by Carla Kovach
Cleevesford Village Hall on the seventeenth of December 1954. It was the first Christmas without rationing for as long as he could remember. Wearing his only suit, he entered the hall and paid his fee. The room was filled with bodies dancing to ‘Shake, Rattle and Roll.’ His heart fluttered as he searched for a place to stand. Every man seemed to have a girl on his arm or be on the dance floor. He watched as they rock-and-rolled and lindy-hopped.
At eighteen, he’d had a couple of dates but he hadn’t been lucky enough to find someone to see again or go further with. He was the skinny, spotty boy that most girls avoided. He grinned, remembering his mother’s warning when he’d left earlier that evening: ‘Don’t you go getting some poor girl into trouble.’
The dancers moved closer as a woman stepped forward to sing ‘Secret Love’ by Doris Day. Albert bit his bottom lip and began nervously twiddling his fingers. He placed his empty glass on the table and turned. As he looked up, his gaze locked onto the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his life. She looked like an auburn-haired Marilyn Monroe. Well, the rest was history. He’d married his Lillian a year later, and they had two beautiful girls soon after.
He inhaled and all he could smell was pie as he squelched across the road, passing the chip shop. Steak and kidney pudding, he thought as he smiled. His socks were waterlogged and it began to bucket down once again. Raindrops bounced off the gurgling gutters and pummelled the windows of the terraced houses opposite. Water dripped off his cap and drizzled onto his nose before dripping off his chin. He shivered and scooted past the car park, towards Cleevesford Library – or Cleevesford Village Hall, as he’d always refer to it. Once again, his mind was filled with the music of that night.
Back then, he’d had his first real dance with Lillian to ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’. How his Lillian had loved The Beverley Sisters. The night ended with him having his first proper kiss. He’d brushed lips with a girl before, but hadn’t felt anything special. Kissing Lillian had been real. He remembered the moment her soft lips first touched his.
Her rose-scented perfume filled his nostrils. He wanted to hold her tight and caress her smooth skin, but he’d been brought up properly. He held his arms out behind her, not daring to touch her back. She broke away from their kiss, reached behind and pressed his hands onto the small of her back before letting a little chuckle slip as she continued kissing him. Fifty-eight years later, any mention of Lillian still made his heart flutter. There would never be another.
He crossed the road, heading towards the library. One quick look, for old time’s sake. He placed his stick on the kerb and stepped up. The street lamp above flickered before finally staying off. He stared at the door as he adjusted his focus. Back in 1954 he’d seen a sign on that very door advertising the local dance, the only local dance that year.
‘Love you always, Lillian,’ he whispered as he smiled. He squinted at the small white bag of rubbish that lay on the doorstep, sheltered by the canopy above. ‘Damn litterbugs. Why use the floor when you have a bloomin’ bin right there?’ He placed his stick against the door and held his back as he bent down. His knees creaked and crunched as he reached for the rubbish. Why was there a red sash tying up the bag? He leaned further down until his fingers reached the mass. It was a towel. He reached again and tugged at the material. Whatever it was, it was going in the bin. He was sick of his streets and community being disrespected by the youth that congregated on the streets.
He grabbed the mass and the material fell open to reveal a doll. He squinted again and reached down. His trembling hand trailed across the head of the doll. It didn’t feel like plastic. It felt like skin – cold skin. His tremble turned into a full-on shake as he stepped back and tumbled into a puddle, wetting his backside. He tried to yell for help but his heart felt as though it was beating out of his mouth. Tears fell as he thought of the little bundle that lay before him. If only it was a doll. It should’ve been a doll. He rubbed his damp backside and crawled open-mouthed towards the bundle as he reached out once again. It was the tiniest and coldest baby he’d ever seen. The streetlight above hissed and flickered back on, revealing the baby’s delicate facial features. He had to get help. It might be too late to save the poor mite but he’d damn well try his best. As he steadied his frail body against the doorway, he managed to stand and grab his stick.
