Page 63 of Take Me Home
She stopped again, fighting furiously to maintain her composure. ‘I think watching and waiting is over. But I’m not ready, Sophie. I’m just not damn well ready.’
I could have offered some platitudes. Reassurances that, with such a small chance, maybe it was the menopause, or something else simple and straightforward to treat.
But even in the three weeks since arriving at Riverbend, I’d seen Hattie changing. Becoming weaker, slower, the spark that had entranced me when we’d first met growing dimmer.
‘Would you like me to come with you to the doctor?’
‘Oh, darling, that is definitely not part of the job description.’
I reached across and took hold of her hand. ‘No. But it’s part of being a friend.’
22
‘Right.’ Hattie managed a smile once we’d cried, and chatted some more about the potential prognosis, and what that would mean going forwards. ‘Let’s get back to the project before I’m too enfeebled to manage the stairs.’
It took a lot of hunting through the remaining boxes before Hattie found what she’d been looking for. Wrapped up in tissue paper, tucked inside an old plastic bag. A blanket, the exact same colour as Hattie’s eyes. Riverbend blue.
‘It was for my baby. The only thing I had to give them, apart from, you know, stuff like bones and blood and ten fingers and toes. But then, here it is, and here I am. Once again, I have my father to thank for a Riverbend loss.’
* * *
Riverbend
Hattie was torn in two. Aidan’s baby growing inside her was like a secret promise. The hope of a future together, away from her father and the Hunter family in a place where the three of them could be free.
But whenever she indulged these fantasies, the ugly, sticky truth would eventually seep in. How could two sixteen-year-olds fend for themselves, let alone care for a child?
Occasionally, Aidan would try to discuss it. He would get a job. She could sell more paintings. They’d move far away, find a cheap place to rent…
‘We can do it, Hattie,’ he urged, clasping her hands tightly, eyes shining. ‘We’ve both learned how to live on next to nothing. You, me, and our baby.’ He couldn’t help smiling. ‘I know the timing isn’t great, but maybe this is the incentive we need to get away from them.’
‘I don’t know.’ The lump of anxiety pushing at her ribs – a constant companion these days – made it difficult to get the words out. ‘Babies need a lot of things. If I’m going to paint, I need a lot. What are we supposed to do: simply jump on a train, get off somewhere and then knock on doors until we find a place to rent?’
‘Once we’ve decided where to go, we can look at the rental ads in local newspapers. I’ll go first, find us something. If we save what we can between now and then, we can pay a deposit and have enough left over to buy what we need.’
As the weeks went by, and Hattie’s constant nausea was replaced with the soft flutters of tiny limbs, their discussions intensified. She felt certain her father would never let her remain at Riverbend with a baby even if she’d wanted to. And there was no space at the Hunter’s dilapidated cottage, even if raising their child amongst career criminals was an option.
She wondered if there was anyone else who could help. There was no one on her mother’s side of the family, and she rarely saw her uncle Chester and his wife. Besides, Uncle Chester had a serious illness. Leonard always made snide remarks about how he wouldn’t be around that long. The last thing they needed was their estranged pregnant niece turning up on their doorstep, let alone the uproar that would follow once Leonard found out.
Aidan was right. The only answer was to disappear. She honestly believed her father wouldn’t even care, if it weren’t for losing out on the money she handed over each week.
But leaving Riverbend? The forest and the fields? Her mother’s kitchen garden, and the sunset on the water?
Leaving it in the callous hands of her excuse for a father would be unbearable, if it weren’t for the sake of her and Aidan’s baby.
More days than not, she simply wished that he would drink himself to death. Then Riverbend would be hers, and all their problems answered. But as a back-up plan, all they could do was keep squirrelling away every penny they could scrape together. Hattie had started to sketch baby animals – it didn’t take a genius to figure out why – and the ducklings, fox cubs and tiny otters were proving so popular that, alongside her studies and the ongoing challenge of living with her father, she could barely keep up with demand. However, for the first time, tension hovered between her and Aidan. His restless optimism clashed with the weary hopelessness that dogged her every step.
He did his best to lift her spirits, arriving at the chapel with gifts such as a handful of bath salts to soothe her backache, a book he’d found at a jumble sale or a posy of autumn foliage. He showed her pictures of tiny, terraced cottages with handkerchief gardens in faraway places such as Northumberland or Norfolk. One day, after his sister-in-law had a clear-out, he brought a binbag of newborn clothes and other baby things.
Hattie took one look at a wooden rattle covered in teeth marks and burst into tears.
‘I’m so tired,’ she wept as Aidan cradled her on his lap, squashed into the armchair. ‘Tired of feeling like, however hard I try, it’s never going to be enough. I know what it’s like to be hungry and cold, and worried all the time. I don’t want that for my baby.’
‘Our baby,’ Aidan whispered, reminding her that she wasn’t alone.
‘I can’t believe I was so stupid,’ she sobbed. ‘I just want to go back to how it was. I can’t do this, Aidan. I can’t be a mother!’
His whole body stiffened. ‘What are you saying?’
