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Moving On - First Prize Winner “The Road Ahead”
First prize goes to Christine Griffin of Hucclecote, Gloucester. Della commented that, ‘I chose The Road Ahead as our prize winner because it was unusual and believable and the characters were beautifully drawn. I won’t forget that story in a hurry.’!
Vanda says that the story stayed in her mind from the moment she read it until she had finished reading every single entry. To touch a reader in this way is a true achievement – for her it ticked all the boxes.
About the Author
Since leaving teaching, Christine has found a new lease of life. A course in Creative Writing opened the door to an intermittently successful career in story writing. She enjoys being part of the vibrant literary scene in the area, and was most fortunate last year to win first prize in the Gloucestershire Writers’ Network competition. She was asked to read her piece at Cheltenham Literature Festival. She also had a winning story broadcast recently on Corinium Radio. Christine also writes poetry and drama. She wishes she had the patience and staying power to attempt a novel. One day maybe!
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The Road Ahead
“…‘Missus, me mam said could you give us a bit of change for the baby’s milk. He won’t stop crying and we ain’t got none.’
He was about eight years old, thin and scruffy and my heart went out to him. I’d seen him before of course. His family and a few others had taken over the field opposite our row of houses and were refusing to move. Most of the neighbours were up in arms about it, but after what I’d been through, it seemed fairly low down on the scale of things to get upset about. Anyway, it wasn’t this little boy’s fault; he hadn’t chosen to live like this.
‘Please, missus. Me mam’s at her wits end.’
I looked at him.
‘Right, I’ll give you some money, but I’m taking it to your mother myself. Wait a minute and I’ll go over with you.’
He glanced over his shoulder.
‘You don’t wanna do that, missus.’ He hitched his trousers up over his skinny waist. He looked terrified.
‘What’s your name? ‘I said.
‘Rory’
‘And your mum?’
‘They call her Cilla.’
‘Well, Rory I’m coming whether you want me to or not. Wait there on the step and I’ll be out in a minute.’
I closed the door, feeling dizzy. Rory had been one of the names I’d considered, before finally settling on Jack. Just thinking of my child made my treacherous body swell up.
Rory’s camper van was parked at the far end of the field. I picked my way through the litter, feeling hostile eyes on me. A dog snarled and a couple of rough-looking children shouted abuse. Someone threw a stone. I ignored it all. The baby’s screams were pulling me on; I was focused only on that. Rory ran on ahead.
‘Did she give you any?’ a voice asked.
‘She’s bringing it herself. Wouldn’t give it me.’
The voice grew shrill. ‘Can’t you do anything I ask?’
A woman emerged from the van clutching a grubby infant. She was about to clip Rory over the head when I stopped her.
‘Please. It’s alright. I wanted to help, that’s all.’
And see the baby I thought.
‘I’ll go if you like. I don’t want to cause trouble.’
She glowered at me.
‘I only wanted a couple of quid. No need for you to be poking your nose in.’
‘How old is the baby?’ I stepped forward, trying to catch a glimpse.
‘He’s three weeks, not that it’s any of your business.’
And not feeding the child herself I thought.
I could see a golden fuzz of hair over the top of the blanket and an angry fist waving about.
‘He’s lovely. What’s his name?’
She ignored me.
‘He’s called Billy,’ Rory said. ‘Mam’s been ill since she had him. He never shuts up. ‘
I turned to the mother.
‘My name’s Jenny. Rory said they call you Cilla.’
She turned away, but I persevered.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been ill. I’ve bought a couple of teabags and some milk. I thought we could have a cup of tea?’
‘I’m not so poor I can’t make a cup of tea.’
‘Please, it’s a gift. And here’s some money. Take it. Maybe I could hold the baby for you while you put the kettle on.’
I was sure she was going to refuse, but she thrust the child at me. Immediately I felt the milk surge into my breasts. The midwife told me it would take a few days. A few days for the last reminder of my almost- motherhood to disappear. It was nearly two weeks now and I’d thought the worst was over. And now one touch of this child brought it all back again.
