Free Tree Palace by Craig Sherborne Page A

medicine. There would be questioning. And if they found out what Zara did they’d be on the phone, you could bet on that. Next thing the police would be doing the questioning and Zara would be a murderous mother in their eyes and Mathew taken away.
    She didn’t say this to Zara. She said, ‘We don’t want to bother with hospitals. We take care of ourselves. No one else sticking their nose in. No one saying: If the girl doesn’t want the baby we should take him away.’
    ‘I want him taken away.’
    Moira gripped the girl’s shoulder and squeezed but didn’t shake those words out of her like she wanted to. Instead she said, ‘You do not want him taken away,’ and let her head drop and her voice drop. Her breathing was shuddery.
    Zara’s breathing was shuddery too and there was a faint whistle in her nose.
    ‘You don’t want him taken away. Sounds good now but what about ten, twenty years. You’d be the woman who wanted her baby taken. Let me help you. I can take care of Mathew and you can get better in the meantime.’

7
    Alfie wasn’t at his shop, it was a wasted trip, so they drove straight home. Normally they’d have gone off and had a drink at the pub but not today—Tubbsy might be there. Shane made it clear to Moira that his loyalty was with her. He’d had a good think about it and decided some things shouldn’t blow over. Not straight away. Maybe sometime in the future, but not at the moment. She kissed him for that. Just on the cheek, which was more meaningful than the lips because the lips can be mistaken for sexual, not heartfelt thanks.
    Wind had lowered itself along the ground instead of staying up higher and blowing clouds into thinner clouds. It had come down fast like a dry storm with dust for rain. Hotter than you’d think air could be without coming from heaters. If a magpie tried to fly against it it was ripped away and forced to land. The short trees whipped forward. The bigger trees twisted and hissed. Dead branches snapped. A gale that had hours to go before it tired. The flat earth gave it a clear run.
    Best thing to do was stay inside and suffer the heat with the slats closed across the tearing glad-wrap window. If you went outside you needed the house or the caravan for a windbreak. There was a spray bottle that Moira half filled with water. You sprayed it on your skin and the wind cooled you, but only for seconds. She put Mathew on the kitchen table and sprayed him over but he didn’t like it and cried. Shane was on the bed having a sleep. She heard him turn over—squeaks of the bedsprings. He didn’t rouse from the baby’s noises, but even so she took Mathew outside, a shield of tea towel for his face. She didn’t last two strides before the wind made her go back.
    Rory was outside. Moira didn’t notice. He saw her and didn’t want her seeing him so he crouched behind Zara’s tent, the canvas cheeks puffing from gusts. When Moira had gone back inside he pushed through the flap. ‘Hey, Zara. Wake up, Zara,’ he said. Even when she swore at him to fuck off and leave her alone he persisted and asked for a lend of her make-up. ‘Where’s your make-up bag?’ And sunglasses. He wanted a lend of sunglasses. She had the airline pilot sort that she’d thieved or traded or something. He said he wasn’t leaving her alone until she lent them.
    Typical Rory, thought Moira when he leant against the doorframe for dinner, sunglasses on, baseball cap pulled down like a snub to her. Typical Rory, said Shane. Sunglasses and cap, trying to be a tough guy.
    The boy ate outside, saying that inside smelled of babies. The gas was lit for Mathew’s feeding and it doubled the heat.
    Midge joined him, though Rory moved off to be alone as if brooding over his bowl.
    Moira took a serve of instant noodles to Zara and left it by her bed with advice to blow on it and sip or it would burn her tongue. She didn’t know what else to do but feed her. Keep up a ration of connection.
    When night came it