Chapter 8: Chapter 7
The icy wind blew down Blackstock Road in Finsbury Park. It was three-thirty and dusk. Danielle pulled up her fur-trimmed collar against it as she stood waiting for a number four bus to take her to Holloway Road. She bent over the pushchair and checked Jackson's gloves were still on. She pulled them up and tucked them inside the cuffs of his coat. She knew he was watching her. She looked at him when she finished and kissed his cold cheek.
'Who's going to see Father Christmas?' Jackson grinned, his eyes watering from the cold. She tickled him through his padded all-in-one suit. He squirmed and giggled. Danielle looked up to see a woman who had come to stand at the bus stop. She was watching them, pity in her eyes. Danielle scowled at the woman as she bent back down to Jackson and pulled his hat further down over his ears. Danielle had Jackson out of the buggy, and the buggy folded in an instant, as soon as the bus arrived. She held his hand and pulled him up onto the bus.
The driver winked at Jackson. Danielle swiped her oyster card and deftly made her way through the vehicle, leaving the buggy in the luggage rack. She sat Jackson on her lap and pulled out a tissue. He squirmed as she wiped his nose. He watched her. She mouthed the words 'good boy.'
They alighted halfway along Holloway Road and Jackson stood on the pavement waiting as Danielle took one seamless kick and flex of the buggy to make it ready for him. Jackson was slow getting into it; he was straining to look past Danielle and pointing to the window display across the road in the department store where a massive animated Father Christmas was waving at him. Jackson waved back, star-struck. Danielle looked at her watch. She had a half hour to kill. She crossed the road and stopped outside Simmons department store. Danielle pretended to look at the window display as Jackson sat watching Father Christmas wave his arm and mouth the words 'Ho ho ho'. But her eyes went beyond the display and she searched the cosmetics counter. She watched a woman working on one of the counters that she just knew was Tracy; she felt it inside. She'd stopped at the window many times in the last two weeks. Now she felt a flutter in her stomach. She didn't want to be spotted too soon. She wanted things to go as she had imagined, and so she kept her head down and pushed the buggy on, steering it through the street towards the Christmas market.
The cosmetics department of Simmons was hectic in the build-up to Christmas. The atmosphere was good. Tracy loved coming into work to be rushed off her feet. With so much talk of hardship and recession, takings had been down all year. This was her chance to try and prove to herself and to her bosses that, given the opportunity, Tracy Collins could sell ice to Eskimos.
She looked at her watch. It was ten minutes to four. She looked across anxiously at her colleague Jazmina on the other side of the make-up counter. They were both so busy; how could she possibly leave? Tracy had watched the shoppers pour in through Simmons' doors – all day it had been a steady stream. She had kept her eyes open for someone who might be Danielle. Once she could have sworn that it must be her when she saw a blonde woman who looked like a younger version of herself, immaculately turned out, bubbly, pretty, a little overweight, pushing the cutest-looking child: all golden curls, immaculately dressed – and Tracy imagined that could be her daughter and grandchild. But no, they had bought their special Christmas purchases of perfume and make-up and they had disappeared from her counter.
'You go . . .' her colleague Jazmina said as she wrapped a package for a customer, pulling the ribbon into swirls with the blade of some scissors. 'It's five to four – you said you had an appointment?'
'You sure?'
Jazmina nodded – she looked as excited about it as Tracy. Tracy had not told Jazmina exactly who she was meeting but she knew it was important and Tracy wanted to look nice for it. Jazmina had jumped to her own conclusions and believed that Tracy had finally decided to ditch boring Steve and find herself a new man and was about to embark on a steamy affair.
Tracy turned the mirror round on the counter and checked herself: her lippy was still intact. She looked at Jazmina one last time to make sure. Jazmina nodded eagerly.
'You look great – just go for it . . .'
'I'll be as quick as I can,' said Tracy with a frown. She wondered if she'd missed something with Jazmina.
'You take an hour; you're entitled,' Jazmina replied, giving Tracy the 'don't think for one moment I won't cope' look. 'Just enjoy yourself – you only live once.'
