Bad Blood. Julie Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ way, a shame.

      Either way, Lizzie Parker was on the warpath, and she needed to catch her.

Chapter 3

      It didn’t take long. Though Lizzie had obviously had sufficient presence of mind to present a calm, motherly exterior at the reception, Josie was still outside the post-natal ward when she first picked up more familiar tones. What was the stupid woman thinking of? Turning up there, hanging out all her dirty washing in public? No, she might not give a flying fuck about who heard the torrent of abuse she intended for Christine, but did she not have sufficient pride to worry about how it would make her look? Like a pissed-up old fishwife with a mouth like a sewer – and it was odds on there’d be someone in earshot who’d know of her, even if they didn’t know her personally.

      But it was clearly too late to try and lead her away and talk some sense into her. As Josie approached the double doors, she was already behind a small gathering of nurses, who were hurrying to the scene in a blur of blue.

      She spotted Lizzie right away. It wasn’t difficult, as she was dressed to be noticed, in spray-on drainpipes and a clingy long-sleeved vest top. And Josie could tell from her stance that she was as drunk as she’d sounded on the phone – slightly wide-footed, as if recently dismounted from a horse. The same stance she remembered from her own childhood, when her mam had returned from a lunchtime session down the pub. She’d stand in front of the mantelpiece, randomly prodding her hair, and trying to focus sufficiently to apply her signature blood-red lipstick. Like a kid holding a crayon and trying to colour inside the lines. One of the reasons Josie never adorned her own mouth.

      Christine was still in bed. She’d given birth less than two hours ago, for fuck’s sake! And to the side, standing protectively in front of both mother and baby (and looking like she’d happily deal with any nonsense) stood a nurse – senior by the looks of it, probably the ward sister – with her hands held out in front of her, at chest height. She put Josie in mind of a football referee trying to stop an angry forward starting on a defender.

      She hurried up. Touched Lizzie’s arm, which was immediately shaken off. ‘Lizzie, it’s me,’ she hissed. ‘Will you please calm the fu—’ she quickly swallowed the expletive – ‘down!’

      Lizzie glanced at her, but only briefly. She was already engaged in conversation with the nurse, clearly. ‘Of course I’m going to fucking leave!’ she was saying. ‘Does it look like I want to stay here? I’ve seen everything I need to see, thank you very much. And, yes,’ she added, in response to some pointed nodding and gesticulating by the nurse to one of the others, ‘feel free to call whoever the fuck you like, love. I am outta here,’ she finished dramatically. Josie rolled her eyes. Had she heard that expression off the telly? ‘And as for you, you little bitch –’ she stabbed a burgundy-tipped finger in Christine’s direction – ‘don’t even think about coming back home.’

      Christine, whey-faced and visibly shaking, said nothing in response to this.

      The nurse did. ‘Mrs Parker!’ she exploded. ‘That’s enough!’

      Josie became aware now of the occupants of the two other beds in the bay. Both young-looking. Both wide-eyed. One with a hand to her mouth. There was the sound of a baby crying. Christine’s baby, she realised. She saw her friend glance at the cot. Watched Lizzie’s eyes swivel too, towards the source of the noise. Josie touched her arm again. Grabbed onto it more firmly this time. Was she bloody going or wasn’t she? The nurse was moving towards her, perhaps to take hold of her other arm.

      The nurse didn’t, though. She just strode up and was right in Lizzie’s face. ‘Out.’ She didn’t raise her voice now. She didn’t need to. A noise from behind alerted Josie to the reason why – the arrival of more support. She let Lizzie go and glanced backwards, relieved. She wouldn’t put it past Lizzie to engage in a spot of brawling, but perhaps not with the three burly young porters who were now approaching.

      Lizzie wasn’t done yet, however. Stepping round the nurse, presumably keen to add a pithy parting shot, she headed straight for her daughter. But then turned her head away again and, as if on impulse, cleared her throat.

      Oh, no …

      Josie realised what she was about to do, and reached out in vain to stop it happening. Too late. As Christine’s expression changed from fear to disgust, Lizzie filled her mouth, noisily, and then spat into the cot. ‘That thing? My grandson?’ she said. ‘Not fucking likely.’

      She even laughed – a weird, almost Disney-esque moment, Josie thought – as, like the bad fairy godmother, she was quickly escorted out, and everyone was suddenly talking all at once.

      Thankfully, Lizzie’s phlegm missed the baby’s face by inches. A new blanket was fetched. Both cot and baby were changed. And after an intense round of chatter – the sister and Josie comforting Christine, the junior nurses reassuring the other mothers – within no more than fifteen minutes the ward was once again quiet and orderly, the echoes of the whirlwind that had so recently invaded it reduced to memories (and gossip, for when new visitors came) of the unpleasant scene that had been witnessed.

      Christine was shaken, but surprisingly sanguine on the surface, but then, she’d just given birth and was shattered, no doubt. Josie suspected it would only properly hit her later. There was also the small matter of expectation and familiarity. Lizzie had always been fiery. Had always had a temper. She wore her heart on her sleeve, said what she thought, and Josie couldn’t recall a time when she’d cared the slightest jot who happened to hear her.

      But this was rich, even for her – this thing had clearly sent her reeling. Which made Josie anxious; could she really be that blind about Mo? As for Christine herself, perhaps now, for all the excruciating embarrassment, she was relieved it was done now, finally over, this secret that she’d been carrying. A weight that, emotionally, must have felt almost as big as the baby’s. Which, positive though it was, still frustrated Josie greatly – why on earth hadn’t she confided in her?

      Still, that was done now, and Josie knew she could only follow Christine’s lead. Perhaps she’d always known, after all, how her mum was going to react. Perhaps things were panning out entirely as she’d expected.

      Well, from Christine’s point of view, perhaps, but certainly not the nurse’s. Who was indeed the ward sister. And a ward sister who now had a problem.

      And once tea had been bought – the hospital trolley having rattled up in timely fashion – it was one she was keen to address. And in doing so (and this was unusual, so a testament to the difficulty of the situation) she was only too happy to include Josie. The problem was simple and quick to establish; that, from the sound of it, Christine – and her baby – had nowhere to go.

      ‘Which leaves us with a problem, my love,’ she told Christine gently. ‘Because I can’t discharge you till I know you have an address to be discharged to. And, with the best will in the world – and I obviously don’t know the circumstances in the way you both do – I can’t see your mother coming round. And that’s assuming we were entirely comfortable with you taking the baby there anyway. Which, given what we’ve just witnessed’ – she grimaced – ‘I’m not entirely sure we are.’

      Christine shook her head. ‘No, that’s fine. I don’t want anything to do with her ever again. For as long as she lives,’ she added, for good measure.

      So now what? Josie was conscious of time marching on. What СКАЧАТЬ