Nobody's Baby

by Penny Kline

  Love you, love you. Dawn.

  PS. People say love’s an illusion. Oh Miles, we know that’s not true.

  PPS. I’m sending Izzy a big heavy hint she can’t ignore. She’ll come to her senses. Have to, won’t she!

  Chapter Five

  Why had she felt obliged to lie to Harry, making up a dental appointment? Heaven knows, she worked extra hours most weeks and for no extra pay. On another day, she might have told him she had something she needed to sort out, something personal, but Harry had been in one of his moods, answering the phone and indulging himself in a shouting match with whoever was unfortunate enough to be at the other end of the line. Slamming down the phone and snapping Kath’s head off for making a minor and easily remedied error. In any case, she had already decided that confiding in Harry was risky.

  Now, on her way to Exmouth, Izzy tried to work out how much she would tell Mrs Bruton. No more than was necessary, but sufficient to persuade her it was worth letting her into the house. That might be easier said than done. When Izzy explained that she was a friend of Dawn Dear’s, she was likely to have the door slammed in her face. And there was no way she could mention the baby.

  She could pretend she needed to trace Dawn’s whereabouts because of some legal matter, but that was hardly likely to lead to many revelations from Mrs Bruton, quite apart from the fact she would dislike deceiving her. Probably best to come straight out with the truth – but without any reference to Cressy – say she was worried about Dawn, and so was Dawn’s mother. Say she felt bad about calling round, but tracing Miles seemed to be the only way of finding her.

  The sky was overcast, and now the weather had turned warmer, rain threatened. In the summer the road to Exmouth would be jammed with holidaymakers’ cars and caravans but today it was relatively free of traffic. As she drove through a village, she caught a glimpse of the estuary, a broad band of water that had little in common with the mud flats up in Cheshire, apart from being a popular spot for bird watchers.

  Exmouth had a wonderful sandy beach, and Izzy remembered how she and Josh had walked high up on the cliff. At one point, steeps steps led down to the sand and as they descended, Josh had given her a push then caught hold of her arm. That wasn’t funny, Josh. He had laughed, pulling the face that meant he thought she was too cautious, ought to enjoy living dangerously. How could she have fallen in love with him? But nothing was that simple. You let yourself be carried away, overlooked the warning signs.

  Don’t think about it. Concentrate on the job in hand. Eight days had passed since Cressy had been left outside her house. Since then, she had spent hours and hours going over in her mind what could have happened to Dawn. Perhaps the baby’s name was pure coincidence. But then the parcel had arrived with the familiar teddy bear, and the demand that she, Izzy, was supposed to be looking after Cressy was so typical of Dawn, who had always fought to get her own way. And, there were the phone calls. Not that she could prove it was Dawn. Who was she fooling? Of course Cressy belonged to Dawn.

  Where was she? At first, Izzy had assumed she must have been passing through the area, or come to Exeter specially, then returned to where she was living. But the follow-up letter indicated Dawn had seen the local paper, and the television appeal for the mother to come forward. Supposing the threat was a real one. Dawn might be unwell, having a breakdown, suffering from postnatal depression. But what about Miles? Had he stayed on in Portugal? Surely not when he knew she was pregnant. None of it made sense. Izzy had no right to keep information from the police. But supposing she told Fairbrother and it precipitated a clumsy investigation that led to Dawn taking her own life. Plenty of people made threats. Dawn was the kind that carried them out.

  As she drove, Izzy decided she would have to discuss her worries with Kath, tell her every detail and see how she responded. If Kath insisted the police must be informed, she would give herself two more days and then contact Linda Fairbrother. Or would she? Ever since she found Cressy on her doorstep, she had been expecting Kath to give her some moral support, ask how she was feeling, take her out for a drink. But recently the support had failed to materialise. Why? Did Kath think she was behaving irresponsibly? What would she have done in the circumstances? Perhaps it was just that the whole thing reminded Kath of her own start in life, but if that was the case they could have discussed it. Lately, Kath never seemed to want to discuss anything.

