Where There's Smoke Page 6

  In the early post-Paul days, she had tried different types of meditative techniques, from simple deep-breathing to yoga. She had abandoned them all, finding the effort of sitting still too taxing. But pounding away the miles on the treadmill, Kate found she could pass whole chunks of time either thinking about nothing at all, or concentrating on a particular problem while her body exercised itself.

  It didn't help now, though. There seemed too many strands, all plucking her in different directions at once.She had slept badly after finding the old lady the night before. The hospital had told her that morning that, as well as suffering from severe shock, Miss Willoughby had a broken hip, broken wrist and concussion. From what the police could gather, two youths, one white, one black, had knocked on her door claiming that one had been taken ill.

  Once inside, they had punched her and then ransacked every drawer in the flat. Probably looking for money for drugs, the police had said.

  Kate hammered away on the treadmill, trying to burn away some of her anger and disgust. Her emotional landscape was clouded enough as it was after the visit to the clinic. She was still unable to reconcile herself to the idea of becoming pregnant by someone she knew virtually nothing about. She had tried telling herself that there was no option, that if she was serious about having a child she would be happy to abide by the clinic's rules, and the clinic's choice. But she couldn't accept that, either.

  The running machine beeped as the programmed time elapsed. She stabbed at the touchpad again, reducing the speed until she was running at a gentle jog. She continued for a few more minutes at that pace, then gradually slowed the treadmill to a stop and stepped off. Her breathing was deep and heavy, but not laboured. She went to the water cooler and drank two paper cupfuls before going into the changing room and stripping off her sweat-soaked leotard.

  The shower jets peppered her face as she held it up to the spray. She waited until it stung, then turned off the stream and went into the wooden box of the sauna.

  The dry heat wrapped itself over her like a hot towel. The scorched air, spicy with the smell of baked pine, pricked the inside of her nose when she breathed. Another woman was sitting on the lower of the three benches, sweat running off her. She offered Kate a smile as she closed the door and stepped up to the highest bench. Kate returned it and spread her towel on the hot slats before she sat down.

  The heat bore into her. She settled back, gingerly letting her shoulders touch the hot wooden panelling. Almost immediately she could feel the water from the shower dry on her skin, and be replaced with perspiration. Through the wall, she could feel the pulse of a distant generator. Other than that, the sauna was dark and silent, separate from the world outside. She closed her eyes and let herself drift.

  "Best part of it, this, isn't it?"

  Kate opened her eyes and gave the woman an acknowledging smile, but said nothing. She wasn't in the mood for conversation. The woman, though, apparently was.

  "Do you mind if I put some water on the stones?"

  Kate opened her eyes again. "No, go ahead."

  The woman rose from the bench and went to the wooden bucket by the brazier. She took the ladle from it and poured water on the hot grey rocks. Steam gushed from them with a hiss, and Kate felt a wave of heat hit her. The woman sat down again on the lower bench. She was about Kate's age but heavily built, with large, low-hanging breasts and a loose, flabby stomach. When she leaned back, Kate saw the red striations of stretch marks running across her belly.

  "Two more minutes and I think I'm done," the woman said, amiably. She puffed out her cheeks and wiped a strand of damp hair from her forehead. "You feel as if you've sweated about a stone off just from sitting here, don't you?"

  "I wish," Kate said. The woman glanced at her and cocked an eyebrow.

  "You don't look as though you need to." She patted her stomach. The flesh of it wobbled like suet. "It's when you get one of these that you've got to worry. I was expecting to snap back into shape after I'd given birth." She grinned. "Fat chance."

  "What did you have? A girl or boy?" Kate's disinclination to talk had vanished. She tried to keep her eyes on the woman's face, but the flaccid stomach held a morbid fascination for her.

  "Both. Twins, six months old, now. We'd got it all planned, we were going to wait until we were thirty and then just have one." She chuckled. "So much for planning. And to add insult to injury I've got this as a reminder." She nodded down at the folds of flesh. "They call it an apron, would you believe? The doctors have told me I can have plastic surgery, but I thought I'd try and work it off first. I feel like telling everybody, 'I'm not really fat! This isn't my fault!'" She laughed again. "Well, I suppose it is. Serves me right for having kids in the first place. I just wish they'd warned me I could end up looking like this. I might have had second thoughts."

