Milk

"And so, I had to take hold of her arm and physically pull her off."

Sharon had been proud of the intervention that she'd made at the supermarket that morning and was relishing telling the tale to her neighbour over the fence.

"Did you?" Joanne encouraged, her eyes wide at the tale of the mother of a young baby assaulting an old lady.

"I did and I tell you, Jo, the look in that mum's eyes? Well, it was like she was dead inside, you know but then, she became so fired up, it was like she was..." Sharon struggled to come up with an apt description. "It was like she was a zombie, or something but like angrier."

Jo nodded sagely and wished that she had been there to see it. She thought to herself What is the world coming to? just before Sharon voiced it.

*

Earlier that day

They needed milk. Again. There was always something. Every time she went to the shop, she thought that she'd got everything only to discover that no, something else had been forgotten. Rebecca blinked back tears.

No! she told herself. You will not cry! But my God she wanted to. She willed that rational part of her brain which was still managing to function somehow to take complete charge but she knew that it wouldn't. Or couldn't. She was so tired. So tired.

The intercom sprang into life. Rebecca stood like a hunted deer, ears alert to the noise. Her shoulders instinctively hunched forward and she kept very still, waiting. Seconds passed with no further murmur and she gradually uncoiled herself. She might be lucky and be able to eat, have a hot drink while it remained hot, and then close her eyes and rest, just for a minute before duties resumed. And then she remembered she had no milk. She'd fancied porridge and a milky coffee, weak of course. She didn't want to pass the caffeine onto the baby after all. She was a good mother. And she didn't want to keep it awake.

Rebecca blinked back tears again. She was a good mother, wasn't she? So why did she feel so bad all the time? Don't give in to it, she heard her inner voice prompt her. But she couldn't help returning to a place of doubt and wondered all the time Is it normal to feel like this?

She just needed sleep, that was all. If she could just have one full night's sleep, she felt like she'd be back on the level. With that in mind, Rebecca decided that she would get some toast in the toaster (there was no milk for porridge). She needed to eat - she was after all the feeding trough for another mighty mouth. She had to forgo what would have been a black coffee (there was no milk for milky coffee) and try and have a sit down while she could. Yes, she should wash up and yes, there was always laundry to be done but sod it! She was tired and she deserved to rest. She did! Chores could wait.

She had just finished her toast and was plumping up the cushions on the sofa ready to just lay down and have forty, maybe sixty winks, when the intercom burst into life again and this time, the loud roar of a hungry, wet baby blasted its way out of it.

Rebecca resisted the temptation to just sit and stare at the wall, willing it to stop, which she had found herself doing the other day and had had to really rally herself to get up and move. This time, she pushed herself up, crumbs still littering her top, and put her "Mum" face on, all smiles and reassurances and soft, light tones in place, ready to pick up baby Danny from his cot. Her breasts tingled in response and she felt gratified and betrayed in equal measure at her body's reaction: gratified because her body at least was a good provider even if her mind felt like it was teetering on the brink of oblivion; and betrayed because, well, the same. The fact that her body could respond so convincingly to the call of her offspring made her feel like her mind was betraying her. It was like the control centre had been taken hostage but the rebels were still working to keep everything going. Rebecca felt like she was two disparate things and the schism between them was getting bigger every day.

And there was one thought that she had to fight every minute of the day, that kept trying to get in and was persistent in its knocking, pushing at the defences that she had erected to keep it at bay. It was always there, like a flitting shadow in her peripheral vision, present but not dominant but just always waiting for its chance to insidiously creep in and confront her with what she was desperately trying to suppress: that she hated being a mum and that she hated her baby.

*

Doris liked to go to the supermarket daily. She liked to see what was reduced. If she could pay half price for something, she would. In fact, her basket was rarely full of anything which didn't have a yellow reduced label on it and if it wasn't lower priced, it was on offer. She really felt like she was getting one over on the big supermarkets.

