by Sam Hayes
5 January 1992
NEW YEAR BABY THROWN OUT WITH THE RUBBISH
A baby girl, just days old, was found dumped in a skip yesterday afternoon. A passer-by, who wishes to remain anonymous, heard the infant crying at around 3 p.m. and alerted the authorities.
The baby, currently being cared for in St Thomas’ Hospital, has been named Felicity by the nurses because, ‘Despite her unusual start in life, she is a happy little soul,’ commented the sister in charge of the infant’s care.
A police spokesman said, ‘We have secured and examined the area around the skip in which the infant was found and at this point in time, cannot make any announcements. We are extremely concerned for the mother and her well-being and urge her to come forward for assistance.’
Felicity, I thought, as I positioned myself outside her house. It was just after six in the morning and I’d told Robert that I was going to a trade show. He promised to look after Ruby, while I went off to spy on the baby that had been thrown away.
It was a nice house; very middle-class in a suburb with trees and clipped hedges and no doubt a competition of fairy lights at Christmas. Felicity’s house was painted white and had fake black beams criss-crossing the front. There was a Volvo estate parked in the drive and at ten past eight exactly, Felicity’s mother came out of the house laden with school bags, calling back inside the house and beckoning frantically.
She was more like someone’s mother than me. Better all round, with her neat brown bob and sensible shoes.
Then Felicity came out of the house, looking like any other teenager with her school tie knotted short and her black trousers trailing in the wet – except that she was my teenager. She eased herself into the Volvo, not in any hurry, after which her mother sped out of the drive.
I started up my car and followed closely, inhaling the tang of exhaust that blew in through my heater vents in case I got a whiff of my baby. Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up outside a high school and Felicity got out of the car without kissing her mother goodbye.
I never got to kiss you goodbye either.
I saw her three times during the day. Once at ten thirty when the bell rang and she marched across the front of the school to the science block. She was at the head of a V-shaped formation of five girls. She was the prettiest, the tallest and obviously the most popular, the way the others all flowed behind her like a bridal train. She had nothing of Uncle Gustaw about her. Her blonde hair whipped about her shoulders in the cold wind.
Put your coat on, young lady.
At lunchtime, Felicity sloped off to the fish and chip shop a couple of blocks down from the school. I got out of my car and went for chips too. Nice big fat greasy ones and I leaned against the wall while Felicity sat on a bench with a friend and shared cod and chips. I couldn’t hear everything but they mentioned a couple of boys, sprayed Coke through their noses and bent double with fun.
A warm river of blood flowed through my heart. Felicity was happy.
I saw her at three forty, when she loitered in the street for her mother. Many kids got onto the school bus but I was pleased to see that Felicity was picked up by a parent. She managed a quick brush of her lips across her mother’s cheek after she’d hurled her school bag into the rear.
I let them drive off into the distance. Next time, I would bring my camera.
‘The Yorks seemed happy to share their story. They even went on a daytime TV show for adoptive parents and discussed the morals of taking on someone else’s baby without knowing its history. They said that was the least of it. Getting to know and learning to love your child was the bigger part of the journey.’
‘They did?’ That’s good, I think, as I sew my baby’s name together in my head. Felicity York. It sounds nice. She sounds nice. I think of her lying in a skip. I think of her lying in another woman’s arms. ‘Louisa,’ I say. ‘You’re still sure you won’t tell Rob, aren’t you.’ It wasn’t a question. Her eyes go wide at the mention of my husband’s name.
‘I’m sure,’ she says earnestly, pulling a crumb from her lip. ‘Why would I want to hurt him? Why would I want to hurt you or Ruby?’
And I believe her as we finish our paninis with runny pesto dressing and talk over the noise of the cappuccino machine and watch silver bulbs of rain wiggle down the window. We do this until it is time for me to go home.
Robert is taking a thrashing from Ruby on the Playstation. He rolls on his back like a dying insect, groans and lays down his controller as a sign of defeat.
‘Ha, you’ll never beat the Mighty Red,’ Ruby says and begins to tickle Robert’s ribs with her foot. He grabs it and tickles her back and I have no chance of being noticed as they begin death by tickling. I go into the kitchen to unpack the groceries that I picked up on the way home from my meeting with Louisa.
I wonder if Robert will sense that I have been with her. Will he smell her scent on me, catch her words on my breath or the shadow of her kiss on my cheek as we parted? I wash my hands in case.
‘Oh, you scared me,’ I gasp. Robert is pressed behind me, his arms round my belly.
‘Hey, fat woman, how you doing?’
‘You wait,’ I say. ‘Cooking later or going out?’ It takes him less than a second to decide that we are going out.
‘Why don’t you have a lie-down or a hot bath before we go?’ He gently massages my stomach. It’ll be classical music pressed to my skin soon.
‘Why don’t you come with me?’ He knows what I mean and follows me upstairs while Ruby plays the piano. Briefly, I wonder if Felicity plays an instrument.
‘Will you look at that?’ Robert is pointing at the stuffed bag on the landing.
‘She’s so excited,’ I say. ‘She packed yesterday and the school trip’s not for another week.’ Robert takes my hand and leads me into our bedroom. He lays me down on the bed and a waft of fabric conditioner pillows around me. I smile as he closes the door.
‘What?’ he asks, pulling his shirt off over his head without unbuttoning it.
‘Nothing,’ I say, meaning everything.
Just that my three children are safe. Ruby, Felicity and the one tucked inside me, growing at a million miles an hour.
Blood Ties
SAM HAYES
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