Pop Goes the Weasel

88

The rain fell steadily and hard. It was attacking the city, not cleansing it, bouncing up off the pavement in angry bursts. Deep puddles were forming, blocking her path, but she didn’t hesitate, marching straight through them. Water seeped into her trainers, soaking her aching feet, but she didn’t stop. If she hesitated, she would lose her nerve and turn back.

She was frozen to the bone, her head pounding, her body screaming as the shock began to wear off. She was sure that she stood out like a sore thumb and quickened her pace. The faster she walked, the less she limped. She had a hoody on and a baseball cap too, but still an observant passer-by would clock the heavy bruising around her eyes and nose. She had a cover story ready, but she didn’t really trust herself to speak. So she marched on.

Eventually the building came into view. Instinctively she hesitated – through fear? Shame? Love? – then hurried towards it. She had no idea what to expect, but she knew that this was the right thing to do.

The place looked drab but friendly. She hammered on the door and waited, casting around to see if anyone was watching. But there was no one. She was alone.

No answer. She hammered again. For God’s sake, every second made this worse.

This time she heard footsteps. She stepped away from the door, bracing herself for what was to come.

The door slowly opened and a stout, matronly figure emerged. She looked at the hooded figure and paused.

‘May I help you?’ Her tone was polite but cautious. ‘I’m Wendy Jennings. Have you come to visit someone?’

In response, the woman pulled back her hood and removed her cap. Wendy Jennings gasped.

‘Dear God. Come inside, you poor girl. You need to have that looked at.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Come on now. Don’t be afraid.’

‘I don’t want anything for me.’

‘Then what do you want?’

‘This.’

She unzipped her coat and brought out the soft bundle that had been hidden inside. Wendy looked down at the slumbering baby, swaddled in a warm blanket, and realized what was being offered to her.

‘Take it, for God’s sake,’ the woman hissed.

But now Wendy Jennings was drawing back.

‘Listen, dear, I can see you’re in trouble but we can’t take your baby just like that.’

‘Why not? This is a children’s home, isn’t it?’

‘Yes of course, but -’

‘Please don’t make me beg.’

Wendy Jennings flinched at the tone. There was real distress there but anger too.

‘I can’t care for her any more,’ the woman continued.

‘I see that and I understand, I really do, but there are ways of doing these things. Procedures we have to follow. The first thing we have to do is call the social services.’

‘No social services.’

‘Let me call an ambulance then. Get you seen to and then we can talk about your baby.’

It was a trap. Had to be. She had hoped she would find someone good here, someone she could trust, but there was nothing for her here. She turned on her heel.

‘Where are you going?’ Wendy shouted. ‘Stay, please, and let’s talk about it.’

But she didn’t respond.

‘I mean you no harm.’

‘Like fuck you don’t.’

She hesitated, then turning took a big step forward and spat in Wendy Jennings’s face.

‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’

She marched off down the street without looking back, her baby clutched to her chest. Tears streamed down her face – fat, hopeless tears of impotence and rage.

Her last chance had gone. Her last shot at redemption.

Now there was only death.