Youre not taking the girl, then?
No. And I wouldnt advise it, Barry. Youve no idea what a babys like. Ive raised threebarely out of nappies myself.
I wont leave her! He slammed the little cut-glass tumbler onto the table.
Barry had drunk too much. Now he sat hunched over the worn oilcloth in his sisters house, gripping the glass like it might run off.
Keep your voice down! The kids are asleep! Joan hissed. We warned you, didnt we? No mother, no in-lawsbliss! And now look where your jokes got you.
Whats that got to do with anything?
Everything. If there was at least one grandmother. But like this
Barry had a reason to drink. Not that he made a habit of itthis was only the second time since his wife died. The first was right after the funeral.
Lydia had died in childbirth. Or rather, just after.
The nurse whod taken his chocolate bar had clattered up the stairs in her worn slippers, then hurried back down.
Its a girl, Dad. Big oneeight hundred pounds.
A girl? Barry surprised himself by grinning. Hed wanted a son, hadnt he? All blokes did. But there he wasgrinning. Hows Lydia? When can I see her?
The nurse scowled, throwing up her hands. How should I know? The baby came breech. They say theres bleeding. Come back tomorrow.
Barry hadnt thought much of the bleeding. Figured it was normal. Men didnt understand these things.
He went back the next evening, after work.
Walked under the bare acacias with their twisted brown husks, past the wet rowan trees heavy with red berries, under the poplars with their bitter autumn scent. Smiled up at the windows. Maybe Lydia was up already, watching for him?
The bag wasnt heavy. The lads at work had told him what to bringfresh bread, boiled eggs, a couple of apples, grapes. Back then, they didnt fuss over what nursing mums ate.
He loitered in the corridor, handsblackened from the lathethrust in his pockets. No one told him anything.
Finally, a doctor came out.
We did everything we could. But the bleeding was severe. It happenscomplications. Im sorry
Barry stared, not understanding.
He sank onto the bench, white as a sheet. They gave him water, some drops. He drank obediently, then lifted his head.
Shes dead?
Yes. Please accept our condolences.
He nodded. Understood now. Felt awkward with all these people watching. Stood, headed for the door.
Ill Thats for her. He nodded at the bag. Oh Snatched it back. Ill go.
Wait. Well keep your daughter a little longer. Dont worry. The body will be in the morgue. When will you come?
Daughter? Oh right. His mind hadnt separated wife from baby yet. Hed brought one person here. Is she alive?
Yes, yes. Perfectly healthy. Just focus on the funeral. The baby can stay with us.
Funeral? He was lost. Right. What what do I need to do?
The truth hit him at home. Pain stabbed his heart, chewed at his skull. Ebbed, gathered strength, struck again.
Lydia His Lydia His soul refused to believe it. He hadnt protected her.
Barry was born and raised in Barrow Creek. Worked on the farm, took years to marrynever found the right one.
Then his mum died. He stayed in the house with his sisters family. Never felt at home. Joan was sharp, always tired, worn down by chores.
When they offered him a job at the factory in Riverford, he left. Thats where he met Lydia.
Young, quiet, kind. Grew up in care, but her nan lived in town. Lydia moved in after finishing school.
Barry moved in too. The old woman was bitter, worn down by lifeher daughters drinking, the men she brought home. She didnt like Barry.
The housemore of a cottagewas falling apart. Two tiny rooms, a windowless kitchen with an old bathtub Lydia had scrubbed raw, a little porch.
Worst of all, the place was rotting. Some kind of voracious mould or beetle had eaten the floors, the bottom of the walls. Chairs and tables sank into the floorboards. No matter how much they heated it, the cold seeped in. Barry replaced the floorboards, fought the thingbut it kept coming back.
The place was in the old part of town, near the market, down a quiet dead-end alley where only locals and the occasional drunk from the pub wandered.
Maybe thats why Lydias mum had drunk herself to death. Why Lydia couldnt stand the smell of alcohol.
After meeting her, Barry stopped drinking. Knew it made her cry.
Her nan warmed to himsaw he was hardworking. The house changed. Lydia, once so sad, came alive.
At the end, Barry carried the old womandried up, barely five stoneto the bath. She lay there for six months, then died quietly.
Now Barry was alone in the house. Or soon would bewith a baby girl. Nearly two months old, but the hospital couldnt keep her forever.
Hed gone to the village, begged Joan for help. She refused. Fair enoughshed just gone back to work, scraping by with her three boys. Barry offered money, but a hundred quid was tight for him too. She still said no.
Lydia had only truly lived with him. Turned out she wasnt so shy after all. Told him about the care home two years in.
They beat me on my third day, Barry.
The boys?
No. The carer. I was lively, playing about. She dragged me by my hair. Locked me in the cupboardtaught me to be quiet.
Lydia, Christ! Did they do that to all the kids?
Not all. Some came in quiet. The rest, they made that way. I was terrified of her. Hated that place. Never let my kids end up there. Never!
But Joan insistedput her in care, better than what you can give. Take her back when shes older. Barry remembered Lydias words. No. Shed grow up with him.
They gave Barry leave at the start of the year. A month to figure things out.
The nurse eyed him, torn between pity and irritation.
Wherere your hands going? Filthy! This isnt a lump of metalits a baby!
Its not dirt. Wont come off. Lathe operator.
Wash properly. Thats hospital soap.
It didnt help. She brought some solutionthe grime bubbled away.
Those arent nappies! What were you thinking? Know how to swaddle? Bathe her? Sorted the baby clinic? Oh, dear She wrapped the bundle, explaining feeding, bathing. Find a woman to help. You cant manage alone. Whats her name?
Registered her as Alexandra. Lydia wanted a boyAlex.
Sasha, then. Here. She handed him the bundle. Papers, milk. Off you go. Call a doctor if you need to.
A bottle of cold milk swung in the bag. Outside, the baby screwed up her face at the winter light, mouth round, grunting.
He felt her little bodyalive. Not a doll. Panic hit. Covered her face, headed for the bus stop. Snow crunched underfoot.
She slept. Barry sat numb.
What now? Raise, feed, change her. Figure out how to live.
He didnt love her yetthis little worm. Pretty enough. Face no longer red like at the hospital. Cheeks filling out. In his head, she was the girl. Not his.
A burden. Then
Mister! Youll drop her!
He clutched her to his chest. She smiled in her sleep. Held her tighter.
At home, terrified to unwrap her, scared of her crying. Fed her the hospital milk. When she screamed, he ran to the baby clinic. Lucky it was close.
Closed. But a worker took pity, gave him two bottles, told him to come before eleven.
Days blurred. The baby cried endlessly. He jiggled her, took her temperature, swaddled, unswaddled. She kicked, red-faced. Maybe care was better. They wouldnt hit a baby.
Her cot stood emptyshe slept with him.
Whys she always crying? The neighbourtheyd fallen out over Lydias nan.
Dunno! Like I do it on purpose!
She came over,