‘Help,’ he whispered. He tried again and again to call out. ‘Help!’ he finally yelled, hitting the doors of the terraced houses with his stick. The light behind the third door came on and a woman answered. ‘Call an ambulance and the police,’ he said as he panted in her doorway.
‘What’s happened? Here, come in. You’ll catch your death,’ said the woman as she assisted the soaking-wet man through the front door.
‘There’s a baby. You have to check on it. Get something warm. Please,’ he replied, grabbing her arm for support as he caught his breath.
‘A baby? Look, are you okay?’
‘Yes. I’ve just found an abandoned baby in the library doorway. Please go and help it,’ he said as he collapsed on the sofa, wetting all the cushions. The woman grabbed her mobile phone and ordered her teenage daughter to sit with Albert. The girl placed a blanket over his shoulders before heading over to the window and watching her mother from the comfort of their lounge. Albert shuddered at the thought of the stone-cold baby. It reminded him of the same stony coldness he’d felt after finding Lillian’s body in bed, back in 1985, after she’d passed away in the night from pneumonia. His heart missed a beat as he gasped for breath again and wept.
Two
Gina combed her damp brown hair with her fingers. As she stepped out of the car, she pulled an elastic band from her pocket and scooped the tangled mop into a ponytail. Another bath disturbed by the job, another emergency that would more than likely be followed by another sleepless night. She spotted Detective Sergeant Jacob Driscoll’s slim, tall figure. He was talking to a woman under the canopy outside Cleevesford Library. Curtains twitched, hallways cast light onto the street and people began to migrate towards the scene. A paramedic held the tiny parcel, wrapped in a towel. He stepped into the ambulance and closed the doors. Gina shivered. That towel might be all the little one would have when they grew up. A scrap of material, holding secrets that might never leave the closely knitted fibres.
Jacob turned to face her as she approached. His thin, fair hair stuck to his wet forehead, making him resemble an Action Man figure. ‘Mrs Craneford, this is DI Harte. Mrs Craneford looked after the baby until the emergency services arrived. The paramedic stated that the baby is suffering from hypothermia and a low pulse rate.’
‘Oh, that poor baby was freezing. What an awful state of affairs. There’s an old guy in our house. He found the baby and knocked at our door. He was frantic. He’s not in a fit state for much though, seems in shock. My daughter’s making him a cuppa,’ Mrs Craneford said.
Gina looked up and down. She watched as the fine droplets of rain crossed the lamplight. Her ponytail stuck to the back of her neck, wetting her shirt. She shivered and turned to Jacob. ‘Right, ask PC Smith to knock on the doors along this street and get statements?’
‘Will do,’ replied Jacob.
Gina glanced up at the library. ‘We need to secure the library’s CCTV. Call the out-of-hours number at the council and get someone onto it? Mrs Craneford, would you go and wait with the man who found the baby? I’ll be there in a moment.’ The woman nodded and padded back towards her house, almost tripping up the step as she entered.
‘Anything to go on so far?’
‘PC Smith hasn’t found any witnesses as yet and a lot of people are out,’ said Jacob. ‘The ones that were in had their curtains shut and their TVs on. Are you alright?’
Gina shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. ‘Yes, just cold. I was in the middle of a bath when you called. Nothing new there. I hope the mother’s okay. Did the paramedics give any indication as to the age of the baby?’
‘Yes, newborn and sl
ightly premature looking. They won’t know any more until she’s been properly examined. I did notice a slight smell of diesel on the towel.’
‘Diesel, interesting,’ said Gina, gazing at the scene around her. Her bath was now a distant memory. ‘What a way to spend an evening.’
‘You’re telling me. Not that I’m complaining, but I had to break a date with Abigail, the one I was telling you about who works at the café in town.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, at least the baby’s getting the best possible treatment now. Our only objective is to find the mother and see if she’s okay. Sounds straightforward.’ Jacob wiped the rain off his face and swept his damp hair back.