"They won't take more of my money than I want to give," she was often heard saying at bingo. The others tolerated Doris and her ways. They didn't like her especially but they only saw her at bingo once a week. They could endure that. They did wonder about her diet though as from their experience of the reduced section, it was a mixed bag: sandwiches previously overpriced or of dubious fillings; extravagant cakes; sushi; vegan sausages; beansprouts; a superior cut of beef for the Sunday roast connoisseur, still too expensive.

Doris wasn't concerned about what others thought of her. If she wanted to eat a pork pie, some carrot batons and a chocolate eclair for dinner that was entirely up to her. She wished that she could be less constipated but the thought of parting with more pennies made her gut cramp anyway. At least, she had control over that. Nobody would ever get one over on her.

There was a time when she had wanted to be liked and she hadn't always been this mean-spirited. Doris had lived with her mum for years, a sour old cow. Her father had died in the war and she'd never known the love of a parent. For Doris, it was "Do this, Doris" and "Do that, Doris" and when she did, it was "Why did you do it like that?" and "Stupid girl!" and "Time to clean the cellar, Doris" and listen to the solid clunk of the key as it turned in the lock and the light from under the door become a narrow slit.

Doris had been meek in the past: she'd soon lost her malleability. She'd had to, to survive. But survival brought its own paring down and now her emotional capacity was back to its barest bones and had not expanded since. Her character had been formed early on and was like concrete now: hard and cold.

When her mother died, she'd been lost. Having been pushed low for so long, one could imagine Doris springing up like a pogo stick but the reverse was true. She was crushed. Her mother held her in orbit round her dark core and Doris had known nothing different.

There were men but they had come and gone. Derision is not an attractive quality to have in a potential mate and having been taught to bring people low by the best of them, Doris struggled to have a relationship with anyone which was not centred on pointing out what was wrong and doing it in the most direct and sometimes cruellest way possible.

It was what she'd always known. She had been trained to be nothing other than negative.

Doris saw the young mum as she came in through the automatic doors. Pushing a pushchair. Greasy, lank hair. Could be pretty but she looked grey, like her colour had been drained from her. Dark half moons under her eyes. Dazed.

Doris watched as she came towards her trolley and waited.

*

Rebecca entered the brightness of the store, Danny in his pushchair, dummy firmly in place. She hoped that this would be one of those times where she was able to come in, get what she needed and head out with minimum fuss. She remembered the days where she liked to browse but now, she feared disruption - she didn't want Danny to kick off because it would mean feeding him and a whole load of kerfuffle, which was easier to handle at home where she wouldn't be observed. Or judged.

She wondered how other mothers did it. She'd seen mums just open their blouse or dress or whatever garment they were pristinely wearing and just discreetly letting their child latch onto their breast, no nipple exposed or veiny feeding balloon on view. Smooth and unfussy, with a babe keenly suckling and satisfied, fed with barely a murmur. She had to stem her envy else it made her deeply resentful.

Her plan of approach to any excursion with Danny was to get in and get out; it was a grocery smash and grab, which is probably why she was here for...? What was she here for? Before she'd left the house, Rebecca had managed to scribble down some items that she knew she was getting low on. She'd put Danny in the pushchair and hastily written five things down but there was one crucial one. What had she done with the list? Had she brought it? Rebecca patted her trouser pocket and realised that no, she did not have it. It was not there. She stopped, trying to recall how she had left the house.

It had not been easy. It was never easy. Her brain was blancmange, a pink mass of very little. Ideas sparked but vanished quickly, escaping like paper lanterns into the night. She wished...she wished that she could be like she was before Danny. Inadvertently, she let out a choked cry and startled by its outburst, her outburst, she looked around embarrassed and put her hand to her mouth to stop any more from coming out.

An old woman with a trolley was watching her. Rebecca gave her a wan smile and the old woman took it as an invitation to come over.

"You alright, love?" the old woman asked.

