The Gap of Time (10 page)

Leo opened the front door. Pauline was holding the baby.

“I told you not to try any sentimental stunts,” said Leo.

Pauline handed Leo the sleeping baby. Leo held her away from him like she was on fire.

“I trusted them and they betrayed me.”

“You trusted them because they love you.”

“One big, happy family. In your dreams, Pauline.”

“Why are you obsessed with this madness?”

“Madness? You call it madness. You say they don't love each other? The way they touch, talk, whisper, dance? When he's here he's always with her. And I liked it.”

“So what if they are a little bit in love with each other?”

“You admit it, then?”

“Would you rather they disliked each other? Were indifferent to each other? Is it because you have slept with both of them?”

“Who told you that?”

“Xeno's quite open about it.”

“Well, I'm not. We were schoolboys.”

“Are you jealous of him or of her?”

“Spare me the TV psychoanalysis.”

“Leo, you are the father of this child. MiMi is faithful. Xeno is your friend. Take a DNA test. And put things right. There is still a chance to do right.”

Leo heard her. Chance to do right. Chance to do right. Chance to do right. The baby woke and struggled in his arms. He passed her back to Pauline.

“Why is she called Perdita?”

“It means little lost one.”

“I'll come to the house tomorrow. We'll go and take a test. OK?”

That evening Pauline and Tony went to the Everyman Cinema.

Pauline was wearing a pretty dress and Tony had brushed his sports jacket. He bought the cinema tickets even though Pauline could have bought the cinema.

They sat upright and formal in the comfy couple seats. Pauline realised that she never went to the movies because it made her feel sorry for herself. She thought about her mother's parents, fleeing Nazi Germany and starting a salt-beef bar in the East End. It was a hard life but a happy marriage. Her mother trained as a nurse and married a dentist. Pauline had gone to an academic girls' school, then to university, then into investment banking. Refugees to riches in three generations. But she hadn't met anyone she liked well enough to be with. She knew her parents worried about her; about being lonely, old, uncared for.

Now, sitting next to Tony studiously watching Lauren Bacall and making sure his body was a clear three inches away from hers, she suddenly moved close to him. Very slowly he took her hand.

Afterwards, walking back down the hill from the cinema in Hampstead towards Pauline's house in Belsize Park, she asked Tony what he liked to do at weekends. “Go walking,” he said. “I feel better outside. I'm going to Kew Gardens tomorrow.”

Pauline did not really believe in walking; first there were legs, then there were bicycles and now there were cars. But she thought she might give it a try.

At her front door Tony thanked her for the evening. They agreed to meet the following day. They stood smiling at each other under the street lamp. Neither of them knew what to do next. She touched his arm, nodded and went up the path to the front door. He watched till she was safely inside.

Pauline looked at herself in the hall mirror. She thought she'd pop to the chemist in the morning and get a new lipstick.

When Tony got home, strangely, or not strangely, light-hearted, there was a message on his answer machine.

Tomorrow. Heathrow. Twelve noon.

The next morning Leo got up early. His mind felt clean and clear. For the first time in weeks, months, he could stop thinking because at last he knew what to do.

The emptiness of the house that had seemed hateful to him now seemed like a space to create something new. What had happened could unhappen.

Leo arrived an hour early at Pauline's. He was shaved, dressed; he seemed different, better.

Pauline was wondering if she needed walking boots to go to Kew Gardens. And what were those things people wore in the country? Barbours?

“Kew Gardens is a park,” said Leo.

“Well, all right,” said Pauline, “but Jews don't do rain. It makes us nervous. Look what happened to Noah.”

“Who are you going with?” asked Leo.

“I've got a date. What's it to ya?”

“So you'll be out all day?”

Pauline nodded. “MiMi's taken Milo swimming. She won't be back till eleven.”

“I know. He told me.”

“Leo—I'd like to pop up to the chemist before we go for the test. Will you look after Perdita for half an hour?”

“No problem, Pauline. Give her to me.”

He was charming Leo, smiling Leo, persuasive Leo. Pauline grabbed her handbag and went on her errand.

As soon as he was sure she was out of the way, Leo let himself out of the house and got back into his car. In his car was a wine box with a blanket in it. He laid the baby down. She started to cry. He put the radio on.

Tony was waiting at the entrance to Terminal 5. Leo gave him the passport and a bag. “Nappies. Formula milk. Clean clothes. Rash cream. All the shit. You know how to change a baby, don't you? If not someone on the plane will help you. I've texted you Xeno's address and phone number. You're booked on the return flight on Monday. Call me if there are any problems. Better go—plane leaves in an hour.”

And then everything happened in slow motion and too fast.

MiMi and Pauline driving to the house in Little Venice.

MiMi running from room to room, shouting LEO! LEO!

Milo on his own at Pauline's when the phone rang and it was Tony.

Milo heard the answer machine: “Pauline, it's Tony. I can't go to Kew today. I'm on my way to the airport. Sorry.”