'I couldn't possibly. I'll be back in half an hour – promise.' Tracy grabbed her coat and bag and slipped out from behind the counter. She left the shop, turned right then right again and onto the busy crossroads that marked the start of the German Christmas Market. She walked past the sweet counters and the mulled wine and looked around her. The place was heaving with mums pushing prams. She passed a stall selling Christmas-themed jewellery next to Santa's Grotto. The sound of Bavarian carol music pervaded in the air, along with the smell of burnt caramel, mulled wine and Bratwurst sausage. At the exit from Santa's Grotto she found her way suddenly blocked by a young mum pushing a little boy with Down's syndrome. In his hand he had a pink pig. His face was flushed. Tracy looked back up from him to the young woman, who was staring at her, waiting. Tracy smiled, tried to pass. The young woman moved the buggy to block her again.
'Tracy?'
Tracy's heart stopped. Was this the daughter she'd given up when she was fifteen? Was this the little girl whose existence had haunted her for twenty-one years? 'Danielle?' Tracy did her best not to look shocked. 'And this must be Jackson?' She recovered fast, bent down to talk to Jackson, who stared up at her in awe, fascinated by her bright red lips and her inch-long eyelashes. 'Who have we got here?' Tracy tapped her fingernail on the pink pig.
Jackson held it aloft for her to see. 'Peppa Pig,' he said, turning back towards the Grotto and pointing, struggling to sit up and turn around to show Tracy where he'd been and where the pig came from. 'Father Christmas give it to me.' He held the toy up in front of her face.
'We got here early,' Danielle explained. Tracy stood and took a few seconds to take a good look at Danielle. She wasn't as she imagined she'd be. As far as Tracy could make out, she didn't look like Tracy at all. Danielle was skinny and dark and two inches taller than Tracy. She had her hair scraped back in a ponytail and not a scrap of make-up on. Tracy's mind was in a spin – the baby in her arms. The birth, the terrible wrench she felt at giving up her baby. Was this her baby? How could she be sure?
'You lucky boy. You must have been awfully good to get that.' Jackson nodded, large proud nods of his head. Tracy smiled awkwardly. 'We better find somewhere that's not so noisy to talk. I only have half an hour – I'm sorry. It's the busiest time of year.' She was apologizing again. 'I've left my colleague to cope alone.' They walked past the Christmas stalls. 'Can I get you a coffee?'
Danielle shrugged. 'Okay.'
She pushed the buggy forward until they found a bar that had a few busy tables and a side stall selling coffee. They stood in the queue. 'Glad you could spare the time,' Danielle said as she pulled "Jackson's hat down further on his head. Tracy was momentarily flustered. She'd promised herself she wouldn't get emotional. She would stay calm, stay focused. She had so wanted her daughter to be living the dream – Tracy's dream. She wanted her to have the perfect life. It was what Tracy had made the ultimate sacrifice for, after all. Did this girl look like she was living the dream ? thought Tracy. No she didn't. She looked lost, tired, pale and cold.
'I mean – I'm glad you decided to meet me and Jackson.'
'Of course,' she said. 'I would have tried to find you as well but I didn't want to . . . intrude . . . you know what I mean?' Tracy tried to relax her mouth, her frozen smile. She could feel her face was so tense "that she must look like she was about to cry. Danielle stared back at Tracy with a confused look of pity and anger on her face. Tracy breathed deeply, tried a new smile. 'I didn't think I had the right to . . . You had your life.' Tracy got to the front of the queue and ordered coffee. She turned to Danielle and pointed to Jackson: 'What about him? Does he want anything?'
'No. He's got his drink.'
'What about something sweet for him?' She smiled at him.
'No. He has to watch his weight.'
'We can get him out of the buggy if you like. There's a kids' skating park just at the end of the stalls.'
Danielle didn't answer. They collected their coffees. Tracy carried Danielle's for her while she pushed the buggy and they moved off towards the end of the Fayre. They walked towards the sound of laughter and music coming from an area that had been a car park and was commandeered for use as the kids' ice rink. It had been iced over and kids held on to metre-high plastic penguins that guided them around the frozen playground helping them stay upright. There was a queue but Tracy had already decided it was as good a place as any to talk. She knelt down the talk to Jackson.
'Would you like to skate with the penguins?' He nodded and pointed excitedly at the skating rink. 'Is that okay?' She looked up at Danielle who nodded. 'You'll have to take him on though?' said Tracy. 'I'm not really dressed for it.'
