him
about our mum and dad but something tells me to wait.

There’s a tenor horn starts up and I know it’s Bill before
I spot him. He’s at the water’s edge standing very still and
straight. He doesn’t wave, never takes the horn away from his
lips, but he’s playing for me. ‘Stranger in Paradise’; the notes dance across the water like light, like a language. There’s such
love in the air, you could get drunk on it. There’s no rush. He’ll
wait for me.