Nobody's Baby

by Penny Kline

  Where was Dawn? When she arrived in Devon eighteen months ago, they had been pleased to see each other, and Izzy had been delighted Dawn had given up the religious cult that had kept her a virtual recluse for the past three years. But they had grown apart, the differences between them magnified by time. Izzy had struggled to recreate their friendship, talking about shared experiences from the past, but Dawn had been strangely reluctant to join in. The past was the past, she seemed to be saying, they had changed, moved on.

  Landmarks looked smaller than she remembered, distances shorter. When she turned the corner and saw the mudflats stretching out towards the river, her heart began to beat faster. Just as she had known it would, the scene resurrected an old recurrent nightmare. Slimy mud threatening to suck you under. A desperate struggle to decide on the least dangerous option. Was it better to move slowly, carefully, testing each step, or to run wildly for the shore, praying your feet never touched the ground long enough for you to be sucked in?

  Tufty grass covered the hard mud close to the sea wall. The place was rather attractive, not threatening at all, and staying the night there could be quite pleasant. And seeing Rosalie? When she found her – if she found her – would Rosalie be pleased to see her or would she greet her with a cold, uncomprehending stare? Izzy? Where have you sprung from? I’m afraid I’m rather busy …

  As a child, Izzy had never given much thought to the fact that Dawn had no father. Since he had died when she was still a baby, Dawn herself had no memory of him and only knew his name had been Graham and he had worked for a large clothing company in Liverpool. Once, Dawn had shown her a photograph of him, standing leaning against some railings, a shortish man with sandy hair and sucked-in cheeks, quite nice-looking in a way, quite romantic, but perhaps that was only because he was dead.

  Standing a short distance from Rosalie’s house, Izzy tried to work out what kind of reception she was likely to get. How had Rosalie felt when Dawn announced she was giving up her research degree so soon after arriving in Exeter, and going to Portugal to live with another woman’s husband? If Rosalie had been angry, upset, then Izzy might be the last person she wanted to see. Of course, if Rosalie knew about the baby … But how could she? The most Izzy could hope for was that Rosalie would provide information that made it impossible that Cressy could be Dawn’s baby. In that case, she could return to Devon with a clear conscience.

  Somewhere in the distance, a single church bell tolled. Rosalie could be attending family communion. In the past she had never been a churchgoer but people changed, turned to religion for comfort and support.

  Between two narrow strips of multi-coloured gravel, a concrete path led up to a bright blue front door. Something straggly and prickly had been wound in and out of the wrought iron fencing and some of its red berries had fallen onto the pavement and been squashed under the feet of passers-by. Two front gardens up, an old man was busy scraping the contents of a pan onto a bird table. Wooden spoon in hand he stared at Izzy, registering an alien face with a small degree of interest then shuffling back into his house and slamming the door.

  The way Izzy remembered her, Rosalie had never liked anything flashy, preferring to spend what spare cash she had on books for Dawn, so the blue front door with its shiny brass fittings was a surprise. The flat in Chester had always been clean and tidy, but in contrast to Izzy’s home it had been very simply furnished, with curtains Rosalie had made herself and pictures and ornaments picked up from stalls in the market. For a time, she had worked for a mail order company that ‘paid a pittance’ but allowed her to do flexible hours that could be reduced during the school holidays, although from the age of eleven Dawn had been left on her own for whole days. Both Dawn and Rosalie had appeared perfectly happy with the arrangement, but perhaps that was because Dawn had spent so much time at Izzy’s house.

  Breathing in the sharp smell of fresh paint, Izzy stretched out an arm to ring the bell and at the same moment the door came open and she realised the man who stood there must have been watching her through the net curtains.

  ‘Yes?’ He had a small round head and very little hair. His cheeks were like two soft pouches and his full lips gave him a slightly effeminate appearance.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Izzy said, ‘but I’m looking for Mrs Dear.’

  ‘What was it you wanted?’

  ‘My name’s Isabel Lomas. I went to school with her daughter.’

