Sophia and the Dirty Baby

Sophia and the Dirty Baby

Once upon a time there lived a girl called Sophia who had been born with only one functioning ovary and a fortuitously forceful jab from Freddie's elbow amidst a flirtatious scrap during a GCSE PE class had rendered that one useless too. At the time of the accident she had dismissed it as sheer bad luck, and remained wide-eyed with indifference at the sight of her mother's inconsolable weeping. However by the time that this little tale takes place Sophia had reached the anticlimactic age of twenty-one years, and in the intermittent period had shed plenty of her own tears about it, as an immense disappointment about her disability had irrevocably set in like gangrene. From buried away deep in the vaults of her psyche, a niggling voice emerged and matured into an obtrusive growl, which frequently reminded her that even as she stepped proudly into the pleasure dome of adulthood, she would never exist as a complete woman. She would remain as a lowly eunuch lacking the opportunity to spawn a new life and nurture it into a being.
Following many months of hyperprosexia which got her absolutely nowhere, she relocated and settled for a life attempting to re-nurture beings so unfortunate that they had initially been conditioned for this life through sexual horrors and violent dismissals. Pre-pubescents and teenagers who had been subjected to the most shocking of treatments as nippers and so lived away from their nuclear-waste families in favour of a life amongst their own kind. Sophia worked as an assistant in a residential centre, organising firstly activities and ultimately life paths for the lost kids who floated along the corridors. Whilst she adored the vocation that inspired her out of bed at eight every morning, sensitive Sophia found that some of the most tragic 'cases' became so deeply embedded under her skin that they asphyxiated her, and left her longing to take those ones away to somewhere that their memories might be erased and rewritten. Frequently Sophia would walk through her front door and collapse sprawled across the rug in silent sobs for a few seconds to exorcise the day's demons. She would pull herself together and to her feet quickly though, strolling into the living room as the personification of positivity before either of her housemates were any the wiser.
Louis and Jack were retrosexual medical students and had found Sophia through an advert in the paper. They had asked her to move in because she appreciated the comic genius of Peter Cook, gorging on cheese, and going for adventures, and she had accepted for the same reasons. Their house was an end-of-terrace with two bathrooms and a spare box-bedroom, and the three lived in virtual harmony together. Louis had longed for Sophia since the moment that he had first heard her speak his name, spawning a craving that had only escalated in the two years that they had been housemates. The set up was comparable to a modern, naively platonic ménage-a-trois, and it worked very nicely. Sophia adored both lads equally and would never have even considered choosing one over the other; Jack was secretly very grateful for the dignified aloofness that she maintained, for he knew, as everyone does, that living with a couple is Hell. So it was just the three of them. They were brothers, according to Sophia, whose personal gender denial had manifested as a direct result of her sexual inadequacy anxieties. In fact Sophia had distanced herself almost entirely from any notion of 'the female', most particularly her mother, who had chosen to run off to the Algarve with the village golf pro, where she haunted the expensive, expansive and exclusive Greens in a pink Pringle twin-set and a state of self-obsessed materialism. The only female with whom Sophia interacted regularly was her kickboxing partner Amie, who was an asseclist of the local Methodist Church and learnt martial arts because reading "The Daily Mail had instilled in her a fear of her fellow man. She was nice enough but frustratingly dull and often Sophia would find herself discussing at length with Amie the personal lives of people who neither of them knew, nor would probably ever even meet.
Amie pitied her friend for working in such a "depressing job, and especially for the ominous route that Sophia had to cycle to get there. It involved her turning right out of the front gate, initially sitting down on the BMX, just easing into the ride and gently becoming adjusted to the compromising saddle. At the end of the road, a left turn onto the main route out of town. After about a minute the third exit at the roundabout led into an area that had been anointed "The Grange where children as young as infants lurked the streets around the clock. The older ones handed on their knowledge of the world to their younger comrades through wild flurries of expletives and boastful, exaggerated re-enactments. The boys grew up fast and enjoyed every second of it. The girls laid their lives down in front of the boys at an early age, and enjoyed every second of it until the contractions started. Those who preferred to delay their leap into carnal exploration often chose to pass their time as adolescents high on whatever was accessible, and then zombified for the comedown period in front of the TV, living on nothing more complex to digest than Chipsticks and squash. Most grew out of it by their late teens, developed a sex drive and embarked upon a volatile but long-term relationship. Some grew into it to the extent that their lives were fundamentally governed by such naughtiness. These were the sort of people that one hopes will never develop a sex drive, and specifically that they will never use it. And all this blurred past Sophia's eyes as she peddled frantically to leave it behind her.
