Dark Lullaby by Polly Ho-Yen (the gingerbread man read aloud TXT) 📗

the answers that she needed, I already knew it was over. I knew it from the moment they arrived. They were taking Tia with them; this was decided long before they took a step into the flat, before they had knocked on the door. This visit was just a cover for them doing what had already been decided.

I heard Marie’s sobs coming through the wall and I asked the men if I could go to her.

‘We’ve told you before. Parents only.’

‘What about Tia’s father? Surely he should be here for this? His work is only twenty minutes away. Shouldn’t he be contacted?’

I could see I had struck a nerve. They looked at each other, furtively almost, as though some sort of secret message passed between them. The shorter one said to the other, ‘Well, you ask her, then.’

The other man knocked on the sitting-room door and when there was no answer he knocked again. Finally, the command came. ‘Come.’

He left the door open behind him and so I could hear the rasps of Marie’s sobs and some of what she was saying.

‘We’ll do whatever you want,’ she was saying. ‘Please don’t do this,’ but the words were broken by gulps and more sobs. Then there were the quiet murmurings of the enforcers talking, so quietly I imagined him at her ear, and above everything else, the light sound of Tia’s babbles, oblivious to what she was witnessing.

Too soon, he was back and confronted my questioning face with a blank look.

‘Well? Shall I ring Leo?’ I reached into my bag to feel for the solid shape of my goSphere. I clenched it in my palm tightly.

‘No,’ he said, sneering slightly as he did, but he leant in to his co-worker with two words: ‘New regulations.’

After a while, the men were called back into the living room and left me there, standing by the bed. Then I heard the shouts. There was no one to stop me now. I ran into the living room and saw them both restraining Marie by the arms and the woman reaching down to pluck Tia from her playmat.

‘Take off her band,’ she told the man, and passed them a scanner. They flashed it towards Marie’s wrist; the bracelet she had worn since the day that Tia was born, the one that identified her as Tia’s mother, dropped open to the floor.

‘Is there any particular toy that Tia is attached to that she can take with her today?’ the enforcer asked.

Marie looked up and was suddenly still. Then she looked around the room desperately.

‘Her bunny. Take her bunny.’

The enforcer picked up a small grey rabbit lying to one side of the playmat. It had soft plush fur and flowery fabric lining its ears.

‘This one?’

Marie nodded, biting her lip, tears streaming down her face.

Then, without saying another word, the enforcer left the flat, with Tia staring over her shoulder. I could just make out the baby’s small face, bewildered perhaps. Her bottom lip protruded just a fraction. It gave a little wobble, and then, as though Tia realised what was happening, her face collapsed into a cry; her mouth pulled downwards, her cheeks puffed, her eyes glistened with despair. And then she disappeared through the doorway and was gone.

The men held Marie back for the next twenty minutes or so until she relented and became very quiet, her body sinking into a ball on the floor. Only when she was unmoving, all the fight gone from her, did they leave.

I called Leo as soon as they’d gone. He arrived not long after that and I left them there, both sunk on to the floor as though they were stuck to it, as if chairs and sofas were far too comforting, too civilised, for them now. I staggered back to my flat and collapsed upon my bed, but not before I had seen the message on my goSphere from Evie.

She had started the induction drugs.

NOW

Being a parent means eating with one hand. It means eating furiously in the few moments you have. Eating is something I can’t get used to now that Mimi’s gone.

My stomach turns on itself. I try to remember when I ate last and if there’s anything to eat in the car.

Thomas bought something last night, I remember now, and open the glove compartment to find two bars of chocolate stashed there.

I unwrap one of them and take bites that are too large so they jut from my cheeks in angles. The bar is filled with nougat and I have to chew vigorously, work hard, to make it palatable. It coats my mouth in a furry sweetness. I cast around in the foot wells of the backseats, remembering a discarded, half drunk bottle of water that had been rolling around back there. When my hand closes around it, I am oddly triumphant; I sip slowly, it’s not fresh, but then I’m glugging at it thirstily until it’s empty.

The car door opens with a creak as though it is, like me, only just waking up. A rush of fresh air greets me. It’s only early afternoon; I did not sleep for too long.

My legs move stiffly in small steps after being constrained. I stretch but my coat stops me from being able to move easily. I want to take it off but I’ve only my pyjamas underneath. They are cloying, soft against my skin and suddenly wearing them feels grotty, unbearable. I can smell the slightly stale odour of me that comes from a night and day of wearing the same clothes.

I start the engine and rejoin the road. I make up for the lost time I slept, overtaking cars, pushing down the accelerator so the engine roars. It sounds like it is straining, like there is something wrong with it, but I push on nonetheless.

918. NNW 1HW.

When I get so far I recall that I can’t stay on this road; there’ll almost certainly be city border patrols. I weave through smaller roads, single