Читать книгу Trust Me - Angela Clarke, Angela Clarke - Страница 25

That night she’d taken down the box from its shelf. It wasn’t pretty, like she really deserved, but it was waterproof and fireproof. A safe box. A safe place for her to be. She slipped off the chain she wore under her shirt and pushed the small gold key into the padlock. It was silly keeping it locked, really. No one else lived here, no one else would begrudge her this, but she preferred to keep it personal. It was a secret between her and her girl.

Gently she opened the lid. Her senses greedy for it, she reached in, pulled out the small knitted blanket and held it to her nose. She could smell her: her baby. She closed her eyes. She was back in the hospital room again.

So happy and so sad, all at once. Light seemed to pour from Tegbee, her big brown eyes staring up at her. Her eyelashes were so long, and she had a dusting of hair that curled round her scalp like silk. She was the prettiest, most beautiful baby she’d ever seen. And she was hers. She’d made this little miracle. She stroked her full cheeks as the girl blinked. She didn’t even cry. Only grizzled once, but she stopped when Kate started to sing to her. Hush little baby, don’t say a word, mama’s going to buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don’t sing, mama’s going to buy you a diamond ring. The doctors must have made a mistake. There couldn’t be anything wrong with a child who was so perfect.

Kate opened her eyes: don’t think of that bit. Don’t think of the pain. Not tonight, not now. Carefully, she laid the blanket on the table. She hadn’t had a drink since the night she’d seen the video, but today was a special occasion. Regardless of everything else going on, she would still celebrate. As if she were here. The bottle was chilling in the fridge, still wrapped in its blue tissue paper from the deli. Only the best for my girl. She opened the cupboard where she kept her best china and took down one of the crystal flutes her sixth formers had presented her with on their graduation.

‘That was the year we lost three boys,’ she said out loud. ‘One to leukaemia, and two to juvenile detention.’ She unfurled the tissue paper and loosened the safety cap of the bottle. ‘But it was also the first year that one of our students made it into Oxford.’ She held the cork, twisting the bottle. ‘His name was Dwayne Haden. You would have liked him.’ The cork popped and a stream of bubbles frothed out of the bottle. She laughed as she caught the fizz in her glass. Then she poured one more and took them both back to the table.

Under the blanket was the onesie Tegbee had worn on that first day. She’d buried her in the christening dress that had belonged to Kate’s mother. They’d had to take Kate’s womb out when Tegbee had arrived; she knew there’d be no more children. She lifted out the photos. Her and her baby smiling. You could she had her father’s eyes. But Tegbee’s lips were from her mum. Sometimes she couldn’t help imagining what she would look like now. She’d be so beautiful. Tall like her dad. Would she love the same books as her? She’d planned on sharing her favourite films with her little girl, curling up on the sofa with her in her arms. Reading to her at night. When she was older they would have spent summers in Ghana and the States; she was going to teach her all about her heritage. The bubbles rose in the glass and popped. Kate lowered her flute and clinked it against the one on the table.

‘Happy nineteenth, baby girl.’