  The car in front had two grey-haired women in the back and two old men in the front. It was being driven very slowly, which was all the more irritating since the driver in the van behind Izzy was acting as if she was the one who should be getting a move on. Applying her brake, she watched as the van swerved in a skid then pulled out and overtook on a corner. Stupid bastard, but as luck would have it – his luck – nothing was coming the other way. The van was a green one. Dave’s van? Dave’s van, being driven by Josh?

  The car with the four old people had virtually come to a standstill. Izzy glanced at the clock then realised she had reached the outskirts of Exmouth and would have to decide whether to turn into the town centre or drive towards the seafront.

  It wasn’t a town she knew well, and she had no street map, so she would have to stop and ask for directions. Still, what difference did it make what time she turned up at the house? There was very little likelihood of her being made welcome.

  Miles Bruton’s house turned out to be in a no-through road. Parking a short distance away, Izzy stood on the opposite pavement and watched the house for several minutes. She had assumed Wendy Bruton lived on her own, but if Dawn had been telling the truth, the marriage could have failed because his wife had been having an affair, in which case her lover might have moved in. No point speculating. She would have to face whatever she found.

  The front door opened and two teenage girls came out, both talking so loudly Izzy could hear every word. They were planning to call round at a friend’s place and finish an assignment. The friend was good at Maths – what would they do without her – and she didn’t mind if they copied her homework. The conversation reminded Izzy of how Dawn had always sailed through Maths, failing to understand how anyone could find it difficult; not that she could be accused of being a swot. She had been popular at school, except for that one incident …

  The two girls had disappeared in the direction of the town centre. Who were they? Relatives of Wendy Bruton’s, or perhaps they were renting a room. No, they were too young for that, still at school. If this was the right house, what was she going to say? Excuse me, but are you Mrs Bruton? Only I’m looking for Dawn Dear, the person who went off with your husband. She would have to work round to the subject, tactfully, cautiously, but how could she? Inventing a covering lie would be even worse and if Wendy Bruton refused to speak to her it would be only what she deserved.

  Izzy crossed the road, walked through the open gate, and pressed the bell. The wait before anyone answered was so long that at first she thought everyone must be out then a man appeared, dressed in overalls and holding a screwdriver.

  ‘Yes?’ He had the resigned expression of someone who expects to be asked to give money to charity.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Izzy said, ‘but I’m looking for a Mrs Bruton, only I think she may have moved.’

  ‘She has.’ The man turned to look back inside the house. ‘Someone who wants Wendy Bruton,’ he called.

  ‘She didn’t leave a forwarding address.’ He was joined by a large woman with a shiny red apron. ‘Or a phone number. We still get mail for her but I’m afraid I’ve started throwing it away.’

  ‘So you’ve no idea where she lives? Or even if she’s still in the area?’

  ‘Oh, she’s still around,’ the woman said, ‘she wanted somewhere smaller, but as far as I know she was going to carry on with her job at the hospital. Are you a relative?’

  ‘A friend. I’ve been abroad. We lost touch. Did something happen?’

  The two of them looked at each other but said nothing.

  ‘Not
something with Miles?’ Izzy sounded genuinely concerned.

  ‘You’ll have to ask her,’ the woman said, ‘as I told you, we don’t know her address but the place she moved to was the other side of town, a bungalow I believe, with just enough room for her and the little boy.’

  Little boy? Izzy managed to keep her expression unchanged. ‘Thanks, anyway. Sorry to take up your time.’

  The man opened his mouth to say something then turned to his wife to check her reaction.

  ‘If you find her,’ the woman said slowly, ‘only Abbi – that’s our daughter – she saw her a few days ago.’

  ‘Saw Mrs Bruton?’

  The woman nodded. ‘Said she was crying. I wouldn’t be telling you this but if you’re a friend you might be able to help. I felt sorry for her having to sell up. Her husband had left her, gone off with another woman. After we moved in, she came round a few times, once to collect a painting she’d left in the attic, and other times to pick up her mail.’