Milo called Pauline to tell her. He could hear his mother in the background. “Why is Tony at the airport?”

Milo put down the phone.
There was a man lived in an airport
.

Soon after, the doorbell rang. It was Leo.

“Mummy's looking for you,” said Milo.

“We're going away for a few days. To Munich. See Granddad.”

“Is Mummy coming?”

“No.”

“I'll stay here, I think,” said Milo.

Leo was angry. “We're going together. I've packed for you. Get whatever you want from here—not too much—and come on.”

In the car Milo was silent. Then he said, “Where's Perdita?”

“She's fine.”

Leo had booked a flight to Berlin. He wasn't planning to see his father. He just wanted to get away. And when they got back, MiMi would have realised that everything was for the best.

But MiMi had already called the police to say that her husband was trying to leave the country with their baby.

“I don't see how Tony's involved,” said Pauline. “His phone's going straight to voicemail.”

Leo was in the queue at Passport Control. The man checking documents asked him to stand aside a moment. The next thing he knew, three policemen were asking what he'd done with the baby.

Then it happened.

Leo arguing with the police. The police arguing with Leo. All big guys. All at the same height. The little Indian passport-checker was trying to pretend that nothing was happening as he processed other people coming through, all staring at Leo.

The police were confused because Leo had no baby. Leo said his wife had post-natal depression. He was taking their son on holiday to give her a break. The police looked at Milo's passport—is this your father? Yes.

The big guys went back to arguing—no one cared about Milo.

There was a man lived in an airport.

Milo moved steadily, quietly backwards, away from them, their backs to him in an angry circle. No one would notice.

Milo was round the corner and going towards the security lanes. There was a family over in Lane Four. He ran over to them—if anyone saw him they thought he was just catching up. He put his backpack on the metal conveyor belt. He walked through the metal detector. He looked round. He was in the airport. Maybe he could find Tony.

Tony was in New Bohemia.

He liked the palm trees planted down the middle of the roads. He wondered if there was a botanical gardens. He had a free day tomorrow before his flight.

The sky was low and overcast. The heat was as close and intense as a sauna. He took off his suit jacket but he didn't loosen his tie. He didn't want to look sloppy.

Supermoon tonight, the man at the car rental told him. She's closer to the earth than normal—gonna be weather with her. Nice baby.

Tony got in the BMW. It was not like his Nissan. He thought he might use some of the £50,000 to buy a new car. Pauline had an Audi. She wouldn't want to be driven about in a Nissan. He had a feeling he should have told Pauline what he was doing.

Wide freeways. Tall buildings. Billboards advertising prime-time TV shows. Square, miserable social housing hung over the fast, hostile roads. Flophouses on the outskirts of the city. Drive in for $40 a room, 2 sharing. All-u-can-eat breakfast. He idled in traffic on the bridge. The construction work covered his windscreen in cement dust like talcum powder. He could smell fried onions and diesel.

As he drove into the heart of the city he heard music everywhere—from cars, buildings, street corners, bars. Two boys were washing car windscreens at the traffic lights. One was sitting on an upturned metal bucket drumming on the bucket in front of him with the Squeezee. Tony was nervous and exhilarated; he'd never been out of England. The only holidays he took were walking holidays in Scotland.

Tony pulled into the car park of the bank. They were expecting him. They took him into a private room, checked his passport and the documents from Leo and gave him the money in a case. He signed for it. He asked them if they could direct him to a particular address. One of the younger men on the team seemed watchful and shifty. He wrote down the address. Said he'd look it up. Tony didn't like him.

When Tony got back to the car, Perdita was whimpering in small, exhausted gulps. He had left her on the backseat because he didn't know what else to do. He had bundled his coat in the footwell in case she rolled over.

The baby had cried a lot on the plane. The British Airways staff had changed her for him and fed her but she was complaining deeper than food and sleep and wetness. Tony wondered if it was all right to take a baby from its mother so soon.

At least she would soon be with her father.

Tony sat in the back of the car and called the number Leo had given him for Xeno. It was disconnected. Tony called Leo. There was no answer.

Perdita was crying full-throttle now so Tony started to sing to her in Spanish. She seemed to like that. Tony added the velvet bag Leo had given him to the money in the case. And there was a piece of sheet music to go in too. He put it all together, sang a bit more until the baby fell asleep, then he drove to the address in his wallet.

It wasn't far out of town. A pretty suburb. The house was old colonial-style with an ironwork balcony over the first storey. There was an SUV on the drive. Tony got out. The rain had stopped. He could hear thunder somewhere but a long way off.

He rang the doorbell. Xeno must be expecting him by now.

For a long time no one answered. Tony walked round the back with Perdita, admiring the subtropical planting. Then a woman appeared at the back door. Spanish by the look of her. She didn't speak English well so Tony spoke to her in Spanish. No, Mr. Xeno not here. Los Angeles. No back till ten days.

