Birth Marks Read online

  ‘Sure. As long as Sierras always look exactly like Citroëns. Anyway, I only bring it up to serve as a reminder. Look at the facts. You’ve got a client who wishes to remain anonymous. Why? Obviously because she or he feels bad about what she or he has or hasn’t done but doesn’t want to have to admit it. I tell you where I’d go. To the real mother. Paralysed by guilt and grief after fifteen years of neglect. Desperate to find out what really happened to her baby. What more do you want?’

  ‘Do me a favour. It’s tabloid stuff, Frank.’

  ‘And that, little lady, is sometimes just what makes it true.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve told you, it’s not her. She was in hospital.’

  ‘Doesn’t prove a thing. Listen, I’m not saying it is her, I’m just making a point. This client stuff could have nothing to do with the medical report.’

  ‘Or with the break-in?’

  ‘What did they take? The television and the video. What did they leave? The report.’

  ‘There’s such a thing as a hand-held photocopier, you know,’ I said, thinking about it for the first time.

  ‘Don’t tell your grandfather how to suck eggs, Hannah. It’s one of my favourite toys. But if Greville had already got the report, why bother to call you about it?’

  ‘So I would think he hadn’t?’ But even as I said it, it sounded weak.

  ‘Hmmn. And what about this guy in the car? You sure it’s not just your imagination?’

  ‘No, of course I’m not sure. And it wasn’t the same guy as on the tube, but who knows, maybe there’s a whole army of them.’ I looked around the pub. It could have been anybody. ‘Christ, Frank, do you always know for certain when you’re being followed?’

  ‘Yeah, but then that’s why it’s my name on the door and not yours. That and other things. Listen, you want my advice? Sit tight and wait to see what Dr Kildare brings home.’

  ‘Great. Well, thanks a lot, Frank.’

  ‘Wait. I haven’t finished yet. You got a buzzer to get back into your answering machine at home?’

  ‘If I need it, yes.’

  ‘OK. Stay away from home for a bit. Take the afternoon off, maybe spend some time buying some underwear—that’ll make it easy to spot ’em. Then go out and get yourself laid for a night or two. And stay at their place, just in case. You can check your phone from there.’

  ‘In case of what?’

  ‘In case coincidence is more than coincidence. Now, you still want me to bust a gut to get over there?’

  ‘No. Thanks.’

  ‘All right. I’ll give it a bit more thought and get back to you. Call me with a number where I can reach you…Oh, and Hannah?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Ten per cent, remember?’

  I decided to defer to the expert. They’ve even got whole shops devoted to the art of the undy now. If it hadn’t been work I would probably have quite enjoyed it, slipping myself in and out of a variety of lace corsets and boob-enhancing bras. The girl in the changing-room next to me spent a hundred and twenty quid. Maybe she had someone special to show it all to. After the third shop I was pretty sure I was alone. Thanks, Frank. Then I thought about all the people I could spend the night with. It wasn’t exactly a rich choice. I ended up going to Kate’s. They were in the middle of a tea party when I arrived. Six mothers and what felt like twenty-six children. The kitchen was awash with orange juice and chocolate-chip crumbs, most of which Benjamin was attempting to hoover up with his nose while Amy was locked in mortal combat with a curly-haired boy who was trying to get on to her tractor. Kate sat sipping tea watching the scene with admirable detachment. Of course she was surprised to see me, but being Kate didn’t mention it. She simply pointed me in the direction of the teapot, and said they would all be leaving soon.

  When they did, Amy went with them, clutching a small overnight bag and exiting with theatrical hugs and waves. Back in the kitchen Kate pulled out a bottle of gin from the kitchen cupboard and poured two hits, then drowned them with tonic.

  At my feet Benjamin was making a noise. He had pulled himself up until he was clinging to my knees, and was letting out a series of fierce guttural explosions. Kate’s voice reached me from behind the freezer door.

  ‘You’d better pick him up. He wants to be held. It’s the only way you’ll get him to stop.’

