Will You Love Me?: The Story of My Adopted Daughter Lucy: Part 2 of 3

by Cathy Glass

  ‘I will,’ Miranda said gratefully. ‘Thank you. Take care.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Wishing that there was something she could do to help Alicja and her husband and the thousands like them being exploited for cheap labour, she left the launderette. Not bothering to put up her umbrella, she stepped quickly into the newsagent’s next door. Being a social worker often involved detective work – asking questions of neighbours, friends and family and trying to build a picture of the person they were investigating. Some people were happy to help, others were not; some were rude and even threatening. It was part of the job.

  Two teenage lads came out of the newsagent’s as Miranda entered. She went up to the counter where an Asian gentleman wearing glasses and a thick jumper was serving. He looked at her and smiled. ‘Can I help you?’

  Miranda smiled back. ‘I’m a social worker. I –’

  ‘You’ve come about the baby next door?’ he said, before she could get any further.

  ‘Yes,’ Miranda said, a little taken aback.

  ‘You’re too late. She’s gone,’ he said. ‘My wife saw them go on Monday morning, at about half past seven. We have been very concerned. You should have come sooner.’

  ‘We didn’t know they were here,’ Miranda said, taking her notepad and pen from her shoulder bag and making a note of the date and time.

  ‘The mother and baby moved in about five months ago,’ he continued. ‘My wife and I heard the baby crying. We heard it every evening while the mother worked downstairs in the launderette. It’s not right to leave a baby crying for so long. We were very worried. We have two children and when they were babies we comforted them when they cried. We never left them.’

  ‘Do you know the woman’s name?’ Miranda asked, writing and then glancing up.

  ‘No. But the baby was called Lucy. I know because when I went round to see if they were all right, the mother referred to her as Lucy. She was ironing and the washing machines were going and making such a noise, she couldn’t hear the baby crying in the flat above. When I told her we could hear the baby through the wall she looked very worried and stopped ironing. She said, “I’m going to see to Lucy now.” She worked very long hours, too long with the baby. I suppose she needed the money.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. I see,’ Miranda said, frowning, and writing quickly to catch up. ‘Can I take your name?’

  ‘Mr Singh.’

  Miranda made a note.

  ‘My wife offered to look after the baby while the woman worked,’ Mr Singh continued. ‘But she didn’t want our help. It’s understandable, she didn’t know us. But it would have been better for us to look after the baby than to leave it crying for hours.’

  ‘Did the woman have a partner or boyfriend living with her?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. There was a man, oriental origin I think, who used to visit sometimes. I don’t think he was living there.’

  ‘Did you see the baby?’ Miranda now asked.

  Mr Singh shook his head. ‘No. The baby was always in the flat. It never went out. The only time we saw the baby was when they left on Monday morning. My wife was looking out of the window and called me over. We saw her leaving with the baby in a funny type of basket. She had a big bag with her so it was obvious she was going. Running away, I think. She seemed very anxious and kept looking behind her as she went up the road. That was the only time we saw the baby.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Miranda said again, as she wrote.

  ‘The mother always kept herself to herself,’ Mr Singh added. ‘Perhaps she was in trouble with the police. I don’t know.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘She was young, early twenties; white skin, fair hair and very thin. My wife said she looked like she needed a good meal.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where they might have gone?’ Miranda now asked, knowing it was a long shot.

  ‘No. As I say, she never spoke to us. We just heard the baby crying.’

  ‘Thank you, you’ve been very helpful,’ Miranda said again, returning her pen and pad to her bag. She took out another compliment slip and passed it to Mr Singh. ‘If you see the girl again, perhaps you would phone me on that number?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded and placed the compliment slip beside the till. ‘I hope you find them. My wife and I were very worried about the baby. Children are so precious.’

  ‘Yes, they are,’ Miranda agreed. ‘I’ll try my best to find them.’

