A Hard Life

A Hard Life 

By Janet Baldey

The boy was scowling. His mouth was sealed into a thin line and his eyes were sullen.

‘IF HE TOLD YOU WHERE TO GO, WOULD YOU STILL CARE

Julie read the caption under the poster and turned to her husband.

‘Not likely.  Imagine having to deal with a boy like that.’

Greg didn’t answer and Julie glanced at him. 

‘Maybe he’s had a hard life.’ He said at last.

‘Oh, come on! Face it, Greg. Some kids are born prison fodder’.

Just then a young mum came swinging along the pavement pushing a gleaming pram.  Julie craned her neck, trying to see the baby, but just caught a glimpse of a snowy mound of blankets edged with pink satin.     

Her heart shrivelled. How she longed to be that woman pushing her baby along the street; a tiny girl smelling of milk and rose-scented talcum powder.      

Greg’s arm slid around her.

‘You know, we could always adopt, or even foster’.

She froze as if he’d thrown iced water over her. 

‘What and end up with something like that?’ 

She flung out her arm in the direction of the poster. Knowing her dam of tears was about to burst, she turned away and was almost running by the time she reached home. Racing up the stairs she flung herself on the tiny bed, waves of misery rocking her body.  When she’d fallen pregnant the first time, they’d turned the box room into a nursery but ever since the last crushing disappointment, it had stood empty and now she only went in there once a week to vacuum. Now, she felt frightened because it wasn’t just that tears were dimming her vision, little by little the room was fading. Colour was leaching from the walls and the curtains were yellowing. Soon, it would be no more than an unused room.

* * *

Dumping a pan of cabbage into the colander, she peered through the steam at the clock and her lips tightened.

She’d told Greg dinner would be ready at seven and he was late.  From outside, she could hear the high pipe of childish voices mingling with a bass rumble.  He was playing football with the boys next door.    She banged hard on the kitchen window.  His eyes were sparkling when he eventually made an appearance.

‘Sorry, love’.   He said.

‘They’ve got a father of their own, you know’.  

The light died from Greg’s eyes as he winced.

‘I know, but he works such long hours.’

‘That’s not your problem.’

She turned away, hating herself for being jealous of other peoples’ children. She slammed down the plates and they ate in silence. In bed, each kept to their own side. Julie wondered if he felt as miserable as she did.  They were drifting apart and they couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

The next day the sky was suffocated by cloud and to kill time, she went shopping.   Drifting through the store, fingering clothes draped like empty promises upon their hangers, she vowed to stay away from the children’s department. Never again would she wander through aisles crammed with the delicate froth of pastel coloured dresses and cute babygro's.

Eventually, she glanced at her watch.  The over-heated store had made her throat dry.  There was a café opposite, it was a run-down place but it would have to do.

As she sat sipping her tea, the swing door bumped open and a grubby pushchair was wheeled into the crowded room.  A girl stood bowed over its handles, scouring the room from out of panda eyes, the studs in her face mimicking a bad case of acne.  Her lips were moving rhythmically, they stopped when she saw Julie’s table. 

‘D’yer mind?’  The girl pushed back a wisp of greasy hair.

‘Not at all.’  Julie said reluctantly.

The girl bent hoisted a small boy out of the pushchair and dumped him in the seat opposite.

‘Don’t you move.’   She commanded, disappearing towards the counter.

The child sat staring at Julie out of huge, unblinking eyes.  Slime trails of tears cut through the grime on his tiny face.  He seemed swallowed by clothes sizes too big for him and Julie wrinkled her nose as the sour smell of unwashed body wafted towards her.  

‘Here’ 

The girl plonked some chips and a drink in front of the child.  Silently he reached a grubby hand towards the food and began cramming it into his mouth.  Julie looked at his mother.   She was skinny, almost emaciated, and sat staring at her mobile phone.

 The child stopped chewing and reached for his drink.  As he did, he overbalanced -   the carton went flying and spilt sticky orange liquid that puddled on the table, slowly spreading towards the edge.

The girl’s head whipped around as she exploded into life.

‘Now look what you’ve done, you little bugger’.  The girl screamed, veins protruding from her scrawny neck.  ‘Can’t take you nowhere.  You’re always making a bleedin’ nuisance of yerself.’

Her screeches reverberated in the suddenly shocked silence and heads turned to look.  

‘What are you lot starin’ at?’ the girl yelled.   Abruptly she got up and stormed off.

The child sat as if frozen.  His small face seemed to shrink and Julie saw teardrops begin their familiar journey.

‘Where’s my mummy gone?’   His lips quivered and Julie’s heartfelt as if it would break.

‘She’ll be back soon.  Don’t worry. Let’s get you cleaned up.’

Getting up, she lifted him from his seat, amazed at how light he was.

Julie hardly noticed the journey back home.  She kept remembering how delicate and vulnerable the child had felt. The girl had eventually returned to claim him and Julie had stared out of the window long after the girl’s bobbing head had disappeared into the crowd.  She was marvelling at the child’s unconditional love. His eyes had lit up when he saw his mother but part of her also wondered how long it would take for his love to turn to resentment.

She thought about the boy in the poster. Perhaps Greg was right after all.  Maybe the boy in the poster had had a hard life and it just might be that the same sort of unconditional love might just be enough to turn his life around.

As the train drew into the station, Julie hoped Greg wouldn’t be working late. They had a lot to talk about and afterwards there would be all those forms to fill in.

  

      Copyright Janet Baldey