  I leant over and put my arms out. He moved himself inside them and I lifted him up. He stood up on my lap, bandy legs like little pile drivers stomping into my thighs, practising for the Big Walk. He had cheeks like powder-puffs and a chin like Buddha, and he smelt of slightly sour milk and baby powder. I couldn’t decide whether it was pleasant or repellent. He poked around my eyes for a while then flopped down on to my lap and sat, apparently content. I kept my arms around him to stop him falling off. I thought about all the women in this story and the babies they’d never had or let someone else take away from them. Was this what they’d all hungered for, the aroma of rancid milk and handfuls of chubby flesh?

  Kate placed a glass in front of me and a bottle in front of him. He grabbed it and began sucking, instantly mesmerized by pleasure. Don’t grow up, little nephew. It’s cold and dark out there, and there’s never a tit when you need one. I took a swig at the gin. It was stronger than it looked. Whatever happens I musn’t get drunk.

  ‘Well, and to what do we owe the honour?’

  ‘Oh, I was just passing.’

  ‘Just passing?’

  ‘Yeah. Where’d Amy go?’

  ‘To Polly’s. She’s staying the night.’

  ‘Nice. By the way, thanks for sending Dad’s present. I’ll leave you a cheque. Did he like it?’

  ‘Well, it would be you he’d call, not me.’ She was right. And he hadn’t. Maybe this time he’d spotted the handwriting. ‘OK, let’s try again. What’s up, Hannah?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You come here voluntarily during a tea party, sit with twelve kids under five and their nannies and mothers and then say nothing is wrong.’

  I smiled. ‘I wanted to tell you something and I happened to be passing.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve sent something in the post. A big brown envelope. If you haven’t got it already, it’ll arrive tomorrow morning.’

  ‘And? Are you going to tell me now, or should I wait till tomorrow?’

  I shook my head. ‘It’ll be addressed to me and I don’t want you to open it. It’s work. Just something I need kept safe.’

  She frowned. ‘Should I ask from whom?’

  ‘To be honest, I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Of course not. I’ll put it in the laundry cupboard. Underneath the bibs and facecloths. Will that be safe enough?’

  ‘That’s fine. Thanks a lot.’

  On my lap Benjamin was moving from bliss to waking slumber, eyes wide open, mind disengaged. Outside it was a winter twilight, a gentle but swift slide into dark. Soon we would be turning the clocks forward. People would start sitting out in their gardens. I imagined Colin with a beer in one hand, fanning the barbecue with the other, while Kate lugged saucepans of hot water out to the paddling pool. Playing at being mums and dads. There were worse ways to spend a summer.

  ‘Listen, Hannah, I have to ask you something.’ I should have spotted it already. That slight tension that comes between sisters before the storm clouds break. ‘What was it happened to you in France?’

  ‘In France? Not a lot.’

  ‘But you were working on the dancer’s case, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So. Did you find out who the father was?’

  ‘Um…No, not really.’

  ‘Oh come on, Hannah, I don’t mind being used as the domestic fantasy to make you feel better about not having children, but I do object to being treated as educationally subnormal.’ Kate’s temper. A rare and wonderful thing, spiced now with adult humour but still to be taken note of. ‘You arrive here out of the blue, make small talk for half an hour, then ask if I’ll keep something safe for you, and
I’m supposed to oblige you without the luxury of a single question. If you don’t want me to know then why didn’t you take it to Frank?’

  I closed my eyes. ‘I did as well. I’m sorry, Kate, I didn’t mean to sound patronizing. It’s just a long story. And I’m not even sure I understand it.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, but didn’t mean it.

  ‘I know who the father is. What I still don’t know is why she died. But I’ve found some medical reports. I’m hoping they’ll tell me.’

  She nodded. ‘And that’s what’s in the envelope?’

  No, actually, but it was too complicated to explain. ‘Yeah, that and other things.’

  ‘But you’d prefer it if I didn’t read them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And it’s just work?’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I mean you seem different, agitated. I felt it when you called from France too. I wondered if there was something more.’

  ‘What more could it be?’

  She hesitated. Then decided to say it anyway. ‘I wondered if there was a man involved.’

  It was my turn to get exasperated. ‘Christ, Kate, I’m strung out, and you immediately assume it must be because of some guy.’

  ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘It was not immediate. I gave it some considerable thought.’

  I shook my head. ‘Honestly, it’s nothing serious. I’m just tired and touchy, all right?’

