She glared at him, then gave a terse shrug. “It was the middle of the night. There wasn’t time. She started suddenly, and by the time we realised what was happening the baby was on its way.” She lifted her chin fractionally, staring him down. “Besides, there was no need for her to go to hospital. I was there.”
“You were only a student, though. What if there’d been any problems?”
“Then I’d have sent for help. But there weren’t.”
“Didn’t you send for a doctor?”
“I told you, there was no point. We called for one the next morning — he came and made sure they were both okay, and then went. I knew more about childbirth than any GP would have. Or her mother, though you wouldn’t have thought it to hear her.” She gave an angry shake of her head. “She insisted her little daughter had to go back home with them. As if I couldn’t have given her everything she needed.”
She was no longer looking at him, lost in the anger of six years ago, and Ben felt sorry for her. And sorry he had come. He felt more and more that he was wasting his time. There was only one thing left he had to ask.
“Sarah’s father told me Jacob was a big baby. Over six pounds.”
“Six pounds three ounces.” The figure was thrown at him. He accepted its accuracy.
“He said he didn’t look premature at all.”
“So?”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
Jessica’s look was full of contempt. “Not particularly. He might not even have been very much premature anyway. Sarah’s periods weren’t regular, so it was difficult to know how far into her term she was. And some babies are bigger than others, you know. Like anything else.” There was derision in her voice. “Is there anything else you want to ask?”
He didn’t even feel relieved. Just stupid. “No.”
“Good. In that case you might as well go.” She went and stood by the lounge door.
Shamefaced, Ben went past her into the hallway. Another doorway led off it into a kitchen that was as barren and clean as the rest of the flat. A solitary placemat was set out on the small table, with a stainless-steel salt-and-pepper cruet and glass vinegar bottle positioned at its top. They had the look of permanent fixtures. A newspaper lay neatly folded to one side of them, face up.
Ben walked past, then stopped and went back. “I haven’t forgotten. I just can’t see why she would have saved them.”
Jessica gave a derisive snort. “Is that what all this is about? You think she took somebody else’s baby? What’s the matter, are you tired of looking after him already?”
“I just want to know the truth, that’s all.”
“The truth? The truth is that Sarah gave birth to an autistic child, and now she’s dead you’ve decided you don’t want the responsibility. Well, you married her,” she spat. “Now live with it!”
“So Jacob is hers?”
“Of course he’s hers! I delivered him! Or are you going to call me a liar as well?”
Ben was never sure if he’d planned what he said next or not. But the fabrication came smoothly, as if rehearsed. “So how come they’ve both got the same birthmark?”
Jessica frowned. “What?”
“The newspaper said the baby had a birthmark on his right shoulder. Jacob’s got one there as well.” He expected scorn for the transparent fabrication.
Jessica’s gaze went blank for a moment. Then it snapped back into focus. “That doesn’t prove a thing. Lots of children have birthmarks,” she went on, but the hesitation had been too long. He felt a horror begin to uncurl in him.
“Oh Christ,” he said.
“I’ve told you, it’s just a coincidence. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“She did it, didn’t she? She took that baby.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Just because two babies have similar birthmarks—”
“There isn’t any fucking birthmark!”
She blinked. Her eyes broke away from his gaze. “Look, you’re going to have to leave now. I’ve got to... I’ve got to go to work.”
The bluster lacked conviction. Her hands fluttered, then fell limply to her side. Ben felt himself swaying. His legs barely supported him as he went unsteadily to the nearest kitchen chair and sank on to it. In spite of everything, he hadn’t really believed it. He realised he hadn’t come to be told this; he’d come to be reassured.
Jessica hadn’t moved from the doorway. Her face was sullen and resigned, the colour leeched from it. The midwife’s uniform seemed like a costume.
“Why?” he asked. “What made her do it?”
“She lost her baby.” Her voice was lifeless and flat. “I came home one night, and found her sitting in the dark. She’d spontaneously aborted that afternoon. In a public toilet.” She came to the table and sat down herself. She looked shapeless, as if only the starched fabric was holding her together. “I wanted to call for a doctor, but she got hysterical when I tried. So I didn’t. I made sure she wasn’t still bleeding or anything. It wasn’t as if they could do any good anyway. They’d only want to know where the foetus was, and then the police would’ve had to be called in. She’d been through enough already after that... that bastard left her when she was pregnant.”
She looked it him, viciously. “Did you know she tried to kill herself?” She gave a nod of triumph when she saw he hadn’t. “No, I didn’t think so. Well, she did. She took an overdose not long after she came to live with me. I found her and made her sick before she was too far gone. I thought she might miscarry then, but she didn’t. I wanted to spare her anything else. I thought... I thought if I could find the baby and bring it back I could say she’d lost it in the house, and that way there’d be no police, no fuss about it.”
Her fingers teased at her skirt, pinching a fold of it, then smoothing it down and repeating the process. “She wouldn’t talk at all, at first, but eventually she told me she’d left it in a bin near the Piccadilly tube station. I put her to bed, but it was late by then. I thought I’d have a couple of hours’ sleep and go to Piccadilly first thing. She was still sleeping when I went. I wanted to be back before she woke up, but when I got to the station I couldn’t find the right bin. I started looking in all of them, until the streets started getting busier and I had to stop. I never did find out where it was. There was no mention of it being found, so I suppose it just got taken away when the bins were emptied. I couldn’t do anything except go back home, and when I got there Sarah had gone. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t call the police, so I just waited and hoped she’d come back. But when she did she’d got a baby with her.”
A corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “She looked so happy. Like the day before hadn’t happened. Like Sarah should look. I tried to get her to tell me where she’d got it from, but she didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. And when I asked whose baby it was, she just said, ‘Mine.’ I tried to make her realise what she’d done, but it only made her confused. I was frightened she’d sink back into the state she’d been in earlier. I couldn’t think what to do. And then, all of a sudden, it came to me. I didn’t have to do anything. Sarah had been pregnant, and now she’d got a baby. It was big for a premature one, but not so big that it’d cause problems.”
He couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Problems? It wasn’t hers! Jesus Christ, she stole it!”
Jessica gave him a look of contempt. “What did you expect me to do? Go to the police?”
“Yes! Yes, you should have gone to the fucking police! They wouldn’t have prosecuted — not for something like that. She’d have been given psychiatric help!”
“Put away somewhere, you mean? You think I’d have let them do that to her?”
“It would have been better than what you both did!” He felt he had fallen through to another, less rational pocket of reality. “Did she know? What she’d done, I mean? Did she know afterwards?”