I deserved it.
We were at the lifts.
‘Press the button for Mummy, sweetie.’
Kate leaned over and pushed the button and miraculously the doors slid open straight away to reveal an empty lift. We stepped inside and glided slowly down to the ground floor. The doors opened again and still I had the warm body pressed against mine, sound asleep. My arms ached from holding the baby with one arm and pushing the pushchair with the other, and I risked stopping to swap arms. Still nobody came. Nobody even gave me a second glance and before I knew it I was through the sliding doors and out into the chilly November evening. The rain had stopped by now but the air was still grey, and I pulled my coat round the baby to keep it warm. It. I still didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. I wasn’t going to stop to look now.
A few people were milling around but there was no sign of the baby’s mother, of that woman who’d haunted my dreams for so long. I never knew whether she’d tried to seduce Ray – he’d always insisted she hadn’t – but it hadn’t stopped me thinking about the possibility. I wondered where she’d gone to smoke her cigarette, and whether she was back yet and raising the alarm.
I quickened my pace and headed round the red-brick building of the main hospital and back towards the black iron railings, retracing my steps from what felt like a lifetime ago but was really only about twenty minutes. I listened for footsteps behind me and the sound of people shouting ‘Stop!’ But none came. And then I was out of the gates and on the street, just an ordinary mum leaving hospital with her newborn child.
A voice in the back of my mind was nagging, telling me to turn round, go straight back up to the fifth floor and take the baby back to where it belonged: with its mother, with its twin. But the other voice was saying I deserved this, that I deserved this baby, and that I should keep going and not look back. And although I knew it wouldn’t last, that I’d get caught and the baby would be taken away from me, whether that was in five minutes or five hours or five days, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I wanted as long as I could get.
And so I kept going forward, through the underpass and out the other side, up the busy street past the people with shopping bags, and back to the bus stop. As we waited for the bus I realized I had nothing to feed the baby if it woke up. There was a Mothercare across the road. Should I risk going in and buying some supplies, or was it better to get on the bus and get out of here? Without thinking too hard I dashed across the road, pushchair in one hand, baby in the other, and bought formula milk, bottles and nappies. I felt as though what I’d done would be obvious, that someone was bound to sound the alarm at any moment. But nobody batted an eyelid at this new mother with her toddler and baby, buying nappies.
Moments later we were on the bus, moving slowly through the traffic and away from the hospital, away from the terrible thing I’d just done.
We were going home.
11
November 1979–1980
I don’t think I ever truly believed I was taking that baby to keep. In my grief-stricken state, I believed that I was taking it to hold for a few minutes, or hours, or however long I got, before I had to hand her back to her real parents. I was borrowing her from that woman, and I had every intention of giving her back, sooner or later. It’s just it started to become later rather than sooner.
Not once during the rest of that day did I think about the poor mother, back at the hospital, when she realized her baby was gone. Not once did I think about the frantic search, the minutes ticking by, the police coming, the family arriving, the pain the mother would go through as the hours passed and her baby was still missing.
And neither did I think about the consequences for me, once I was discovered, for snatching a baby from a hospital.
But I had plenty of time to think about it all afterwards, in the lonely, sleep-deprived days to come.
In fact, as the hours turned to days, I started to realize that this wasn’t just a game. This wasn’t just a grieving mother needing to hold a baby.
I’d snatched someone else’s child.
And, even though I’d told myself I deserved this baby, and that she – the real mother – didn’t, I knew deep down I was wrong, and that I had to take her back.
But how?
How could I take the baby back without anyone knowing it was me who took her? I couldn’t just walk into the hospital and hand her over, no questions asked, and I certainly wasn’t going to dump her out in the cold and hope someone found her.
But the main problem was bigger than all of those practicalities. The main problem was that, simply, I didn’t want to take her back.