‘Let’s hope so. I best start thinking about a press statement too, see if anyone’s seen or heard anything. I’ll go and ask our chap in there some questions. Can you get the items that the baby was wrapped in before the ambulance leaves? Bag and tag them, and send them to Keith in forensics. We need them to check for anything that might help us find the parents. Ask them to test for the usual – hair, blood and traces of anything else that may help. And diesel, too. You never know.’
‘Will do,’ DS Driscoll replied as he pulled his hood up and walked towards the ambulance.
The rain began to pelt as Gina stepped away from the canopy. She rushed towards Mrs Craneford’s house and knocked as she entered the slightly open door. She shuffled through the cluttered hall. ‘Hello. DI Harte,’ she said, almost knocking a pile of coats off a stand before entering the cluttered lounge. The electric fire radiated a cosy warmth and the flashing multicoloured Christmas lights added to the chaos of the room. An elderly man was sitting on the settee, staring at the wall.
‘Oh, Detective. This is Mr Thomas, the man I was telling you about who found the baby. Can I get you a cup of tea?’ the woman asked as she stepped backwards towards the kitchen.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Gina replied, sitting down beside the frail man. His hands trembled as he pulled the blanket over his shoulders.
‘My neighbours, Mark and Jean, will be wondering where I am. They do worry,’ the man said as he checked his watch.
Gina took out her phone. ‘Shall I call them for you?’ Albert nodded and replied with their home number. She called and explained that they were asking Albert a few questions and they would drop him to theirs shortly. ‘Jean said she’ll put your steak and kidney pudding in the microwave. Mr Thomas—’
‘Albert, you can call me Albert.’
Gina smiled and took out her notebook and pen. ‘Albert, tell me what happened in your own words.’
‘I came out of the Angel about seven thirty. It was rainy and horrible. Well, I crossed the road and headed alongside the houses towards the library. I stopped at the library for a look. It used to be Cleevesford Village Hall, you see. Lillian and I used to dance there. I wanted to think about those times. You understand?’ Gina nodded and smiled. ‘Only, when I stopped, I saw something and thought it was rubbish. I went to pick it up and realised then it was a baby. I managed to get this kind lady to open the door and she went out and tended to the baby thereon. Is the baby alright? It was so cold when I touched its head. Is it, you know…?’
‘The baby is receiving treatment now. You and Mrs Craneford did a good job.’
The man took a deep breath.
‘It’s hard to believe a mother could leave such a helpless little baby on its own,’ Mrs Craneford said as she bit her bottom lip. ‘I mean, if she didn’t want it, there are plenty of people who can’t have kids and—’
‘We don’t know this woman’s circumstances – that’s what we’re here to find out,’ Gina replied kindly. With her experience in child protection and domestic violence, she knew things weren’t always as clear-cut as people assumed. The mother may have been underage or abused, or might even be under some kind of threat. It was her job to unravel the mysteries and solve the case, and in her experience, jumping to conclusions wouldn’t help. Only the facts helped. She glanced at the frail man beside her. He looked down and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Here’s my number, should you remember anything else. I’ll get someone to drop you home.’ She called PC Smith who arrived within moments.
‘Thank you,’ Albert said, as he dropped the blanket onto the settee and left with the police officer.
Mrs Craneford smiled as she tapped her foot on the floor. Her daughter entered from the kitchen carrying a drink. The girl smiled and went upstairs.
‘Did you see anything or anyone suspicious when you went out to tend to the baby?’
‘No, I can’t say I did. The old man told me where it was and I found the little one straight away. I called you lot and held the baby until the paramedics came, hoping to keep it warm. It didn’t even cry,’ the woman replied, staring at the wall.
‘The baby’s in good hands. I’m sure your help paid off. Did you see anyone hanging around?’ Gina asked. She wondered if the mother had waited until someone found the baby. Maybe she had been standing at the end of the street or around the corner. Gina’s face began to glow from the fire’s warmth. Even her hair had stopped dripping.