There was a girl in the children's home called Teresa and she had been beaten and kicked around the house by her father every day until she was eleven. She had then runaway in desperation to live in a clothes bin with her boyfriend, a simpleton called Will. He was eighteen and cared for the finer things in life, which included contributing to a pregnancy at twelve-and-a-half for Teresa. They were still living in the clothes bin and Teresa, who despite her under-education was not a thick girl, found herself confronted with a vision of her future. It motivated her to abort her baby with a stray coat hanger, and then return home. Only for the one night though. The next day she was liberated from the house of her parents following a discreet phone call between Teresa and Sophia, the former having found the latter's refuge in the Yellow Pages. Within a few weeks Teresa had a number of replacement 'daddies', and their love did not hurt so much.
Sophia had grown particularly fond of Teresa following their initial, intense encounter. The twelve-year-old had an uncanny optimism for someone with so much painful history, which Sophia admired. She would sit for hours at a time listening to the girl describe the future that she was going to carve out of life's colourful tapestry for herself and her mum, once the divorce had been finalised. Enthusiastic monologues about a three-bedroomed cottage by the sea in Devon, a Chocolate Labrador called Kai, a school that taught Spanish for Teresa, and an array of other humble pleasures. Sophia awaited the news of the divorce, and the resulting union between mother and daughter, just as eagerly as her young pal. Then one particularly wet Thursday, Teresa had received a visit from her mum that Sophia had registered as being unusually brief, with the woman rushing out of the building after only a few minutes. Concerned, Sophia headed to Teresa's bedroom to check that she was ok, which she was and so was left to take a shower in peace. Within an hour Teresa had used a razor to let sufficient blood out of her skinny freckled forearms to stifle her little life, leaving a shattered epilogue scratched across a piece of A4 by her bed.

Dearest Soph,
Plese don't be angry at me for teling a lie. When you know what I know you will unnderstand. Mum came today, as you saw. She looked fat didn't she? She's pregnant actualy. Turns out she had just popped in to tell me. Tell me that with the baby on the way and stuf its best if the three of them try to mayk a life together. And best if I stay here for the time being. That man apparantly is a reformed character now, nice as pie. Really kean to make a propper go of things. Anyway, its better for me here isn't it? Nice people and everything. For the best definitly. She said she'd try to visit every few weeks. Now she won't need to bother.
Living in Hell is no way to live at all. I will look after you from my Heaven I promise.
All my love and sorrys,
Teresa

Nothing had ever affected Sophia so violently. She was excused to go home for the rest of the day and spent the following fifteen minutes being sick down an alley en route, relieved that she had opted not to cycle in that day. Empty, exhausted engulfed but for her bloodshot eyes in an oversized Parka, she eventually managed to compose herself enough to begin the walk back. As she stumbled through "The Grange, battling against the billowing storm, she kept her eyes locked on the ground and simply listened to the audacious voices of the truant children as they called at her for cigarettes, some money, cannabis. Increasing her pace, Sophia soon found herself up against an obstruction, which turned out to be a child of no more than two. The child was a girl with fine blond hair tied in a pineapple on top of her head. She looked up at Sophia with twinkling green eyes and a smile that seemed to convey hope rather than happiness. Naked but for a nappy, her body and face were filthy, and it made Sophia sad. Petrified that she might break into tears in front of the tot, she rushed past the child towards her own road. A few metres on she turned around, vision watery, and the eyes of a dirty little angel met hers. The little girl was holding out her arms longingly. With alarm, Sophia span on her heel and disappeared into the dusk.
