The Godsend Read online

  After coffee I cleared away the dishes, put them in the sink, and returned to the living-room. The clock on the mantelpiece was striking ten-thirty, but still the girl gave no sign of moving.

  As I sat down Kate asked her which part of England she was from.

  “How are you so certain I’m from England?” The countering question was accompanied by a little smile.

  “Aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Sometimes. But not always.” She paused. “I quite like the summers. Not the winters, though. I hate the cold weather. My God, I could never stand an English winter, I’m sure! I always have to get going.”

  “Get going?” Kate echoed. “Where? What do you mean?”

  “Oh . . .” A shrug, another smile. “I follow the sun. It’s the only thing to do.”

  Our conversation became more and more desultory. I took another surreptitious look at the clock and saw that the hands now marked ten-past eleven. We plodded on.

  And then, at eleven-forty-five, the girl showed signs of moving. She rose awkwardly from the sofa and Kate and I exchanged flickering, thankful glances—at last our visitor was going. But she merely asked where the bathroom was, and then stood aside while Kate preceded her into the hall to show the way.

  When Kate returned alone a moment later she raised her eyes to the ceiling in despair. I grinned at her.

  “That’ll teach you to get into conversation with strange women.”

  “My God. Will she never go?” She was keeping her voice low. “I’ve never met anyone like her! Surely she’s not expecting us to invite her to stay the night.”

  “No, don’t worry,” I said. “She’ll leave soon. She must. Anyway, I can’t stay up too late—I’ve got a lot of work to get through tomorrow.”

  “So have I.”

  I could see the tiredness in Kate’s face. The evening had proved a strain, and with Matthew at the age he was we had as yet no certainty that he would sleep the night through and not waken in the small hours demanding to be fed.

  “She’ll probably leave when she comes out of the loo,” I said.

  “God, I hope so.”

  She gave a loud yawn, then attempted to stifle it as the stranger came back into the room, smiling as she came towards us. Almost in disbelief I watched as, with a sigh of contentment, the girl once again settled herself down on the sofa.

  It was after twelve-thirty when she at last got up to go.

  With such a feeling of relief I went into the hall and collected her coat. I could hardly believe she was finally on her way. Though I would probably have to drive her, I supposed: we could scarcely let her walk home alone, and it was obvious that she had no other means of transport.

  “I’ve been the most dreadful nuisance, I know,” she said as I helped her on with her coat. And both Kate and I protested—almost in chorus—saying what a nice surprise her visit had been, and how much we had enjoyed it. Later, I told myself, we would berate each other for the hypocrites we were.

  As we followed her to the front door I insisted—getting deeper into the Good Host role—that I run her home in the car. She shook her head adamantly.

  “No. No, indeed not. I wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll walk.” She pointed vaguely off into the night in the direction of the open fields. “It’s not far.”

  “But I must,” I said. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “No. Really, thank you, but I’ll be all right.”

  She was still standing in the open doorway, all ready to go, and still not going.

  “It’s a lovely night,” she said, gazing up at the star-dotted sky. “I love nights like this.”

  Kate, at my shoulder, gave me a look as if asking whether we were in for a conversation about the weather. I nodded, then said to the girl: “I insist. Really,” and went to step by her to lead the way.

  And all at once she was clutching at me, her nails digging into my arm, her mouth twisted slightly in a little grimace of pain. For a moment I just stared at her, nonplussed, then I looked over her head into Kate’s surprised eyes. Kate said quickly: “Get her into the spare room.”

  The spare room—once my studio and now more of a junk room than anything else—had a bed in it, and between us Kate and I managed to get her along the passage towards it. And all the time the girl’s body was wracked by quickening spasms, her breath coming in painful gasps.

  “Call an ambulance,” Kate said. I had laid the girl on the bed and now stood helplessly gazing down at her.

  “Go on!” Kate said, and I hurried back into the living-room, her voice calling after me to hurry.

  Two minutes later I was back at her side. She looked at me with a flash of desperation in her eyes.

  “Did you get through all right?”

  “The phone’s out of order.”

  “Nonsense! It was okay earlier today.”

  “I can’t help that,” I said. “It’s as dead as hell right now.”

  “Try again.”

  “There’s no point in it,” I said. “It’s dead.”

  On the bed at our side the girl gave another cry, hands to her belly, her back arching.

  “Well, we can’t stand here discussing it,” Kate said. “You’ll have to go and get Doctor Collins. Get him to come out.”

  I nodded, took my keys from my pocket, and ran out to the garage.

  The doctor was in. He was in bed. His wife answered the door, looking elegant in her dressing-gown, and unable to quite restrain a faint look of annoyance that he should be disturbed. This was his night off, she said, and they hadn’t long returned from a dinner-­party in Axbridge. Then she summoned a smile and turned away and I waited, fretting on the doorstep, while she went to fetch him. He came down the stairs some minutes later, a square, muscular little man whose ruddy complexion and tweed jacket gave him more the appearance of a farmer than anything else. He gave a quick look at the anxiety in my face and said simply, “Give me a moment to get my bag and I’ll be right with you.”

