A Keeper(53)

When I found out about the baby, I was shocked (I promise you, we had been careful), but then I began to realise that all of this had happened for a reason. I hope you can understand and forgive me. You have a child—

Yes, I do, thought Elizabeth, and you have robbed him of what’s left of his childhood. The nerve of this woman!

—so you know what it means. I want to reassure you that this is my journey. Zach can’t be a father right now and I don’t want to ask that of him. He must continue on his own path. I am so sorry to have brought pain to your family, but please know that you have given me a gift for which I will be forever grateful.

Was this woman mentally stable enough to look after a baby? And as much as Elizabeth longed for this creature to vanish, surely her son should have some sort of say in what happened next. There was also a tiny part of her heart that rebelled at the notion of her grandchild being spirited away. She glanced back at the final paragraph.

I hope to see you in New York with Zach. Please don’t judge me too harshly. I have made terrible mistakes but I finally feel that I have got something right.

Yours in motherhood,

Michelle.

Hope. Understand. Forgive. All Elizabeth wanted to do was throw her laptop out of the car window into a ditch.





THEN


Patricia began to ring the bell and didn’t stop till she heard the key in the lock. Mrs Foley stepped into the room. She didn’t seem at all surprised to find Patricia standing on the bed, backed against the wall, pointing at the basket on the floor.

‘A baby? Why have you …? I don’t understand. A baby. Why is a baby in that basket?’ Her voice was little more than a breathy rasp.

Mrs Foley stood very still and replied calmly. ‘That’s little Elizabeth. She’ll be needing fed soon. I’ll bring up a bottle.’ And before Patricia could say anything else the door had been closed and locked. She jumped from the bed and began to hammer at the door with her fists.

‘Edward! Edward! Where are you?’ He must know the answer to this mystery. Where had the mad old crone found a baby? Patricia imagined some poor mother out in the world somewhere frantic with fear, wondering where her child had disappeared to. Behind her a small cry came from the basket. She banged on the door some more but then the crying got louder. Patricia bent down to the basket and for the first time looked at the baby’s face. It was crinkled up in mid-cry but stopped as Patricia’s face loomed into view and cast a shadow. The large blue eyes stared up at her and the infant’s arms began to conduct a tiny orchestra. Patricia felt the urge to pick up the small human and hold her close but she stopped herself. This baby had to go back to where it belonged, and that meant she mustn’t fall into Mrs Foley’s trap. If she came back to find Patricia nursing the child then it would be so much harder to make her return the baby to its rightful mother. She got up and went back to the door.

‘Edward! I need help!’ The door bounced against her fist as Mrs Foley opened it and entered. She held up a baby’s bottle full of milk.

‘There you go. And don’t forget to get her wind up after.’

Patricia kept her hands by her sides, refusing to take the milk.

Mrs Foley stared at her for a moment and then placed the bottle on the bedside table. ‘It’s there when you’re ready. Oh, and Edward is off working so you can forget your wailing.’ The old woman turned as if to leave but instead retrieved a padded bag covered in small pink roses from the landing. ‘There’s more nappies in there and lotion and talc.’ She placed it on the floor under the chair. Patricia glanced down and as she looked up the door closed, followed by the familiar click of the key.

She sat on the bed, unsure what to do next. Part of her wanted to feed the little bundle in the basket but she knew that she shouldn’t. This was not her baby. Somebody else had been caring for this child, loving her. She wasn’t a newborn. Patricia guessed the baby was at least three or four months old, maybe more. She hoped that Edward would come back for his lunch. Maybe he could talk sense into his mother. This was serious. The police might get involved. The thought of a Garda car pulling up outside the house suddenly filled her with hope. If they came to rescue the baby, they could save her too. Her thoughts were interrupted by the baby crying. A few tentative yelps followed by a full-throated bawling. Patricia sat still. If she let the infant cry for long enough eventually Mrs Foley would have to come and investigate.

Minutes passed. This waiting game was going to be harder than she had imagined. It was torture listening to the distress of the little mite. She put her hands over her ears but it was no use. Maybe the baby would just give up and stop crying, though, if she was being honest, that didn’t sound like it was going to happen any time soon. The whole room seemed to be filled with the desperate cries of this tiny creature. The little hands were flailing above the edge of the basket. Where was Mrs Foley? How could she listen to this? Patricia realised that this was a test to see which of them cracked first. She resolved that it would not be her. She sat on her hands just in case they decided to act independently and grab the bottle of milk.

More minutes slipped away and still the baby cried. Patricia leaned forward and caught a glimpse of the small face. It broke her heart. A tiny mouth, the howling centre of a beetroot-red set of features. She couldn’t bear it. Cursing Mrs Foley, Patricia grabbed the baby’s bottle and leaned down beside the basket. She tried to put the rubber teat into the mouth but the child seemed beyond consoling at this point. Crying seemed to take priority over eating. Patricia tried shaking the bottle to get a few drops of milk into the mouth to remind the infant what all this crying was actually about. The baby twisted her head left and right. She seemed to have no interest in the bottle whatsoever. Patricia began to worry that perhaps the real mother had been breastfeeding. What was she supposed to do then? Would Mrs Foley let the infant starve to death before she called a doctor out? A sense of panic began to simmer. She reached into the basket and lifted up the baby, resting her in the crook of her arm. The crying didn’t stop but the level of distress seemed to reduce. Patricia tried the bottle once more. After a couple of false starts the tiny mouth decided that the time was right. She gripped onto the teat and began to suck hungrily. Patricia’s sense of relief was palpable. She stared down at the little human in her arms. The colour of its face was almost back to normal and the sense of contentment that her noisy sucking exuded was infectious.