She just knew it. She was standing up, grabbing her bag, her coat.
‘He’s done it again,’ Phil said. ‘Another murder.’
Fenwick stood up too.
‘Marina,’ said Phil, looking at Fenwick. ‘Not you. Sir.’
He didn’t wait for a reply; just turned and hurried away.
Fenwick sat down again. Stayed where he was.
52
Hester held the baby in her arms and smiled. She was a proud mother again.
She had wiped most of the blood off it with an old rag that she had washed out and dried specially for use with the baby. It was smothered in blankets and she was sitting by the heater so it would keep warm. She wasn’t going to make the same mistakes again. That was what life was, she had read somewhere or seen on TV or something, a learning process. So that was what she was doing. Learning how to take care of the baby.
Her husband had been buzzing when he brought the baby to her. She had never felt him so alive. The hunt, he had said. The hunt had done it. She didn’t care. All she wanted was the baby. He had stayed around afterwards, like he was so full of energy he couldn’t go anywhere else. But he had, eventually.
Somehow she didn’t think this baby was going to be as weak as the last one. It was bigger for a start, moving its arms and legs round more. It even had its eyes open a bit. And it was a girl. She had checked. She had smiled when she saw, giggled.
‘My husband’s going to like you,’ she said, still smiling and giggling.
Then felt something wrench inside her at the thought. Something dark and sad. She hoped he wouldn’t. That might mean he went off her. Then she might be abandoned. For the baby. She would have to watch it grow, knowing that it was going to replace her. That couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t allow it. Better to not be a mother at all than be a mother betrayed.
The darkness and sadness inside her crystallised, hardened at the direction her thoughts were taking. Her face twisted with sudden anger. She stared at the baby, breathing hard.
‘You’d better not,’ she said. ‘You’d better fuckin’ not…’
The baby just lay there, trying to look round, its arms and legs doing their jerky, spasming movements. She tried not to be angry with it. Because that was all in the future. That was to come. First there was the here and now. There was motherhood. There was bringing up baby.
She sat there looking at it. She didn’t know how long for. Eventually all the anger drained out of her, leaving just a placid, calm look on her face. Her body was still again, her breathing even and shallow. She wasn’t angry. She was a mother again. Just a mother. And this was the time she should spend with her baby. Bonding time. Special time.
After all, that was why she had gone to the trouble of getting the babies the way she did. So they came straight out of their surrogate and into her arms. No time to bond with anyone else. Hers from the start.
The baby’s face began to twist. Hester knew what would be next. Crying. Then wailing. She knew what to do this time.
‘You hungry, eh? Want feedin’? Want some milk? I’ll get it for you.’
She stood up, put the baby down on the armchair she had been sitting in. It writhed and screamed. She crossed to the kitchen, the screaming seeming to follow her.
‘It’s all right, Mummy’s warmin’ your milk now…’
She put the bottle in the microwave. It was old, rusting at the edges, the enamel chipped, the buttons worn and it made no sound any more, but it seemed to still work okay. Still heated things up.
The baby kept wailing. Hester tried to placate it while she waited for the microwave to do its work, but the baby wouldn’t stop. She sighed. She had forgotten about that. In so short a space of time, she had forgotten. How it was at that certain pitch to cut right through you. Down to the bone, in your head. That loud, insistent wail. Even when it stopped you could still hear it. Hester felt anger rise inside her once more.
‘It’s coming…’
But the baby didn’t understand. Or if it did understand, that didn’t make it stop. Just kept on wailing. Hester watched the microwave, waiting for it to ping. That wailing…
‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ If it was going to do that all the time… She remembered how the last one had been, crying, shouting, screaming… she hated that. Had wanted to kill it. If this one kept doing the same…
The microwave pinged. She flung open the door, grabbed the milk. The bottle felt a bit hot to the touch. Hester didn’t care. She crossed the room, picked up the baby, put it on her lap, stuck the end of the bottle in its mouth. The baby’s eyes widened in surprise, then it started sucking. It took one mouthful, two, then spat it out, milk running down the sides of its face.
Hester felt anger clouding in again, her face twisting in rage once more. ‘What’s this about? Eh? You said you were hungry.You wanted feedin’. Here it is.’
She tried again, pushing the teat in once more. The hot liquid ran down the baby’s cheeks again. Hester’s anger increased.
‘Have it… have it…’
The baby wouldn’t take it.
Hester looked at the baby, at the bottle, didn’t know what to do. Emotions were tumbling through her, so fast she couldn’t recognise them, catch them. Anger, fear, impotence. She looked once more at the baby, the bottle…
She stood up. Put the baby on the seat once more, the bottle beside it. The baby’s flailing arm knocked the bottle over. Milk began to ooze out, soaking the blanket the baby was wrapped in.
Hester didn’t care. Couldn’t think about that. She had to get out. Get away from the baby and its incessant wailing.
She opened the side door, stepped out into the yard. It was dark now and still bitterly cold. The air carried the threat of rain or worse, snow. But Hester didn’t care. She would take all that just to get away from the baby. From that noise, that need…
She took a deep breath, let it out as one long sigh. She looked across the river to the lights from the port. Ships would be coming in, going out once more. No screaming babies there. Just the vast, open water. The sea. The ocean. Calm. How Hester wanted to be there, to be miles away from here.
She sighed. It wasn’t the first time she had thought that in her life. It wasn’t the first time she had thought that this week. But she knew that even though all that was just over the river, it may as well have been a million miles away. On another planet, even. She would never go there, not even to the port, let alone over the sea. Here was where she was from. And here she would stay.
Her sister had escaped. Or tried to. She closed her eyes. Didn’t want to think of her sister again. Of the night she got away. Of the night she became Hester. No. All that horror, that screaming, wailing… No. Don’t think of it. Too upsetting.
Yeah, her father had said. Her sister had got away all right. Got away for ever. Hester knew what that meant. And what she had to do. So she had stayed.
Hester sighed. From inside, she could hear the baby still screaming. She closed her eyes, willed it away, but it was no good. She opened her eyes again. Her husband was there.
‘The baby,’ she said, ‘it’s the baby. I can’t…’ She was about to say ‘cope’, but she knew her husband wouldn’t like that. Would think her weak, maybe even try to get rid of her, replace her. She thought again of the baby. Her possible replacement. She definitely wouldn’t tell him those thoughts. Didn’t want to give him ideas.
She couldn’t answer, just shook her head.
‘Can’t… can’t you do it?’