  She nodded. I looked down at Benjamin. Out for the count. I opened my mouth to tell her to change the subject. But she did it for me. Sort of. ‘Colin thinks you’re afraid of men, you know.’

  Colin. Mr Psychoanalysis 1991. Give me a break. ‘You mean he thinks I’m gay?’

  This time she laughed. ‘Oh Hannah, he’s not that much of a fool.’

  ‘No,’ I said begrudgingly. ‘He’s not. What else does he think?’

  ‘That you liked Joshua more than you were willing to admit and that you use your job as an excuse for not sorting out your personal life.’

  ‘I see. And what do you think?’

  She paused, choosing her words. ‘Well, I suppose I think he’s not that much of a fool.’

  Great. If you can’t trust your sister who can you trust? But nobody else tells you quite as much truth. We sat silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘You’re in trouble, aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I thought about it. ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  I thought about it some more. ‘Yeah. I might need somewhere to stay for the night.’

  She looked at me for a moment, and we both read the disappointment in her eyes. ‘Of course. The spare room’s made up.’

  ‘Thanks. I won’t get in the way. And anything you need me to do…’

  She got up and turned her attention to the sink, maybe so I wouldn’t register how the disappointment had turned to anger. ‘Yes, well, as a matter of fact there is. I didn’t manage to get out to the shops today. Colin’s due home in a couple of hours and I need to buy some stuff for dinner. It would be easier if I didn’t have to take Ben with me.’

  The little man himself was still comatose, eyelids fluttering on dreams of lactose sucked from giant breasts. Interesting how as they grow older the milk dream dries up but the other fantasies remain. ‘Of course. Be as long as you like. You know, if you want I’ll babysit. The two of you could go out for the evening. See a movie, have a meal.’ You could tell she was tempted. ‘It’s all right. I’ve done it before. He knows I can change a nappy and make a bottle.’

  ‘Yes, but what if he wakes up later?’

  ‘Then I’ll pick him up and sing to him. He’ll go to sleep immediately to get away from the noise.’

  She smiled. Pax. Like exchanging toys or Barbie-doll clothes when we were little. ‘I’ll ring Colin, see what he says.’

  Colin, of course, said yes. Anything rather than have to share the dinner table with his sister-in-law. They agreed to meet in town. Together we bathed Benjamin and put him in his nightsuit. Of course he sussed something was up, clung to Kate as soon as she started to get dressed. By the time the cab came they were inseparable. I put my hands out. ‘Come on, give him to me. You know he’ll stop screaming the minute you’re out of the door.’ But behind her reticence I read something else. Something she didn’t quite know how to say. ‘Kate, don’t even think about it. Nobody knows where I am. We’ll be quite safe. Do you really think I would have asked to stay in the first place if it was any other way?’ Put like that it made both of us embarrassed. I gave her a gentle push. ‘Go on, get out of here. You know you want to.’

  We went out together to see her off, Benjamin a screeching windmill in my arms. She waved all the way down the road from the back window of the cab. It was more traumatic for her than for him. As soon as he sussed that his screams wouldn’t bring her back he treated the whole thing with admirable pragmatism, aided and abetted by the odd digestive biscuit in my pocket. Silence fell. We went back and sat together in the living-room watching Sesame Street on the video, after which we both crawled round the carpet in pursuit of each other. Eventually he got tired and lay on the floor. I was tempted to join him. I went into the kitchen and heated up some milk. He took the bottle and allowed me to carry him up the stairs to the bedroom. He whimpered a little when I put him down, so I sat by the cot and stroked his back. He rooted himself down in the bedclothes, bottom up in the air, eyes wide open watching me through the bars. I told him a story. About the last few days. He fell asleep before I got to the end.

  I sat with him for a little while, just in case. His sense of peace was seductive, so complete, so contagious, so simple. A bottle of milk, the odd biscuit and an endless supply of love and attention; when it comes down to it that’s all they require. And in return they make you feel indispensable. Until, that is, they can do it for themselves. After which it’s just a matter of time and bloody battles until they decide to leave home. I did it to my family, he would do it to his. The mistake is letting yourself feel like a parent when all you really are is a guardian. Of course, you can see it all so clearly from the outside. Yet ask Kate or my mother about the sense of loss, and both of them would no doubt swear it was all worth it, that the pleasure far outweighed any pain. But then they could hardly say anything else, could they? Sometimes I think motherhood is really a form of religious conversion: faith taking you places where reason cannot follow. But as we all know, even atheists sometimes find themselves wondering what all the fuss is about.