  Soon after, his new dark-blue Vauxhall was following my old light-grey Ford out of the drive and onto the road.

  From the time of my leaving to the time of my return it had only been about twenty minutes. But it was enough. By that time it was all over.

  With Collins right behind me I entered the room to find it in turmoil. Jugs, kettles and a large plastic water-filled bowl stood on the floor near my feet, while all around were strewn towels and articles of clothing. On the narrow bed the girl lay sleeping, the blankets drawn up to her chin. At her side in a wicker chair sat Kate, the new-born baby in her arms.

  THREE

  Holding a finger to her lips, she urged me not to make any noise. She whispered, smiling: “It’s the dearest little girl . . .”

  Kate’s brow was damp with sweat, I noticed. Her face was flushed, and the fabric of her blouse was darkened beneath the armpits. But she looked very calm. Gently she pulled back the shawl—one of Matthew’s—to allow us to see the infant.

  “Isn’t she a picture . . . ?”

  She was.

  I gazed down at a perfect little face.

  The tiny baby had nothing of that pinched, angry look with which so many new-born babies face the world. Against the white shawl her cheeks were softly smooth and glowing, framed by fine, pale-blonde curls. Her eyes, shut tight in sleep, were fringed with thick, dark lashes.

  “She’s lovely,” I said, then watched as the doctor took her into his arms.

  “Why don’t you go and relax?” he asked me.

  “I’m not the one who’s done the work,” I said. But I nodded, grinned briefly at Kate—a very proud Kate—and left them to it.

  In the living-room I sat in my arm-chair and lit a cigarette. On an impulse I lifted the telephone receiver and listened for the dial tone. Still nothing. And then I saw that the cord had come adrift from the wall-socket. How could it have happened? Had I done it when shifting the chair earlier in the evening? Surely I’d have been aware: it would take more than a little effort
to rip one of those things out . . .

  After a few minutes Kate came in, the baby once again close in her arms. Behind her came the doctor.

  “She’ll be fine,” he announced, jerking his head back in the direction of the spare room. “Your wife did an excellent job.” He gave Kate a congratulatory smile.

  “I can’t take much credit,” Kate said. “It was all so easy. Surprisingly so. And so quick. I hardly had to do anything.”

  With each one of our own children Kate had had a relatively difficult time. Now she still seemed surprised that the child she held could have been born without the struggle and the pain she had experienced herself.

  “It was over almost before I knew it,” she said. “And anyway, she—Jane—seemed to know exactly what to do . . .”

  A little later I wheeled in Matthew’s pram and Kate placed the new baby in it. Collins watched her, then picked up his bag. There was nothing more he could do for the present.

  “I’ve made out the birth-certificate.” He was moving towards the door. “I left it on the side table. I’ll look in again tomorrow.”

  “Shouldn’t she—er—the mother—go to a hospital or something . . . ?” I asked.

  He hesitated, hand on the door-latch.

  “Well, there’s no need for it. I mean, she’s perfectly fit. Strong as an ox, in fact. Of course, I could get her to one if you insist, though I’m sure she’d be much happier staying here for a couple of days—if you could manage it . . .” His suggestion hung in the air.

  Kate looked questioningly over at me. I could do nothing but agree.

  “Of course,” I said.

  When he had left, Kate looked in at the girl and saw that she was still sleeping. I made some tea, and then together the two of us sat down, glad of the chance to relax again. The house was very still, taking on that special kind of quiet which is peculiar to the small hours. I was aware of the creaks in the timbers as they settled for the night, the ticking of the clock.

  But the silence didn’t last long. Suddenly, from upstairs, came Matthew’s full-throated yell. Kate got quickly to her feet.

  “My God. With all the excitement I forgot his last feed!” And she hurried from the room.

  A couple of minutes later his cries had stopped. I smiled to myself. He was obviously getting what he wanted.

  I poured another cup of tea and continued to sit there. When Kate returned she said: “He’s gone off again okay,” and moved over to the pram to peer down at the baby girl.

  “Look at her,” she said. “She’s really such a dear little thing.”

  The baby’s mother awoke soon afterwards, and I made fresh tea and followed Kate as she wheeled the pram from the living room.

  We found the girl sitting up against the pillows lighting a cigarette. She smiled at us.

  “I can smoke now. Now it’s safe.”

  Kate manoeuvred the pram into the room and parked it a couple of feet from the bed. The girl gave it a glance and then turned her eyes to me, giving me a grateful nod as I handed her the cup.

  “I really am such a bother. All this trouble I’m putting you to. You’ll think twice before you befriend another pregnant woman.”

  Kate sat on the edge of the bed and admonished her gently. “Now you stop that. Thank God we were able to help. Just think, if you’d left five minutes earlier—and walked as you insisted—you’d be lying in a ditch somewhere. Then what would you have done?”

  “Oh, dear, what a terrible thought.”