  Thanking him again, Miranda left the shop, more worried than when she’d arrived. Clearly baby Lucy was being badly neglected, but with no surname, national health number or address, there was very little she could do to trace and help them. Dodging the rain, she ran to her car, got in and closed the door. On her return to the office she would discuss her findings with her line manager who would make sure she hadn’t overlooked anything and then she’d file her report. It was a great pity Mr and Mrs Singh hadn’t called the social services or the police while Lucy and her mother had been living in the flat, then she could have been helped. But like many people who didn’t report their concerns, they’d probably felt that they would be prying and hoped someone else would assume the responsibility and phone.

  As Miranda returned to her office, Bonnie was three miles away boarding a train for the next big town – forty miles south – where her Aunt Maggie lived. Having spent two nights sleeping rough, desperate and worried about Lucy’s health, Bonnie had reluctantly telephoned her mother and asked for help. Her mother, sober for once, was surprised to hear from her after so long, but not wholly surprised to hear she had a baby. ‘I always thought you’d end up getting up the duff,’ she said, with a smoker’s cough. ‘Like mother like daughter!’

  Bonnie had stopped herself from snapping back that she wasn’t like her and never would be, not in a million years, for she needed her mother’s help. But Bonnie didn’t get any further, for her mother said: ‘And if you’re thinking of asking if you can come home, forget it. My new bloke’s moving in with his kids soon so there’s no room.’

  The rejection was no more than Bonnie expected from her mother, who’d always put her own needs first.

  ‘What about Gran?’ Bonnie asked. ‘Perhaps Lucy and I could live with her like I used to?’

  Her mother gave a cynical laugh. ‘You’re well out of touch. Gran’s in a care home. Lost her marbles and on her last legs.’

  Bonnie was sad to hear that her gran was poorly, and hated her mother for being so callous. She wished she’d made more of an effort to see her gran. She was about to hang up when her mother had said: ‘You could try your Aunt Maggie. She’s a sucker for kids.’

  Apart from Gran, Maggie was the only family member her mother had any contact with, and although Bonnie had no recollection of Maggie, having not seen her since she was about three years old, Maggie always sent her mother a Christmas card with an open invitation to visit.

  ‘Give me her address and telephone number,’ Bonnie said.

  ‘Say please,’ her mother said.

  ‘Please,’ Bonnie said. Then she noted down the details that her mother read out.

  ‘Goodbye,’ her mother said, and with no ‘take care’ or ‘stay in touch’ the line went dead. Bonnie felt little resentment towards her mother, who saw nothing wrong in putting her latest boyfriend and his kids before her daughter and granddaughter; her reaction had been no more than she was used to and expected. Her mother was damaged goods, and it was doubtful she’d ever change. As long as I don’t follow the same path with my daughter, Bonnie thought.

  Having used the last of her money to buy the train ticket, and with no credit on her phone to call ahead and tell Maggie she was on her way, Bonnie planned to just arrive and hope for the best. All she knew of Aunt Maggie – apart from that she was married and liked kids – was that she was mixed race. She and Bonnie’s mother had shared the same mother, but Maggie’s father had been black. With Lucy asleep in the Moses basket on the bench seat beside her, the motion of the train soon made Bonnie doze. A
t some point during the journey she received a text message from Vince: Plane leaves in 30 mins. Bye. Vince. She didn’t reply, and that was the last Bonnie heard from Lucy’s father.

  Chapter Five

  Family

  It was nearly 6.00 p.m. when Bonnie arrived at Aunt Maggie’s – a mid-terrace Victorian townhouse on the outskirts of the city. She struggled up the path, cold and aching from carrying the Moses basket and the holdall all the way from the station, over a mile away. She set down the Moses basket, grateful to be able to relieve her arms of the weight, and pressed the doorbell. Already, she knew this house was very different from her mother’s or any of the places she’d lived in since. The neat front garden, the freshly painted red door, the large potted plant in the porch and the doormat all suggested a house that was well looked after – and that those living inside were equally well cared for.

  Bonnie pressed the bell again and felt her heart beat faster. Supposing no one was in, what would she do then? Or supposing Aunt Maggie didn’t want to help her? Bonnie wasn’t even sure what she wanted from Aunt Maggie, who was after all a stranger to her. But she was so desperate she’d have journeyed to any address her mother or anyone else had given her. It was impossible to sleep rough with a baby, and she prayed Aunt Maggie would help her, for she didn’t know what else to do.

