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Her Festive Doorstep Baby
by Kate Hardy
CHAPTER ONE
Friday 24th December
‘HELLO? HELLO?’
There was no answer. It was probably a courier in the middle of a super-frantic shift, Amy thought, needing to deliver as many parcels as humanly possible on Christmas Eve and pressing every single button on the intercom in the hope of finding someone who’d buzz the front door open so they could leave a parcel in the lobby. The silence probably meant they’d stopped waiting for her to answer and were already trying someone else.
She was about to replace the receiver on her intercom system when she heard a noise.
It sounded like a baby crying.
Was it her imagination? Or maybe the courier was listening to something on the radio. An ad, perhaps.
She knew that she was being ridiculous, but something made Amy go out of her own front door and into the main lobby, just to check that everything was all right.
And there, in the corner by the front door, was a cardboard box.
Except she could still hear a baby crying, and this time she was pretty sure it wasn’t on a radio.
When she drew closer, she could see that the cardboard box wasn’t a parcel at all. The top of the box was open. Inside, wrapped in a soft blanket, was a baby. There were traces of blood on the baby’s face and Amy had a moment of panic; but then she thought that the blood might be because the baby was very, very young.
Young enough to be a newborn.
Who on earth would leave a newborn baby in a cardboard box, in the lobby of a block of flats?
She quickly opened the front door and looked outside, but there wasn’t anyone in the street who looked as if they’d just left a baby on a doorstep. Nobody running away or huddled in a hoodie, trying to hide their face.
What were you supposed to do when you found an abandoned baby? Should she take the baby straight to hospital to be checked over, or should she ring the police? If she moved the box or picked the baby up to try to soothe it, would she be disturbing forensic evidence that would help the police find the baby’s mother?
Yet the baby was so tiny, and the lobby wasn’t heated. She could hardly leave the poor little mite to freeze there. She was about to try the other intercoms to see if any of her neighbours was in and could ring the police for her, when the door to the lobby opened and Josh Farnham walked in.
She didn’t know Josh very well; he’d moved into one of the flats on her floor about six months ago. They were on smile-and-nod terms, and she occasionally took in a parcel for him, but that was about it.
‘Is everything OK?’ he asked. And then he frowned as the baby cried again.
‘No.’ Amy gestured to the cardboard box. ‘Someone’s just left a baby on our doorstep.’
Josh looked utterly shocked. ‘A baby? But—who?’
‘I have no idea.’
He bent down to touch the baby’s hand. Clearly he had the magic touch because the baby immediately stopped crying.
‘Someone pressed my intercom but didn’t speak,’ Amy continued. ‘I assumed it was a courier trying to find someone in so they could deliver a parcel to someone in our block, but then I thought I could hear a baby crying.’ She spread her hands. ‘It could’ve been on the radio, but something made me come out here to see, just in case. That’s when I found the baby.’ She bit her lip. ‘There’s blood on the baby’s face, but I think that might be because the baby’s a newborn. As in really newborn.’
‘Have you called the police?’ he asked, his blue eyes narrowing.
‘I was just about to,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t bring my phone out with me, and I’m not sure if I’m going to mess up the forensics or what have you if I take the baby into my flat.’
‘You can hardly wait out here until the police arrive,’ Josh said, frowning. ‘Both of you would freeze. Look, let me grab some stuff from my flat so I can put up a makeshift barrier round the area where the box is now, to protect any potential evidence, then I’ll check the baby over properly while you call the police.’ The concern clearly showed in her expression, because he added, ‘It’s OK. I’m qualified. I’m a doctor in the local emergency department.’
That would explain why she hardly ever saw him. His shifts at the hospital would be very different from her own hours teaching at the local high school. But most of all Amy felt relief that she wasn’t going to have to deal with this completely on her own. Where babies were concerned, she was totally clueless, and Josh seemed to know how to deal with them. ‘All right. Thanks,’ she said.
‘I’ll be quick,’ he promised.
‘Should I pick the baby up?’ she asked when the crying started again.
‘Movement usually helps settle a crying baby. If you walk up and down—obviously avoiding the area where whoever left the baby might’ve trodden—the baby will probably stop crying.’
That sounded like experience talking. Better and better: because Amy was very used to dealing with teenagers, but her dealings with babies had been minimal.
Especially since Michael had ended their engagement.
She pushed the thought away. Not now. She needed to concentrate on helping this abandoned baby, not brood over the wreckage of her past.
‘What about supporting the baby’s head?’ she asked.
‘Just hold the baby against you, like this,’ Josh said, picking the baby out of the box and then holding the baby close to him to demonstrate, with one hand cradled round the baby’s head so it didn’t flop back.
‘OK.’ Carefully, Amy took the baby from him.
His hands brushed briefly against hers and it felt as if she’d been galvanised.