"Yes, thank you," Rebecca blatantly lied.

"It's busy in here today, innit?" Doris ventured, her beady eyes scanning the young mum's face. There was some sport here to be had, she reckoned. This one was seemingly helpless, tired, a bit dazed. Perfect.

"Is it? Yes, probably," Rebecca said. Her mind was starting to calm after its emotional spike and she really just wanted to get what was needed and get out of there. She looked at the old woman in front of her. There was a smell from her which spoke of soap but not enough of it, and its infrequent use. She looked normal. Dowdy and mismatched in her dress and cardigan combo suggesting cosiness but Rebecca got no warmth from her. Presentable but sharp. Nothing obviously untoward but Rebecca's wariness was high.

Rebecca thought, What was it that I needed? If she could just have a quiet moment to think...while Danny was quiet...if she could just reach for what it was...

The old woman was crouching down to Danny. He was awake, dummy moving.

Rebecca was watching but her mind was still trying to snag what she needed. What the hell was it?

Doris was now face-to-face with Danny who was looking at the wizened face in front of him and taking it all in, his big blue eyes scanning her features and not liking what he saw. "Hello, little boy," Doris crooned and got closer, her widow's hump now blocking most of Rebecca's view of him.

Rebecca moved herself automatically so that she could see Danny's reaction. She would not have him upset because then she would have to deal with it and she didn't want to have to do that again just yet. Hopefully, this old woman would move along soon and she could wander the aisles, hoping that the displayed produce would provide her with enlightenment and she could get out before she had to get her boobs out.

Doris was pulling back, she couldn't stoop like that for long, whatever her gleeful purpose and turned to look at the mum, who was looking pleasant but concerned and said, bright white false teeth shining in a malicious grin, "Ugly little thing, isn't he?" and sharp as a dart, she reached out her gnarled old fingers and pinched his dear chubby little leg.

Danny's reaction was like a klaxon going off, loud and piercing, the shrill cries of an indignant baby enough to stop everyone in their tracks, including Sharon. But it was Rebecca's reaction that was the real surprise that day because, with a speed of which she did not know she was capable, she grabbed the old woman's hand with her left and slapped the old woman's face with her right, her teeth bared and gritted like an animal's. Doris's face had no time to register anything but shock and Rebecca, having delivered the blow, now used her right hand to hold Doris in place as she snarled in her wrinkled red face "Keep away from my child!"

Red mist had descended and Rebecca was only aware of the fierceness of her need to protect and her anger towards this woman. Gradually, a noise permeated her consciousness and Rebecca heard the voice of a middle-aged woman say, "Okay, love. Let go of the old woman" and Rebecca felt her fingers being prised off from around the skeletal limbs of the woman who had hurt her son.

Once released, Rebecca turned instantly to Danny who she lifted out of his pushchair and clutched to her, his sobs muffled as he buried his little face into the warmth and comfort of his mother's chest. Rebecca held him close to her and listened as he calmed, his cries lessening as she jigged him and held him with both arms, kissing his tear covered cheek and feeling the soft plumpness under the salt.

Doris had been chastened like she hadn't been in years. Her instinct was to make a fuss, to cause as much of a kerfuffle as possible, but there was no denying the pinch mark on the baby's leg. Doris could see its red sharpness as she was led away by the woman who'd intervened and despite the shock delivered by the slap, internally Doris felt a massive sense of satisfaction at having performed so well with her arthritic fingers. Sat on the bench she'd been brought to, she said, "No, no. I don't want to cause any trouble," all meekness and disbelief. "She must be having a tough time already. I don't want to add to her troubles."

No security involvement and so, no consequences.

And Rebecca held onto Danny tightly, for the first time feeling a connection that felt maternal, murmuring softly in his ear and taking in the sweet scent of his babyness. With him being held with one arm and her pushing the pushchair with the other, she cast one last glowering look at the old lady before heading for the dairy aisle as she had suddenly remembered that she needed milk.