It took some days for Sophia to adjust to the death of Teresa, during which time she hid in her room doing exercise videos half-heartedly and reading American self-help books. Finally she emerged to face the pain of work and also the walk. It was too wet to ride on her BMX because that style of bike is unable to carry a mudguard. The rain continued for some days which enabled Sophia to discover that the little girl was called Chloe and she had at least four siblings who she lived with along with her mother. Her mum was an example of one such schmuck who had never progressed beyond the irresponsible life of intoxication best abandoned during the teenage years. Upon seeing the woman for the first time slumped against the front door, fucked out of her head, Sophia recognised her as a crack peddler who had briefly ruined Louis' life. He had been seduced by her particularly evil snake, in the way that so many regrettably are. Fortunately Louis knew a crack head when he saw the one that eyeballed him in the mirror, and had wisely chosen to withdraw from that sort of messiness. Prior to that a lanky, gaunt dealer called Karen had been making daily visits to the house, and had displayed significantly more dignity than she was as Sophia watched her dribbling into the letter box. Sophia cautiously moved to help the woman up but her gesture was met with an abrupt slap across the face and a demand to "Fuck off. Stunned, Sophia remained frozen to the paving slab, her eyes transfixed by the stark peppermint emptiness of the woman's. Suddenly the front door was yanked open and the figure of an overweight red-faced skinhead appeared. This time an order to "Get off my fucking property convinced Sophia to take the hint and walk away. Following that encounter, Sophia continued to see Karen in varying states of inebriation, generally either wobbling in the doorway or full-on sparkoed across the front yard. The brute was also around sometimes, picking Karen up by her hair off the deck or swearing and yelling at the children, only one of whom referred to him as "Dad.
The weeks moved forward and Sophia became increasingly concerned about the welfare of the baby, who was always dirty, clearly undernourished, and quite often abandoned by all to experience a solitary introduction to God's world playing with stones in the street. Every time the child caught sight of Sophia walking past, she would battle gravity in an attempt to toddle barefooted towards her. Paranoid about being spotted and berated by either Karen or her thug boyfriend, Sophia always forced herself to rush ahead and avoid the child, but never without stealing a brief glance back at her from some distance on. One night Sophia passed by the house realising that the baby was nowhere to be seen. All the other siblings were in their usual positions: smoking on the pavement, spitting whilst sat on the front wall, weaving figure-of-eights in the road on half-inched bikes. Sophia walked on anxiously. Turning the corner she pulled her jacket tight around her against the cold wind. Forty metres down the next road and she noticed that there was a tiny pink figure sat on the kerb. As she jogged closer she could see that it was the little girl, who was clearly distraught. She was crying, but rather than a wail it was one of those soft, breathless sobs which cause the body to quiver. As quickly as possible, Sophia had the child scooped up in her arms, clutched against her. The child's arms were around her neck with the fingers flexing and gripping at her skin, as if it were security blanket. Sophia had no idea what to do. The child was freezing, and there was a fresh graze on her forehead. It was late: why had the others not been looking for her? Comforted, the child was beginning to settle, her legs wrapped around Sophia's trunk and head lolled onto her shoulder. The infant was silent now with her thumb strategically placed in her mouth. Sophia stared down at her little limpet and without a single conscious thought zipped up her parka around them both, before stomping on towards her house.
Needless to say the boys were alarmed to find the tiny tot on their sofa when they returned from dancing in the park. What followed was a slightly heated conversation with all expletives conscientiously removed during which Louis became distracted and began to fall for the child who gurgled and waved up at him from the couch. The ranting became muffled and faint in his ears as he knelt down to have his nose grabbed and explored by Chloe's soft clammy digits, quickly breaking into a smile because it felt nice. Jack continued to despair at Sophia's foolishness but suggested that the little girl might benefit from some nourishment. An advocate of natural food, he swiftly cooked up some carrots, broccoli and potatoes then blended them all into a super-nutritious mush. After eating Chloe was sleepy and Jack pulled Sophia aside to insist that she take the child back. Her protests fell on deaf ears and eventually, breathless she agreed. Though quietly disappointed, Louis offered to drive. Chloe babbled gently as the four of them got into the car, but within a few seconds of being strapped in, her thumb was inserted and she was asleep. Sophia kept her head rotated and her gaze fixed upon the outside world as they rushed through it, which ensured that neither of the boys could see her moist eyes. As they approached the house Jack noticed an object lying at the end of the path. When the car stopped he focussed and searched his image memory for a match which resulted in the realisation that he was looking at a used syringe. With a chill he grabbed a crisp packet from the floor of the car to act as a half-hearted alexiteric, and opened the door to retrieve the item. There was shouting coming from inside Chloe's home, swearing in fact. Jack pricked up his ears as he heard what they were shouting about: crack cocaine. The smash of porcelain against a wall followed, and a throaty aggressive female scream. He returned to the car with the syringe, and without a word indicated to Louis that there was not a chance in Hell of them depositing the little girl in that chaos.
