Baby Dear: a gripping psychological thriller

by Linda Huber

A thin baby wail filled the room, and tears rushed down Sharon’s face as the midwife deposited a slippery, wet creature on her front and started to wipe it down.

  ‘Here we are, a lovely little girl. You hold her, Sharon.’

  Sharon peered at the baby. She had a mass of black hair, and her face was pink and squashed-looking. She was flexing tiny fingers, gripping Sharon’s thumb already. The midwife tucked a fresh towel over the baby, and Sharon clutched her daughter, gazing into the hazy blue eyes looking straight into her own.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, blessed relief filling her heart. Her baby was here. Her girl. ‘Craig? Look…’

  But Craig had run from the room.

  7

  Sunday, 29th May

  Julie

  Sunlight was streaming into Julie’s bedroom when she awoke on Sunday morning, and she rubbed her eyes. It wasn’t like her to sleep this late, more especially, it wasn’t like her daughter, but there was Amy still slumbering peacefully in her cot beside Julie’s bed. A lump came into Julie’s throat as she looked at the baby’s pink cheeks and sleep-damp hair. Thank goodness Amy hadn’t realised what happened to her the other day. The anguish had all been Julie’s.

  Stretching, she remembered the previous day’s events. Should she phone Sharon? The baby must have arrived by now. Or – not necessarily, she realised, counting back. Sharon’s labour had started around three o’clock yesterday afternoon, and first babies could easily take longer than seventeen hours to appear. Julie swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She would phone the hospital around nine.

  ‘Mummy? Can we have breakfast now?’ Sam’s voice from the living room sent Julie swiftly towards the shower.

  ‘Give me five minutes,’ she called. ‘You could lay the table, huh?’

  Sunday breakfast was always special. It was a family tradition, dating back to their first days in this flat. Croissants, warmed in the oven, with butter and raspberry jam. Sam loved it.

  After breakfast, Julie sat down with her phone. Hopefully they would tell her something at the hospital – she couldn’t exactly say she was a relative.

  She called the labour ward, and fortunately the midwife who answered remembered her from the previous day, and told her that Sharon had been moved upstairs. ‘Mother and daughter are doing well,’ she said cheerfully.

  Julie thanked her and ended the call, grinning. A little girlfriend for Amy, how lovely. She would visit this afternoon; Dee had already offered to take Sam and Amy for an hour or two. Surrogate grandmas rocked. She stood up to fetch more coffee, and her phone rang in her hand.

  ‘Hi!’ said a deep male voice, sounding pleased. ‘I’m glad I caught you – I tried a couple of times yesterday but you were switched off.’

  It was DS Max Sanders. Why was he phoning on a Sunday? Surely not about the break-in at the library. Julie’s palms were suddenly moist.

  ‘I was – busy,’ she said at last. ‘How’s the boy they found in the library? There’s hardly been anything about him in the paper. Is he okay?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Max Sanders. ‘His parents don’t want any media attention, and fortunately for them the father is something quite high up in newspapers, so he’s had more success blocking the story than you or I would. I’m afraid the boy’s still critical.’

  ‘Oh no.’ The day turned shadowy.

  ‘Um, Julie, I was wondering if you and the kids would like to do something this afternoon? The park, maybe? I promised I would show Sam a police car, and we didn’t have time last week.’

  Julie gripped the receiver more tightly. She hadn’t dated since before her marriage, and the thought of getting to know a man again – but that was thinking way too far ahead. He’d asked her out to the park. With her kids.

  ‘Sounds fun,’ she said cautiously. ‘It would have to be earlyish. I’m visiting a friend – remember Sharon? – in hospital later this afternoon.’

  ‘Okay. How about a hamburger lunch and a walk in the park?’

  Julie agreed, wondering if she was doing the right thing. On an impulse, she called Dee.

  ‘Of course you are!’ said her friend. ‘You’re going for a burger with a nice guy; it’s not a marriage proposal. Someday you’ll find someone who’s right for you, Julie. It might not be Max the policeman, but maybe he’s a good place to start.’

