The Well (47 page)

And then Sammy was back, panting as if she’d been running.

“You thought you not missing having no baby? I show you loss. Show you what you cannot have. I think maybe your curse now worse than mine.”

Sammy began to cry. “Please,” she said. “I don’t want to see any more. I’m sorry.”

“One more thing,” said Emiliana.

Sammy backed away. “No, please –”

Emiliana held her hands up. “I no hurt. Just want to show you. So you see. So you know. Father of Emil.”

Emiliana touched her one last time.

A man. He was dressing. He threw something at the young woman, a coin perhaps
–
Emiliana
– lying naked on the straw-covered floor.
It’s her
, thought Sammy
–
so young
. Sammy realised that she was seeing a time before the baby had been born.
No
, said Emiliana’s voice in her mind.
Is when baby was made
. Most of Sammy’s friends didn’t have a clear idea of how babies were conceived, but Sammy had the advantage of taking the knowledge from the mind of adults. It wasn’t something she’d shared with her friends, knowing that it was the kind of thing that would set her apart
– but it still wasn’t something she fully understood.

Time passed. Sammy could literally see the baby grow within Emiliana. She had slept with many men, Sammy could see that, but this man was the father. Sammy realised that she already knew his face: when Emiliana had been raped, he had been the first in line.

No
, she thought,
please, you promised
.

Not yet finished
, came the reply.

Emiliana, more heavily pregnant, stood at the door of what looked like a shop. In the window were lots of bottles, of all shapes and sizes. Emiliana was arguing with the man
– the man who had just
– made the baby inside of her. The man was shouting. A woman came to the door: it was her, the apothecary’s wife. Sammy saw some of herself in the woman’s eyes. The apothecary’s wife shouted something and slammed the door.
It’s him
, thought Sammy, looking at the bottles in the shop window.
The apothecary
.

Sammy felt faint and grasped the side of the bed to stop herself from falling out.

“Now you understand,” said Emiliana.

Sammy thought she did, but wasn’t sure. She felt dizzy and confused.

“You and Emil. Same people. Same family. Share same fathers.”

Sammy shook her head, but knew in her heart it was true.

“I not only witch,” said the woman. “You witch too. You family bad. Bad as me. Now you understand.”

“So you
–
cursed us? Forever?”

Emiliana stood. “I think forever end with you.” She pointed to Sammy’s stomach. “You pay price.”

“The children,” said Sammy. “What happens to the children?”

“With me until I gone. Then, who knows?” She wafted her arm in the air. “Gone, perhaps. At rest, maybe. Who cares?”

“Me. Can you let them go?”

“If I choose. I choose not.”

“Let the boy go. Matt. Please.”

“Why should I?”

“I think I can give you something,” said Sammy, shaking but determined to appear in control. “Something small. Tiny. But special. Something you would want.”

“I no bargain with you. You cheat. You have nothing I want.”

“I did not cheat! I gave you what I promised.”

Emiliana scowled. “And now, what can you give me?”

Sammy told her.

“This you can make happen?” asked the woman.

“I think so. It will take time.”

“
Think so
not good enough.”

“I can’t promise. That’s the best I can do. Please.”

Emiliana nodded and then snapped her fingers. “Is done. What does it matter? You can’t have him back. Is no better. He still gone. Still dead.”

“Yes – but – proper dead. Like in heaven and everything?”

Emiliana laughed. “Child. There is no heaven. I let him go into nothingness.”

The air started to blur around the woman, but Sammy shouted, “No wait
–
please? Please?”

“Enough,” said Emiliana, stepping forwards again and touching Sammy’s chest, her finger outstretched. “You keep your word – give me what you say. You witch. Bad family. Know this.” Then she was gone.

Sammy raised her hand to her mouth and inhaled, shakily, tears flowing down her face. Her nightdress was covered in sweat. After a moment, she composed herself as best she could and then found the call button. She pressed it, the icon of the nurse lighting up red.

It was only a few seconds before the nurse came into the room. “Are you alright, Sammy?” she asked, snapping the light on.

Sammy blinked in the glare. “I had a bad dream,” said Sammy. “And I was sick. And I wet the bed. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” reassured the nurse. “I’ll clean it up. Do you want a drink?”

Sammy nodded. “Some water please.”

The nurse turned to go, but Sammy stopped her. “Can you call my Mummy?”

The nurse looked at her watch. “It’s two in the morning, Sammy.”

“Please,” said Sammy. “She’ll want to know. I want to see her. I need to.” Sammy burst into tears. “Please. I need her.”

“OK,” said the nurse. “I’ll call her.”

Sammy heard the nurse’s footsteps disappear down the hallway.

Try as she might, she couldn’t get the woman’s last words
– Emiliana’s
last words –
out of her head.

“
You witch
,” she had said – and Sammy knew she was telling the truth.

