Her Festive Doorstep Baby
Author
Kate Hardy
Reads
18,2K
Chapters
11
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. ‘Sure,’ 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 the 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.
‘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 risk 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 forensics 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?’
‘No to the allergies.’ He smiled. ‘As for the rest, I’m a medic in the emergency department, so we tend not to be fussy. We’re lucky if we get a chance to grab a chocolate bar. As long as it’s food and it’s hot, I’m happy.’
She smiled back. ‘OK.’
Once Josh had left, PC Graham sorted out the last bits of paperwork and the police left, too.
‘I’ll be back later this afternoon with supplies,’ Jane promised.
‘We should have enough milk and nappies to last until then,’ Amy said.
‘Thanks.’ Jane smiled at her. ‘You’re a life-saver—literally.’
‘Not just me. My neighbour helped.’ And Amy really had to remind herself that Josh was just her neighbour. They might know each other a bit better and be on friendlier terms after the next few days, but this would be a platonic relationship only.
Amy saw Jane out of the flat, then returned to watch Hope sleeping in her makeshift bed. ‘It looks as if it’s just you and me, baby,’ she said softly. ‘For the next week you’re going to have complete strangers looking after you and trying to make a family for you.’
But it was Christmas, the season of miracles. With any luck Hope’s mum would come forward, Jane would be able to help her, and there would be a happy ending.