  Julie rang off and rushed to her bedroom to rummage through her clothes. However long ago was it since she’d worried about what to wear on a date? Years and years.

  Caro

  As usual on sunny Sunday mornings, the kids playing in the garden next door woke Caro. It was Red Indians today, by the sound of it. She rolled on her side and pulled the pillow over her head to block out the sound of happy children. How inconsiderate – her own parents had never let them out to play this early on a Sunday, in case they disturbed the neighbours. But grousing about it wasn’t fair; Caro knew if she and Jeff had kids she wouldn’t be giving the shouts from next door a second thought. Grimly, she threw back the duvet and reached for her bathrobe.

  At least she had the place to herself; Jeff was on the early shift today. He’d come home late yesterday afternoon, but they barely exchanged a word during yet another meal eaten in front of the television. Afterwards, he vanished upstairs into the spare room, where he kept his computer stuff. The room where the no-baby would never sleep. When Caro went up after watching the late-night film, he was already asleep in bed, and in spite of the mild night she lay shivering, huddled on the edge of the mattress with the shared duvet barely covering her back. She was married to a man who was rapidly becoming repulsive to her. Was this her punishment for entering into what was more a marriage of convenience than a love match? Sleep, when it came, was dogged by uncomfortable dreams she no longer remembered.

  A cappuccino calmed her nerves, and Caro sat at the kitchen table listening as two cowboys and one poor Indian ran around the garden next door. The day stretched empty in front of her. When Jeff was working on Sundays she usually either blobbed here at home, or visited Jeff’s grandmother, whose sheltered housing flat was a short bus ride away. Iris was a lovely lady, and she’d done all she could to welcome Caro to the family, but a visit today would be impossible. Caro knew she’d never be able to act the part of cheery granddaughter-in-law today, with Iris so happy and excited, planning her eightieth next Sunday. She had invited all the family – Jeff’s brother and his family were going, and Iris’s sister and some cousins. Caro pressed her fist to her mouth. She couldn’t spoil it for Iris.

  As usual when she was perturbed, she turned to cleaning to vent some energy, and banged around the ground floor before hoovering her way up the stairs. Landing, bedroom, bathroom… now there was only the room that belonged to Jeff and the no-baby, and Caro hesitated. If she went in there she’d end up howling, and it was really up to Jeff to keep this room in order. But she’d done every other room in the house and it seemed silly to stop here.

  Determinedly closing her mind to the mental picture of how the room would look if their family planning had been successful, Caro vacuumed the beige carpet and reorganised the cuddly tiger on the sofa bed. Now to empty the bin – what a load of paper Jeff had stuffed in here. This should be in the recycling.

  She pulled a wad of thick, white paper from Jeff’s waste bin, then sat down suddenly, her mouth dry. This was one of these expensive paper carriers, almost an exclusive carrier bag, and it had come from The Rocking Horse. The biggest, poshest baby shop in Edinburgh. Had Jeff gone all the way to Edinburgh to buy something in a baby shop? If he had, then why? And when? Or had he found the bag somewhere and used it? But it looked new, apart from the folds from being in the bin. Caro smoothed it out and looked inside, but no receipt was lurking.

  She dropped the bag and searched around the desk top, but there was nothing there connected to The Rocking Horse. Caro shrugged. The most likely thing was that Jeff had used the bag to transport something from Cybersonics. Maybe this carrier had belonged to Davie and his wife.
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br />   Yes, that would be it.

  Sharon

  ‘He just upped and left! I don’t even know if he saw her – I was kind of distracted by what was going on between my legs. And now he’s not answering his phone. What a jerk. But I guess you’ve got that T-shirt too.’ Sharon tried to smile, but she could see Julie wasn’t fooled.

  ‘Maybe he panicked. He’s obviously scared of the responsibility.’