  ‘With Dawn? You’re a friend of Dawn’s?’ He turned to call back into the house. ‘Rosalie, come quick, we’ve a visitor.’

  Rosalie Dear came down the passage, drying her hands on a towel, and as she drew closer Izzy noticed she had a slightly wild-eyed look. She stared at Izzy for a moment as though she could hardly believe what she was seeing then her shoulders relaxed and she was back in control of herself.

  ‘Izzy, what a surprise.’ She turned to the man who was now hovering behind her. ‘It’s Sylvia’s girl, Francis. When we lived in Chester.’

  ‘I’ve been visiting a friend in the Lake District,’ Izzy lied. ‘When I realised how close to you I was, I decided to make a diversion.’

  ‘You haven’t changed.’

  ‘Nor have you.’ It wasn’t true, but what else could she say? And who was Francis?

  ‘Come in then.’ Rosalie spoke sharply but that was always her way. ‘Are you still living in Exeter?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But living with someone, I expect. Your mother – how’s she bearing up? I wrote to her – after it happened. Your father was always so kind, you must miss him.’

  They were standing in a small room at the front of the house. The clock on the mantelpiece had a particularly loud tick – Izzy remembered it from the flat in Chester – and accentuated the tension between them. Francis tried to break it with a remark about the weather, but Rosalie ignored him.

  ‘Where’s Dawn?’ she asked, and then because the question had sounded so blunt. ‘She wrote to me and told me she and Miles were coming back from Portugal but since then I’ve heard nothing.’

  ‘Nor me. Actually I was hoping you might know where she is.’

  The man called Francis put an arm round Rosalie’s shoulder. ‘I’m afraid it may be my fault. When Rosalie told Dawn about … about me and her mother, she didn’t take it well.’ He gazed at Rosalie, willing her to contradict him but she was silent, grim-faced, so he turned to Izzy instead.

  ‘Sit yourself down and I’ll make a pot of tea. The two of you will have so much to catch up on and maybe if you put your heads together …’

  Rosalie’s fingers drummed on the windowsill. ‘You met Miles, I expect, what’s he like?’

  ‘I only saw him once.’

  ‘Why did they go to Portugal?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ So Rosalie knew even less than she did. ‘I suppose they wanted to get right away.’

  ‘Yes, I thought it must something like that. He’s married?’

  ‘Dawn didn’t tell you?’

  Rosalie frowned. ‘And you haven’t heard anything for the last six or seven months?’

  ‘No.’

  They sat in uncomfortable silence, listening to Francis clattering about in the kitchen, then Rosalie stood up and began talking while keeping her back turned. ‘Dawn didn’t tell you about Francis then? No, it’s all right, I could see from your face. We met when he did some work for me on the house. Well, that’s what I say to people, although in truth I knew his father years ago, when Francis was in his teens. We’re not married.’

  When Izzy said nothing, Rosalie gave a small shrug and continued. ‘I’m only telling you because now you’ll wonder why I object to what Dawn’s done, only it’s not conventions I’m interested in, I just don’t like people getting hurt. I assume this Miles character walked out on his wife. Were there any children?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘That’s something I suppose.’ She was looking at her wa
tch, shaking her wrist as though she thought it must have gone wrong. She had put on weight and it had the effect of making her look less tall than Izzy remembered, but no less intimidating. Her hair had turned grey and frizzy and her face was deeply lined. Somehow Izzy had expected her to look more or less the same age as her own mother, which was absurd since Rosalie must be at least fifteen years older.

  In the past, she had worn contact lenses, which Izzy had believed accounted for the fact that she blinked such a lot. Now she wore glasses but the blinking was the same as ever. ‘I wouldn’t want to give the impression Dawn and I have fallen out,’ she said, ‘I was sorry when she gave up her work at the university but she knows I’d stand by her whatever she did. After all those years with the cult I’d got used to not seeing her very often, but when she returned to her studies I had hopes.’