How could I? Not only because she was keeping the grief at bay that I felt at losing my husband and my baby. But also I knew it would be worse than losing my baby the first time round, because this time I’d have lost a real-life baby, one that I had held in my arms and kissed with my lips and hugged to my chest.
A baby I already loved like my own.
She was my own.
I just couldn’t do it.
And so I didn’t.
And then I didn’t do it some more, until it all became too late.
Despite all this, we quickly slipped into a routine, me, Kate, and the baby. Even though her name tag had said ‘Louisa Foster’, I was calling her Georgie. Georgina Rae Wood. It suited her, and I was sure she smiled when I said it.
It was lucky for me that I hadn’t made any friends here because I had no one to explain myself to, to explain why Georgie had a mop of dark hair when me and Kate were so fair – although you only had to look at a photo of Ray to draw your own conclusions as to where that had come from, so I doubted anyone would question it. But it was just easier on my own, at first.
And so it was just the three of us, cocooned in our little house, in a little bubble.
I expected a knock on the door any minute, for someone to come and drag my baby from my arms, to take Georgie away from me. But with each day that passed without anyone coming, the knot of anxiety in my stomach loosened just a little.
But I still couldn’t relax completely. So much so that when Sandy came round out of the blue I couldn’t even let her in. I opened the door cautiously, and there she was, smiling at me as though everything was normal. Which, to her, I suppose it was. But I couldn’t let her see that I wasn’t pregnant any more; I couldn’t have that conversation, or let her see that the baby was here already. I wasn’t ready to try and work out what to tell her, what story to come up with, although I knew I’d have to sooner or later. Instead I stood, my lower half covered by the door, peering round it suspiciously.
‘Aren’t you going to let me in, then?’ Her face furrowed into a frown.
‘No, I er . . . ’ I stopped, glancing behind me and praying that Georgie wouldn’t start crying.
‘Jan, are you OK?’
I nodded frantically. ‘Yep. Yes, I’m fine, Sandy. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. Do you mind if you don’t come in, today?’
I could see the hurt on her face, but what choice did I have?
‘Oh. OK. It’s just I’ve driven all the way here, to make sure you’re all right.’ She stepped forward and I closed the door a fraction of an inch more. She noticed, and stepped back again, peering at my face in the shadow of the porch.
‘Jan, are you sure you’re OK? You look very pale. And – not right. Please, let me in.’
‘I’m fine, really. Sorry, Sandy, I really need to go now.’ And before she could reply I closed the door in her face and walked back down the hallway to the lounge where Kate was playing and Georgie was sleeping in a basket on the floor. My heart was going wild, my breath coming in frantic bursts, and I sank onto the sofa, blinking back the tears. Sandy was my oldest friend; what was I doing? Surely I needed her now more than ever? Part of me wanted to run to the front door, yank it open and run after her, beg her to come back to look after me, and tell her everything. But the other part of me, the part that didn’t want to l
ose my little girl, knew I couldn’t do that. Don’t get me wrong, I knew Sandy would want to help me keep my secret. But it was such a big, bad, dark and terrible secret, I wasn’t sure even she could keep it for me. So instead, all I could do was sit and let her walk away, wondering what on earth she’d done wrong. I could only pray she’d come back again one day soon, when I was ready.
After that the days passed slowly. One day, when Georgie was just a few days old, we decided to venture outside for the first time. It was more by necessity than by choice as we’d almost run out of formula and I needed to buy some food for me and Kate. It had rained almost constantly since we’d been home, and this was the first day it was dry. So shortly after we got up that morning I got me and Kate dressed, as usual, and I changed Georgie’s nappy, as usual, and we had breakfast, as usual, just a couple of stale slices of toast and a scraping of butter we had left in the fridge.
‘Me hungy, mumma.’ Kate pointed at her mouth and banged her hands on the table.
‘Yes, I know. We need to go shopping.’