  ‘You didn’t ask for a forwarding address?’

  The man shook his head. ‘She said the post office would be re-directing. All sounds a bit strange to you I expect, but we took quite a liking to her. And the little lad. Then all of a sudden she stopped calling and we haven’t heard from her since – must be the end of April.’

  When she checked, Wendy Bruton no longer worked at the local hospital but was employed at a private clinic. Would she be working there today? And even if she was, would she agree to talk? It seemed unlikely.

  Since learning that Wendy had a son, Izzy was even more convinced that Dawn had lied about Miles’ marriage being over before she met him. If she had been speaking the truth, she would have mentioned the boy without any feeling of guilt. How old was he? Miles was nearly twenty years older than Dawn so presumably his son was in his teens, could even have left home.

  The clinic was housed in a single-storey redbrick building with a car park, most of which was marked out for its employees. Izzy had squeezed into the small space permitted for visitors. Now she had to find out if Wendy Bruton worked there full-time and if so when it might be possible to have a word with her.

  Behind the desk, in an opulent foyer, a woman sat inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. She was probably in her early fifties but had spent time and money on her appearance, particularly her clothes.

  ‘You have an appointment?’ Her eyes remained fixed on her hands.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who was it you wanted to see?’

  ‘Mrs Bruton. Wendy Bruton.’

  The woman looked up. ‘She’s fully booked, you may have to wait several weeks. Hang on, I’ll check.’

  ‘It’s personal,’ Izzy said, cutting short the receptionist’s leisurely flicking through the appointments book, ‘is she here now and if so can you tell me when she’s likely to be free? It won’t take very long. It’s quite important.’

  The receptionist picked up a phone and pressed a buzzer. ‘Wendy, there’s someone who wants to see you. She says it’s personal. Her name?’ The receptionist glanced up, waiting.

  ‘Isabel Lomas. Tell her I’m a friend of Dawn Dear.’

  As the information was passed on, Izzy held her breath. Would Wendy Bruton say she was too busy or would her curiosity get the better of her? What would she do in her situation?

  ‘Mrs Bruton will see you now but she only has five minutes before her next client is due.’

  Izzy was escorted through a swing door and the receptionist pointed down a long corridor and said Mrs Bruton’s room was the last on the right, and there was a nameplate on the door.

  Listening to the sound of the woman’s heels fading in the distance, Izzy tried to picture what Wendy Bruton would look like. What would she be expecting to hear? Had something happened that Izzy knew nothing about, or would she have more information about Dawn than Wendy Bruton did?

  The door opened before Izzy had reached it and a small dark-haired woman came out to meet her. She wasn’t pretty but her pointed features gave her a pixie-like appearance and in her own way she was rather attractive.

  Izzy held out a hand. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’

  ‘What choice did I have?’ The door was held open for her to enter and Wendy Bruton sat down behind a desk, making Izzy feel at even more of a disadvantage.

  Her consulting room was more homely than Izzy had expected. The walls were covered in modern prints and several good pieces of pottery stood on the window sill, along with an unusual pot plant, the kind that needs plenty of care and attention.

  ‘I need to trace Dawn,’ Izzy explained, ‘I’m sorry, you must think me very insensitive, but I had no idea who else I could ask.’

  ‘You say you’re a friend of hers.’

  Izzy nodded. ‘We went to school together. I haven’t heard from her since February and neither has her mother. She said she was coming back to England but that was the last any of us heard.’

  ‘And why did you think I’d be able to help?’

  Izzy struggled to find the right words, although in the circumstances what would be “right”? The woman at her old house had said her daughter had seen her crying. She didn’t look the type to cry in the street – she looked in perfect control – but anyone has their breaking point. ‘Look, if you’ve no idea where she is just say so and I won’t bother you again.’

  Wendy gave her a cold smile. ‘I think I have a right to know what all this is about.’

  ‘Yes, of course, but really there’s nothing else I can tell you.’

