‘Life,’ she told the baby, ‘is complicated.’
And then she wished she hadn’t said a word when the baby started crying.
Pick her up and cuddle her—that was Josh’s advice. Except it didn’t work and the baby just kept crying.
He’d also suggested singing, as a last resort. But what did you sing to a baby? Every song Amy knew had gone out of her head.
It was Christmas. Sing a carol, she told herself.
‘Silent Night’ turned out to be a very forlorn hope indeed. It didn’t encourage the baby to be quiet in the slightest. ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ was more like ‘Hark the Little Baby Screams’.
This was terrible. She really hoped Josh came back with supplies soon. There was bound to be a massive queue at the checkouts, and what if the supermarket had run out of nappies?
Maybe a Christmas pop song would help. She tried a couple of old classics, but the baby didn’t seem to like them, either.
If only Josh had let her toss a coin. As a maths teacher, she knew the probability was fifty-fifty—but she also knew that actually there was a tiny, tiny weighting in favour of heads. She would’ve called heads and could’ve been the one to go out for supplies. And Josh, who seemed far better with babies than she was, would’ve been able to comfort this poor little girl much more easily than Amy could. And how could someone so tiny make so much noise?
‘I can’t do this,’ she said, trying very hard not to burst into tears herself. ‘I don’t know how to make everything better, baby. I can’t even fix my own life, so how can I possibly fix yours?’
The baby was still crying when there was a knock on her door. To her relief, it was Josh.
‘Having trouble?’ he asked on seeing the red-faced, screaming baby.
‘Just a bit,’ Amy said dryly. Though it wasn’t fair to be sarcastic to him. It wasn’t his fault that she was hopelessly inexperienced with babies. ‘I tried singing to her. Let’s just say she doesn’t like Christmas carols. Or Christmas pop songs. And I’m out of ideas.’
‘OK. Let me try.’ He put the bag on the floor, took the baby from her and started singing ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’.
Immediately, the baby stopped crying.
‘Clearly you have the knack,’ Amy said.
He laughed. ‘Maybe she just likes the song.’
Or his voice. He had a gorgeous singing voice, rich and deep. The kind of voice that made your knees feel as if they were melting. To cover her confusion, she asked, ‘How did you get on at the supermarket?’
‘Ready-mixed formula milk, a couple of bottles, a pack of newborn nappies, some baby bath stuff, three vests and three sleep suits,’ he said, indicating the bag. ‘Oh, and my milk and bread.’
‘Do you want to put the milk in my fridge for now?’ she asked.
‘Thanks. That’d be good.’ Then he grimaced. ‘Um. I think we’re going to have to give her a bath sooner rather than later.’
Amy could see the wet patch spreading on the blanket. ‘And wash that blanket?’
‘Maybe leave the blanket until the police say it’s OK to wash it, but we can’t leave the baby wet. Is it OK to use your bathroom to clean her up?’
‘Sure. I’ve got plenty of towels.’ She found the softest ones in the airing cupboard and placed one on the radiator to keep it warm while Josh ran water into the bath. This felt oddly domestic: and it was almost exactly as she’d imagined her life being with Michael and their baby.
Except, thanks to Gavin, she couldn’t have babies. And Michael was no longer part of her life. She’d heard that he’d got married and had a baby on the way, so he’d managed to make his dreams come true—because Amy was no longer holding him back.
She shook herself. This thing with the abandoned baby was only temporary. As soon as the police had taken a statement from her and from Josh, they’d take the baby to some kind of foster home and she probably wouldn’t see Josh again for weeks. That frisson of desire she’d felt when his skin had brushed against hers was utterly ridiculous, and she needed to be sensible about this instead of moping for something she couldn’t have.
Josh tested the temperature of the water with his elbow. ‘OK. Time for your first bath, little one.’
At the first touch of the water, the baby screamed the place down. Even Josh looked fraught by the time he’d finished bathing her, and Amy’s teeth were on edge.
