Bad Blood. Julie Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ about the mess Christine was in, she found herself really appreciating her mother.

      Not to mention understanding the background to the extreme way Lizzie had reacted, even as she’d been completely appalled. Lizzie was clearly reeling. She’d been that blind about Mo – was still that blind, clearly. She’d obviously had not the tiniest inkling what Mo had been up to, so he’d obviously covered his tracks well. He was a master – had effectively washed his hands of Christine, and carried on, business as usual, with her mother. And as for Christine – Josie sighed; it was all such a needless mess, this – she’d simply buried her head in the sand.

      But Christine was still a child. That was the crux of it. An innocent. Something Josie hadn’t been in a long time. And a victim, every bit as much as if Mo had raped her, rather than just seduced her. Something Josie still wasn’t ruling out. The five years that separated them in age suddenly seemed like a gulf, with Josie, so much older and world-wearier and wiser – and Christine, for all that she too was now a mum, still on the other side. She’d been seduced by a fucking expert and was now about to pay the price. It was all a bit of a ball scratcher, as their Vinnie would say.

      Christine started, shaken awake from a half-sleep. She opened her eyes to see one of the nurses trundling up the ward, on her way round with her box of tricks on wheels. Temperature. Blood pressure. Have you needed a pee yet?

      She turned towards the cot, seeing but still not quite believing. Not even a full afternoon had passed since her baby had been born and here he was, already denied a grandmother and homeless. They both were. She tried to chase the thought away. What a life you’ve been born into, she thought wretchedly, as she looked at him. He was opening and closing his eyes, as if trying out being alive and not yet being sure about it. And why wouldn’t he?

      Christine glanced across at Josie, who was reading a magazine in the visitor’s chair, and remembered her question about whether she’d not considered getting rid of it. Him. Not ‘it’. Him. She shouldn’t have said that, not now he’d been born. Christine knew Josie would brood on that now.

      As if reading her thoughts, Josie glanced up and slapped the magazine pages back together. She glanced up at the clock, high on the wall. ‘Good doze?’ she asked Christine. ‘Look, I need to be heading home soon, mate,’ she added. ‘Mam’ll be doing her nut if I don’t get my skates on. Question now, though, is what are we going to do with you? Because it certainly seems you’ve got your wish to get away from her, doesn’t it? But to where? That’s the thing. Where will you go?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Christine admitted. ‘But if they need a new address to discharge me to, I was thinking I’ll give them Nicky’s. I was thinking I might ask him if I can move in with him – not permanently,’ she added, watching Josie’s expression become increasingly horrified, ‘not for ever. Just for a bit. Just for the first couple of weeks, for when the community midwife does her visits.’

      ‘Your Nicky?’ Josie looked aghast at this development. ‘Who I don’t need to remind you lives with the world’s druggiest druggy! Seriously, Chrissy, move in with him and Brian? Are you mad?’ Her voice was growing shriller. ‘Think about the midwife! What she’d see. What she’d think! She’d have the social on you before you’ve even changed a nappy, you div. You can’t go there!’

      Christine looked at her friend, feeling a mixture of anger and exasperation. It was all very well Josie stating the bleeding obvious – which she was; she was under no illusions where her brother was concerned. But didn’t she get it? Where else could she and the baby go? She said so.

      ‘So it has to be Nicky’s,’ she reminded her friend irritably. ‘Because at least Nicky cares.’ And she believed that. Whatever else was true, she had never stopped believing that. Even if she knew he’d be less than pleased to see them.

      Josie sighed heavily. ‘Oh, Chris …’ she began, in a tone that made it sound like Christine had suggested they relocate to one of the benches down by the market. ‘Oh, Chris, you can’t …’ She trailed off, running a hand along the baby’s cot. ‘Mate, look … I tell you what … God, I shouldn’t even be suggesting this. My Eddie’s a bloody saint, but he’s still only human … but –’

      ‘No,’ Christine said, shaking her head. ‘We’ll be fine. I told you, I’m going to ask Nicky if he’ll have us. Which he will, so there’s no need –’

      ‘Yes there is,’ Josie said, leaning forward towards the bed. ‘It’s not your Nicky – it’s that druggy bloody mate of his. You really want your beautiful baby around him?’

      Of course not, Christine thought, her eyes smarting with tears now. Of course she bloody didn’t! But what choice did she have?

      She tried to say so but the words caught in her throat, panic bubbling underneath them, like a welling tide.

      ‘You’re coming to us.’ Josie put a hand up, even as she said it. ‘Don’t start. Not for ever. Just for a couple of weeks, till the midwife’s finished with you.’

      ‘Josie, no,’ Christine said again, reaching for a tissue. ‘What about your Eddie? Jose, he’ll freak.’

      ‘He’ll do as he’s bloody told. No. That’s that. So no arguments. You tell the midwife that you’re coming to live with us, okay? And while you’re with us, we can go down the social and see about getting a flat for you. Because they’ve got to give you one. You are technically homeless now, after all.’

      It was like the sun coming out when you were expecting rain all day. Almost too bright to bear. ‘Oh, Josie, really?’ she said.

      ‘Really.’ Josie leaned over and hugged Christine. ‘I don’t know why I even dithered about it. Some friend I’d bloody be if I couldn’t put you up in your hour of need.’

      ‘Only if you are absolutely sure,’ Christine said, feeling the tears come again. ‘Oh Josie, and I bet little Paula will love it – love him.’

      Josie looked down at the baby. ‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ she said, smiling. ‘She’s a toddler, don’t forget. And used to getting all the attention, as well. Throw this one into the mix, and it could easily mean tears before bedtime. Speaking of which, now you know it’s a boy, have you decided on a name?’

      Christine had been reluctant to be drawn on the matter of names up to now. Oh, she’d thought about it plenty. Rolled names round her tongue like they were marbles. But to actually voice any preference … She had always been much too frightened to do that. Suppose something had gone wrong? On top of everything else – everything that was already wrong in her life, suppose in this – this one thing that was hers, her choice and responsibility … No, she’d definitely not decided on a name.

      But now she smiled at Josie. ‘Joey,’ she said, getting the syllables out at last. Liking the sound of the name, too, as she spoke it. She said it again. ‘Joey.’

      ‘That’s perfect,’ Josie said. ‘He looks just like a Joey, too. And I’m glad you haven’t come over all Bob Marley and given him a Jah name.’

      Christine laughed, brushing the tears away, letting the happiness catch hold of her. She knew it would only be fleeting, so she grabbed at it hungrily. She was young, fit and strong. So was he. They’d be okay. ‘No, it’s definitely Joey,’ she said, ‘after this lad I fancied at school – Joey Brearton. He never knew I bleeding existed, but I always liked his name.’

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