  Kate studied her as she drew on her cigarette. She said: “Aren’t you curious?”

  “What about?”

  “Well—” Kate seemed almost at a loss. “Well, about her. Your little girl.” She nodded towards the pram. “You haven’t really seen her yet.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes . . . Yes, of course.” The girl replaced the cup on the side-table, took one last drag on her cigarette, and stubbed it out. Kate rose, took the still-sleeping baby from the pram and placed her in the mother’s arms. The girl looked down at the child dispassionately.

  “Seems such a shame to disturb her,” she said.

  As I watched her holding the baby I remembered Kate’s words when she had spoken of the way the girl had held Matthew: “As if the act was quite foreign to her.” I could see what she had meant.

  The girl held her baby in a cool, detached way. And when she looked at it—which was just the briefest glance—her eyes were quite devoid of any motherly devotion. There was absolutely no thrill in the contact, you could see.

  I thought at first that it must be my imagination, but then I saw that Kate was as aware as I was. She looked on helplessly for a moment then said, with a touch too much eagerness,

  “I fed her. I gave her a bottle. I hope you don’t mind, but she was hungry, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

  No concern showed in the girl’s face. “Good,” she said. “I expect she would be. Thank you.”

  There was a short pause. Kate said lamely:

  “I didn’t know what to do for the best . . .”

  There was no answer. She shrugged. “Perhaps I should have awakened you. I mean, I don’t know what your plans are. You probably intend to breast-feed her . . . I do with Matthew. I have with all our children . . .”

  “Oh, God, no.” The girl gave a short shake of her head as if the idea was abhorrent to her. “I’ve never done anything like that, and I can’t see myself starting now.”

  She continued to hold the baby in that stiff, awkward, unfeeling way, and I could see that Kate was becoming more and more agitated. Then lifting up the baby in her arms, the girl said matter-­of-factly:

  “I’m sure she’d be more comfortable in the pram.”

  Kate moved almost too quickly. As she took the child she breathed the faintest sigh of relief. The girl heard it and said apologetically:

  “It’s just that I’m so tired . . .”

  “Oh, of course you are,” Kate said. There was contrition in her voice.

  “And I’ve got a long way to go tomorrow.” The girl frowned. She looked more than a little worried. I cut in quickly:

  “Don’t you think about that. I’ll take you home when you’re ready to go. There’s no hurry. Just relax. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  “You’re so kind to me. Both of you.”

  Somehow, nothing seemed quite right. And now the rich sound of sincerity in her voice jarred with the oddness of the situation. There was an awkward silence suddenly, then Kate said:

  “I’ll put her back in the pram, shall I? She’ll be all right there for the night.”

  “Oh, yes, that’ll be fine. Thank you. I’m sure she’ll be perfectly comfortable.”

  When the baby was settled Kate went out to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a feeding bottle, a thermos and some powdered milk.

  “Look,” she said, “this is for her next feed. All you’ve got to do is mix it and give it to her—” She broke off, smiling. “Listen to me, telling you what to do. As if you didn’t know perfectly well.”

  The girl smiled, picked up her cup and sipped at her tea. Kate watched her for a second or two then said, “You must be very, very proud of her, I’m sure.” She wasn’t at all sure, I knew.

  “Oh, dear, I’m so tired.” The girl was yawning. “And you two must be exhausted.”

  I was tired now. “Yes, I am a little,” I said. I had already decided to forgo part of my work the following day. I moved towards the door, Kate at my side.

  “All right then?” Kate asked, turning in the doorway.

  “Yes, thank you.” The girl stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. “Just one last cigarette and then I’ll get off to sleep.” She looked at our faces and gave a small laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t set the place on fire.”

  We said our goodnights. Just before I closed the door she said:

  “Thank you again. I’m more grateful than you can imagine.”

  Upstairs in our bedroom I emerged from the bathroom to find
Kate sitting up in bed with a preoccupied frown on her face.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Everything.” She shook her head. “That poor baby . . .”

  “Now don’t you start worrying,” I said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “But it’s so unfair! What kind of a life is she going to have—with such a mother! She doesn’t care that much for her! It’s criminal!”

  “Well, maybe it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  She ignored this. “That lovely, lovely child,” she said. “How can that girl be so unfeeling.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Don’t think about it.”

  I switched off the light, moved to the window and drew back the curtains. Moonlight filtered into the room, very bright, casting a shadow of leaves on the carpet and the pale-blue bedspread. I could plainly see Matthew asleep in his cot. I went to him, leaning down, heard his gentle, regular breathing.

  “Nothing bothers him,” I said.

  “No . . .” Now I could hear a smile in Kate’s voice. I sat down on the edge of the bed, reached out, touched her shoulder. “You’re too sensitive.”

  “No. Not too sensitive,” she answered. “Just normal, I hope.”

  A little later, just as I was drifting off, she murmured into my ear:

  “Don’t forget, we must call the GPO in the morning—get the telephone repaired.”