  ‘Him and me both. The difference is I’m here with the baby, and he’s not.’ Sharon sniffed dismally. She hadn’t believed it yesterday when the midwife went to get Craig back in but returned to say he seemed to have left the building. Okay, he wasn’t over the moon about being a daddy, but to leave her literally in the middle of giving birth was something Sharon couldn’t get her head round. Her first thought was he’d felt dizzy and hadn’t wanted to faint – he’d never been good with blood. But as time passed it became increasingly evident that Craig hadn’t simply gone out for some fresh air, and Sharon’s rage grew. How dare he leave her like this?

  The midwives tried to be reassuring, but Sharon could see the shock in their eyes. What kind of man would rush off like that – and stay away? She lay clutching the baby, who gave a couple of squawks then settled down, apparently quite happy to lie listening to Sharon’s heart pounding as her anger grew.

  ‘Give him till tomorrow,’ the nurse said when they took her up to the ward and settled her into a single room. This was probably where they put the women whose babies were sick or deformed or dead… and now she had it. The woman whose husband ran off as the baby emerged.

  The ward sister brought her a cup of tea, and fussed around unpacking Sharon’s case for her while she drank it. ‘He’s had a shock, Sharon – typical bloke, eh? If childbirth was up to them the human race would die out.’

  It didn’t sound very convincing, and Sharon was glad when the woman eventually left her – and the baby – to their own devices. Which meant the baby slept on and Sharon lay staring at the wall. What was she supposed to do now? Wait until tomorrow was the only answer. No way could she leave her bed, discharge herself, find Craig and kill him that night.

  Now tomorrow was here and Craig wasn’t. Sharon spent the day learning how to care for her daughter, and trying Craig’s mobile every ten minutes.

  She had never been so glad to see a friendly face when Julie arrived at four o’clock, clutching a box of chocolates. Julie kissed her and oohed over the baby and it was all very comforting, though the other woman’s sympathetic expression was hard to bear.

  ‘Oh no, Sharon. Do you want me to go and see if Craig’s at home?’

  ‘No. Thanks. I need him to come back because he wants to. But that doesn’t seem very likely, does it? It’s almost a whole day now.’

  ‘He might need more time to recover. Just wait up, Sharon. And try not to chuck something at him if – when – he does come back. The baby needs you both.’

  Sharon stared at her daughter, asleep in the plastic crib by the bed. All those months she’d spent wishing there was no baby. She didn’t feel like that anymore, but Craig obviously did. He was probably wondering how best to get rid of them both.

  8

  Monday 30th May

  Jeff

  The DJ was gabbling away about traffic congestion on the Bridgehead Ring Road, and Jeff turned the radio off. Caro always put it on in the mornings, but she’d gone for her shower, and his head was splitting. He pushed a cup under the machine for a double espresso; that would help. It wasn’t often he had a bad head, and just as well, considering the time he spent in front of computer screens. He’d have needed a different job if he’d been prone to headaches.

  Caro came down while he was still sipping the strong, sweet coffee. ‘What happened to the radio? I wanted to hear the local news.’

  ‘I’ve got a terrible head,’ said Jeff, leaning his forehead in his left hand. Now if only she would put her arms round him and show him how much she loved him. But she didn’t.

  ‘Try a couple of those pills Louise told me about last week. They’re specially for tension headaches – they really helped mine on Saturday.’

  She produced a packet from her handbag. Jeff took it glumly, consoling himself with the thought that at least she was being caring, if not exactly loving. He pressed two tablets from the foil wrapping and swallowed them with the dregs of his coffee.

  Caro disappeared, presumably to finish getting ready for work, and Jeff made himself another coffee and took it to the table. He didn’t start until after lunch today and he had big plans for the morning. It was time to do something about Sharon and Craig before their baby arrived. He was going to find out where they lived, and call around with the christening robe he’d bought for them. It had cost an arm and a leg, but that didn’t matter. If Sharon and Craig agreed to give up the baby, the robe would come back here along with it, and who knows, he and Caro might have more than one child in the end. The robe could become a family heirloom.

  Jeff sat with his head in his hands, waiting for the pills to take effect and picturing a succession of generations being christened.

  ‘See you late tonight, then.’ Caro was standing in the doorway with her jacket over one arm.

  Jeff went to hug her, but she dodged away before he had touched her.