I lifted her down and she toddled over to the pushchair. I shook my head. ‘Not today, sweetheart. You need to walk while Mummy pushes Georgie in the pram.’ I pointed to the corner of the kitchen where the second-hand pram I’d bought in preparation for the baby sat, taking up most of the small room.
‘But me pram!’
‘No, you’ll have to be a good girl and walk with Mummy. Georgie needs the pram.’
‘Nooooo!’ The scream was so loud it made me jump backwards and I bashed my head on the door frame. At the same time Georgie woke up, and within seconds the air in the room was replaced with noise, and my head was throbbing. I sank into a chair and put my head in my hands, trying to block out the tantruming toddler and the crying baby. I wanted to scream myself, but I didn’t have the energy.
With no signs of the racket from either of them abating, I picked Georgie up and placed her in the pram, her face bright red. I covered her with a blanket and stuck her hat on her head, shoved my bag in the basket underneath, and grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her, still screaming, towards the front door.
As though she realized I wasn’t taking any notice, her screaming stopped almost as soon as we stepped out into the cold air, and she walked beside me, slowly, holding my hand in her gloved one, in silence all the way to the shop at the other end of the village. We passed the odd person and they nodded at me and I nodded back, my heart hammering, wondering if they’d guess who I was and what I’d done.
But of course they didn’t and we got to the shop without incident. I manoeuvred my way through the door, struggling to get the pram up the step and into the shop.
‘You can leave it outside, it’ll be perfectly safe,’ shouted the woman from behind the counter at the other end of the shop.
I looked at the pram and back at the step. I glanced up and down the street and back down at the pram again. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave my baby out here in the cold, where anyone could take her. She was coming with me, everywhere, forever.
I’d never let either of my girls out of my sight again. I knew better than anyone what could happen if you did.
I struggled some more, and finally the wheels made it over the lip of the step and the door shut behind me with a jangle as I let it go, almost tripping over as I did. The aisles were narrow and I carefully navigated the pram through the shop to the other end.
I smiled at the woman behind the counter. I’d seen her a few times when I’d been pregnant, but I’d avoided talking to her for long, anxious to avoid the subject of why I was a mum on my own, without a husband. But now, with a new baby in tow, I knew I probably didn’t have much choice.
‘Ooh, you’ve had the baby, then? You didn’t look that pregnant, you must have carried it well. Well done, love.’ She came to the front of the counter and peered into the pram, and I smiled weakly.
‘Hello, sweetie, aren’t you gorgeous,’ she cooed, stroking her finger gently down Georgie’s face. It was all I could do not to shout ‘Get off her!’ but I bit my tongue and waited for her to stop.
Finally she turned to me. ‘Well done, it must be hard, on your own.’
I knew she wanted me to elaborate, tell her the story of how I came to be living here, in this little village, pregnant and alone. But I wasn’t ready to talk about it, not yet. It was still too raw. I was still too raw. So instead I nodded and forced my lips into a smile.
‘Yes, it has been hard but I’m OK. We’re doing well.’ I pulled Kate towards me and squeezed her hand.
‘Big sister.’ Kate smiled proudly and pointed at Georgie.
‘Oh bless her, isn’t she sweet as well?’
Kate beamed as the woman stepped back behind the counter, clearly disappointed that I wasn’t going to tell her anything more.
‘So, what can I get you?’
‘I just need some more formula milk, please. And some bread, cheese and juice and a few other things.’
‘Well, the formula’s here – ’ she indicated behind her – ‘and the cheese and anything cold. But you can help yourself to everything else; it’s all down there, at the front.’
I walked to the front of the shop and grabbed bread, apples and oranges and a few tins, then plopped them on the counter where there was already some formula milk, cheese, milk and butter. I was grateful for the thoughtfulness. I picked a newspaper from the pile as well and folded it into the bottom of my bag.
I paid and bundled the bags of shopping into the bottom of the pram, and slowly manoeuvred my way back to the front of the shop.
‘Here, let me get the door for you.’