Oh, for pity’s sake. Yes, the man was pretty—despite the fact that he needed a shave and she suspected that he’d dragged his fingers rather than a comb through his wavy dark hair—but for all she knew he could be in a serious relationship. This was so inappropriate. Even if he wasn’t in a relationship, she didn’t want to get involved with anyone. Because then eventually she’d have to admit to her past, and he’d walk away from her—just as Michael had. And then that would make their relationship as neighbours awkward. Amy knew she was better off on her own and keeping all her relationships platonic. Josh Farnham might be one of the most attractive men she’d ever met, but he wasn’t for her.
Hoping that he’d mistake her flustered state for nerves about dealing with the baby—which was partially true in any case—Amy murmured something anodyne and started walking up and down the lobby with the baby.
Josh came back what felt like hours later but could only have been five minutes, carrying several tin cans, a pile of bandages, safety pins, a marker pen and a spiral-bound notebook.
‘Are you OK to keep holding the baby?’ he asked.
No. It was bringing back all kinds of emotions that Amy would much rather suppress. But she wasn’t going to burden a near-stranger with her private misery. ‘Sur
e,’ she fibbed.
Josh swiftly wrote out some notes saying, Please do not touch—waiting for police, then marked off the area where Amy had found the cardboard box. When he’d finished, he held out his arms for the baby. ‘My turn, I think,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ she said, grateful to be relieved of her burden. Though again her hands touched his as they transferred the baby between them, and again she felt that peculiar and inappropriate response to him, that flare of desire. She picked up the box. ‘I’d better bring this.’
He nodded. ‘Your flat or mine?’
‘Mine, I guess,’ she said.
She let them into her flat, then called the police and explained what had happened while Josh examined the baby. She couldn’t help watching him while she was talking; he was so gentle and yet so sure at the same time. He checked the baby over thoroughly before wrapping the infant in the soft blanket again.
The baby wasn’t wearing a nappy and had no clothes. They definitely had a problem here. And what would happen once the baby got hungry? Amy had absolutely nothing in her kitchen that was suitable for a newborn, let alone any way of feeding a baby.
‘The police are on their way now. They said they’ll contact Social Services and meet them here, too,’ she said when she put the phone down. ‘How’s the baby?’
‘Doing fine,’ Josh said. ‘Our doorstep baby’s a little girl. Definitely a newborn. But I’d say she’s a couple of weeks early and I’m a bit worried about the mum. She clamped the umbilical cord with one of those clips you use on packaging to keep things fresh, and my guess is she’s very young and didn’t tell anyone she was having the baby, and she didn’t go to hospital so she had the birth somewhere on her own.’
‘And then she put the baby in a box and left her in our lobby with no clothes, no nappy, no milk—just the blanket,’ Amy said. She winced. ‘The poor girl must’ve really been desperate. Do you see that kind of thing a lot at the hospital?’
‘Abandoned babies, improvised cord clamps or complete lack of any baby things?’ he asked. ‘Not very often to any of them, let alone all three together. Though on the rare occasions the police do bring in an abandoned baby, it usually turns out that the mum’s very young and very scared.’
‘The police might be able to find this baby’s mum and get her to hospital so she can be checked over,’ Amy said.
‘Let’s hope so,’ Josh said, sounding very far from convinced.
‘I’m sorry. I rather hijacked you when you came into the lobby,’ she said. ‘I guess now the police are on their way I ought to let you get on.’
* * *
Josh didn’t know Amy Howes very well—just that she lived in one of the other flats on his floor and she’d taken in a parcel for him a couple of times. He had no idea what she did for a living or even if she had a job.
But what he did know was that her brown eyes were sad behind her smile, and she’d looked slightly panicky at the idea of being responsible for a baby, even for the short time it would take between now and the police arriving. Especially as the baby didn’t even have the basics for any kind of care.
He’d only been going to pick up some milk and bread anyway. It wasn’t important. The open-all-hours shop round the corner from the hospital would probably still be open when he’d finished his shift, even though it was Christmas Eve.
Not that you’d know it was Christmas, in Amy’s flat. There were a couple of cards propped up on the mantelpiece, and a few more stacked in a pile, but there wasn’t a tree or any presents. Even when people were going away for Christmas, they usually displayed their cards and had some kind of decorations up. Maybe she didn’t celebrate Christmas. Was that because it was too painful for her—like it was for him?
Though it wasn’t any of his business.
He shouldn’t get involved.
He didn’t want to get involved.
And yet he found his mouth opening and the wrong words coming out. ‘I’m not due at the hospital until eleven, so I can stay with you until the police get here, if you like.’
‘I can’t impose on you like that,’ she said.
Which was his get-out clause. He ought to agree with her and leave as fast as he could. Though his mouth definitely didn’t seem to be with the programme. ‘It’s not that much of an imposition. If I’d left my flat a couple of minutes earlier, I would’ve been the one to find the baby,’ he said. ‘And my medical knowledge might be helpful to the police.’