  ‘Mind my war-paint,’ she said in the over-bright voice she’d taken to using recently. ‘Go and have a shower, that’ll freshen you up and help your head too.’

  The front door slammed behind her and Jeff watched from the living room window as she tapped smartly up the road in those new sandals she was so fond of. She was gone and he still hadn’t said anything important. They wouldn’t have time to talk at all today; he was in Cybersonics from two right through until ten. This was dire. He had to make things all right again with Caro, he just had to. A baby was the only thing that would help with that.

  Caro disappeared around the corner, and Jeff turned into the room. The sofa looked soft and inviting, and he slumped down in one corner. Dear God, what was happening to his life? They hadn’t mentioned the word ‘baby’ all weekend. It was as if Caro was deliberately avoiding the subject, and of course he could hardly tell her that he might have found the perfect baby right here in Bridgehead, but if that didn’t work out he would go to London and find a girl who was expecting a child she didn’t want. Everything would be okay when he could tell Caro there was a baby on the way, but whichever plan he ended up using would need to be a lot more definite before he presented it to his wife.

  London sounded complicated. It might take him ages to find a girl, and it would be difficult to keep in touch with her when he did find her. It would be so much better if Sharon agreed to hand over that baby.

  So he would pay her a visit. Today. He would go to Craig’s shop first and have a chat with him too, because he should be friendly with them both, and in the course of the conversation he would find out where they lived. He could use the flyers about the new autumn courses as an excuse to go into the optician’s.

  Jeff jumped up, enthusiasm surging through him. This was going to work; he knew it was. The baby was due in – two weeks or so? That would give him plenty of time to befriend the couple and persuade them that life with no encumbrances was infinitely preferable to parenthood.

  Half an hour later Jeff was striding along the High Street, headache gone and a box of flyers in his briefcase. There weren’t many people around; at least half of the shops were closed on Monday mornings. Cybersonics was open, of course, but he didn’t go in. And he knew the optician’s would be open too, because he’d somehow made a mental note of the opening times when he was there last week. As if he’d known even then that he would be doing this today. Funny how things always turned out for the best.

  His happy mood evaporated when he stepped into the optician’s doorway and found the security blinds down and the door locked. What was going on? It was after nine; Craig should be here by now. Jeff looked for the opening times on the door and saw the card ha
nging at eye level – ‘Closed until Monday 6th June’.

  Dismayed, he turned and walked back along the High Street. Were Craig and Sharon away somewhere? Having a little holiday before the baby came, just the two of them? He and Caro should do that, actually. A week in Spain before the baby arrived sounded like a very good idea indeed. Mind you, he was surprised that Sharon had agreed to go away, so close to the birth.

  A woman pushing an old-fashioned high pram passed by on the other side of the road, and Jeff watched her, nodding to himself. They had known a thing or two about prams in the sixties. Babies weren’t squashed into three-wheeled contraptions and taken jogging like they were nowadays. When the baby came home he would see that it had a real, proper pram and all the comforts it needed. But he was forgetting… Craig and Sharon – how could he make friends with them if they weren’t here? Imagine if anything happened, and Sharon had the baby while they were away.

  And Sharon had the baby…

  He stopped short, kicking himself for being so stupid. They weren’t on holiday, of course not – Sharon had had the baby and was in hospital with it. Craig must have taken time off to be with her. Oh no, no. The baby that could be his and Caro’s was here, and he hadn’t known. Panic filled his head and he started to run, tearing down the High Street towards the traffic lights, then stopping abruptly when he realised he had no idea where he was going.

  He stood outside the Post Office struggling to get his breath back, aware that people were staring. Calm down, Jeff. The thing now was to find Sharon and get to be a trusted friend fast. It wasn’t too late.

  Right. He would phone the hospital first.

  He waited until he was home again – it wasn’t the kind of call he wanted to make in the middle of the High Street, and it was complicated. He had forgotten what Sharon’s surname was, so he had to look up the optician’s number first. There it was – Morrison, of course. He found and punched out the number of the Maternity Unit and was confronted by the second hurdle. They would give him no information whatsoever.