by Penny Kline
How had Dawn spent the time? Trying to persuade Miles to come back? And why had he finally agreed? She had lied about him having a child and no doubt there had been other lies too. As far as Izzy could tell, Miles had said very little to Wendy about his time in Portugal and she had decided not to grill him but concentrate on trying to put their relationship back together again. For Dominic’s sake, she had implied, although Izzy had the impression she still loved her husband.
After she left Exmouth, Izzy had thought of dozens of questions she could have asked but it was important not to alienate Wendy as she might need to speak to her again. The little boy had been a shock. So young and, if Wendy was telling the truth, so attached to his father. Dawn had never met him but she would have been jealous of him nevertheless. Was he in danger? No, she would never harm a child.
Bev answered the door with Cressy in her arms. ‘Come along in, the others have gone to the cinema so you’ll be able to see her in peace. Actually I was just about to give her a bath.’
‘Fine by me.’ Izzy had never bathed a baby in her life but presumably she was only going to be there as a spectator.
Cressy looked larger. It was impossible in such a short time, but her cheeks looked fatter.
‘She can smile,’ Bev said. ‘Nigel was the first to notice. I worry they’re becoming so fond of her, especially Nigel. I caught him bending over her cot kissing her. Did you know, they say kissing evolved from animals giving their young food from their mouths? Do you suppose that’s right?
Izzy laughed. ‘Sounds a possibility.’
‘Not a word about the mother.’ Bev was halfway up the stairs with Izzy following her. ‘You haven’t heard anything? Imagine how the poor soul must be feeling. Doesn’t bear thinking about.’
The door to one of the bedrooms was wide open and as they passed Izzy could see a row of soft toys arranged across a pillow. A spotty dog, a giraffe, and a much-loved bear. ‘Ever since Cressy was left outside my front door, I’ve been trying to work out if there could have been a special reason for leaving her there.’
Bev turned round sharply as she entered the bathroom. ‘You think that’s possible?’
‘Not really.’ Izzy disliked lying to Bev. She was so open, so lacking in deviousness … although when she thought about it she hardly knew her at all. ‘The police have been round twice and I’ve a feeling they think I’m keeping something from them.’
‘Oh, they’re always like that.’ Bev had undressed Cressy and was slowly lowering her into the water. The baby gave a little gasp then relaxed, screwing up her nose when her face was wiped with a soft sponge.
Bev turned to look at Izzy. ‘Alan and I were turned down for adoption. We’d been trying for a baby of our own for years – I’m older than Alan, not much but there’s a lower age limit for women.’
‘Why?’ Izzy was outraged.
Bev smiled. ‘Social workers are a law unto themselves. No, that’s not fair, some of them are all right. After all, it’s the children they’re concerned for, not their adoptive parents. Cressy had a check-up yesterday. No problems, everything’s fine. Yelled her head off when the health visitor put her down on the table but if you could see what it’s like at the clinic, all that noise, pandemonium!’
‘She’s happy with you. If the mother fails to turn up, if she’s still … She’s a lovely baby.’
‘Yes, she is. People think all babies are the same, but it’s not right, some are difficult, unresponsive, others cling to you like little monkeys. Whatever else, I think Cressy was well cared for during the first two or three weeks of her life.’
‘The clinic think she’s about five weeks old?’
‘As far as they can tell. I expect it’s difficult if you don’t know the birth weight. Some babies have blotchy skin for the first few weeks and little rashes. Her skin is perfect. Very light – she’ll need plenty of sunscreen one day – but so smooth. Feel.’
Izzy touched Cressy’s cheek. ‘Have you fostered lots of babies?’
Bev nodded. ‘But only while social services decided what to do with them. With Cressy – well, they won’t be able to decide anything until they find her mother.’
‘You’d like to keep her?’ Izzy regretted her words as soon as she had spoken them. ‘To tell you the truth, it crossed my mind for a few moments. Not really, but I did wonder if anyone had ever found a baby and kept it, although when you think about it that would lead to all kinds of problems.’
