by Penny Kline
DS Fairbrother phoned to say the foster parents would be happy for Izzy to visit the baby.
Izzy wrote down the address and phone number. ‘Thanks, I’ll give them a call.’
‘Bev and Alan Jordan,’ Fairbrother told her, ‘they’re also fostering a thirteen-year-old boy and a twelve-year-old girl but those kids are long term. Hopefully the baby’s mother will come forward in a week or two.’
Now was the moment she ought to tell her. But what? It was too soon, she had no proof. What could she say? By the way, a friend of mine – well, she used to be friend only I haven’t seen her for over a year … It’s probably nothing but once, years ago, when we were still at primary school we used to play this game …
She needed to see the baby. Did she look like Dawn? Tens of thousands of babies had the same fair colouring, the same round surprised-looking eyes, and how on earth could the person who had been her childhood friend, so close they could have been sisters, have abandoned her baby?
Dawn Dear. Top of the class. Good at just about everything apart from sport, popular with teachers and pupils alike. But there had been another side to her, a side only Izzy, and perhaps Rosalie, had known about. An angry, vindictive side that could be turned on anyone who thwarted her or – if she thought she deserved it – turned harshly, mercilessly, against herself.
The drive to Dawlish would take less than an hour. During the day, Izzy had phoned the university on the off-chance that Dawn might have been in touch with her old department. The woman who answered the phone was reluctant to pass on any information, then relented and said they had heard nothing from Dawn since she sent a brief note to let them know she was going to Portugal. Did Izzy know if and when she would be returning? Her supervisor needed to speak to her – this probably meant she had failed to pay her tuition fees – but had no means of getting in touch.
‘I’m sorry. I’m trying to locate her myself.’
‘I see. Well, if you succeed, I’d be grateful if you’d tell her we need to speak to her.’
Izzy had never asked Dawn why she had chosen to come to this particular university. Because someone on the staff shared her interest in a branch of theology, or because she knew Izzy lived in the city?
Ten years ago, when they were both nineteen, she had joined Dawn in London, but they had never lived together. Expecting Dawn, who was in her second year, to have her own friends, Izzy had arranged to share with three other students from her art college. When Dawn found out she had been angry; not that she had expressed her feelings openly, but Izzy knew her well enough to be aware of her resentment.
Later, Dawn had moved into a room close to where Izzy was living, but only for six months. As soon as her course finished, even before she had the result of her exams – although it was a foregone conclusion she would get a First – she had announced she was going to Scotland to join a community. At first, Izzy had thought she intended to become a nun, as her mother had once wanted, but it wasn’t that kind of community although it appeared Dawn had to give up all her worldly goods, whatever that amounted to.
For a long time there had been no word from her, then a letter had arrived saying how blissfully happy she was, only to be followed by a silence that had lasted nearly two years. Izzy had written twice and sent a card on Dawn’s birthday, wondering, as she wrote in it, if cards were permitted or counted as personal possessions. Then, a few months after she started her present job, Dawn had written saying she was in the process of putting her life back together and would be starting a research degree in Exeter in the not too distant future …
After a grey, dreary start to the day, the weather had suddenly cleared. From the top of the hill, Izzy could see the sea. She liked Dawlish, with its famous black swans, and the railway line that ran parallel to the beach so that the mainline trains were sometimes splashed by waves in the winter months.
Bev Jordan had told her to ignore the sign pointing to the town centre and carry straight on until she passed two sets of traffic lights. After that she had to turn right, then take the second on the left, then right again.
It was a part of the town she had never visited before, newish houses interspersed with small open spaces. No thatched cottages here. She passed a play area where children – most of them too large for the equipment – were running up slides or standing on swings. It was starting to get dark and she had lost her bearings, thought she must have turned off too soon, then she passed the end of a street and spotted the name she was looking for.
Bev and Alan Jordan’s house was a square redbrick box with a white front door. No climbing plants or shrubs, nothing to differentiate it from the houses on either side. Izzy rang the bell, in the knowledge it was unnecessary since a teenage boy was watching her through a downstairs window.