Nature took its course with regard to the carrot, broccoli and potato mush but it was dealt with bravely. Louis had been shopping for bathroom bits and there were a couple of new towels in the boot of the car so one was safety pinned into position as a highly effective DIY nappy. The camp bed mattress was rolled out onto the floor and the baby was tucked under a sheepskin quilt that Sophia had been given during her own infancy. The three stood mesmerised at the little girl as she snuggled into her nest, sucking contently on her thumb. It was a few minutes before they returned to reality and each mildly abashed, fidgeted their way to the door. Sophia kissed both the boys goodnight and carefully avoided Jack's gesture with his eyes that requested her to join him for a confrontation downstairs. Instead she shut them out and undressed for bed, listening anxiously to Chloe's breathing. Unable to sleep, she assumed a watcher post sitting in the rocking chair all night with a Philip Pullman novel. The child barely stirred until an eager and noisy Louis bounded into the room at 6am.
Obviously Sophia called in sick. They were annoyed but understanding. She was unconcerned; her mind was elsewhere, searching for an action plan. Jack attempted to squeeze some answers from her over breakfast but just found himself involved in a game of peek-a-boo with Louis and Chloe that resulted in him leaving the house late. He assured his friends that the child must be with the social services before his return. Social services. A childhood being passed between foster homes, surrounded by kids of all ages with their own debilitating problems. Maybe a smidgen of child abuse. Definitely attachment issues and a shit-load of questions. How could Sophia thrust Chloe into that? The child had quite clearly placed her trust in her captor, and one can never abuse trust. Sophia's inner self was doing a great job of justifying her madness. She racked her brain for someone who had been through the care system and come out unscathed but all she could find was Teresa, and the assortment of lost souls who she had come into contact with through work. "No one makes it out without bearing the scars; there must be a better alternative to this. But she couldn't find it. As Chloe dribbled gleefully in front of "The Jungle Book, Sophia scoured the internet for an obscure oracle. Never any bloody help when you actually need something, she resolved. Enchanted by the romanticism of the situation, Louis had chosen to slack off school and help solve the problem. Admittedly he did not know what to do, but like Jack was inclined towards the social services route.
Neither Louis nor Sophia had been brave enough to switch on the local news for fear of coming face to face with a kidnapping conviction but eventually the male had uncharacteristically succumbed to curiosity and opted to scan every TV and radio station. Not a sausage. Relief combined itself with puzzlement to create an overwhelming desire for insight. He decided to pick up the phone to Karen and place a little order. A few minutes and a little nervous stammering later, he collapsed with satisfaction against the door of the under-stairs cupboard. No words were exchanged between the two as Louis shuffled into his trainers and donned a snowboarding jacket. He cast a wink which Sophia eagerly caught hold of, and dashed out the front door into no-man's land. The two girls spent that afternoon excitedly engaged in semi-successful talking/singing/dancing games that Sophia had excavated from her muddle of childhood memories. They ate the remaining portions of Jack's magic mush, followed by a couple of strawberry-vanilla "Petit-Filous each. At half four Louis lurched back into the house, fucked. Sophia, who had been dozing with Chloe on the floor in the front room, rushed to meet him but, pre-empting the condition that he was in from the sound of his clumsy motions, paused to speak to him through the lounge door.
"Did you smoke some crack?
"Yes. Had to mate. I'm ruined. Can't face you or littl'un. All that matters is that she hasn't gone to the old bill, and won't. That scummy boyfriend bastard's convinced her Chloe's at friends' it seems.
"What?
"Not up for having the gavvers crawling all over his business.
"Thank you.
"Need to work out what the fuck we're going to do here, sweetheart. But I'm going to bed now 'cause I'm mangled, ok?
Louis' lungs were heaving violently under the strain of the chemical smoke and the walk. He levered himself off the hallway wall and hoisted his weight up the stairs, wheezing and mumbling in confusion. His days as a substance indulger were long gone and so the high had just drained him. Spasmodic, fully-clothed slumber provided him with some remission but failed to protect him from the piercing consciousness that the sound of Jack's raised voice triggered. Unable to move, he drifted between dream and waking for an hour as he felt the house vibrate and collide around him. Eventually the activity climaxed in a door slam which left the entire place shaking with a shocked state of finality. What the Hell was going on? Before he was able to peel himself from his twisted mattress, Sophia marched into the room with Chloe perched on her hip and, observing the full horror of Louis' appearance, placed a hand in front of the child's eyes. She burst into an emotional rant about how Jack had packed a bag and left because he was not prepared to become a party to the situation. It was rash but understandable. Sophia knew that what she was doing was crazy but she was not prepared to seal the fate of the child by thrusting her into a deeply-faulted care system. One does not need to be Doctor Barnardo to deem that, for all social services' good intentions, somewhere along the line a lot of children are growing up with some very dark experiences.