A little old man’s face peered up at me and he started to clench his fists. Pressing his wrinkled face up against my jumper, he started rooting.
‘Fat lot of good that’ll do.’ Cilla came out of the van with a couple of dirty mugs and made to take him from me. ‘Poor little bugger thinks you’ve got something there for him.’
She stopped and stared at the growing wet patch across my chest.
‘Actually, I could ... if you wanted me to. Only you see ...’
What on earth was I thinking about? This was the worst possible thing to do. I knew that. They’d given me a booklet when I left hospital. But before I could stop myself, I’d loosened my clothes and the baby was feeding greedily. Rory and his mother stared at me.
‘Better come inside.’ she said.
The van was cleaner than I expected and I sat down. She pushed a cushion against my back and balanced my tea on a cluttered table.
‘So what happened to your babby?’ The look was full of ancient sadness and I knew without anything being said that it had happened to her too.
‘It was the cord... ’ I paused and choked over my tears. That dreadful moment when they’d told me. Just me. There was only ever me.
The midwife had tried to be kind ‘It happens sometimes... nothing we could have done… not anyone’s fault.’
But worst of all ‘You’re young. There’ll be more. ‘
‘It was nearly two weeks ago. I thought the milk had gone.’
‘It can surprise you,’ Cilla said.
Billy had fallen away from the breast and was fast asleep, bubbles of milk lingering on his lips. I looked at the woman across from me, bone weary, older than her years.
‘How will you manage with him? They’re talking about moving you on. A court order or something.’
She shrugged.
‘They’re always moving us on. ‘Tain’t no different.’
‘Who looks after you? Only you seem, you know....’
‘If you mean where’s my man, well there ain’t one.’
‘We look after each other,’ Rory said. ‘Da’s gone. ‘He looked down at his grubby shoes.
I dropped a kiss on Billy’s matted hair and handed him back.
‘Maybe I could, you know, help you. Until they move you on that is.’
She was silent for a while.
‘Won’t help you though will it. You’ll have to get rid of the milk eventually.’
‘Just until you go. Please.’
She nodded.
I made my way back out of the field and went home. My head was throbbing and my breasts ached. I ran a bath and peeled off the milk-soaked T shirt. It was while I was relaxing in the bubbles that I heard the dogs in the field begin to bark and the children crying. No. I thought. Not yet. Please. Please let me have two more days. I could see the reflection of the whirling blue light on the Police car lighting up the bathroom wall. Perhaps if I had a word with them.
My doorbell rang and I pulled on a dressing gown and raced downstairs. A sobbing Rory thrust the baby in my arms.
‘Missus, take him. We can’t look after him no more. Mam says to ‘ave ‘im.’
He thrust the smelly bundle into my arms and ran down the path before I could stop him.
‘Rory come back. I can’t. It’s not right.’ But he was gone, vanished into the field.
I can’t, I can’t. The words swirled round. But who says I can’t? Why is it not right? No-one need know. I’d be able to give him chances he’d never have if he stayed with the travellers.
They were coming off the field now, the women with their heads bowed, the men spitting curses. At the very back I saw Rory’s van with Cilla stony faced at the wheel. I rushed out into the street.
‘Cilla. Take him back. I’d love to keep him, but I can’t. He isn’t mine.’
She ignored me, staring straight ahead. Rory raised his hand to me but she slapped it down. I watched until the van drove out of sight.
A policewoman stepped forward and took the baby from me.
‘You let us sort this out now,’ she said. ‘Best if you go back inside.’ She lifted the bundle from me and I didn’t protest.
I stood there, barefoot in my dressing gown in the middle of the street, with the neighbours muttering and the police radio crackling. In the past fortnight, no-one had called to offer me any help, and no-one did now. It didn’t matter. I knew what had to be done.
‘Please give me a few minutes,’ I said to the policewoman. ‘I’ll be out shortly.’
Back in the house, I went upstairs to Jack’s nursery. Billy was going to need some clothes after all. I picked out a few tiny garments. Nappies too. And maybe a cuddly toy. Trembling, I reached into the cupboard, took out a small bag and started to pack.
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