“No,” said Sammy under her breath, wiping her wet face, “
I’ll
be what
I
want to be.”

4

“Come in Sammy – meet your new brother.”

Abby showed Sammy into the little hospital room. In the bed, Helen held a newborn baby, loosely wrapped in a hospital blanket, his skin pink and still a little bloody.

“He’s so tiny,” said Sammy, sitting next to Helen. “He’s beautiful.”

Helen nodded. “Just like his mother,” she said, glancing at Abby. Helen looked totally exhausted – her eyes tired and her hair matted. Her nightshirt was covered with sweat and, where the baby had been placed, a little blood.

Abby looked at her two children. Sammy, just turned fourteen, was well on the way to becoming a woman. The tiny boy – so perfect – was making little crying noises, his eyes closed and arms moving around aimlessly.

Sammy looked at her mother. “Can I touch him?”

Abby nodded. Sammy extended her arm and touched the baby’s hand. His fingers wrapped themselves around Sammy’s outstretched finger. She gasped with pleasure.

His fingers are so small
, thought Sammy.

Tiny, aren’t they?
thought Abby back, grateful again that Sammy’s patient coaching was paying off.

“Do you want to hold him?” asked Helen.

“Can I?”

“Of course you can,” said Helen, smiling.

Abby lifted the baby from Helen and passed him to Sammy, showing her how best to hold him.

Sammy held him close, instinctively rocking him gently. Her eyes filled with tears. She pushed away the unwanted memory from when she was eight: a strong vision of holding a baby that felt totally like hers but yet was not. For a moment, the memory was clear in her mind but then the reality that replaced it was all the more painful. A warm, live, beautiful baby.
Something I can never have.
She tried to hide the thought from her mother, but was unable to stifle a sob.

Abby put her arm around Sammy. “You OK, Sams?” she asked, softly.

Sammy shook her head and a tear rolled down her cheek.
I can never do this,
she thought.

Abby wiped Sammy’s tear away and kissed her forehead.
I know, baby.

“Come on guys,” said Helen. “Out loud, please.”

“Oh you know,” said Sammy. “Baby stuff. And me. You know.”

“The way I see it,” said Helen. “He’s got three mums. One of them just happens to be his sister, too.”

Sammy nodded. “Sure. I know. I can’t believe it. He’s so lovely.”

It had taken Abby and Helen almost two years of hard work and saving before they had been able to afford the gestational surrogacy. In the end, Helen’s parents had paid over half of the money required. After another year of waiting, doctors had taken eight oocytes from Abby and fertilised them with a donor’s sperm. Then the successfully fertilised egg had been placed inside Helen.

“Have you changed your mind, Sammy?” asked Abby.

Sammy shook her head. “No, Mum,” she said, firmly. “Is it still OK?” She looked to both her mother and Helen for confirmation.

Abby nodded. Helen smiled and said, “That was what we said. Your Mum gave up the eggs. I carried him. You get to name him.”

Sammy smiled down at the tiny baby. She lifted his forehead to her lips and kissed him. Sammy had expected him to smell of blood – but he smelled wonderful.

A deal’s a deal
, she thought, ready to fulfil a six-year-old bargain.

“Hello, Emil Matthew,” said Sammy. “Welcome to the family.”

5

“Well, that must seem weird,” said Hannah.

“It does,” replied Becca, “No doubt about it.”

The two girls gazed into the glass cabinet. It was filled with coins and rough-hewn pins and needles.

The label beneath the artefacts read:
Just as we offer coins into wishing wells, it used to be customary for people to throw items of value into holy wells. In a common household, pins and needles were very hard to come by and were typically handed down from mother to daughter for many generations. To throw one into a water source, as an offering, was a great sacrifice – practically as well as spiritually.

Above the cabinet, framed on the wall, was a newspaper cutting alongside a picture of Becca.
MISSING GIRL ESCAPES FROM ORDEAL IN WELL
, the headline read. She didn’t bother to read the descriptive text under her photograph.

“You’ll be signing autographs next,” said Hannah, but the joke didn’t pierce Becca’s reflective mood.

It’s always about me
, she thought.
The girl who got out. They always overlook Matt.

Somewhere, around the corner, Becca knew there was a cabinet containing the bones she had found.
I’ll give that one a miss
, she thought.

Hannah’s mobile phone chimed as a text message arrived.
JUST GOT HOME, COMING ROUND TO MEET EMIL? EXCITED!

“It’s Sammy,” said Hannah, enthusiastically. “They’re home. Shall we?”

“OK,” said Becca, pulling herself away.

“Thinking about Matt again?” asked Hannah.

Becca nodded.

The two girls left Bankside library and walked down the street towards
No Stone Unturned
. Hannah linked Becca’s arm and pulled her close, without saying anything. She had learned – and understood – that when Becca was missing Matt, nothing she said could help.
Seeing the baby will cheer her up
, she thought.

THE END