Louis attempted to persuade Jack over the phone to return, but was beaten into submission by an admission from his great ally that if he did come back, Jack would have no choice but to personally take Chloe to the necessary authorities. The conversation was terminated respectfully and empathetically. Louis had remained adamant that whatever Sophia judged as best as a course of action would be right and secretly he was falling in love with a daydream of the three of them as a family. Kitted out in a fresh hand-towel and a little powder-blue nightie that Louis had bought from the Cancer Research shop that day, Chloe had zizzed off peacefully for another night's sleep. Sensing Sophia's exhaustion, Louis insisted that he would sit up to watch the baby whilst she slept. As she jadedly undressed herself Louis continued with the information that he had tried to relay earlier on at the bottom of the stairs. He explained that whilst losing the plot at Karen's he had managed to construe that the boyfriend, who was in fact a fully-developed human called Gaz, seemed to be wanted by the police for a number of offences. This was deduced from a conversation that Louis overheard as he floated a few inches above their sofa in his state of artificial exhilaration. Gaz was standing outside the backdoor barking boastfully on a stolen mobile to some other sketchy matey, with little attempt to maintain any confidentiality. Louis heard mention of a police pursuit with regard to no less than six charges, including "fuckin' 'im up with a screwdriver ('grievous bodily harm') and "enough rock to stone a Muslim ('possession with intent to supply'). It took a cautious enquiry from Louis for Karen to babble that "Gaz's took smallest to a mate's for a bit of quiet. Doing the calculations as he developed a little sanity on the walk home, Louis had deduced that Gaz was a very nasty criminal and Karen a disgustingly negligent mother.
As Louis was drawing his dramatic anecdote to a close, Sophia's mobile phone rang and killed the moment. She broke eye contact reluctantly, for the first time in ten minutes, and glanced at the screen. Amie. What day was it? Shit. Thursday. Kick boxing. 8.47pm. Class starts at 9. Shit. Sophia had forgotten all about the development of her physique, and her exhaustion forbade her from taking a sudden interest in it then, as she lay cocooned in the duvet. After a couple of super-quick mental rehearsals to ensure plausibility, Sophia adopted a meagre rasp of a voice and bullshitted an excuse of illness to her friend. At the request of her conscience she offered to take Amie for a coffee and a sickly over'priced Danish from the American multi-national at the end of the road upon recovery, knowing that one can quite often be brought back into a person's favour with the offer of free food. Amie was annoyed, as she always was when presented with a situation that was not idyllic for her. She attempted a sympathetic voice, spat a few clichéd and ineffective sore throat remedies down the phone, and ended the call.
Chloe awoke in the night, audibly alarmed or uncomfortable. Sophia was surprised upon waking to find herself already tending to the upset little girl, the helpless figure of Louis knelt next to her, keen but insufficient. She murmured a few soothing whispers into Chloe's hot red ear and made sure that she knew that everything was ok. The noise simmered and within a few moments the child had been placed back under the cover, contently bobbing around the ever-expanding chambers of her infantile subconscious. Without a word Sophia stood and beckoned Louis to her bed. Without a thought he followed.
A persistent guilty thought forced Sophia out of bed and onto the phone early the next morning. For all Amie's faults, she had looked after Sophia when she had arrived in the city as a nomad, and in all this madness she had been totally marginalised. Another thought crossed her mind which pollinated into the relieved realisation that she would be able to seek a confidante in her friend, and so a rendezvous was arranged. She slouched into the shower and it was only once stood shivering in the cubicle that she realised the entire unit was missing. She had forgotten that it was being replaced following a chronic build up of limescale. In all that was taking place, cleanliness had taken a backseat. The baby had been up and emitting noise since six but Louis had thoughtfully taken her downstairs to play with some cornflour and water, a mixture which creates a substance that becomes fluid when allowed to pour but is a similarly solid, though less penetrable, consistency to sand when forced about manually. Hours of fun. Almost, but after a few minutes Chloe's attentions had been more drawn to the collection of Disney videos, so he escorted her into the front room for Snow White back-to-back with Lady and The Tramp. Just as those two horrid cats were bursting into "We are Siamese if you please, Miaow¦, Sophia appeared in the doorway to add her catcall to the rendition, much to the delight of her audience. Enchanted and somewhat overwhelmed by a great big rush of elation that tingled through her as she became engulfed by an unfamiliar familial feeling, she ended up forgetting her date and then having to half-run. Amie was already sipping a skinny cappuccino, perched at one of the window tables and draining a Marlboro Light masochistically. Thankfully she was well out of earshot of even the most curious of caffeine-slaves.