‘No. There was no one in sight. Just me.’
‘If you remember anything else, please call,’ Gina said. She handed the woman her card and walked to the door.
‘Can you let me know how the baby is?’ Mrs Craneford said as she saw Gina out.
‘Yes, of course.’ As she left, the press release ran through her mind. An appeal for the safety of the mother and witnesses would be their best hope. She’d need to pass all the details to DCI Briggs so that he could get the information to the press before the morning news went out. Rain pelted down and the drains gurgled as they flooded. The ambulance splashed water over the pavement as the paramedics pulled away. Jacob Driscoll jogged towards her.
‘As requested, I’ve bagged and tagged all the garments for the lab,’ he said as he wiped his wet face and removed his latex gloves. ‘We’d best get back and process everything that’s happened. There appears to be no witnesses. We’ve asked everyone along this road – well, the ones who answered. I think we should get back. Oh, and one last thing – not good, I’m afraid. The CCTV hasn’t been on for over a year due to funding cuts. It’s just been left there as a deterrent.’
‘Damn.’ Gina wiped the rain from her face and watched as the lights in the houses started switching off and curtains were closed. All the action was over, leaving the public to go back to their books, television programmes and nice warm baths. She sloshed through the gutter towards her car. ‘I’ll see you back at the station,’ she called as she closed the door and started demisting the windscreen. She would find out to whom the baby belonged and how it arrived there. In her experience, the truth always found its way out. To start with, she’d organise the appeal. She released the handbrake and followed Jacob back to the station.
As she drove, she stared hard into the darkness of the street and imagined a figure. At the moment it had no face, it had no size, it wasn’t a woman or a man. Whoever placed the baby there had chosen carefully. The library entrance provided some shelter to protect the baby from the stormy weather. The road was densely populated and was crossed by passers-by with frequency. The figure would’ve been aware of this, and therefore they’d have left the baby quickly. Were they local? Was it a relief to leave the baby or was it the most heart-wrenching moment of their life? Was there violence involved?
Three
As Luke sipped the last of the wine in his glass, he watched Brooke twisting her blonde curls between her thumb and finger. Their gaze met. He couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to look away. He leaned across and stroked the side of her face before kissing her. She tasted just as he’d imagined. A hint of wine lingered on her breath. As his tongue reached further, caressing hers, she ran her fingers through his hair and pushed her body closer to his. The fire crackled as he reached up her jumper. He wanted her; she wanted him.
‘Stay the night,’ she whispered.
‘What about the ki
ds?’
‘I’m sure they’d love a sleepover.’
He smiled as they continued kissing. She reached back and unclipped her bra. He stroked her soft back as his desire increased. The firelight glinted off his gold wedding band, and he moved his hand out of sight. Tonight, he wasn’t going to wallow in his sorrows or keep reliving the past. Her hand moved along his leg and continued upwards. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the wood gently burning, but he wanted her. He had to move on and now was as good a time as any. Now was the perfect time. He leaned across and pushed his groin into hers, relishing the moans she was making in his ear.
Then Joe barged through the living room door, forcing them to part. ‘I hurt my finger,’ the little boy said, tears falling down his face.
Luke’s heart was beating like mad. He straightened his hair as Brooke pulled her jumper down. Glancing down at his ring, he shivered as he thought of his past, his children.
A thunderous noise filled the house as Max and Heidi ran down the stairs. ‘Daddy, she hit me,’ Max shouted, as he jumped into Luke’s lap.
‘I did not. He started it,’ Heidi replied, her face reddening. As his nine-year-old little girl stared up at him with her hazel eyes, he was reminded of the only woman he’d ever truly loved. She resembled her mother more every year.
‘She did!’
‘Do you two always have to argue?’ Luke shook his head. ‘Damn it! I suppose we should make a move.’ He stood up.
Brooke hugged her son and looked up from the sofa. ‘Blooming kids,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Is that a no to the sleepover then?’