The Faithless (33 page)

A little later on, Cynthia handed her daughter fifty pounds in cash. ‘Have a good night, sweetheart, and don’t worry about little Cherie – she’ll be safe as houses.’

Gabby hugged her mother then, overwhelmed by her generosity and, when her mother hugged her back, she felt as if she had won the rollover on the lottery.

‘Where the hell have you been?’

Mary’s voice was angrier than Gabby had ever heard it and, putting the pillow over her head, she groaned. ‘Not now, Nana, I’m tired out.’

Mary opened the curtains and dragged the quilt and pillow from her granddaughter’s bed. ‘’Course you’re tired out – you’ve been out on the lash for two days. It’s Sunday, love, and you are getting up and you are going to go to your mother’s and you are going to get your baby. Remember your baby?
Cherie,
ten months old, little bundle of happiness?’

Mary saw the ravaged look on the girl’s face and sighed heavily. The last few months she had started going clubbing – whatever the fuck that was – and Gabby had apparently taken to it like a duck to water. She was out more than she was in, and the upshot was that Cherie now spent more time with her grandmother than she did with her own mother.

That Cynthia was behind this newfound freedom, Mary had no doubt but, at the moment, Cynthia could do no wrong in Gabby’s eyes. She was all ‘me mum this’, and ‘me mum that’. Like Cynthia was suddenly the fucking oracle or something.

Mary was even more worried because she had found little pills in Gabby’s bedroom drawer, and she guessed they were those things called Es they were always talking about on the news. They were dangerous – people had died taking them.

She looked at her granddaughter’s emaciated body; she had
lost a lot of weight, and she often appeared spaced out, that was the only way she could describe the vacant look on the girl’s face. That was Christine fucking Carter’s fault; she was known on the estate for everything from drugs to thieving. Now Gabby thought that Christine Carter was the epitome of council house chic.

Gabby was already asleep again, and Mary sighed, knowing it was pointless trying to talk to her while she was like this. In a way she sympathised. Gabby was little more than a child herself and she was tied down with a baby, with the father locked up on the Isle of Wight. With her mother on the scene, she felt her baby was being well looked after – it was with its nanny after all who doted on the child – so Gabby could go out and have a good time. Mary wasn’t so old she didn’t understand human nature, and if it was once a week she would have encouraged it. But it was now nearly every night. It was as if once Gabby had tasted freedom, she was hooked and wanted more and more of it, but at the expense of her baby daughter. Cherie had not been to their house in ten days, and that bothered Mary. The social worker was not impressed either, and that did not bode well.

She walked slowly from the room and, making a cup of tea, she wondered at how this would all finally pan out.

She didn’t have long to wait for the answer to her question.

‘My mum’s too old to have the baby full time and so Cherie would be much better off here. I think Gabriella would prefer it too.’

Miss Byrne nodded in resignation; as nice as this woman seemed there was something off about her that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

‘Are the police sure
she
was selling the drugs?’

‘Quite sure. She sold them to an undercover policewoman,’ Miss Byrne responded bluntly.

Cynthia rolled her eyes in annoyance. ‘For God’s sake, what was she thinking! She has a little baby to care for and she does something that stupid. I admit I had my suspicions – I mean, she’s always out. I knew she was taking something, I just didn’t know what.’ She gave the baby a rusk then fastened her into her high chair. ‘She’s so young, too young really to have a baby. I would have suggested an abortion but my mother would have none of that, of course. And now this little darling is here we wouldn’t be without her, but . . .’ She left the sentence unfinished but Miss Byrne actually felt herself agreeing with the woman’s opinion.

‘So you are happy to keep the child until we deem Gabriella capable once more to take over as the primary carer?’

Cynthia wondered if the woman had swallowed a dictionary; she bet that kind of talk went down a bundle on the council
estates. ‘If you mean will I take on my granddaughter until my Gabriella is on her feet again, then yes.’

Miss Byrne agreed. ‘Quite. Well, everything seems fine here and, I must say, the nursery is lovely. She really is a lucky little girl.’

Cynthia preened at the praise and, after she had shown Miss Byrne to the door, she picked up her granddaughter and said in an excited voice, ‘It’s just me and you, kid! Just me and you!’

Hugging the child to her, she made a mental note to give Christine Carter a few quid; after all, without her none of this would have been possible.

‘What possessed you, child?’

A couple of nights in the cells had certainly sobered Gabby up, no doubt about that. She looked terrified.

‘Drug-dealing! That I should live to see the day!’ Mary was heartbroken at the news, and it was this that made Gabby feel worse than ever.

‘I wasn’t, Nana – at least, that was the first time I’ve done it. Christine asked me to do it for her because she felt ill. I only did as I was asked, I know it was stupid . . .’

Mary shook her head in disbelief; how could this girl be so stupid? ‘First time, or fiftieth time, it will make no difference to the courts. And you had drugs in your system – that’s all come up on the blood tests. So you’ve lost your daughter. Guess who has her at this moment? Your mother, and I can tell you now you will have a hard time getting her back.’

Gabby groaned with shame and hurt. This was like a nightmare, a nightmare of her own making. Sitting in that stinking cell had made her think about her life, and she was not impressed with herself, so God knew what her mother must think of her. But then, her mother had encouraged her to go out and enjoy herself – she even gave her the money to go out and have a good time.

It was odd, but from that first night out clubbing, she had felt for the first time in years like a teenager. Surrounded by music and other young people, she had felt she belonged. This
was what she
should
be doing. If she had used her head she could have been doing it without the responsibility of a baby and, as much as she loved little Cherie, she missed her freedom. She had known she was safe with her mum who loved the child. It wasn’t wrong to leave the baby with its grandmother, was it?

