‘Lego Baby’

Tessa sat at the dining table, watching her daughter build a Lego baby. Piece by piece, the clunky edges of a bassinet curved up like the hull of Noah’s Ark. Each brick was an off-shade of milky white, some smooth and shiny, some grubby and sun-damaged – all stolen from other playsets. Leaning across the table, she poked at a turret-shaped brick and said, ‘Ain’t this from your princess castle?’

Her daughter shrugged, then carried on swishing a hand through a pile of random bricks. She had brushed sand that way too, when knelt on Weymouth beach. That was the last time Tessa saw her smile, and it wasn’t that long ago, three months, maybe four. Time had since split from the shape of the calendar year, now measured in cycles of day and night, dressed and undressed, dry eyes and wet eyes …

‘You smashed up all them sets?’ Tessa tapped a bitten fingernail against the table. Her daughter picked up a light-blue square, inspected it like some dying bug, then set it snug inside the walls of the bassinet; the first piece of the blanket was in place and that colour was no coincidence. Tessa took a quick sip from her mug of coffee and winced. A droplet stained her dressing gown. ‘At least you’re out of your room,’ she said. ‘Think you’ll try school tomorrow?’

Her daughter froze, a strand of red hair falling across her face. She flicked it away, then carried on swiping through the Lego pieces, faster than before. It wouldn’t do to encroach; she’d only retreat to that stale den of hers, a liminal space no longer of innocence but yet of teenage rebellion, back in a fetal position under the covers.

‘Girls your age should be outside, leading boys around by cuff and collar … not playing with Lego.’ She tried catching her daughter’s eye but gave up, shaking her head instead. If Dean was around, he might’ve talked some sense into her.

If Dean was around…

Tessa reached out a hand but stopped, placing it back on the mug. Early evening sunlight lit up the dining room, and for a moment, the edges of the bassinet seemed to glow, to come alive. And wouldn’t that be something? She reached out again, only this time her fingertips caught sparks off the bricks, or perhaps it was the misty glint in her eyes. How could something so warm, so golden, be so painful? She watched her daughter set another blue square in the bassinet, the sharp click impregnating the space between them. And like the dimming of a switch, the light faded back into dusky shadow.

‘Maddie.’ She took her daughter by the hand. ‘Go back to school, I can’t have you moping around here anymore.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re acting like it happened to you. You’re a kid. I’m the one who is suffering; I’m the one who lost the baby.’

***

Tessa flicked on the kettle, then scooped two spoonfuls of coffee granules into her mug. Her daughter was still sitting at the dining table, partially hidden by the breakfast bar, so she wouldn’t notice the bottle of Monkey Shoulder when it came down from the top cupboard; it was Dean’s whiskey, but he wasn’t going to drink it. At first, she swore not to touch the stuff when Maddie was in the house. Then it was only once her daughter was asleep, a few short drams before bedtime: to help settle the stomach, stave off the nightmares. But now, it was as much a part of her daily diet as the coffee that hid it, and the damn bottle was neigh-on empty. ‘Judge not lest ye be judged,’ she muttered, upending the dregs into her mug.

Back at the dining table, she peered at the Lego baby. The blue blanket was complete, and the baby’s head was half-formed from a jagged array of neon-pink bricks, the Lego company not specialising (yet) in colours of the ruddy complexion. The bassinet seemed familiar, the blanket … familiar. All too familiar.

‘This won’t bring him back, you know.’ Tessa sucked in her bottom lip. ‘All you’re doing is making it worse for me.’

Maddie paused, then said, ‘I’m just trying to help.’

‘Is that so?’ Sipping from her mug, Tessa allowed steam to bend up around her ears, coil before her sunken eyes. ‘If you really want to help, go back to school. Or at least let me talk to you about … before you dash off back to your room.’

‘I don’t want to talk about him, that’s what you’ve got Dean for–’

‘Yeah, well, Dean ain’t here. And God knows when I’ll see him again. And stop playing with that damn Lego!’ She reached out for the bassinet, but her daughter managed to slip it away, stretching out an arm to protect it. Her eyes were hard and determined, her body rigid, heroic even, like holding back civilians in an action film – a little too late to be a hero, only villains here. And Dean fit that billing too. In the aftermath of tragedy, he should’ve been there, Tessa’s rock, her wall to lean against, but should faith have ever been placed in a man whose mantra was to play hard, drink harder, fuck hardest, then fuck all the rest? She liked a bad boy, but they’re bad for a reason.

And he and Maddie never saw eye-to-eye.

Not that her daughter helped matters much, too stubborn for her own good, more resolute than a diehard evangelist. If Tessa liked a bad boy, Maddie did not. And to see the two at loggerheads over what to watch on television, which takeaway to order, or why Maddie was a ‘goddamn muppet’ for entertaining the idea of a tattoo once she turned eighteen (despite Dean’s Satanic sleeves), often left Tessa as peacekeeper, the unenviable position between the one you love and he who loves you to orgasm.