Although evidently and understandably shocked by that which her friend had to say, Amie respectfully listened and nodded her way through Sophia's monologue. At the climax, the speaker exhaled loudly and deflated internally with relief. The listening figure paused for just a second before pushing back her chair and blooming into a hug that was gratefully reciprocated, albeit with a little constriction. Following a poignant silence, Amie retracted to her sitting position with the words "I don't know¦you are a silly thing, honey. She went on to suggest that they should liase again for further psychotherapy later that evening, as a complex cut-and-colour was forcing her to adjourn for the afternoon. Sophia agreed, feeling somewhat concerned that she had just stripped herself naked in front of a hundred passing consumers, only to have her emotional nudity rescheduled, and inevitably repeated. She hoped for a bit of privacy later. With a squeeze of her hands and a glossy kiss on the cheek, Amie disappeared into the gale that was gleefully whistling and whisking about. Sophia moved slowly towards the exit, her body light and graceful from the removal of her metaphysical burden.
Louis had foolishly taken Chloe to the park and as Sophia found the house deserted she launched into a wild panic. A note on the fridge explained all, but still she fretted herself into a paranoia that forced her to 'phone and summon him home. He skulked into the living room like an abashed bed-wetter, with a living doll in delayed, unstable tow behind him. Chloe's face beamed as she caught sight of her kidnapper, but the rushed waddle forward was too much for such unrefined balance and she was launched onto the floor, her beam dulled by the carpet. When some children cry with shock there is a horrific still pause before their face contorts with alarm and the wailing sobs begin. It is heart-wrenchingly painful to watch, as Sophia discovered upon pulling the child to her feet and vainly attempting to pacify her with a dozen kisses on her downy head. She felt her own eyes dampening as Chloe continued to cry. Eventually an abundance of attention and a smidgen of tickling from both grown ups unleashed a flurry of giggles and the crisis was over. There was nothing for it but to digress into an excited game of hide-and-seek, with Louis and the babe scuttling off to conceal themselves together. Finishing the count Sophia moved with a grin from the front room into the kitchen, fully aware that they were crouched behind the coat rack in the hallway. As she half-heartedly scoured the room she commentated on her search loudly and upon finding nothing moved towards the entrance hall. She stepped onto the exhausted cream carpet and her eyes scanned up from the floor, to the coat rack and the two whispering lumps visible through the assortment of anoraks and jackets. Her vision was then alerted to something beyond the clothes, at the front door. Glancing at the letter box she realised incredibly quickly that her eyes were being met by those of a man, who looked from her to Chloe and back again. There was no doubt about it: Old Bill.
There was no time for words as the fella at the flap watched Sophia make an impulsive dive for Chloe. A confused Louis began an enquiry but with her free palm Sophia diverted his sight towards the problem. His voice slipped away and standing up too, he followed the girls who had already disappeared into the confines of the house. Turning briefly back, he watched the uniformed officer arise from his bended knees and listened as he radioed through a proud confirmation that he had uncovered precisely that which he had been looking for. After crashing into the kitchen where the other two were clutching each other, Louis mumbled a few unintelligible nouns and thrust his car keys into Sophia's hand. The silver Renault Clio that he had been hacking about in for just over a year was parked at the rear of the house, amongst a plot of shabby rented garages. The keys were grasped desperately and with a final bare smooch on Louis' chapped lips, cut short by the twatting of a great fist upon the front of the house, the criminal and her victim were gone.
