Cath Staincliffe - Trio

He moved it and Theresa straddled the chair. She tried to relax, to let her body rest before the next flood of pain.

Four hours later she began to push, on the bed now but not strapped up. Kneeling on one knee and holding tight to Craig and to one of the midwives. She was thinking maybe a Caesarean wasn’t such a bad idea.

‘I can see the head!’ Craig yelled. ‘Oh, Tess…’

The child slid out and Theresa was aware of the bustle of activity, and the shaking of her legs. She closed her eyes, momentarily drunk with relief. When she opened them again she looked down at the infant, red limbs performing a jerky dance, the small face mobile and alert, huge eyes. They helped her to sit back on to the bed and handed her the baby.

‘A wee girl,’ Craig said.

‘Is she all right?’ She was desperate now to know, her eyes checking ears and fingers for anything missing, anything not properly formed.

‘She’s perfect.’

‘Hello.’ She stared at the baby. ‘Craig.’ She turned to him, her face wet with tears, screwed tight with emotion. ‘Look at her.’

‘She’s beautiful.’ Craig cleared his throat.

‘No,’ she squeaked. She shook her head and tears coursed down her face.

‘What is it?’

She wept, trying to swallow enough to allow her to speak. ‘She looks like me.’ She took a shuddering breath.

‘Of course she does.’

‘No,’ she said again, her voice high and out of control. ‘You don’t understand. She looks like me. That’s never happened before. It’s the first time I’ve ever known anybody who looks like me.’ And she began to cry helplessly again.

Megan Marjorie

Nina

Nina

‘We’ve been up half the bloody night. Your mother’s been lying up there worrying herself sick and you waltz in, half-cut and stinking like a brewery.’ As he yelled the chords in his neck stood out like ropes, his face was purple and some spit flew out.

Maybe he’d have a stroke. She was ashamed of the thought but what the hell. She was sick of him.

‘Said I’d be late.’ She tried not to mix her words up. She was going to throw up. Vodka and barley wine. Rotten mix. ‘I need the loo.’

‘I haven’t finished!’ he thundered. ‘You’re fifteen-’

‘Dad, please.’ Her mouth filled with saliva.

‘Midnight. We said midnight.’

‘Sorry,’ she managed. She lurched towards the stairs but it was too late, she retched and a stream of vomit hit the carpet.

‘Sweet Jesus!’ he cursed.

‘Toilet. Now!’ Marjorie appeared at the top of the stairs.

Pressing her hands over her mouth, Nina ran up to the bathroom, her oesophagus contracting in preparation for the next eruption.

Her mother followed her and filled the basin while Nina hung over the toilet. When she’d emptied herself she wiped the strings of saliva from her chin and flushed it all away. She washed her hands and face. Marjorie said nothing.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll clear it up.’

‘I know your idea of clearing up. It’ll need bicarb to get the smell out and Dettol I shouldn’t wonder. Go get yourself to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.’

She couldn’t resist the dig, thought Nina as she brushed her teeth. Her mother was always on about clearing up and being clean and tidy. As if being good at dusting or bloody ironing was in any way important. It was pathetic. And Stephen never had to do any of it, did he?

She drank some water. Her throat was raw and the sharp smell of sick clung to her. Shame. It’d been a good night until she’d had to come back here. They’d got into the Ritz, she and Chloe. They’d plastered loads of make-up on, it wasn’t hard to pass for eighteen, they’d even memorised false birth dates in case they got asked.

They’d got off with two blokes from Warrington way. When they left the club the blokes were planning to drive back but it was obvious that all four of them wanted something else before they left. ‘Bit of kissing and cuddling,’ Grant had said to her. They’d all sat in the car and shared a joint. It was grass and smelt like hay, which struck Nina as hilarious after a few tokes. Then Grant had taken her round the back, where there was a little alleyway. Chloe and John got to stay in the car, which was his dad’s.

They’d done it standing up against the wall. Knee trembler. He went on longer than Gary had ever managed and it was all right, but when he kissed her it was like he was hoovering.

After, on the all-night bus back, Chloe had told her that John had wanted to lick her down there. She’d said no. Nina wondered what it would feel like. She couldn’t remember much else about getting home.

In her room she threw her clothes on the chair and got her nightie on. She kept stumbling and the room kept tipping.

She pulled the sheets and blankets up and turned off the light. The room swayed and her head began to thump. She put the light back on and pushed her pillow up against the headboard so she could sit up a bit. She hadn’t really liked Grant. He’d made lots of jokes that weren’t very funny and when she said anything he’d only half-listened, his eyes roaming round the rest of the talent. She knew he was only after one thing but he didn’t pretend otherwise. Didn’t matter to her. Could have been anybody. Wham bam thank you ma’am. It made her feel good, not the sex so much but the fact that someone had picked her. Someone wanted her. The worst thing of all was to come home and you’d not copped off. That was the pits.

Megan

‘I’m afraid he’s simply not responding to any of the measures we’ve tried.’ The head teacher frowned. ‘And, as we said at the outset, there’ll have to be some clear signs of improvement, otherwise Aidan would have to leave.’

‘And then what?’ Megan said. ‘What is there for him then?’

Mr Brookes sighed. He reminded her of a baddie in a James Bond film, one of those public-school type actors whose sophistication hid real evil. Mr Brookes used fancy language and lots of slow sighs but he could snarl with the rest of them.

‘If there were more resources open to us then perhaps things could be different.’

‘His attendance is better,’ Brendan tried. ‘Up five per cent you said.’

Mr Brookes nodded once. ‘But that’s still only giving us fifty-five per cent, and his behaviour when he is in school remains unsatisfactory.’

‘So that’s it,’ Megan said. ‘Exclusion and he’s back on the streets day in, day out.’

‘For the school this is the only appropriate course of action.’

‘Right.’ Megan got quickly to her feet, a rush of anger flared through her chest.

‘Megan?’ Brendan stood too, confused by her sudden move.

‘Mrs Conroy,’ said Brookes.

‘Don’t bother,’ she said, ‘we get the message. And so will he. Thirteen and on the scrap heap. I know he’s a handful, we know he’s got problems. Do you think we haven’t worried ourselves sick about it all? Not knowing if the next knock on the door’s going to be the police saying he’s been thieving again or he’s been found behind the wheel of a wrecked…’ She faltered, sniffed hard and set her jaw. ‘We’ve done our best. Maybe it’s not been enough but we haven’t given up on him. Not like you lot. This school, you labelled him a troublemaker as soon as he walked in those doors and you couldn’t wait to be rid…’

‘Megan!’ Brendan protested.

‘It’s true,’ she retorted then turned back to Brookes. ‘This solves your problem but it does nothing for Aidan. Did anyone here ever praise that boy when he did try? Eh? Not once did any of you really give him a chance, really put some time and effort into him…’