Tony got on the phone again to Leo. Still no answer. He went back to the car, sitting in the front with the door open. He had only enough milk for one more feed. Hospital. He should take the baby to a hospital, just to get her fed and changed and checked out. They would do that. Then he'd go to the hotel and wait till he could speak to Leo.

It was when he was leaving Xeno's house that he noticed the car across the street.

At the hotel they were helpful. Yes, the room was pre-paid. Yes, the hospital was just a couple of miles away.

Tony was suddenly exhausted. He went upstairs with Perdita. He took off her Babygro, vest, nappy. She was red and chafed between the legs. He thought he would bath her. If she were a plant he would be watering her. Bathing was a kind of watering, wasn't it?

He ran the bath, carefully checking the temperature. He swung her in gently, sleeves rolled up, kneeling on the floor. He held her in both hands in the water, swooshing her back and forth. His mother must have done this to him, mustn't she? Before the water dried up and there was no more love.

The baby seemed to like being bathed. Maybe I could have been a father, he thought. But that would have needed a mother…

Once she was dried and changed and fed, Tony lay down with her on the bed. They both fell deeply asleep.

It was the door to his room opening that woke him. The room was dark. He saw the light from the corridor. A man's shape. Someone from the hotel? The person was coming in but they didn't put on the light. “Hello?” he called. “Hello?” He reached out and flipped down the overhead switch. There was a man there in an anorak. The door closed swiftly as he left. What was the time?

Already midnight.

He checked his phone—nothing from Leo. No messages on the hotel phone either. He sent a text: CALL TONY. URGENT.

Perdita was stirring. He must get her food. He showered and shaved as though it were morning, even though it was late at night. He put his trousers in the trouser press. Clean shirt. He was about to leave with the sleepy, grumbling baby when he decided to take the attaché case.

Downstairs it was just the night staff on the desk. He asked for his car to be brought round. Outside, waiting for his car, the baby in his arms, he saw the moon. He had never seen the moon so big. She looked like she was coming in to land. The moon lit up the baby in his arms like a pearl.

He set off towards the Sainta Maria hospital.

As he drove away from the hotel he saw that car again. He knew it was the same one.

At the first red light he tried to see them in the mirror. Two men.

He tried a few turns—the car stayed with him; yes, this was trouble.

At the hospital he pulled into the disabled parking right at the door, took Perdita and the case and went in. The bright lights disoriented him but there was a friendly man on the desk, and when he explained and said he would pay, there appeared to be no problem with his strange midnight request.

A nurse soon came down, swinging up Perdita with expert femaleness. The nurse seemed to believe all his story about being the grandfather, bringing the baby back to his son, son's flight late, mother unwell. Yes, unwell.

“We have a BabyHatch here,” said the nurse, “saddest thing you ever saw but better than being left on a street corner or in a tram car, I guess.”

“A child should be wanted,” said Tony.

“Yes, sir,” said the nurse, her quick fingers changing and dressing Perdita. The nurse gave Tony a couple of bottles of formula milk to heat up and a spare set of nappies. It would be enough till they got the plane home, he thought. They could go to the botanic gardens after all.

He was heading down the steps towards his car when he saw them. Two of them. In the shadows near the BMW. They hadn't seen him yet—they were leaning against a truck, smoking. He knew they were waiting for him.

He went back in. There was an exit sign pointing to the side of the hospital. He'd go that way. Leave the car. Get a cab.

As he came out of the hospital the sky split and the rain started. The baby was crying. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped her up. This was crazy. The water was so thick it was splashing up to his knees. He should go back in. He ran back to the exit door but it was a one-way only. He rattled the wet bar, already soaked through. He kept on walking round the building—he couldn't risk the front entrance. Then he saw it lit up.

The BabyHatch.

It was a five-second lifetime decision. He opened the hatch. He could feel the gentle warmth. He unwrapped Perdita from his jacket and put her in. Then he put the attaché case in with her. He could hardly see what he was doing with the rain making him into a waterfall, but he closed the hatch just enough so that he could open it again, wedging his pen in the top where it would have closed shut. All he had to do now was get to the car and come back for her. They were after the money. He'd tell them it was in the hotel. Give them his key. Then he'd drive straight to the airport. He had his passport in his jacket. The rest didn't matter.

The hospital car park was quiet. Tony reached his car. There was no one around. He turned onto the street and that was when the headlights hit him from the front. He reversed. The car came after him. He swerved direct again, put his foot down to pull away and heard the shot. Then the wheel jerked out of his hands as the front tyre burst and he hit the wall.

The men were at the car.

One of them dragged him out. Hit him. Hit him again. The other one was searching the car. Tony hit back, lost his footing in the water that was over his shoes; he fell, knocked his head. As he was losing consciousness he heard another car. Another shot. Someone took his hand. “Pauline,” he said or thought he said.

“We should wait for the cops.”

“He's dead.”