  "Do you think you would? Really?" Kate asked. She felt a twinge of unease, not so much from the idea of her own body changing, as the thought of regret afterwards.

  The woman wiped sweat from her forehead. "No, not really. You know what you're getting into, don't you? But if I were you I'd make the most of a flat stomach while you've got it. It's never the same afterwards, I don't care what anyone says."

  She stopped and suddenly regarded Kate. "Don't tell me you have got kids?"

  Kate was glad her face was already flushed from the heat. "No. Not yet."

  The woman laughed again. "Thank goodness for that. I'd have thought life really was unfair then!"

  She stood up. Her stomach hung in front of her like a deflated beachball. "Well, that's enough for me. Bye."

  Kate smiled as the woman left the sauna. Cool air swirled briefly against her as the door was opened and shut, then the heat closed in again. She looked down at her own stomach, taut and unlined, and tried to imagine it flabby and loose.

  She closed her eyes again and tried to relax, but the post-exercise mood was broken. When another woman entered the sauna, Kate went out to shower and dress.

  The hospital was only two tube stops away from the gym. She went through the automatic doors into the clinical atmosphere of overheated air and disinfectant with a familiar sense of apprehension. First her father, then her mother had died in hospital. Her father had lingered in a coma for weeks after being knocked down, and after that her mother had sunk into a gradual fade that ended less than a year later in the same intensive care unit, as her reluctant heart finally gave up. Since then, the long corridors and harshly lit waiting rooms of any hospital seemed to Kate like a separate world, a surprise cul-de-sac from normal life where death and bad news waited. As she went into the lift, it occurred to her that maternity hospitals were an exception. The thought cheered her, briefly, before the lift doors closed.

  The ward was long, with a central aisle running between parallel rows of beds, like a barracks. Walking down it, Kate almost went past Miss Willoughby without recognising her.

  One side of the old lady's face was a livid bruise, with stitches cutting across her forehead and cheek. The eye that had been swollen shut the night before was now the size and colour of a Victoria plum, startlingly vivid against the pale flesh and white wisps of hair. Her wig had been left behind when they had loaded her into the ambulance the night before, and without it she looked shrunken and robbed of identity.

  Kate stared at her from the bottom of the bed, shocked despite having told herself what to expect. The old lady was asleep, and Kate felt an urge to turn round and leave. But as she was wrestling with the temptation, Miss Willoughby stirred, and her single good eye slid open.

  Kate forced herself to sound cheerful. "Hello, there!"

  The old lady looked at her without recognition. Then a slow smile lit up her face. "You shouldn't have bothered to come." Her voice was slow and drowsy with painkillers. She made a feeble attempt to push herself up on her pillows, but it amounted to little.

  Kate held out the bunch of flowers she had brought. "I hope you like carnations." As she said it she saw that the old lady c
ouldn't take them with her wrist strapped up. "I'll put them in water."

  There were several empty vases by a sink at the end of the ward. Kate arranged the flowers in one and took them back to Miss Willoughby's bed. A burst of laughter came from the bed opposite, where a group of half a dozen or so visitors were clustered around an elderly woman. She was sitting propped up by pillows, surrounded with cards and flowers. Kate set down the vase on Miss Willoughby's bedside cabinet. There was nothing else on it except for a water jug and glass.

  "So, how are you?" she asked, aware that question was inane, but unable to think of anything else to say.

  "Not too bad." It was an effort for the old lady to keep her eye open. Her mouth worked as if she was thirsty. "They've pinned my hip, so that's all right. My eye hurts a little, though."

  Kate looked at the swollen flesh of her face. It made the back of her legs creep. "Can you remember what happened?"

