The Janus Stone

But as the night drew on she had started to worry about Flint (Cathbad had offered to feed him but who knows whether he’d remember), about her baby (how on earth is she going to cope on her own?) and, finally, about herself. It seems that someone is trying to scare her to death. Her name written in blood (Max has confirmed this) and now the final gruesome discovery of the plastic baby. Did whoever put it there know she is pregnant or was it just another grisly classical allusion? And who could it be? It must be someone close enough to put the objects in place the split second these sites are deserted. And why? This is the question that chased itself around in her head all through the long night, full of nurses padding to and fro and white figures hobbling to the loo and back. The woman next to her snored continually, but unevenly, so Ruth was unable even to fit the noise into a soothing background rhythm. She had nothing to read and eventually this need became so pressing that she asked the nurse for something, anything, with words on. The nurse came back with Hello! magazine so Ruth spent the rest of the night reading about footballers’ weddings and obscure Spanish royalty to the accompaniment of jagged grunts from the bed next door.

Morning starts early with a tepid cup of tea at seven and Ruth is already asking when she can go. She must let the doctor see her first, say the nurses soothingly. By eight she is sitting, fully dressed, on the bed. She had not thought to ask any of her visitors yesterday to bring her a change of clothes and, in any case, she would have been too embarrassed. But there is something sordid about putting the same clothes back on. She hasn’t even got a toothbrush but a nurse brings her toothpaste and she rubs it vigorously round her mouth. The woman next door (very pleasant when she isn’t snoring) offers her deodorant and some rather violent-smelling body spray. Ruth sits on the bed, smelling of roses, rereading an account of how some actress she has never heard of overcame tragedy to marry some sportsman she has never heard of. It’s all very inspiring.

Eventually a teenage boy masquerading as a doctor appears, examines her head and tells her she can go home. ‘Come back at once if you have any dizziness or blackouts,’ he says sternly. He’s wearing baseball boots. Baseball boots! How can Ruth possibly take anything he says seriously?

She has nothing to pack so she asks the nurse if she can call a taxi. ‘No need,’ says the nurse, smiling sweetly (though, to Ruth’s knowledge, she has been on duty for the last twelve hours). ‘A friend of yours rang and said he’d come to collect you. Wasn’t that nice of him?’

The nurse doesn’t say which friend but as she emerges from the main doors Ruth is not really surprised to see Nelson’s Mercedes parked in the space reserved for minicabs. She gets into the front seat and for a few minutes they sit in silence.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ asks Nelson at last.

‘I was going to.’

‘Oh, that’s all right then.’

‘It was difficult,’ retorts Ruth, ‘you’re married. I didn’t want to rock the boat.’

‘Didn’t you think I had a right to know? If it is mine, that is.’

‘Of course it’s yours,’ flares Ruth, ‘whose did you think it was?’

‘I thought maybe your ex-boyfriend… Peter.’

‘I haven’t slept with him for ten years.’

‘It’s not his then,’ says Nelson with a slight smile.

‘No, it’s definitely yours.’ There is another silence broken only by the minicabs behind starting a strident chorus of hooting. Nelson swears and puts the car in gear. They drive in silence through the Norwich backstreets. It’s Sunday morning and everything is quiet, people are emerging from newsagents with giant Sunday papers under their arms and café owners are putting tables out on the pavements. As they pass through the centre of the city, they can hear church bells ringing.

‘What are you going to do?’ asks Nelson, breaking sharply at a zebra crossing.

‘Have the baby,’ says Ruth determinedly, ‘bring it up on my own.’

‘I want to help.’

‘Help? What do you mean “help”?’

‘You know… financially. And other things. I want to be involved.’

‘How involved? Are you going to tell Michelle?’

Nelson says nothing but Ruth sees his eyes narrow. Eventually, he says, ‘Look, Ruth. This isn’t easy. I’m married. I don’t want to break up my family. The girls-’

‘Don’t think for one second that I want to marry you. That’s the last thing I want.’

She thinks Nelson relaxes slightly and when he speaks again his tone is gentler. ‘What do you want from me then?’

‘I don’t know.’ She doesn’t. Of course, on one level she does want a totally committed partner who will come with her to the birth and bring up the baby with her. But that isn’t on offer. ‘I just want someone to talk to, I suppose,’ she says.

‘Well, you can talk to me. Have you had a scan yet?’

‘Yes, he’s got long legs apparently.’

‘He?’

‘I think it’s a boy. I’m calling him Toby.’

‘Toby!’ The car swerves. ‘Toby! You can’t call him Toby.’

‘Why not?’