The screams abated to grizzling once the baby was out of the bath and wrapped in the warm towel.
‘She’s hungry, probably,’ Josh said.
Amy’s heart contracted sharply. ‘Poor little mite.’ And how desperate the baby’s mother must’ve been to abandon her.
Between them they managed to get the baby into the nappy and sleep suit, and Josh rocked the baby and crooned softly to her while Amy sterilised one of the bottles he’d bought and warmed the formula milk in a jug of hot water. And then it was her turn to cuddle the baby and feed her.
Sitting there, with the baby cradled on her lap, watching her drink greedily from the bottle of milk, really tugged at Amy’s heart.
If she’d been less clueless about Gavin’s real character—or, better still, hadn’t dated him in the first place—her life could have been so different. She could’ve been sitting here cuddling her own baby, next to the man of her dreams. Instead, here she was, desperately trying to fill her life with work, and right now she was holding a baby she’d have to give back.
She couldn’t help glancing at Josh. His expression was unreadable but, before he masked it, she saw definite pain in his eyes. He’d said that he was an uncle of three, but she had a feeling there was a bit more to it than that.
Had he lost a child?
Had someone broken his heart?
Not that it was any of her business. He was her neighbour. They knew next to nothing about each other. And that was the way things were in London. You avoided eye contact as much as you could, smiled and nodded politely if you couldn’t avoid eye contact, and you most definitely didn’t get involved.
The baby fell asleep almost the second after she’d finished her feed. Amy folded up a towel as a makeshift bed and placed the baby on it, covering her with another towel. She’d just tucked the baby in when her intercom buzzed.
Thankfully the noise didn’t wake the baby. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s the police. PC Graham and PC Walters.’
She buzzed them in.
One of them was carrying a sturdy metal case, which she presumed contained forensic equipment, and the other had a notebook.
‘I like the scene-of-crime tape improvisation in the lobby,’ the first policeman said with a smile. ‘I assume you’d like the bandages back when I’ve finished?’
Josh smiled back. ‘No. It’s fine to get rid of them. Do you think you’ll get anything to help you track down the baby’s mother?’
‘I’ll go and dust the area now,’ the first policeman said, ‘while my colleague PC Graham here goes through everything with you.’
‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ Amy asked.
‘That’d be lovely. Thank you,’ PC Walters said, heading out of the door with his case.
‘Mr and Mrs Howes, isn’t it?’ PC Graham asked.
‘Ms Howes and Mr Farnham,’ she corrected. ‘We’re neighbours.’
‘I see.’ He made a note. ‘Would you mind taking me through what happened?’
Between them, Amy and Josh filled in all the details of how they’d found the baby.
‘I’m a doctor,’ Josh said. ‘I’ve checked the baby over, and she’s fine. I think from all the vernix on her face—that’s the white stuff—she’s a couple of weeks early, and I have a feeling the mum might be quite young. I’d be a lot happier if you could find the mum and get her checked over, too, because she’s at a high r
isk of infection.’
‘It might take a while to find her,’ PC Graham said.
‘I’m afraid we had to give the baby a bath,’ Amy added. ‘She didn’t have a nappy or any clothes, just the blanket, and the blanket got a bit, um, messy. I haven’t washed it yet, in case you need it for forensics, but I’ve put it in a plastic bag.’
‘Thank you. So you didn’t recognise the voice over the intercom?’ PC Graham asked.
‘Nobody spoke,’ Amy said. ‘I just assumed it was a courier. Then I heard what sounded like a baby’s cry. I don’t know why, but some instinct made me go out and see for myself.’
‘Just as well you did,’ the policeman said. ‘And you don’t know anyone who might have left the baby here?’
‘I don’t know anyone who’s pregnant,’ Amy said. Mainly because she’d distanced herself from all her friends and colleagues who’d been trying for a baby, once she’d found out that she could no longer have children herself. It had been too painful being reminded of what she’d lost.
‘So what happens now?’ Josh asked.
‘Once the social worker’s here, she’ll take the baby to the hospital,’ the policeman said.
