The Secret Mother(4)

‘…and when I got home, there was a little boy in our kitchen.’

It takes a few seconds for my words to register.

‘A little boy?’ Scott says, his brow creasing. ‘What are you talking about? What little boy?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ I say, my heart thumping. ‘He’s in there now. His name is Harry.’

Scott takes hold of my shoulders and looks into my face as though he’s searching for something. ‘Tessa, what the hell? I hope you haven’t gone and done something stupid.’

I shrug his hands off and take a step back. ‘I haven’t done anything,’ I hiss. ‘I’m telling you what happened. I came home and he was in our house, sitting at the kitchen counter, drawing. And then he asked me if I was his mummy!’

‘Christ, Tess. What have you done?’ He pushes past me and opens the door to the kitchen, halted in his tracks by the sight of Harry sitting at the table, scooping out milk froth from the bottom of the mug with his forefinger.

I edge past Scott to go and stand with our little visitor, not wanting him to feel intimidated by the sight of an angry stranger. But Harry seems fine. He stares at Scott before switching his gaze to me.

‘Harry,’ I say with forced cheerfulness. ‘This is Scott, who I was telling you about.’

Harry gets to his feet and wipes his sticky fingers on his jeans. He comes around the table and holds his hand out. ‘Nice to meet you, Scott,’ he says, his little voice so pure and confident I want to hug him.

Scott’s anger towards me has deflated. He stands there with his mouth open before responding to Harry with a dazed handshake. ‘Hello,’ he croaks. ‘Me and Tessa are just going to have a little chat in the hall, okay? We’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Is your name Tessa?’ Harry asks me.

I nod.

‘But you’re my mummy, right?’

I give him a limp smile, unwilling to deny it.

‘Okay, Harry,’ Scott interrupts. ‘Just give us a couple of minutes.’

He grabs me by my upper arm and manoeuvres me out of the kitchen, his eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He closes the door behind us and turns to me, hands opened out like claws.

‘Why does he think you’re his mum? Where’s he from, Tess? Where’d you get him?’

I shake my head. ‘I told you before. I got home and he was—’

‘Yeah, you said, he was just there, sitting at the counter. But that’s impossible. A child can’t magically appear in your kitchen. Where did you find him, really? Tell me and we can sort it out.’

I should have known Scott wouldn’t believe me. After all we’ve been through, he no longer trusts me. He doesn’t have my back any more. I’m on my own.

His voice softens. ‘I know this is hard. I know your heart is broken from what happened, but you can’t do stuff like this. You’ll get into serious trouble. You could go to prison.’

‘I didn’t find him, or take him, or whatever else you think I’ve done,’ I snap, clenching my fists by my sides. ‘Do you really think I’d take someone else’s child after what happened to us? Do you think I’d put another mother through that kind of pain? I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. But if you can’t believe me, then—’

‘It’s not a case of not believing you. Maybe you genuinely can’t remember what happened. Maybe… Oh, I don’t know.’ Scott’s broad shoulders droop and he runs a hand through his dark hair, suddenly looking like a small, tired boy himself.

‘We need to call the police, right?’ I say.

‘Yes. You should have called them before you called me. You should have called them instead of calling me.’

‘I know.’ I dip my head and chew my lower lip, feeling ashamed. I’ve put my own inadequacies ahead of Harry, ahead of his parents, and that was wrong of me. What was I thinking? ‘Can you call them?’ I ask Scott. ‘Please. I don’t think I can do it.’

He nods and draws his mobile out of his coat pocket. ‘What shall I say?’

‘Tell them the truth,’ I reply. ‘That I came home and found him here.’

‘It sounds so dodgy, Tessa.’

‘Better than lying.’

‘Okay. Well, if you’re sure.’

I nod, unsure of anything, a wave of helplessness surging through me. This little boy delivered by an angel will soon be gone from my life, like everything else.





Chapter Three





It didn’t take them long to arrive. Less than ten minutes from Scott’s call to their official-sounding ring on the doorbell.

Two officers – a man and a woman whose names I can’t remember – are in the kitchen talking to Harry while Scott and I wait in the lounge, an awkward silence filling up the small space. I sit on the sofa in my usual spot, and Scott hovers by the window, staring out into the dark, rain-lashed evening. I listen, hoping to eavesdrop on what’s going on through the wall, but they must be speaking quietly as all I can hear is the occasional deep bass note of the male officer’s voice. I can’t make out any clear words.

What will they think of Harry’s story? Will he tell them the same thing he told me? When the police first arrived, I told them exactly what had happened when I got home earlier, and then they asked for mine and Scott’s whereabouts this afternoon. Scott had been playing in his usual five-a-side football match, and I was at the cemetery, alone. Aside from asking their questions, neither of the officers passed any comment. They simply wrote down what we said.