‘Certainly would.’ Bev lifted Cressy out of the water, wrapped her in a towel, and handed her to Izzy. ‘Take her downstairs. I need to sort out some clothes then you can dress her while I heat her bottle. Did you have younger brothers and sisters? You look like you’ve done this before.’
‘I’m the youngest in my family. Two older brothers.’ For some reason Izzy was thinking about her ninth birthday, and how her mother had given her a pink sweater she had knitted for her. It was babyish and she had refused to wear it then seen the disappointment in her mother’s eyes. How could she have been so thoughtless? But she was only nine.
Later, when Cressy was asleep, Bev showed her a photograph album with pictures of all the children she had fostered. ‘We’re so lucky having Nigel and Pippa, but you never quite get over the longing for a baby you’ve looked after since it was tiny.’
They sat in silence and Izzy assumed Bev was thinking the same as she was. If Cressy’s mother was never traced would Bev and Alan be allowed to keep or would she be given to a younger couple? Compared with the rest of Izzy’s life, the Jordan house was a calm oasis. Was that why she had come here or was it really because she wanted to study Cressy’s face again, to look for any sign of a likeness? There was nothing about her that would have made it unlikely Dawn was her mother. She had the same colouring and the same-shaped face. Did she look like Dominic? Izzy had almost forgotten to check for any likeness with Miles. It was no good: Cressy was far too young. In any case, children didn’t always look like one parent or the other. Izzy looked like her father, and her brother Dan looked like their mother, but Peter didn’t look like either of them. In fact, Dawn had once suggested Izzy’s mother must have had an affair and Peter had a different father. ‘No, she’d never do that,’ Izzy had protested, and Dawn had laughed, patting her on the head. It’s so easy to get you going!
‘Unless the mother’s found she’ll never be free for adoption,’ Bev said, ‘well, not for the foreseeable future. Still, it’s early days yet. Where do you suppose the poor girl’s living? Can’t be far off so you’d think someone would have worked out who she is.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Izzy was wondering how Dawn could bear to have given her up. Was she in some kind of trouble? Would she reappear in a week or two and reclaim Cressy? None of it made sense.
Bev had gone to make coffee. She seemed in no hurry for Izzy to leave and Izzy was enjoying Bev’s relaxing company. The room had such a soothing atmosphere – three-piece suite, fluffy rug, telly in the corner with a pile of old DVDs beside it on the floor. A Barbie doll had been propped up on one of the chairs. She was wearing a purple lace evening dress and silver shoes, and her long blonde hair was held in place with a plastic tiara.
Something about the room was making Izzy feel sad. As a diversion, she started comparing it with Wendy Bruton’s immaculate house in Exmouth. Was the little boy Dominic expected to be as tidy as his mother? Miles must have found living with someone like Dawn, who prided herself on having no interest in her surroundings, quite a shock. But perhaps it was the fact that she was so different from Wendy that had drawn him to her, although Izzy suspected it had been the other way round. Once Dawn decided she wanted something – or in this case someone – she usually achieved her aim.
‘Stuart Robbins,’ Harry said, ‘I ran into him last night and was surprised to discover he thought you’d been up north, drumming up trade on my behalf.’
‘I told you, I went to see someone I knew as a child. A friend of the family.’
‘Yes
, well be that as it may, Stuart asked me to say if you get in touch he thinks it possible he may be able to help.’
‘Help? In what way?’
Harry combed his moustache with his fingers. ‘I’ve no idea, Izzy, I’m only the messenger.’
Kath was unwell and, not for the first time, Izzy was tempted to confide in Harry. In the past, when she had overreacted – usually something to do with work – he had been the calm voice of reason. Never patronizing, never mocking, he listened carefully and gave an objective view of the situation. But if she told him about Dawn being the baby’s mother she knew what he would say. Go to the police. You should have told them straight away. And when she protested that Dawn had threatened to kill herself?