Josh shook his head. ‘I don’t really think that’s a good idea. Right now, the children’s ward is stuffed full of little ones with bronchiolitis.’
‘Bronchi-what?’ PC Graham asked.
‘Bronchiolitis. It’s a virus,’ Josh explained. ‘If adults catch it they get a really stinking cold, but in babies the mucus gums up the tiny airways in the lungs—the bronchioles—and they can’t breathe or feed properly. Usually they end up being on oxygen therapy and being tube-fed for a week. And I really wouldn’t want a newborn catching it—at that age it’s likely to be really serious.’
‘What about the general ward?’ PC Graham asked. ‘Could they look after her there?’
Josh shook his head. ‘At this time of year the winter vomiting virus and flu are both doing the rounds in all the wards. As a newborn, she’s at high risk of picking up either or both.’
The policeman shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Then I don’t know. We’ll see what the social worker says when she gets here.’
By the time Amy had made mugs of tea, PC Walters was back from his forensic examination of the hallway.
‘Did you manage to get anything?’ Amy asked.
‘A smudged footprint, but no fingerprints. Hopefully we’ll get something from the box she left the baby in.’ PC Walters looked at Amy’s pale beige carpet. ‘Though I’m afraid fingerprint powder’s a bit messy.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It won’t take that long to vacuum it up afterwards,’ Amy said. ‘It’s more important that you discover something that’ll help you find the baby’s mum.’
But he didn’t manage to get much from the box, either. ‘There’s a couple of long blonde hairs, but they don’t necessarily belong to the mother. Though I found an envelope under the newspaper at the bottom of the box.’
‘Newspaper?’ Josh asked.
‘For insulation against the cold, maybe,’ PC Walters said. ‘There’s a gold chain in there and a note—though there aren’t any prints. There are a couple of fibres, so she was probably wearing gloves.’
Amy read the note and then passed it to Josh.
Please look after Hope. I’m sorry.
‘So the baby’s name is Hope?’ Josh asked.
‘Seems so.’
Amy shared a glance with Josh. Hope. How terribly sad, because hope was clearly the last thing the baby’s mother felt right now.
‘Do you recognise the handwriting at all?’ PC Graham asked.
‘No,’ Amy said.
‘Me neither,’ Josh agreed.
‘We can take the box back with us—and the blanket—but I don’t think it’s going to help much,’ PC Walters said, accepting a mug of tea.
They went through the whole lot again when Jane Richards, the social worker, arrived ten minutes later.
‘So what’s going to happen to the baby?’ Amy asked.
Jane grimaced. ‘At this time of year, everyone’s on leave. You’re lucky if you can get anyone even to answer a phone. And with Christmas falling partly on a weekend, the chances of getting hold of someone who can offer a foster care placement are practically zero. So I guess the baby’s going to have to stay in hospital for a while.’
‘The local hospital’s on black alert,’ Josh said. ‘Apart from the fact that beds are in really short supply right now, there’s bronchiolitis on the children’s ward, and there’s flu and the winter vomiting virus in the rest of the hospital. The chances are that Hope would go down with something nasty, so they’ll refuse to take her.’
Jane looked at Amy. ‘As you’re the one who found her, and Christmas is meant to be the season of goodwill... Would you be able to look after her for a few days?’
‘Me?’ Amy looked at her in shock. ‘But don’t you have to do all kinds of background checks on me, first?’
‘You’re a teacher,’ Jane said, ‘so you’ll already have gone through most of the checks. The rest of it is just formalities and, as I’m the senior social worker on duty in this area today, I can use my discretion.’
‘I’m more used to dealing with teenagers,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve not really had much to do with babies.’ Much less the baby she’d so desperately wanted to have with Michael. Something that could never, ever happen for her. ‘I’m not sure...’ And yet Jane was right. Christmas was the season of goodwill. How could Amy possibly turn away a helpless, defenceless newborn baby?