French cars have a tendency to begin their road-life with significant promise and a number of beneficial interior features. However following the first year of being driven the luxurious extras start to fuck up, and gradually the more essential aspects follow. As soon as one deteriorates it is virtually guaranteed that others will also do so, in quick succession. Louis' Clio was three years old and the brake pads had already been replaced, in addition to the stereo and electric mirrors, and there had been a considerable amount of deterioration to the power steering. As Sophia quickly found out, the gear box was also on its last legs. Crunching and grinding her way frantically through the gears, she sped out onto the road. Chloe was strapped into the back seat, sat on a damp cushion and chewing a discarded fluffy dice with satisfaction. Hurtling past the police station, Sophia spied a leggy blond sat on the steps, sucking the death out of a ciggy. Eye contact was made as Sophia's stomach lurched and she exchanged a look of dismay with her only female comrade. Instantaneously a series of chemical clicks in her brain brought a sense of clarity about the recent dramatic turn of events. Looking dreamily back at the road, she continued to drive relentlessly. Some things are just too crazy, she thought.
Some miles outside the city there was an area of Forestry Commission land which stretched for a fair distance. Arcadian dog walking country. With little conscious decision, Sophia headed straight there. Due to the unavoidable seasonal influence, the world was already bathed in a half-light that would rapidly be descending into full-on darkness. As she expected, by the time they reached the car park it was deserted but for one gleaming Land Rover. Nothing worse than a clean and shiny 4x4 used only for the school run by a mother whose driving ineptness requires her to throw her weight around in a tank. It turned out that this mother was using the vehicle to cop off with a balding man in suit, and Sophia's arrival panicked her into quick reverse before she disappeared off down the road. There was silence in the wood but for an occasional ruffling in the vast evergreen canopy. Undoing Chloe's seatbelt, Sophia lifted the tot into the passenger seat next to her. The child was unfulfilled and clambered onto her companion's lap. A warped copy of "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone lay in the side pocket of Sophia's door so she extracted it from the gubbins which lay festering around it and, after flicking the light on, began to read aloud. It was not long before Chloe was asleep and Sophia's mind began to access the situation. She was on the run from the Police having been grassed up for kidnapping a child and keeping her captive. Oh dear, oh dear. She knew full well that she would be nicked, charged and sent to dyke heaven for a lengthy stretch, and her chances of working with kids again would be totally obliterated. Not good. Looking at Chloe, she thought about the babe's prospects. Either she would be thrown back to the lions, or she would be thrown to a new pride with whatever assaults they might bring. Sophia decided that she had no choice but to continue driving until she physically could do so no longer - it was her duty to herself and her baby. She opened the car door and headed to the boot, hoping to find some sort of teleporter hidden amongst the crap. A new shower hose and head lay in its packaging and Sophia cursed Louis for not having fitted it. There was also a banana, some Terry Pratchett story cassettes, a roll of gaffer tape, a huge patchwork blanket and a bottle of Evian. She retrieved everything except the shower and returned to her seat.
Time was passing and as Sophia mulled over her options, she realised that a number of factors were against her: 1) She would soon be wanted by national Police and following Louis' arrest, the fact that she had taken his car would have been unveiled, 2) She had no money and the petrol gauge was already in the red, 3) Chloe would do a poo soon and there was no money or necessary equipment in the car. The baby stirred and wakened. Sophia peeled the banana for her, which she ate herself, and then administered some water carefully. Chloe returned to the lap for a bit of a thumb-suck, blissfully unaware of the thought which was developing in Sophia's mind: there really was no physical way out for them together. She cuddled Chloe close to her and contemplated the only way that they could have a little peace. Knowing that she should not cry in front of the child, she felt the tears well and placed the tot back on the passenger side. Sophia exited the vehicle for a brief bitter sob, and reopened the boot to obtain the shower hose which she unwrapped savagely. Placing it under her arm and grabbing the tape, she sighed with agonising devastation. As an aural pacifier, Sophia put on Terry Pratchett's "The Colour of Magic, and although its lexical wonders and clever satire fell were not appreciated, it managed to keep Chloe entertained. Sophia ironically wished that she had not seen so many dark European art-house films to know how to rig up a cosy gas chamber as she taped the end of the hose securely to the exhaust pipe. An endless flow of mental visions, regrets, questions and useless information swam around in her head, climaxing in just three words: this is it. She wedged the shower head in through the back window on her side. The gap in the window was gaffered up tightly and Sophia got back into the car. She activated the central locking, swigged some water and pulled Chloe onto her. The blanket was gathered snugly around them like a warm nest. The exchanged a little nonsense conversation before the calming voice of Nigel Planer was turned up, the engine was bravely turned on and thumbs were placed into mouths. They closed their eyes and drifted off to the Land of Nod together where they lived happily ever after.