Tracy bought the tickets; she paid for one adult and one child. They sat at the side waiting for their turn. Tracy had the privilege of a box to sit on as she sipped her coffee and watched the children skating around the frozen rink. Tracy took the opportunity to study her daughter's profile.
She was looking for traces of her own. Their colouring might be different: Danielle was darker, but still somehow reminded Tracy of herself, the way she'd been all those years ago when she'd fallen pregnant at fifteen. A skinny girl, just a slip of a thing, thought Tracy. Looks like she could do with a good meal. People used to say that about Tracy – not now of course! Something else . . . Tracy's heart surged a little – yes – Danielle had her father's nose, his chin. Yes – she looked like him.
Danielle turned from squatting beside Jackson, who was playing with his gloves.
'I didn't think you'd want to see me,' she said as she glanced Tracy's way, held her gaze for a second and then turned back to look at Jackson.
Tracy didn't know what to say. She looked down at Jackson; he was pointing at the penguins in delight. 'My goodness.' Tracy shook her head. 'Why on earth not?' Danielle shrugged. She looked down at her coffee and didn't answer. 'How old is Jackson?' She was struggling to think of safe ground. 'Four.'
'And he's at school?' Just started this term. He goes in the mornings. He's working up to all day.'
'Does he enjoy it?'
'Yeah, he likes it a lot. He's quite shy. He has difficulty communicating sometimes. People don't understand what he's trying to say. School's done a lot for him, brought him out of his shell. He doesn't see many people besides me.'
'What about his grandparents – the couple who adopted you, Marion and Gerald? The Fosters?'
'My mum Marion died last year. My dad, Gerald, doesn't talk to me. He doesn't want anything to do with me or Jackson – never did.'
'Oh dear; I'm so sorry to hear that.' 'My mum was lovely but she was sick for so much of my life. She got one form of cancer after the other.'
'Oh . . . I'm sorry. It must have been hard.'
'You never had any kids then?' Tracy shook her head, didn't know what she should say. She was searching for a tissue in her bag. 'Will you?' Danielle persisted. 'After all, it's not too late, is it?'
'No, I suppose not; Steve and I – we're just not in a good position to right now, financially. Steve's my husband. We've been married for fifteen years. He works for a storage company. Things are not easy for us, financially – well, it's a difficult time for everyone, isn't it?' It had crossed Tracy's mind that if Danielle should ask for money Tracy better make sure she understood that there wasn't any to be had.
'Is there ever a good time to have kids?' Danielle asked.
'No, I suppose not. So you never see him then – your dad?'
'No. I haven't seen him since he chucked me out when I got pregnant.' Tracy felt an overwhelming surge of pity – it hadn't been like that for her when she got pregnant. Other people took over the problem for her. They took it away.
'I'm sorry, Danielle, really sorry.' 'Yeah . . . I went to live with Jackson's dad but he wasn't the best either.' 'Where do you live now?'
'I have a flat, housing association. It's a high-rise and the estate's old, bit rough. But it's ours for as long as we want it. Jackson and I have been in there nine months now.' 'But, Jackson's dad? Surely . . .'
'Yeah – well, we're doing fine, aren't we, J?' She squeezed Jackson's leg to make him giggle. Tracy was struggling to stay calm and to understand what was happening. She had rehearsed this meeting so many times but none of the times resembled the reality of it. Jackson's turn came to go on the ice. Tracy stood and straightened her coat. She took Danielle's empty cup from her and stacked it inside her own.
'I'm really sorry I can't stay longer. I have to go back to work.' Danielle looked at her with the wounded eyes of a child, quickly obscured by a practised indifference.Sure. Thanks for coming. You have my number. It's up to you if you want to see us again.'