  Francis pushed open the door with his shoulder and placed a tray on a table under the window. ‘Made any progress?’ he asked, ‘fitted any pieces into the jigsaw?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Izzy was thinking how her father had often joked about Rosalie being such a snob. Francis, with his strong local accent, seemed to contradict all that. She guessed he was a fair bit younger than Rosalie, who would now be old enough to draw a pension. At one time, Dawn had said something about her mother working in a cheese factory, but only to tide her over until she found something better.

  Francis was passing round the cups of tea. Rosalie put hers on the mantelpiece then began straightening the ornaments. ‘Dawn gave away everything she owned,’ she said, ‘it was the policy of the cult. I thought it was the end. I thought she’d stay there forever.’

  ‘Yes, I did too.’ For the first time, Izzy felt sorry for Rosalie. She had never liked her very much but having your only child join a religious cult would be tough.

  ‘She was always a one for grand gestures. When she left the cult, she became an avid atheist. Did you know that? Flipped from one extreme to the other.’

  ‘We never talked about it much, apart from her interest in theology.’

  ‘An academic interest,’ Rosalie said, sounding quite proud of her daughter. ‘I don’t think one’s required to be a believer. You’ll stay for something to eat. Won’t be anything special, I’m afraid, just cold meat and salad.’

  ‘Thank you, but I think I ought to start back quite soon. It’s a long drive even though most it’s motorway.’

  Rosalie made no comment. She was disappointed, not because Izzy’s visit was to be so short but because there was no news of Dawn. The trip had been a waste of time. Izzy had learned nothing, apart from the mildly interesting fact that Rosalie had invited her handyman to move in with her. And that Dawn knew about it but had chosen not to tell her. Because she disapproved? She ought to be glad her mother was no longer on her own. On second thoughts, perhaps the journey had been worthwhile after all. Surely if Dawn had been pregnant she would have told her mother. Only … perhaps not.

  ‘Stuart Robbins,’ Rosalie said, ‘you’ve met him, I expect.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘He works in Exeter. He’s a naturalist, connected to the university, studies birds. That’s why Dawn chose it, I imagine, so there would be someone to pull strings, help her obtain her scholarship. His parents lived here when Dawn was a small child, the house on the front, two doors down from the café. He was back not long ago, to settle his parents’ estate. They died within a few months of each other.’

  ‘Always the best way.’ Francis glanced at Rosalie and cleared his throat again. ‘If you know what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t think Dawn mentioned him.’ Izzy stood up and Rosalie was unable to disguise her relief. Then, as if to make up for it, she clasped both of her hands.

  ‘If you hear from Dawn, you will ask her to get in touch?’

  ‘Yes of course. I expect she and Miles changed their minds, decided to stay on in Portugal. Dawn was never very good at writing letters, was she?’

  ‘Did you meet the wife?’

  ‘No, by the time Dawn introduced him to me, Miles was living in a rented room.’

  ‘Where’s your car parked?’ Francis pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll walk down the road with you if that’s all right, could do with a breath of air.’

  Rosalie gave Izzy a stiff little hug. ‘So nice to see you after all this time. We haven’t talked nearly enough about you. Are you well? You look tired but I expect that’s the drive. You must come again. You will come.’

  ‘Yes I’d like that.’

  ‘And do give my best to your mother.’

  ‘She’s in New Zealand, staying with Dan and his family, but she’ll be back at the end of the month.’

  It had started to drizzle. Francis zipped up his brown anorak, pulling the hood over his head and tying a bow under his chin, and together they set off in the direction of the sea front.

  At the end of the terrace, he paused. ‘Fresh air’s an excuse, Izzy. You don’t mind if I call you Izzy? Only I wanted a quick word – it’s about Dawn’s father. I wondered how much you knew.’

  ‘Hardly anything except his name was Graham. Dawn had a photo of him she kept in a copy of The Railway Children. It was her favourite book. Actually it’s only occurred to recently, I never knew why he died.’

  ‘An accident. Faulty piece of equipment in the clothing factory. I couldn’t tell you the details.’

  ‘But Dawn’s father was a salesman. I remember that much.’