  A slow frown crossed the old lady's face. "I can remember two young men coming to the door. Boys. They were very polite. One of them felt ill…He wanted a drink of water, so I let them in. I started to ask if they wanted tea, but…I think one of them must have pushed me…"

  Kate couldn't bring herself to say anything. Miss Willoughby moved her head slightly from side to side in a tired shake. "I can't understand it…I used to teach, but it wasn't like this…I'd got nothing for them to steal. Why do this for a few pounds?"

  "I didn't know you were a teacher," Kate said quickly, seeing her growing upset. The old woman's frown faded as older memories replaced the more recent one.

  "I taught for nearly forty years. At the same school. Girls."

  Her eye slipped shut, and Kate thought she'd fallen asleep. But a moment later she spoke again. "You wonder where it goes to, the time."

  She did doze for a while then. Another burst of laughter came from the group opposite. Kate looked over at the sprawl of generations, from the elderly woman in the bed to a toddler a girl was helping to balance on the foot of it. A middle-aged woman saw Kate looking over and smiled. Kate smiled back and looked away. She quietly pushed back her chair and stood up, but Miss Willoughby's eye twitched open again.

  "I'd better get off," Kate said, feeling as if she had been caught out. But the old lady only nodded. "Thank you for coming." Her voice was more drowsy than ever. "Lovely to see you."

  Kate felt a prick of conscience. "I'll come again. Is there anything you'd like bringing? Or anyone you want me to phone? To tell them where you are?"

  "No. No one, thank you." A worried expression crossed her face. "My plants, though…They're due for watering…"

  "Don't worry. I'll look after them."

  The old lady looked relieved. "I think the key's in there…" Her unbandaged hand jerked towards the cabinet. Kate opened it and found a key ring on top of Miss Willoughby's clothes.

  "I'll come again soon," she said, but the old lady gave no sign of having heard.

  Kate made her way out. At the entrance to the ward she looked back. The visitors surrounding the other bed were also getting ready to leave, slipping on coats in a torrent of goodnights. The elderly woman kissed them all in turn. A few feet away, Miss Willoughby lay alone. The solitary vase of carnations on the bare cabinet looked as stark as an exclamation mark.

  Kate went down the corridor to the lifts.

  CHAPTER 6

  As soon as she saw Lucy Kate could tell that something was wrong. They had arranged to meet at lunchtime in the park, where they could have a sandwich from the snack bar while Angus played. But as she approached the bench where Lucy sat, she could see that her face was flushed behind her sunglasses, her blonde hair even more unkempt than usual. Emily was at nursery school, and Angus sat alone on the grass in front of his mother, bleary-eyed and snuffling in the aftermath of recent tears as he half-heartedly played with a toy fire engine.

  The child looked at Kate through wet lashes, unsmilingly, as she greeted him and sat beside Lucy on the bench. She had been almost bursting with her own news, but now she pushed it forcibly into the background.

  "What's been going on?" she asked.

  Lucy gave a terse shake of her head. Through the dark screen of the sunglasses, her eyes were all but obscured. "Don't ask. He's feeling sorry for himself because he's had a slap."

  Angus regarded his mother tearfully. Kate looked with surprise from the red handprint on his chubby leg to Lucy. Lucy's reprimands were usually no more than stern words, and even they were rare.

  "What did he do?" she asked. "Murder somebody?"

  It was meant to lighten the situation, but Lucy's mouth tightened as she glared at her son. "Practically. We were by the pond and this little girl came up to him, just wanting to play, so he hit her on the head with his fire engine."

  Kate's mouth twitched, but it was obvious that Lucy wasn't in a laughing mood.

  "He didn't hurt her, did he?"

  "Of course he hurt her!" Lucy leaned towards him, raising her voice. "You made her head bleed, didn't you? You bad boy!"

  Angus began to cry again, covering his eyes with pudgy hands.

  "Oh, Lucy…" Kate said.

  "Don't feel sorry for him! Bullies don't deserve it!" The last was addressed to her son again. Still sobbing, he clambered to his feet and tottered towards them, arms outstretched.

  "No, I don't want you," Lucy said, as he approached her. "I don't have anything to do with bullies."

