‘Polly Malone.’
‘One moment please.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Sir.’
‘Uh-oh.’ Marilyn and I sidled across to stand behind a nearby pillar. I faced the reception desk, with Marilyn as my shield, and peeked out to see what would happen.
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you.’ The receptionist pursed her lips.
‘What are you talking about? I know she’s here. My neighbour told me.’
The woman’s eyebrow rose a millimetre, clearly indicating what she thought Polly not telling him herself implied.
‘If we did have a woman here of that name, it would be her choice whether she wanted to see you or not.’
He laughed, but it sounded uneasy. ‘She’s my wife. Of course she wants to see me.’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Her face set in an instant, like quick-drying cement, as she glanced over Tony’s twitching shoulder. ‘But they would like a word.’
During the few short minutes the police attempted to restrain Tony, witness reports confirmed his aggressive andviolent behaviour resulted in his face smashing into a pillar, breaking his nose.
Nobody, and especially not the two witnesses, cheered under their breath, clapped or saluted the receptionist when she muttered, after the scuffle had moved into the car park, ‘You had a girl, by the way. I hope she never has to meet you.’
Harsh? No harsher than Polly’s hammered – yes, hammered with an actual hammer – fingers, cracked eye socket and broken teeth.
We broke the news to Polly during visiting hours in her private room. She said nothing, gazing at the warm, sweet bundle in her arms and nodding softly when we asked if she wanted us to fetch her things and move them to a safe place.
By ten o’clock, we were at Marilyn’s house, drinking hot chocolate and waiting for the buzz of adrenaline to subside so we could stop shaking and go to bed. A suitcase and a laundry basket full of Polly’s meagre possessions waited in Marilyn’s spare room. We’d left most of the baby paraphernalia behind. Polly needed a new start, and with all of the twins’ kit still strewn around the cottage of chaos, there was plenty to go around.
‘It’s a bit different from Polly’s house.’ Marilyn winced.
‘Her house wasn’t a home. She’ll probably love the noise, and the company. And the cake.’
‘She needs some cake in her.’
‘She needs a lot of things. It’s good of you to let her stay.’
Marilyn chewed on her lip. ‘To be honest, with James gone, I could do with the company too.’
The doorbell rang, making us both jump.
‘Police?’ Marilyn asked.
‘No. The police wouldn’t call at this time unless it couldn’t wait.’
‘Right. I suppose we’d better answer it then.’
The bell rang again, swiftly followed by several loud knocks.
She frowned. ‘Sounds like it can’t wait.’
Well, how could the runners-up of the East Midlands heat of the International Community Choir Sing-Off possibly wait to crack open the bubbly, coo over the photos of Polly’s baby and describe everything that happened – the lights, the applause, the moment Janice tripped up and her wig slipped off? Quite obviously, they couldn’t.
Once everyone had piled in, we toasted the choir, the judges, Hester, the NHS, new beginnings for Polly and her daughter, awesome women everywhere who find the courage to tell scumbag men they can’t visit them in hospital, Dylan (who looked totally at home sitting up against the wall with one leg stretched out, surrounded by overexcited women), brawny policemen, tight-lipped receptionists. Then the champagne ran out.
Somewhere around two, I heaved myself up from a beanbag covered in dinosaurs and stumbled to the door. ‘I give in. I can cope with breaking and entering or delivering a baby, no problem. But not both in one day. I’m pooped. See you all soon.’
I slipped on my shoes and started walking down the path towards home. It was a cold night, the stars were out and the world was draped in moonlight. I huddled into my coat, thoughts turning back to Polly, safe for now, but facing life with scars I knew would take a long, long time to heal.
The slam of Marilyn’s door echoed through the night as someone else left the party. Looking back, I saw Dylan jogging up behind me, shrugging into his leather jacket.
