You wont take the girl, then?
No. And I wouldnt advise it, Barry. You dont know what its likea newborn. But I do. Raised three of em myself, barely out of nappies
I wont leave her! Barry slammed the small cut-glass tumbler onto the table. Hed had too much to drink. Now he sat hunched over the worn oilcloth in his sisters house, clutching the empty glass.
Keep your voice down! The kids are asleep! We warned you, didnt we? But noAn orphan means no mother-in-law, what a blessing! Joked yourself right into this, didnt you? whispered Cynthia.
Whats that got to do with it?
Everything. If thered been just one grandmother. But like this
Barry had reason to drink. He didnt do it oftenthis was only the second time since his wife died. The first had been after the funeral.
His Lillian had died in childbirth. Or rather, just after.
The orderly, whod been slipped a bar of chocolate, clattered down the stairs in scuffed slippers and returned a short while later.
Its a girl, dad. Big onethree pounds, eight.
A girl? Barrys face broke into a smile. Funny. Hed wanted a son, hadnt he? All men do. Yet there he was, grinning. And Lillian? When can I see her?
The orderly grew cross. She threw up her hands. Dunno about that. The baby came breech. They say theres still some bleeding. Come back tomorrow.
Barry didnt give the bleeding a second thought. Figured it happened to all new mothers. Men dont understand these things.
He returned the next evening after his shift at the factory, walking along the fence beneath the dry acacias with their twisted brown pods, past wet rowans heavy with red clusters, under poplars that smelled bitter with autumn. He glanced up at the windows, smiling. Maybe Lillian was already on her feet, watching him approach.
The bag wasnt heavy. The lads at work had told him what to bringfresh bread, boiled eggs, apples, grapes. Back then, nursing mothers werent put on strict diets.
He loitered in the corridor for ages. No one told him anything. He shoved his blackened machinists hands into his pockets.
Finally, a doctor emerged.
We did everything we could. But the bleeding was severe. It happenscomplications after birth. My condolences
Barry listened without comprehension. What was she on about?
Pale as a sheet, he sank onto the bench. They gave him water, some drops. He drank mechanically, then looked up.
Shes dead?
Yes. Your wife has passed. Were so sorry.
He nodded. Now he understood. He felt awkward with so many people gathered around. Stood. Moved toward the door.
Ill… Here, give this to her. He gestured at the bag. Oh! He snatched it back. Ill go
Wait. Well keep the girl a bit longer. Dont worry. Your wifes body will be in the morgue. When will you come back?
The girl? Oh, right His mind still hadnt separated wife from child. Hed brought one person here. Shes alive?
Alive and healthy. The babys fine. Just just Focus on the funeral arrangements. The girl can stay with us awhile.
Funeral? He was utterly lost. Oh. Right. What needs doing?
The weight of it hit him at home. Grief came in wavessharp, stabbing his heart, gnawing at his skull. Then itd retreat, gather strength, and crash over him again.
Lillian His Lillian He hadnt protected her.
Barry had been born and raised in Barrow. Worked on a farm. Married latenever quite happened. Then his mother died, leaving him in the house with his sisters family. Uncomfortable, that. Cynthia had always been sharp, her gaze shadowed, perpetually worn out by chores.
When the factory in Riverend called, Barry left. Thats where he met Lillian.
Young, shy, kind. Shed grown up in care but lived with her gran in town after finishing school. Barry moved in too. The old woman was sour, life-worn, haunted by memories of her drunken daughter and that crowd. Shed taken against him at once.
Their housemore of a cottage, really, tacked onto a larger propertywas crumbling. Two tiny rooms, a windowless kitchen where an ancient, rust-stained tub stood, a cramped porch.
Worst of all, the place was sick, infested with some nightmare fungus or woodworm.
The creature ate through floors, the lower walls. Chair legs sank into soft wood. No matter how much they stoked the fire, the cold clung. Barry replaced floorboards, fought the thing as best he could, but it always came back.
The house stood in the old part of town near the market, down a dead-end lane only locals usedor drunks staggering from the pub.
Maybe thats why Lillians mother had turned to drink. Maybe thats why Lillian had hated even the smell of alcohol since childhood.
After meeting her, Barry hardly touched the stuff. Knew itd make her cry.
Lillians gran had softened toward him when she saw he was a worker. The house brightened. Her once-miserable granddaughter came alive.
By the end, Barry carried the withered old woman to the bath. Shed lain bedridden six months before slipping quietly away.
Now Barry Zaher, factory machinist, was alone in that house. Or would be, once he brought home the babyhis daughter. Nearly two months old now. They couldnt keep her at the hospital forever.
Hed gone back to Barrow, begged Cynthia for help. She refused. Fair enoughshed just returned to work, finally earning her proper hundred quid. With three lads, things were easier now. Then he turned up. Barry meant to send money, but a hundred was steep for him too. Still, he promised. She wouldnt budge.
Lillian had only truly lived with him. Turned out she wasnt so timid after all. It took two years before she opened up about the childrens home.
They beat me on the third day, Barry.
Boys?
No. A carer. I was cheeky, playful. She dragged me by the hair. Locked me in a cupboardtaught me to be quiet.
Christ, Lillian! They do that to kids?
Some. Not all. Some come in quiet. The rest, they make that way. After that, I was scared. Like a mouse. I hate that place. My kids will never end up there. Never.
Cynthia insistedput her in care. Better than you can manage. Take her back when shes older But Barry remembered Lillians stories. No. His girl would stay with him.
They gave Barry leave at the start of the year. A month to figure things out.
An older nurse eyed him, torn between pity and irritation.
Where dyou think youre putting those hands? Black as soot! This isnt a lathe, you knowits a baby!
Its not dirt. Wont wash off Im a machinist.
Not clean? No baby. Go onsoap.
Soap didnt work. She brought some medical solution. The grime bubbled away.
Call those nappies? Thought youd bring something! Know how to swaddle? Bathe her? Signed up for the baby clinic? Oh, youre hopeless, she fretted, wrapping the child, explaining basics. Find a woman to help. Youll never manage alone. Whats her name?
Already registered. Lillian wanted a boyAlex. So shes Alexandra. Alexandra Barry.
Sandy, then. Right. The nurse lifted the bundle. Papers, milk, then off you go. Any troublecall a doctor.
A bottle of cold milk swung in his string bag. Outside, the winter light made the baby screw up her face. Her little mouth opened. A faint grunt.
He felt the warmth of her. Only then did fear hit. She was alive. Not a doll Barry shielded her face and headed for the bus stop. Snow crunched underfoot.
The baby slept. Barry sat numb.
What waited at home? What next? Raising, feeding, changing How to live?
No great love for this worm yet, though she was pretty enough. Less red-faced than when hed first seen her. Cheeks plumping. In his mind, she was the girl. Not his.
He carried home something squirming, troublesome. On the bus, his grip slackened.
Mister! Youll drop her! a woman