He was watching her, wanting to get on with his work but unwilling to go back to his office if she needed to talk to him about something.
‘Oh, by the way,’ he said, ‘you remember how I told you enough contracts have been coming in to make taking on another member of staff a possibility? Anyway as a kind of celebration in advance we – Janet and I – wondered if you and Kath would like to come to dinner next Tuesday.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Good. I spoke to Kath earlier, before she started seeing jagged lines. This migraine thing’s a bastard. They say stress is a trigger but I wouldn’t say Kath’s been overworking would you? Well, no more than usual. Maybe something she ate.’
‘They say chocolate, cheese, and citrus fruit are bad for migraines.’
‘You’ve had attacks too?’
‘Not often. Actually I think I’ve grown out of them.’ It was true, she was thinking. If stress was a factor, it must be.
Harry handed her a slip of paper. ‘Stuart’s number if you decide to look him up. ‘I haven’t an idea in hell what’s going on, but don’t forget if you’re ever in any kind of trouble I’d always do what I could to –’
‘Thanks, Harry but I’m fine. It was a shock finding the baby but her foster mother’s really nice. In fact, I’m hoping if the birth mother fails to turn up, or she’s not able to look after a child, Bev will be able to keep her. She’s not allowed to adopt. She’s too old, although I don’t think she is.’
‘You seem to have become good friends with her.’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose I have. The baby’s lovely.’
‘But the police are no nearing to tracing the mother?’
‘Don’t seem to be.’
‘And you can’t help so they’ve decided to leave you in peace.’
‘Yes, I hope so.’
‘Good. Good. Well, that’s a relief. I was worried about you but if you can draw a line under what happened that’s fine. All the same, it might be an idea to give Stuart Robbins a ring. He’s a quiet type of man but I think you’ll like him.’
‘Why does he think he can help? Help in what way?’
‘I didn’t ask. Something to do with that friend of yours up north?’ He gave her a quizzical look, but he wasn’t the type to beg.
Chapter Eight
Her first response was to ignore Stuart Robbins’ invitation. What had Harry told him? Enough to allow Robbins to speculate about a possible link between an abandoned baby and Dawn Dear? Had Harry told him he thought she was getting herself into a tricky situation? Was it possible that Robbins knew something Rosalie had failed to pass on?
Of course, it could be that Harry was matchmaking. He knew she had taken the split with Josh badly. If that was the case, she had no wish to meet this Robbins and someone telling you you’re going to like a person always tends to put you off. Like when a friend raves on about a film. You decide to watch it but part of you is thinking: I bet it’s not that great.
Finally her curiosity got the better of her, and she rang Robbins’ number only to find he seemed to think it a matter of some urgency the two of them meet.
Now she was on her way, on foot, to a pub that was less than ten minutes’ walk from her house. Robbins had suggested that particular pub. Perhaps Harry had told him where she lived. Perhaps not. It was nearly nine – he had chosen a time when she would have eaten – so he didn’t have to offer to buy her dinner. Why did she feel so hostile towards him, so defensive? Was it something Harry had said, or was it because she had spent a sleepless night thinking about Josh, and was feeling too upset and confused to find any pleasure in having a drink with another man.
When she opened the heavy swing door, the place was virtually empty – just a young couple staring into each other’s eyes – so she was fairly sure the solitary man standing by the bar with his hand round an empty glass must be Stuart Robbins.
She spoke his name, and he turned to face her, and when she could see him properly he looked faintly familiar. Had she met him before? He looked a little like someone she had been at art college with, but he was taller and his hair was curlier.
‘Good to meet you.’ He held out a hand. ‘You’re dead on time. Most people are late. What are you drinking? I suggest we sit over there by the window. Tell me what you’d like and I’ll bring the drinks and a couple of bags of crisps.’
She had no appetite – had eaten virtually nothing all day – but the offer of crisps went some way to making Robbins seem more human and she decided to ignore the remark about most people being late. It was hardly a criticism of her, and in her opinion being on time was important. Dawn had always turned up late, as though she was saying her time was more important than Izzy’s.