  ‘Is that right?’ The wind blew rain in their faces. With his hood covering everything except his eyes and nose, Francis had a slightly sinister appearance. ‘I learned all I know from Lorraine at the teashop. Rosalie used to chat to her, after she moved back from Chester, not that the woman had lived here when Dawn was a child.’

  ‘Rosalie never talks to you about Graham?’

  He shook his head. ‘Her first love,’ he said sadly, ‘nothing like it, is there?’

  What was he telling her? That Rosalie was unable to commit herself because of a man who had died more than twenty years ago?

  ‘You’re sure you’ve no idea where she is?’ He clutched at Izzy’s arm. ‘Only Rosalie frets so. I wanted us to get married, do things properly, but she won’t think of it, not until she’s sure …’ His voice trembled with emotion. ‘Until she’s sure her Dawn’s still alive.’

  Chapter Three

  Somehow Josh had found out about the baby.

  ‘I won’t stay long.’ He took hold of Izzy’s shoulders and pushed past her into the house, ‘I had to make sure you were OK.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Well …’ He tried to think of a reason. ‘It must have been a bit of a surprise. What happened exactly? You opened the front door and –’

  ‘She was crying. It was the middle of the night.’

  Josh whistled through his teeth. ‘Have they traced the mother? Dave bumped into Kath at the supermarket and she couldn’t wait to tell him. Probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to her for years.’

  Izzy gave a brief account of Fairbrother’s visit, and how the baby had been placed with foster parents in Dawlish, but by then Josh had lost interest and started talking about himself.

  ‘I’m a reformed character, Izzy. No, really. Time to stop behaving like an overgrown schoolboy and make a go of my life. I’ve persuaded my boss to give me a more or less free hand with the latest contract and I reckon he’s going to be impressed.’

  As he expanded on his bigger and better plans, Izzy listened sufficiently to make the occasional non-committal comment but most of her attention was focussed on how it felt to have him sitting there. She had always been a sucker for good looks. It was a mistake. Find someone who shares the same interests so when the initial attraction wears off you can still enjoy each other’s company. All passion spent, a nice reliable friend who would never let you down.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Josh smiled. The same smile that had once turned her knees to jelly.

  �
��I’m tired. We’ve had a rush on at work, a project that has to be completed by the end of the week.’

  ‘Right.’ He ran his hand down Blanche’s back, making her purr with pleasure. ‘So Blanche hasn’t been pining away without me. Fickle as hell. That’s what comes from getting a female.’

  He was chewing the nail on his little finger, a habit he found impossible to give up. ‘Pity you couldn’t sell your story to the papers,’ he said, ‘only I expect abandoned babies are two a penny. I’ll open a bottle of wine, shall I, or would that be breaking the rules?’

  Out in the kitchen, taking glasses from the cupboard, he continued to talk. ‘God I’ve missed you. I said, I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘What about you?’ He returned with the wine. ‘I suppose your main feeling’s been one of relief.’

  ‘How’s Dave?’ She wanted to know if Josh was still staying in his flat but a direct question might be interpreted as a suggestion they give it another go.

  ‘Dave’s fine.’ He had broken the cork, something he considered a deadly sin. ‘See what you’ve made me do. No, it’s all right I’m not going to say anything about “us”. One quick drink and I’ll be on my way. Late showing at the film society, some Italian movie, not really my kind of thing but Dave’s got these actor friends.’ He sat down, burying his head in his hands. ‘I’m only blathering on because I feel so fucking awful.’

  After he left, she started cleaning the cooker. Hard manual labour was the only antidote. It was so typical. Telling her how much he missed her then just happening to mention how he had a pleasant evening ahead of him. Then one final wail of self-pity. Why had he come round? Because he was genuinely concerned or out of curiosity so he could tell Dave and his ‘actor friends’ about the abandoned baby – about Cressy. What difference did it make? It was over between them. Asking him to leave had taken every ounce of strength she possessed and she had no intention of putting herself in a position where she had to go through it all over again. Sod him. Sod everyone. When she got up in the morning she had found one of his socks in her drawer. Had he left it there on purpose – to remind her? What went on in his head or did he just live from moment to moment? Once they had been happy. Or she had. Once.