‘I could help out,’ Josh said. ‘I’m working today and tomorrow, but I could help out between my shifts.’
So she’d have someone to talk things over with, if she was concerned. Someone who had experience of babies—and, better still, was a doctor.
But there was one possible sticking point. Even though she knew it was intrusive, she still had to ask. ‘Will your partner mind?’ she asked.
‘I don’t have a partner,’ Josh said, and for a moment she saw a flash of pain in his expression.
Did he, too, have an ex who’d let him down badly? Amy wondered. She was pretty sure that, like her, he lived alone.
‘I can make decisions without having to check with anyone first,’ he said. ‘How about yours?’
‘Same as you,’ she said.
‘Which makes it easy.’ He turned to Jane. ‘OK. We’ll look after Hope between us. How long do you need us to look after her?’
She winced. ‘Until New Year’s Eve, maybe?’
A whole week? ‘Just as well it’s the school holidays,’ Amy said wryly.
‘I’m off for a couple of days between Christmas and New Year,’ Josh said. ‘I’ll do as much as I can. But the baby has nothing, Jane. I just went out to get emergency milk, nappies and enough clothes to keep her going until you got here. Her mother left her wrapped in a blanket in the box, and there wasn’t anything with her. Well, the police found a note and a gold chain that the mum obviously wanted the baby to have,’ he amended, ‘but the baby doesn’t have any clothes.’
‘We don’t have anywhere for her to sleep—and, apart from the fact that the police have taken the box, a cardboard box really isn’t a suitable bed for a baby,’ Amy added.
‘I can help there,’ Jane said. ‘We have things in the office. I can bring you a Moses basket, bedding, nappies and spare clothes, and I can organise milk. Do you have any bottles?’
‘Two,’ Josh said, ‘and I bought a couple of cartons of ready-mixed formula. We’ve muddled through with very hot water to sterilise them for now.’
‘If you don’t mind mixing up your own formula, I can organise more bottles and sterilising equipment,’ Jane said. ‘What about the baby’s mum?’
‘We haven’t got much on the forens
ics side,’ PC Walters said. ‘The best we can do is to put out a press release and ask the local media to tell her to get in touch.’
‘If she’s as young as I think she might be,’ Josh said, ‘she’ll be worried that she’s in trouble—especially if she managed to hide her pregnancy.’
‘Strictly speaking, it’s a criminal offence to abandon a baby,’ PC Graham said, ‘but judges are always lenient in the case of newborns and very young, very frightened mums.’
‘She really needs to get to hospital or a doctor and let them check her over,’ Josh said. ‘That’s important because, if she’s retained any of the placenta or she tore during the delivery, there’s a high risk she’ll develop an infection—and if it’s left untreated she could become really ill.’
‘We’ll make sure everyone says she won’t be in any trouble and we’re worried about her health,’ PC Graham said.
‘And tell her the baby’s absolutely fine and being looked after. The poor girl’s probably going to be worrying about that, too,’ Amy added.
Josh looked at his watch. ‘Sorry. I’m going to have to leave you now. I need to be at work.’ He scribbled a number on one of the spare sheets of paper. ‘You’ve got my mobile number, Amy, and this is my direct line in the department. You can get a message to me if it’s urgent. I’ll be back about half-past eight this evening—unless there’s a crisis in the department, in which case I’ll get a message to you as early as I can.’
Amy really hoped that she wasn’t going to have to use that number. ‘OK. Thanks.’ She paused, knowing that this probably sounded like a come-on, but hoping that he’d take it as the practical suggestion it actually was. ‘Look, as you’re helping me with the baby, you might as well have dinner here. It’s as easy to cook for two as for one.’
‘That’d be nice.’
They exchanged a glance, and another frisson of desire ran down her spine—which was completely inappropriate. OK, so they were both single, but this was all about caring for Hope, not having a wild fling with her neighbour.
She fought to keep herself sounding professional. ‘Do you have any food allergies, or is there anything you don’t eat?’
Christmas in the Boss's Castle Page 19