A moment later he greeted her with a smile, holding the door to let her pass and then preceding her into a living room that ran from the front of the house to the back. The room had an overhead light with a large paper shade, and two table lamps, both with purple shades and red bases. Bookshelves set into alcoves on either side of the fireplace were piled high with jigsaw puzzles, boxes containing board games, and copies of a weekly magazine designed to build into an encyclopaedia of British wildlife.
Someone was coming down the stairs. Izzy assumed it would be Bev Jordan but it turned out to be an old dog with a long shaggy body and a fiercely wagging tail.
‘He’s all right,’ the boy told her, ‘but if you don’t like dogs I’ll put in the kitchen.’
‘No, he’s fine. I have a cat, but I like dogs too.
‘I expect he can smell your cat.’
‘Yes, I expect so.’ Izzy bent to stroke the dog’s head, watching as he ambled away, sniffing the carpet before settling down behind an armchair with his nose resting on his paws. The room smelled of dogs. Their owners get so used to it the smell no longer registers. Cats didn’t smell, at least she was fairly sure they didn’t.
‘Isabel!’ Bev Jordan’s greeting made Izzy feel like a long-lost friend. ‘How lovely to meet you.’
A large, fair-haired woman, she was wearing jeans that were slightly too short and a pale blue, much-washed sweatshirt, and her round pleasant face couldn’t have been more friendly. Although there was something about her eyes, sadness, or was it worry?
‘Cressy’s asleep,’ she said, ‘but she’ll wake quite soon. She’s settled in beautifully, poor little love, such a contented baby. Isn’t it strange how a child who’s had all the care and attention in the world lavished on it can be miserable and colicky and one like Cressy …’ She broke off. ‘I’m so pleased you could come. The social worker seemed to think it a little odd you wanting to visit. All that training they go through – I sometimes think the only effect is to knock their native common sense and normal human feelings out of them. In your position I’d have felt exactly the same. Oh, I’m sorry.’ She glanced at the girl who had crept into the room. ‘I always talk too much don’t I, Pippa? Has Nigel introduced himself? Alan, my husband, had to go out but he should be back any time. Do sit down, Isabel.’
Izzy joined Pippa on the sofa. ‘Most people call me Izzy.’
‘Izzy. Good. And I’m Bev, short for Beverley. I don’t know what my parents were thinking about.’
‘No news about the mother then?’
Bev shook her head. ‘Apparently they’ve been trying to trace where the carrycot was bought but so far they’ve drawn a blank – and with so many possibilities it seems a bit of a lost cause. The mother could have answered an ad in one of those papers that advertise second-hand stuff. I wonder if she had any more baby clothes. No, it’s all right, I bought what I needed – social services take care of the cost – and we found some stuff in a charity shop, didn’t we, Pippa? Coffee or would you prefer tea?’
‘Nothing for me, thanks.’ In spite of Bev’s welcome, Izzy was starting to wonder why she had come. Being the person who found the baby gave her no particular rights. Cressy would be brought down, she would
hold her briefly, check surreptitiously for any likeness to Dawn, exchange a few pleasantries with the Jordans, and leave.
‘She’s a lovely baby,’ Bev was saying, ‘such beautiful eyes and all that hair. Quite unusual-looking. I suppose the mother could be a foreigner, Scandinavian or something, although come to think of it, the father might be the fair one. Nigel and Pippa are ever so good with her. The trouble is, when they find the mother we’re all going to miss her horribly.’
Pippa let out a long dramatic sigh. ‘If they don’t, can we keep her?’
‘Oh Pippa, I explained, it’s no good getting too attached. Let’s just make the most of her while she’s here.’ Bev glanced at her watch. ‘Can’t think what’s happened to Alan. He wanted to meet you, Izzy, and I told him what time you were coming.’
A small sound came from upstairs and in an instant Nigel had jumped to his feet. ‘My turn,’ he said, pushing Pippa out of the way. ‘It is my turn, isn’t it, Bev?’