  With a heartbroken wail, the little boy turned and buried his head on Kate's legs. She could feel him quivering with the force of his sobs, and knowing Lucy wouldn't like it but unable to help herself, she reached down and picked him up. His small body was heavy and solid, radiating heat. He settled against her, burying his face against her neck. It felt hot and wet.

  "Come on, Lucy," she said, over his head. "Don't you think you're going a bit over the top?"

  Lucy didn't say anything for a moment, then some of the tension seemed to ebb from her. "Okay. Give him here."

  Sensing his mother's change in mood, Angus turned to her, holding out his arms. Lucy heaved him from Kate and set him on her knee. Kate felt a momentary sense of loss as the child was taken from her. She watched the little boy snuggle against his mother.

  "Are you sorry now?" Lucy asked, but the bite had left her voice. "You're not going to be a bully again, are you?"

  Angus shook his head, hiccuping as his sobs began to subside. Lucy smoothed his damp hair off his forehead and gave Kate a rueful smile. "You've got snot on your shoulder."

  Kate wiped it off with a tissue. She could still feel the weight of the child's body against her, like ghost pains after an amputation. "So what's really the matter?" she asked.

  Light sparked off Lucy's sunglasses, hiding her eyes. "One of Jack's clients has just gone bust. Owing us ten thousand." She broke off, looking out over the park. "We can't afford to lose that sort of money. And Jack's just upgraded all his hardware for the business." She gave a shake of her head, still not looking at Kate. "I don't know what we're going to do. We might have to sell the house."

  "Oh, Lucy, no!"

  Lucy shrugged. "It might not come to that. Jack's gone to see the bank today. But if they turn sludgy…" She didn't bother to finish.

  Kate quickly ran through her own financial situation. "I might be able to lend you something. Not ten thousand, but it might help tide you over. So you can keep the house." She knew how much Lucy and Jack loved their home. If they had to sell, they would never have anywhere like it again.

  Lucy smiled, bleakly. "Thanks, Kate. I appreciate it, but…well, let's see what the bank says, shall we?"

  She took a deep breath. "You can imagine that I wasn't in the best of moods to start with, though. And when this little monster…" she gave Angus a squeeze "…turned into Hannibal Lecter, it just capped things off nicely."

  She gave a grin. "Anyway, so much for my traumas. How's your neighbour?"

  "About the same." Kate had visited Miss Willoughby again, but the old lady di
dn't seem to have improved.

  "Have the police caught the sods who did it?"

  "Not yet. She hasn't been able to give very good descriptions, so unless they catch them doing something else it isn't very hopeful."

  Lucy shook her head. "God, doesn't it make you seethe, though? They want birching! An old woman in her eighties, and on her own too! What a way to end up."

  Kate was silent. She thought about the old lady's flat, bare of family mementoes. The only photographs on display were formal, framed ones of a school, fading pictures of Miss Willoughby with other people's children, all long since grown-up. She wondered if any of them ever remembered their old teacher. Loneliness was the smell of cooked cabbage and old age.

  "I've found a clinic," she said.

  Lucy looked startled at the change in tack. "What?"

  "I've found a clinic. To carry out the donor insemination."

  "I thought you'd given up on that idea?"

  "No. I just didn't like the thought of an anonymous donor. But I phoned the HFEA, and they said that although clinics have to keep their own donors' identity confidential, there are some that'll let you use a "known donor" instead. Someone that you know, that you've picked yourself."

  "Like who?" Lucy sounded appalled.

  "I don't know yet." It was enough for the moment that she knew it was possible.

  "For God's sake, Kate, I thought the whole idea was that you didn't want the father involved!"

  "I still don't, but that doesn't mean I don't care who he is."

  "Yes, but the point is he'll know who you are as well, won't he? I thought an anonymous donor was bad enough, but at least then you don't have to worry about what he's going to do afterwards! Supposing he changes his mind and decides it's his baby as much as yours? You're leaving yourself open for all sorts of problems!"

  "Not if I'm careful who I choose. And he'll only have the same standing as an ordinary donor. He won't be recognised as the legal father, so he won't have any rights to custody or anything. I'll just have to make sure that's clear from the start."