The woman – I really should have remembered her name – held it open for me while I wiggled the pram out and down the step, trying not to let it tip over and spill its precious cargo. Finally I made it and turned to thank her.
‘You must let us know if you need anything. Anything at all. We’re all pretty nice really, I think you’ll find.’ Her eyes wrinkled at the corners as she smiled and I couldn’t help smiling back, properly this time.
‘Thank you.’ It came out as a whisper, but I knew she’d heard and she turned and walked back into the shop.
I wobbled my way back down the road towards home. That hadn’t been as bad as I’d thought. Maybe, eventually, I’d get to make some friends round here after all.
All in good time.
It wasn’t until later that evening, when Kate was eating her tea of cheese sandwiches on the floor by the fire, and Georgie was lying next to her, contented after a long feed, that I remembered the paper I’d picked up at the shop earlier. I stood and pulled my bag out, unfolded it, and smoothed it across my knees. It was the local paper, the Eastern Daily Press, and across the front page was a story about a raid on some embassy in London. I glanced at the date. It was a few days old. That was odd. But it didn’t matter, I hadn’t read or seen the news for weeks.
My eyes glanced across the details to the smaller stories down the side. I licked my finger and flicked to the next page, and it was the words I saw there that made my heart stop.
BABY SNATCHED FROM LOCAL HOSPITAL
I gasped out loud and almost dropped the paper on the floor. My hands were shaking, making the paper shudder as well, the words swimming in front of my eyes. I tried to hold it still, to focus on the story. How much did they know? I stared at the page and forced the words to fall into line.
A newborn baby girl was snatched from Norwich maternity hospital last night.
The baby, who had only that morning been named Louisa by her distraught mother, Kimberley Foster, was taken from her crib at the end of her mother’s bed in the Norfolk and Norwich maternity hospital between the hours of 1630 and 1700 hrs yesterday afternoon. Her other child, twin Samuel, was left alone in his crib.
Ms Foster, 17, of Colindale Avenue, Sprowston, was too distraught to tell us any more, and is being consoled at home by her mother, Margaret. But Pamela Newsome, another new mother on the same ward, said: ‘Thi
s is every mother’s worst nightmare. I can’t believe this has been allowed to happen, and I can’t believe that nobody saw anything. Kim has to get her baby back.’
Police are calling for any witnesses, or anyone who has any suspicions of who the perpetrator may be, to call the number below or call into Norwich police station.
My heart thumped so hard I thought it was going to fall out of my chest and the room started to spin away from me as the words sank in. Of course I’d known that a baby being snatched would be big news and that it was bound to be in the newspaper. But knowing it and seeing it for real were two entirely different things. I’d been so locked away in my own little bubble that the outside world had seemed like a different place entirely, somewhere that didn’t affect me.
But now this was here, in black and white, for everyone to see. Worse, there was the baby’s mother – her name was Kimberley, it said – staring out accusingly at me from the page. Her eyes were empty, full of pain, pleading with me to bring her baby back. She was so young, but lines etched her forehead. I’d done that. I’d brought her that pain.
And yet I knew I couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was too late now.
I tore my eyes away from the page, away from the sadness in hers. I thought I was going to throw up. I sat perfectly still for a few seconds, the newspaper still spread across my lap, waiting for the wave of nausea to subside. I couldn’t lose my babies, I just couldn’t. I’d lost everything else.
What had I done?
‘Mumma, all gone.’
Kate’s voice broke into my thoughts and I looked at her blankly. She pointed to her plate where a few bits of half-eaten crust lay strewn. I was glad of the distraction. I folded the paper so I couldn’t see Kimberley’s face any more and laid it down carefully on the sofa, then stood and took Kate’s plate from the floor. Crumbs dropped onto the carpet and I crouched down to brush them onto the plate, trying to ignore the aching cramp in my belly. Kate’s arms snaked round my neck and she buried her little face into my shoulder.
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