  See what happens when you spend too much time watching sleeping cherubs? Downstairs I turned up the baby alarm until I could hear him breathing, made myself a strong cup of coffee and went back to work. There was only one message on my answering machine at home. But it was worth waiting for: Hugh’s voice sounding just a little excited. ‘Hannah, I’ve done some work on this stuff. You’d better give me a call. I don’t know if it’ll help but I think I’ve found something. I’ll be at home after eight.’

  I looked at my watch: 8.14 p.m. I redialled.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘I’ll go through it point by point, all right. Stop me if you don’t understand.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘The first thing you should know is that there were definite signs of pre-eclampsia. The blood pressure started to rise around week thirty and there were traces of protein in her urine. Also some swelling of the ankles.’

  ‘You mean you think she could have had some kind of fit after all?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I said. I know it’s important, Hannah, but it’ll be easier if you just listen rather than jump.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘OK. The other thing the report says, quite categorically, is that the AID donor was rhesus negative too. Now since you told me that she knew the donor I would assume that that information comes from a blood test done by the doctor.’ Of course. He had treated the old man for long enough, must have punctured a thousand holes in that liver-spotted skin. Rhesus n
egative, eh. Both of them. It had indeed been a coupling made in heaven. What was the rule? Two rhesus negatives cannot make a positive…I bit my tongue.

  ‘Now what that means, of course, is that since two negatives can’t make a positive the baby would have automatically been rhesus negative too. So far so simple. Medical fact.’

  ‘Which also means that even if the mother did have antibodies the baby would have been safe?’

  He sighed. ‘You know you never could be quiet for more than five minutes at a time. I always found it extremely irritating and very attractive at the same time.’ Did you? How come you never told me? Ah well, too late now. ‘Anyway, you’re absolutely right. Rhesus antibodies can only work against rhesus positive blood. The mother did have antibodies though. The report shows a blood test taken just after pregnancy was established. The titre is very small, but they are there.’

  ‘Titre?’

  ‘Sorry, jargon. It’s how we measure antibodies.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Now comes the more complicated part. With a rhesus negative woman most doctors nowadays would monitor the antibody levels throughout the pregnancy. Maybe once at twenty-eight weeks, again at thirty-two. That’s more or less automatic practice now. However, this doctor didn’t do it.’

  ‘I see.’ Except I didn’t, quite. ‘But I mean why should he?—you said yourself that the baby was rhesus negative. In which case there was no chance of the antibodies harming it.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. And no doubt that was exactly what this doctor thought too. Even so, precautions are precautions. And if he were my houseman he’d be looking for another job.’

  I had this image of the faithful old French retainer skulking out of the hospital, under the never-darken-my-doors-again finger of the shining young consultant. ‘I think it might have been more a question of retirement than redundancy. I gather he’d been around for a while.’

  ‘Yes, well maybe that was his problem. Anyway, let’s get back to the pregnancy. According to the report the first six or seven months went fine, no problems. Then around thirty weeks the patient starts to develop the first signs of pre-eclampsia with a rise in blood pressure. As far as the doctor ascertains everything else is OK. Her weight appears perfectly satisfactory, no excessive gain as usually happens with pre-eclampsic mothers, a basic external examination shows the baby to be growing well and the patient says she’s feeling regular movements. He advises her to take it easy, to rest. Fair enough. High blood pressure can often cure itself. Two weeks later her urine starts to show traces of protein. Sign two. Six days later—she’s now thirty-four weeks—he notes that she is very anxious, although still insisting that she’s feeling fine. However there is now swelling occurring in fingers and feet, although by thirty-four weeks that could be happening anyway. He orders her to bed for three days. But then the blood pressure is still high, the urine still has protein, the swelling is slightly better. According to her there are no other symptoms, no headaches or problems with vision. He decides to keep her in bed and monitor her. For the next ten days nothing changes. By now I would have had her in hospital, but he’s hanging on.’ He paused, but it was more for breath than effect. That silence was still to come. ‘Then—and I must say not before time—he sends off a blood test.’