So they called her Bev. Izzy wondered about their background. By their looks, she guessed they were brother and sister, not just two separate children who had ended up with the same foster parents. What had happened to their real parents? She had gained the impression they had been living with Bev for some time.
Nigel raced up the stairs with Pippa following.
‘Don’t worry,’ Bev said, ‘they’re ever so careful, wouldn’t dream of fighting when it comes to lifting her out of the cot.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Their Dad died three years ago and their Mum’s been in and out of psychiatric hospital. Nigel’s thirteen – he’s the quiet one – and Pippa’s twelve. They see their mother on a fairly regular basis – when she’s well enough she takes them out for the day – but there’s very little chance she’ll ever be able to make a home for them, and they’re settled here, I doubt if they’d want to be uprooted again.’
‘No, I’m sure.’ Izzy was thinking how it was not surprising there was always a shortage of foster parents. What must it be like? Kids coming and going, attachments formed then broken. Presumably Bev was unable to have her own children. How did it feel looking after Cressy in the knowledge that any day the police – or the social worker – could give her a ring to let her know the natural mother wanted to reclaim her?
Nigel and Pippa were coming down the stairs. Nigel was carrying Cressy, and Pippa was carrying her blanket. Izzy felt an absurd twinge of jealousy, almost as if they had stolen her baby.
‘I chose her blanket, didn’t I, Bev?’
‘You did.’
‘People always give girl babies pink things but I read in a book they like stripes and red is my favourite colour.’
‘Give her to Izzy,’ Bev said, ‘I’ll go and heat her bottle.’
‘Not it’s all right.’ she patted the sofa. ‘You keep her, Nigel. I’ll hold her in a minute or two.’
Nigel and Pippa exchanged glances. Pippa started to say something then broke off blushing.
‘She wants to know where you found her.’ Nigel shifted the baby’s weight from one arm to the other. ‘We know it was outside your house but was it in the garage or something?’
‘I haven’t got a garage and the house opens straight onto the street, but it’s pedestrianized, no cars allowed. I was lying in bed. Her crying woke me but at first I thought it was a cat. Then she started to cry properly.’
‘Was she all cold and wet?’ Pippa asked. ‘It’s a funny name – Cressy. Bev says it must be short for Cressida. I’ve never heard of anyone called Cressida, have you?’
‘No.’ Izzy stretched out her arms and Nigel handed her the baby. ‘She’s lucky she’s come to stay with you, lucky to have so many people taking care of her.’
Pippa gave a nervous giggle. ‘But not lucky her mother doesn’t want her.’
Nigel dug his sister in the ribs with his elbow. ‘You don’t know that. She could be ill or in trouble with the police. It’s not like she hadn’t been looked after.’
Bev had returned with the bottle. She handed it to Izzy, along with a small white cloth. ‘To catch the drips,’ she explained, ‘she’s not a sicky baby but she does tend to suck rather too hard.’
‘Greedy guzzler,’ said Pippa, springing up when she heard a key in the front door. ‘Alan, the lady that found Cressy is here. She thought she was a cat.’
Alan Jordan was a tall, well-built man with curly brown hair and deep lines between his eyes. He held out a hand to Izzy then withdrew it, apologizing for the dirt. ‘Been helping a friend put his fence back up. Wind brought it down a couple of nights back.’
‘Alan’s a telephone engineer,’ Bev explained, ‘but I work at home, on my word processor, although I’ve cut down on it since Cressy arrived. You’re an artist, is that right?’
‘I work for a graphics company.’
‘I’m going to be an artist,’ chimed in Pippa, ‘and Nigel’s going to be an aeroplane designer.’
Alan laughed. ‘Then he’ll have to start playing less football and doing more schoolwork.’
‘Oh come on,’ Bev protested, ‘that’s not very fair.’ She put an arm round Nigel’s shoulder. ‘Do me a favour, love, run down the end and buy a large granary.’
Alan was watching Izzy closely and she wondered if he found it a little odd that she had wanted to see Cressy again. ‘Must’ve been a shock,’ he said.