Watching him, while pretending to be studying the posters on the wall, she tried to work out what age he was, then remembered how Rosalie had said Dawn had been six when he was eleven. That made him about thirty-three, but if anything he looked older. Tiny lines curved down from the corners of his eyes, and from his nose to the edges of his mouth. He was tall, but not as tall as Josh, brown-haired, whereas Josh’s hair was almost black, and his face was square with a small dent in his chin. Comparisons were invidious. They were also pointless. She had no interest in Robbins apart from the fact that he had known Dawn as a young child.
‘How are you?’ He sat down opposite her. ‘Harry told me about the baby you found dumped on your doorstep. Must have been quite a surprise.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have they traced the mother?’
‘No.’ Then, because she had sounded a little sharp, ‘Not yet. The police are looking but she could have left the area, could be anywhere.’
‘Wouldn’t she want to know what had happened to her baby? I suppose she could be dead, although surely someone would have found the body.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Oh, no reason. Do you have any theories about it?’
How many more questions was he going to ask? ‘The mother might be in quite a bad state. People abandon their babies for all kinds of reasons but you’d have to be fairly distraught –’
‘Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about it. I imagine Harry could be something of a slave driver. Just the three of you, is it?’
‘Yes, but I expect he told you he’s thinking of taking on someone else.’ The abrupt change of conversation, designed to spare her feelings, had irritated her. Did he really think she was still upset about the baby? Harry had probably described her, making her sound thoroughly neurotic. ‘How long have you known Harry?’ she asked.
He thought about it, scratching an eyebrow. ‘I don’t really know him that well. He’s interested in birds, came to a lecture I once gave then took part in a survey of birds on the estuary. What about you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you like birds?’
‘Yes. I don’t know very much about them. I thought it was a lecture on Victorian architecture.’
‘Oh yes, you’re right. Bird life is my job but I have an interest in old buildings. How about you? What do you get up when you’re not working?’
What could she say? And why all this small talk. She wished he would get to the point. ‘I don’t actually have any hobbies. My cat. I have a cat.’
; He smiled. ‘I like cats. Apart from when they massacre birds. Is yours a bird hunter?’
‘If she is, she never brings them home. The occasional mouse, but I don’t mind that.’
‘Good.’ He drew in breath to indicate the ice-breaking chit chat was over. ‘You must be wondering why I suggested we meet up. I gather you’ve met Francis and I wondered what you thought of him. It was a surprise to everyone when Rosalie took up with him. He’s a devout Catholic. You probably know that already.’
‘No, no I didn’t. How did you know I’d met him?’
‘We keep in touch.’
‘You and Francis? I didn’t realise. You knew him when you lived there, did you?’
Robbins was fiddling with the top of one of the bags of crisps. When he finally tore it open, crisps flew all over the table and they both laughed, breaking the tension. ‘My mother knew his. They weren’t friends exactly but they shared an interest in gardening, both belonged to some club that organised flower shows.’
‘Meeting Francis was quite a surprise,’ she said. ‘Until I called round at Rosalie’s, I had no idea she was living with someone.’
He looked up, frowning. ‘So you hadn’t been in touch for a while.’
‘No.’
‘But you’ve been trying to trace Dawn.’ He glanced at her then looked away. ‘Tell me I’m wrong, but I always found her a little strange.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Any particular reason you needed to see her?’
‘Not really.’ Izzy disliked the direction the conversation was taking. ‘We were close as children but we grew apart. I suppose I felt guilty I hadn’t made more effort to keep in touch.’
The pub was filling up. A group of men who could have been rugby players had assembled by the bar and were jostling each other like schoolboys. Stuart Robbins followed her gaze and raised his eyebrows. ‘Behave like leks,’ he said.
‘What are leks?’
‘Sorry. Places where male animals display and compete for the attention of females. Degree in Animal Behaviour. I expect you went to art college, did you?’