'Yes of course; I'd love to.' Tracy said it but she wasn't sure she meant it. 'I'll ring. Sorry. It's all a bit of a shock, isn't it? I'll phone you later if that's okay?' When she looked back she saw Danielle leaning over Jackson, he was straining to get out of the buggy and take his turn on the ice; Danielle was watching Tracy as she walked away. Tracy couldn't wait to get back to Simmons and the Christmas rush. There were dozens of Christmas orders to box up and tie with ribbons. Jazmina would be desperate for her return. Back at Simmons, Jazmina didn't bother asking Tracy if things had gone well at her appointment – she could see by her face that they hadn't. Tracy would normally have been in her element, bustling behind the busy counter, but she found herself staring out of the window past the back of the animated Father Christmas; her heart wasn't in it; nothing felt right and there was so much to think about. Memories came flooding back: they were painful and they made her eyes well up. They were things she hadn't allowed herself to think about for many years. She watched the mothers push their buggies up to the window and the kids waving at Father Christmas and she couldn't help but feel devastated. Danielle held tight to Jackson as he gripped the penguin and pushed his way around the ice very slowly. He was getting in others' way as the older children whizzed past and swerved in front of him. He ignored it – he was happy. Danielle moved around the ice rink in a dream, trying to get her head around the meeting with Tracy. She wasn't sure that they had really connected. Danielle had expected some sort of deep affinity, an unspoken bond. Tracy was nice enough but Danielle felt like she was being talked to as if she'd come to buy a mascara – as if she were a customer. Tracy smiled a lot, was polite, but she did what she had to and then she left as fast as she could. Danielle wondered if she'd ever hear from her again.It was nine o'clock when Simmons finally closed for the evening. It had been slow the last hour and there were only so many ribbons Tracy could curl ready for decorating Christmas boxes on her shift the next day. All the shelves were replenished; everything was laid out in order and in sequence and in its place. Tracy walked with Jazmina back to their bus stop where they separated and caught different buses on their opposite ways home. Jazmina lived in Camden, Tracy headed north to Hornsey Rise where she and Steve lived in a ground-floor flat that they rented. Tracy sat on the bus listening to the music coming from the iPod of the boy sitting next to her. She turned to look out of the steamed-up windows and thought about Danielle. Tracy was having a hard job understanding what had motivated Danielle to look for her. Danielle was a tough young woman, prickly – sharp-tongued. She felt let down. She had so wanted it to be wonderful. She had so wanted it to be easy. The reality was that it was awkward and difficult. But Danielle seemed to want something from her. At the same time she was an angry young woman. Angry at Tracy and angry at everyone. It was her and Jackson against the world, so far as Tracy could see. Tracy had a lot of thinking to do. Is this what she wanted – a single parent with a Down's syndrome child, living in a high-rise on benefits? Did Tracy need that in her life? Someone who didn't even seem to like her very much? How was that going to work out? She could just walk away now. Maybe tell Danielle that the most she could give her was the occasional tenner for Jackson. She could hear the sound of the television coming from the lounge as she opened the door. The flat was only a little warmer than outside – no matter how much they spent on heating it, it was cold and damp and the landlord did nothing about it. But Tracy did everything she could to make it a home. She stood in the hallway, hung up her coat and took off her shoes and examined the gap where Steve's shoes should have been. She pulled on her fluffy slippers then went into the lounge where Steve was watching the television, the remnants of his dinner on a tray on the floor beside him. She leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek and pick up the tray.
'Steve . . . I don't know why you can't pick up your tray and take it out to the kitchen.' Steve didn't move. He grunted. 'And Steve, there's mud or some dirt walked all through the flat.' She didn't use the dreaded term 'dogshit'.
'Did you forget to put your slippers on?' She looked accusingly down at his feet and his dirty shoes, then went back to the door and came back with a pair of Homer Simpson slippers that she'd bought him the previous Christmas. They were just meant to be a joke but she'd been really trying to have a little dig at him – it hadn't worked. He took the slippers from her with an irritable sigh and put them on his feet. Tracy also sighed, but she hid it beneath a sweet smile as she took his shoes and put them next to the front door then she went into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of soapy water and began scrubbing the stains off the carpet. After a few minutes Steve went out to the kitchen and Tracy paused from scrubbing to listen to the familiar sound of the fridge opening and the clink of a bottle touching another.
'Steve, can you pour me a glass of wine please, love, and is there any of last night's dinner left?' Steve didn't answer. Tracy heard the pop of the wine bottle and Steve came back in and handed her a glass while she was scrubbing at the brown stain on the carpet.
'Can you put it on the table please, love? I'll be finished in a minute.' He didn't answer as he took his beer back to the chair.
'I didn't hear what you said about dinner? Is there any out there for me?' Tracy came to stand in front of him.
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