‘True,’ she said, looking relieved and grateful. ‘Thank you. I have to admit I was a bit worried about looking after the baby on my own.’
‘Not used to babies?’
He couldn’t quite read the expression on her face before she masked it, but he knew instantly that he’d put his foot in it. Right now he had a pretty good idea that whatever had caused the sadness behind her eyes had involved a baby. A miscarriage, perhaps? Or IVF that hadn’t worked and her relationship hadn’t survived the strain? And maybe Christmas was the anniversary of everything going wrong for her, just as it was for him?
Not that it was any of his business. And again he reminded himself not to get involved. That pull he felt towards Amy Howes was definitely something he shouldn’t act on. If she was recovering from a broken heart, the last thing she needed was to get involved with someone whose track record at relationships was as poor as his.
‘I’m more used to dealing with teens,’ Amy said. ‘I teach maths at the local high school.’
Now that he hadn’t expected. ‘You don’t look like a maths teacher.’
She smiled, then, and Josh’s heart felt as if it had turned over. Which was anatomically impossible in the first place; and in the second place Kelly’s betrayal had put him off relationships for good. Back off, he reminded himself.
‘I’m definitely better at explaining surds and synthetic division than I am at changing nappies,’ she said. ‘Though that’s not the biggest problem. The baby’s going to need some nappies and some clothes. I don’t know anyone in our block or nearby with a baby who could lend us anything.’
‘Me neither,’ he said.
‘Even if the police arrive in the next five minutes, they’re going to be asking questions and what have you—and I have no idea how quickly the baby’s going to need a nappy.’
‘The average newborn goes through ten to fifteen a day,’ Josh said.
‘So basically every two to three hours. I could probably make a makeshift nappy out of a towel, but that’s not fair on the poor baby.’ She shook her head. ‘The supermarket on the corner will sell nappies and they might sell some very basic baby clothes. Toss you for it?’
‘I’ll go,’ Josh said. ‘I needed to get some bread and milk anyway. I’ll pick up nappies, some clothes and some formula milk.’
The panicky look was back on Amy’s face. ‘What if the baby starts crying again while you’re gone?’
‘Pick her up and cuddle her. If all else fails, sing to her,’ Josh said. ‘That usually works.’
‘That sounds like experience talking.’
‘I’m an uncle of three,’ he said. Though he was guiltily aware that he hadn’t seen much of his nieces and nephew since his divorce. His family’s pity had been hard enough to take, but then he’d become very aware that most of his family saw him as a failure for letting his marriage go down the tubes—and he really couldn’t handle that. It had been easier to use work as an excuse to avoid them. Which was precisely why he was working at the hospital over Christmas: it meant he didn’t have to spend the holiday with his family and face that peculiar mixture of pity and contempt.
‘Any songs in particular?’ Amy asked.
‘Anything,’ he said. ‘The baby won’t care if you’re not word-perfect; she just wants a bit of comfort. I’ll see you in a few minutes.’ He scribbled his mobile phone number on one of t
he spare pieces of paper from their makeshift ‘crime scene’ barrier. ‘Here’s my number.’
‘Thanks. I’ll text you in a minute so you’ve got my number. And I’d better give you some money for the baby stuff.’
‘We’ll sort it out between us later,’ he said. ‘Is there anything you need from the supermarket?’
‘Thanks, but I did all my shopping yesterday,’ she said.
If Josh had done that, too, instead of feeling that he was too tired to move after a hard shift, then he wouldn’t have been walking through the lobby when Amy had found the baby, and he wouldn’t have been involved with any of this. Though he instantly dismissed the thought as mean. It wasn’t the baby’s fault that she’d been abandoned, and it wasn’t the baby’s fault that caring for a baby, even for a few minutes, made it feel as if someone had ripped the top off his scars.
‘See you in a bit,’ he said, relieved to escape.
* * *
Amy looked at the sleeping baby.
A newborn.
Eighteen months ago, this was what she’d wanted most in the world. She and Michael had tried for a baby for a year without success, and they’d been at the point of desperation when they’d walked into the doctor’s office after her scan.
And then they’d learned the horrible, horrible truth.
Even though Amy hadn’t had a clue and it hadn’t actually been her fault that her Fallopian tubes were damaged beyond repair, Michael had blamed her for it—and he’d walked out on her. She’d hoped that maybe once he’d had time to think about it, they could talk it through and get past the shock, but he hadn’t been able to do that. All he could see was that Amy had given him an STD, and because of that STD she was infertile and couldn’t give him a baby. He wouldn’t even consider IVF, let alone adoption or fostering. Even though Amy hadn’t had any symptoms, so she’d had no idea that her ex had given her chlamydia, Michael still blamed her for being too stupid to realise it for herself.
The injustice still rankled.
But it wasn’t this baby’s fault.
Or the fault of the baby’s mum.
Christmas in the Boss's Castle Page 18