‘Finding the baby? Yes, it was.’
‘Any idea why she was left outside your house?’
‘No.’ So did he too suspect it had been chosen specially? ‘There’s a porch, part of a porch. Enough to keep the rain off the carry cot.’
He thought about this and she guessed he thought it an improbable explanation. ‘I expect you’re right. Wonder what’s happened to the mother. Expect she’ll turn up sooner or later.’
‘Yes.’ Izzy was starting to feel uneasy and Bev picked this up and quickly changed the subject.
‘You work in Exeter, do you?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Our office is down near the river. Lots of glass. Too hot in summer and too cold in winter.’ The baby was spluttering and Izzy handed her to Bev, who put Cressy up against her shoulder and patted her back.
‘Told you she was a greedy guzzler. Putting on weight and the health visitor says she’s doing well. Perfect. Perfect little girl.’
‘Am I a perfect little girl?’ Pippa asked.
Bev and Alan both answered together.
‘Of course,’ Bev said.
‘Too naughty,’ Alan laughed.
‘No, I’m not. I’m not, am I, Bev?’
Bev gave Izzy a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m so glad you came.’
‘Thank you. So am I.’
Pippa was nudging Izzy. ‘I want a cat but Alan says they have fleas, but they don’t if you look after them properly.’
‘Shh, Pippa.’ Alan frowned at her. ‘You talk too much.’
‘No, I don’t. I don’t, do I, Bev?’
Izzy decided it was time to leave. She had intended the visit to be a one-off, but as she walked towards her car, Bev insisted she must drop by again. ‘You can give me a ring if you like but I’m never out for long, unless I’ve popped to the supermarket or taken the baby for a walk. ’
‘I’d call first,’ Izzy said, wondering if she would. ‘Thanks. Oh, Bev, it’s nothing to do with me, but are Pippa and Nigel full sister and brother?’
‘Yes, that’s right, didn’t I tell you? They try not to split up families. I’m so glad we were able to foster them both. They fight sometimes, but I’m sure all brothers and sisters are the same. When they first arrived, Nigel was very protective of Pippa, but he’s given all that up now. I hope it means they both feel safe and secure.’
‘I’m sure they do.’ Izzy would like to have known more about their background. But not now. Next time she visited perhaps.
‘Good to meet you.’ Bev kissed her on the cheek. ‘Come back whenever you like.’
As she drove off, Izzy’s head was reeling. What had she expected to find?
Suddenly Bev and her family had become important to her, comforting. She could never tell Bev what she suspected. Even so, she looked forward to seeing her again.
Did Cressy look like Dawn or was she imagining it?
Oh, Dawn, where you? And at the thought of her one-time friend, a shiver of fear ran down her back.
Back home, Kath was waiting on the doorstep and she remembered with a guilty pang that it was Thursday, the day they always went out for a drink together.
‘Thought you’d forgotten.’ Kath sounded put out. ‘Where’ve you been? Are we still on?’
‘Yes of course. Sorry. I’ve been to see the baby’s foster parents and I didn’t mean to stay so long. They’re a really nice family, two teenage kids, a boy and a girl, and they both seem to like babies.’
‘And the parents?’ Kath accompanied Izzy into the house.
‘Bev and Alan. Very friendly. Look, do you want to go out or shall I open a bottle?’
‘Suits me. You look whacked. These foster parents – tell me more. They’ve been doing it a long time, have they? It must take a special kind of person, wouldn’t you say? Imagine getting fond of a baby then –’
‘Kath?’ Izzy called from the kitchen. ‘You know I was brought up in Chester.’
‘Chester? Sure. Not that I’ve been there. We must visit some time and you can show me the house.’
‘The thing is …’ Returning with two glasses, Izzy hesitated, wondering if confiding in Kath was a good idea or if it would mean two people instead of one ended up withholding information from the police?
‘Were you born in hospital?’ Kath was asking. ‘I came into the world in the back of an old Chevy.’
‘Really? Why? What happened?’