‘She’s a spoilt brat who don’t know she’s alive,’ he said one evening, six months back. They stood in the small third bedroom. ‘But mark my words, once my son gets here, she’ll understand what it means to take a backseat.’ He pointed a finger at Maddie. ‘What you want won’t matter anymore.’

‘Babe, please, she’s just a kid.’ Tessa rubbed a hand up his forearm. ‘Let her choose a theme for the nursery.’

‘But he’s my boy. I don’t want some pansy-assed animals slapped up and down these walls. The elephants come in two-by-two, hoo-bloody-rah. It’s racing cars, that’s decided.’ 

‘Decided by the chauvinistic pig sponging off my mum.’

Tessa was sure her daughter didn’t fully understand the meaning of those words, and it was probably a sentiment thrown around during a gabbing session with her gal pals, but there was no denying it hit the mark; kids have a way of cutting straight to the bone.

‘You righteous little cow,’ said Dean. ‘Show me some goddamn respect.’

‘Not likely,’ laughed Maddie, scampering out the room.

Tessa moved before Dean, clasping hands around his face, his short stubble prickling her palms. ‘Ignore her,’ she said. ‘Focus on our baby, our proper little family.’

And it was … for a while. But four quickly became three, and now Dean was in the wind. Could two really be called a family?

Tessa looked at her daughter now, on a mission to recapture the past, brick-by-brick. A solemn, unremarkable kid. But a saint when compared to herself. For if Maddie and Dean were villains, then surely she was the devil? Because she always knew best, because the rules – the warnings – never applied to her. Because she, too, was bloody stubborn. And it was okay to co-sleep with an infant; she’d done it with Maddie. And it was sheer tiredness that took over that night, a deep soundless sleep. An on-her-front sleeper. And it was a pillow that disturbed her breast, it felt like a pillow…

She took a long drink, a string of spital clinging to the rim as she set the mug back down on the table. Wiping a hand over her mouth, she coughed.

‘That stuff’s disgusting,’ said Maddie, not looking up from her Lego baby.

‘What?’

‘Dean’s booze. It’s gross and you shouldn’t drink it. He might get angry.’

Tessa’s mouth hung open while searching for the right words. Kids are like sponges, soaking up everything around them, and did she really think Maddie wouldn’t notice? ‘It’s my way of coping,’ she said. ‘You’re just a kid, you wouldn’t understand.’

And with that, her daughter looked up, two glistening eyes like polished mirrors. ‘I’d swap places with him,’ she said, ‘if I could. He’s the kid you and Dean wanted … not me. I don’t fit into your proper little family.’ She slotted a black brick inside the bassinet. ‘It’s not fair what happened. I’d swap places with him.’

Tessa looked beyond her daughter, a pinkish bank of clouds resting above the houses behind theirs. Her heart seemed too big for her chest, thumping against her ribcage. She brought her gaze inside, letting it fall upon the bassinet, the Lego baby now almost complete: a little pink face, unfeatured, the beginnings of black hair. A thing so fragile. And then her daughter, her Maddie, who had finally spoken of her dead brother; no smile would lighten that face again. But it didn’t have to be this way; it should never have been this way. Tessa stood, drank up her coffee and sobbed. ‘You’re just a kid; go back to school.’

***

Tessa woke on the sofa, a slight ruffling working into her dreams. She assumed it was the booze playing with her senses; yes, it numbed the pain, but it was downright disorienting. The living room was cast in a greyish gloom, and she imagined it was an hour or so before dawn or the last remnants of twilight. No sound but the crippling silence. But the ruffling returned and she called out, ‘Dean.’ Nothing. ‘Maddie.’ Nothing again, except more ruffling. Up from the sofa, she tottered towards the dining room, pausing on the threshold.

Her daughter lay slumped across the table, head resting on an outstretched arm. She must have been cold, for her skin was covered in little goosebumps. Tessa stepped closer, rubbing her eyes, and so realised her daughter was covered in tiny circles regularly divided by the thinnest lines, and these seemed to spread over her clothes and along her hair.

Ruffling drew Tessa to the bassinet, the smallest of movements. Reaching in, she lifted the Lego baby, now smooth and featured, the blue blanket hanging slack over her forearm. No clunky edges, nor jagged outlines. How could that be? She held the baby, while heaving in gulps of air. It’s not fair what happened. I’d swap places with him. In the greyish gloom, Tessa looked again at her daughter, her Maddie: whose grief was so profound one could fail to miss it. Who once was of flesh and blood; who now was her Lego baby.