  ‘In that case I can’t help.’

  Izzy stood up to leave, but there was something about Wendy’s expression that made her hesitate. ‘Look, I can’t prove it but I’ve reason to believe Dawn may be ill. No, I don’t mean physically ill. What I’m saying, I think there’s a possibility she might take her own life.’

  ‘I see.’ Wendy’s tone had not altered. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘The last letter she wrote to me. Something seemed to be worrying her. I’ve known her most of my life and I’ve never heard her so agitated and –’

  ‘I thought you hadn’t heard from her for some time.’

  ‘No. I haven’t.’ Perhaps she should tell her the truth. But how could she? Wendy Bruton would be only too glad to let the police know Dawn had left her baby outside someone’s house. Did she know about the baby? Was that why she had been crying?

  ‘I thought her mother would know where she was.’ Izzy had decided to try a different tack. ‘She lives in Cheshire – her mother I mean – and she hasn’t been well. Actually she’s very ill.’

  ‘You’re talking about Dawn’s mother?’ Wendy Bruton looked at her watch. ‘In that case, I suppose I shall have to tell you what I know. Not now. I have a client then I’ll have finished for the day. I’ll give you my address and you can join me there in an hour’s time. No, make it a little longer in case I’m held up.’

  It was months since Izzy had walked on the beach. The tide was out and below her a wide expanse of sand stretched towards the distant sea where a single walker was exercising his dog. As Izzy watched, the terrier leapt in the air, catching a ball in its mouth and lolloping back to its master.

  The thought of taking a dog for a walk appealed to her and if she could find a breed that liked cats, and didn’t mind being left on its own all day, she might consider having one. Was there such a breed? Dogs were pack animals that needed a leader. Was the same true of human beings? It was something she and Dawn had discussed when they were going through their philosophical phase. Without a clear hierarchy did people feel so anxious they were drawn to anyone strong, powerful? Was that why Dawn had joined the community in Scotland? And if its leader turned out to be shallow and hypocritical, why had it taken her so long to find out?

  Walking on sand made Izzy want to take off her shoes. In October? It was reasonably warm but the water would be freezing cold. A proper beach, with cliffs and rock pools, and sand that remained sandy instead of turning into tr
eacherous mud.

  The dog approached her, with its nose to the ground, sniffing. Izzy reached out to touch it but it shied away and started racing round in ever-increasing circles.

  ‘Only eight months old,’ the dog’s owner, an elderly man, explained. He turned to stare up at the cliffs. ‘I was here when it happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Izzy had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘You’re not local then? I thought you’d have read about it if you walk here regularly. Young woman on the edge – there’s a gap in the hedge – looked like she was going to jump.’

  ‘But she didn’t.’

  He shook his head. ‘Another woman managed to approach her, without being seen. Must have persuaded her. I was holding my breath. I mean, it could have made her jump sooner. Then, all of a sudden, the woman on the edge seemed to change her mind.’

  It was fairly close to where Josh had pretended to push her over. ‘What happened? I suppose she was taken to hospital. You don’t know which one?’

  ‘Ran off.’ He had his hand on the dog’s collar. ‘Didn’t even thank the woman who’d saved her life. In trouble I expect. These days, young people don’t think about the consequences. Live now, pay later. Get what they deserve.’

  Izzy disliked the man’s attitude, knew his type, but she needed to find out as much as she could. ‘Can you remember what she looked like?’

  ‘Looked like? What are you, a reporter from the local paper?’

  Chapter Six

  She had left an hour and ten minutes, just as Wendy Bruton had requested, but when she reached the house she was greeted impatiently.

  ‘I thought you’d changed your mind.’ Wendy showed her into an extremely tidy room that smelled of furniture polish, and asked if there was anything she would like to drink, coffee or tea.

  ‘No, thank you. This won’t take long. As I said at the clinic, I’m really here on behalf of Dawn’s mother. It’s unlike Dawn to remain out of touch for so long although I realise –’