But she had to be honest with herself now. It wasn’t leaving her there that was the problem, it was that she left her there so often. Pretending that it was just because she knew her mother loved it, she had allowed her to become Cherie’s main carer. Cherie didn’t even want to come to Gabby any more, she just wanted her nanny. And who could blame her? Oh, she had been such a fool! And now she had a conviction for drug-dealing hanging over her. She felt sick.

‘Will I go to prison, Nana?’

Mary shook her head in despair. ‘I don’t know, Gabby, I honestly don’t know.’

Vincent O’Casey read the letter with growing anger and resentment. That his Gabby had been so foolish was one thing, but to find out that his child was now in the sole custody of Cynthia Callahan was quite another. After what Gabby had told him about her upbringing, he was not at all happy that his child was now at that woman’s mercy. Yet, according to this letter, her mother was now a changed character, and she was helping her daughter to get back on her feet.

Gabby, he kept reminding himself, was very young, and she had made a very stupid mistake. He could forgive her that – of course he could – but he could
not
forgive her abandoning their child like this. She was promising to come and see him in a few weeks. She had missed the last few visits, and her letters had been sparse as well. Now he fucking well knew why.

He had missed Gabby, but he had also missed the baby. He hadn’t seen her many times but he loved that child. She was a pretty contented little thing, always smiling and beautifully turned out.

This was the worst bit about being in prison; the world outside carried on, and there was nothing you could do about that. When things went wrong, like this trouble with Gabby, he couldn’t help because he was stuck in here. Being helpless to do anything for the people he loved was worse than anything else he could think of.

‘Look, Cherie, look at the pictures with Mummy.’

But Cherie wanted to get off her mother’s lap, and sit with her nanny. Cynthia was holding a drink of apple juice, which she knew was Cherie’s favourite treat at the moment. She picked up the child and sat her on her knee smiling at her daughter’s crestfallen countenance.

‘Listen to me, Gabriella – kids are amoral. They go to whoever feeds them. It’s nothing personal, darling.’

Gabby smiled but her heart wasn’t in it.

‘I’ll have to get her ready soon, love. She goes to a playgroup a few hours a day now, three times a week. She’s making friends, bless her heart. While she’s there, I nip up the shops, or go to the gym. I love her, darling, but she’s a handful.’

Gabby felt she was being dismissed; she knew her mother was telling her she had better go soon. She made her feel as if she was holding the pair of them up somehow, was in the way. In fact, she realised that her mother had not even offered her a cup of coffee. She had only been there twenty minutes, if that, and she was already being asked, albeit politely, to leave.

‘I can wait at the playgroup with her . . .’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gabs, and, to be honest, I think you unsettle her. She has got into a routine, and Miss Byrne thinks she needs more structure in her life. Plus, I’ve arranged for her to go to tea with one of the little girls there. Dear little thing too, though not a patch on our Cherie!’

Gabby tried another tack. ‘But I’m taking her to visit Vincent tomorrow – he’ll expect to see her.’

Cynthia grinned then, and it was the old Cynthia for a few moments. ‘Well, not a lot he can do about that, girl, is there? He should have thought of that before he got himself banged up.’

‘But he wants to see her.’

‘Well, then, in that case, he’ll know what it’s like to want, won’t he? I promised Miss Byrne that I would do whatever is right for this baby and, at the moment, I don’t think you should be around her. Not until you’ve sorted yourself out. Drug addicts are—’

Gabby interjected, shocked at her mother’s choice of words, ‘Drug addict! I ain’t a fucking drug addict . . .’

Cynthia shrugged. ‘Drug
dealer
then. Let’s not split hairs, love. I don’t think it’s fair on this child to drag her from pillar to post, OK? It’s not about what you want or what I want for that matter, it’s about what is best for this little child.’

Gabby couldn’t argue with that, but it was all wrong somehow. She was Cherie’s mother, and she loved her baby. She had made a silly mistake, but she was already paying the price for that. Gabby was confused; her mother was pushing her away again, and she had a sneaking suspicion that somehow she had played right into Cynthia’s hands and lost Cherie. Now her baby had a new mummy, and that was Cynthia Callahan. Suddenly, with stunning clarity, Gabby could see that her nana had been right – Cynthia had only wanted the baby, and she had used Gabby to get what she wanted. She felt as if someone had slapped her in the face.

‘I’ll ring you, Gabs, and we’ll make arrangements for you to come over next week, eh?’

Cynthia was standing with the child in her arms, and Gabby knew she had been outfoxed, outmanoeuvred, and was now surplus to requirements.

‘She can’t take our child for good, Gabby. Use your loaf.’

Gabby was sitting opposite Vincent and her heart felt like lead in her chest. ‘But I realise now me nana was right about her. All her interest in me was for one reason only – to get Cherie.’

Vincent wasn’t in the mood for this today. He was feeling out of sorts anyway; he had a cold coming, and he was suffering from cabin fever. It came on most long-timers two or three times a year. Especially the younger ones. Being banged up was hard work, and you had to get your head around it.

He took a deep breath and counted to ten like the gym instructor had told him to when he felt the urge to lash out. After he had exhaled slowly he said, ‘I can’t do this today, Gabby, I really can’t deal with you moaning. You had a capture, you fucked up. We’ve all done it. All you can do now is make sure you sort it out, and sort yourself out while you’re at it. But I can’t help you, and the more you tell me, the harder it is for me, because I can’t walk out that door and come to your aid. And that is difficult for me to admit. You reckoned your mum had turned over a new leaf? Maybe she has. Maybe she has that child’s best interests at heart. But Cherie’s
our
daughter. So all I can say is get the court case over with, plead guilty and do a deal. Then work at getting Cherie back. Prove to your mum, the social workers, King Street Charlie if
necessary, that you are back on track, and it will turn out right in the end. OK?’