  Eventually she heard footsteps scurrying down the hall towards the door – children’s footsteps, Bonnie thought. The door sprung open and a boy and girl aged about nine and ten grinned up at her. They were of similar height, with large dark eyes and brown skin; the boy’s Afro hair was cut short while the girl’s was neatly plaited into cornrows.

  ‘Who is it?’ a woman called from inside the house, as the children gazed inquisitively up at Bonnie.

  ‘Dunno, Mum!’ the boy shouted. ‘It’s a woman.’

  ‘What’s she selling?’ their mother called back.

  The children’s eyes fell from Bonnie to Lucy in the Moses basket.

  ‘A baby!’ the boy returned.

  Both children exploded into laughter, and for the first time since Bonnie could remember she found herself actually smiling. ‘No, I’m not selling my baby,’ she said quietly. ‘Tell your mummy I’m Bonnie.’

  But there was no need for the children to relay this to their mother, for Bonnie could see she was already coming down the hall. She was of medium height, with a cuddly figure, and wore a brightly patterned blouse over black trousers.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she said, arriving at the door and taking in Bonnie, her bags and the baby in the Moses basket. Her children moved to stand either side of her.

  ‘Are you Maggie?’ Bonnie asked.

  The woman nodded.

  ‘Mum gave me your address. I’m Bonnie.’

  A brief puzzled frown flickered across Maggie’s face before she realized who she was looking at. ‘My sister’s girl!’ she exclaimed. ‘Good heavens! What are you doing here?’ Stepping forward, she threw her arms around Bonnie and hugged her tightly. ‘You should have told me you were coming. I’d no idea.’

  Bonnie felt uncomfortable at being hugged; she didn’t like physical contact, especially from strangers. She was relieved when Maggie released her and stepped back.

  ‘So, what are you doing coming all this way in the cold with your bags and a baby?’ Maggie began. But before Bonnie had the chance to reply, to her relief Maggie welcomed her in. ‘It’s freezing out there, come on in. Good heavens, girl. Let me help you.’

  Maggie scooped up the Moses basket from the porch and carried it indoors, peering at Lucy as she did. Usually Bonnie was very protective of Lucy and never let anyone near her, but now she found she didn’t mind Aunt Maggie holding the basket; indeed there was something comforting in having her take control.

  ‘Leave your bag and shoes down there,’ Maggie said, pointing to a place in the hall just below a row of coat pegs. ‘Don’t you have a coat, girl?’

  ‘No,’ Bonnie said, still shivering.

  Maggie tutted. ‘Well, come and warm yourself.’

  Bonnie slipped off her trainers as the children watched. She saw that they and Maggie went barefoot, but unlike Bonnie’s their feet were clean.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘I’ve been sleeping rough.’

  Maggie tutted again. ‘Through here,’ she said, and led the way into their neat front room.

  Bonnie took in the thick-pile mauve carpet, the china ornaments that filled the shelves and the framed family photographs dotted on most of the walls. It was warm and friendly, a proper home, like no other she’d ever known.

  ‘So my sister sent you here?’ Maggie said, setting the Moses basket on the floor and pulling back the cover so she could see Lucy. Her children peered in too.

  ‘Sort of,’ Bonnie said. ‘I didn’t have anywhere to go and she suggested you.’

  ‘And your mother wouldn’t have you home?’ Maggie said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘All right. Let’s get your baby sorted out first and then you. What’s her name?’

  ‘Lucy.’

  ‘When was she last fed?’ Maggie asked. For having pulled back the cover she could see little Lucy was sucking ravenously on her fist.

  ‘About twelve o’clock.’ Bonnie said. ‘I guess she’s hungry now.’

  ‘I bet she is, poor little mite,’ Maggie said. ‘That’s six hours ago. Too long for a baby to go without food. How old is she?’

  ‘Just over six months.’

  ‘It’s all right, pet,’ Maggie said, cradling Lucy in her arms. ‘We’ll soon have you fed and comfortable.’ Then to her children she said: ‘Go upstairs and fetch your sister. Tell Liza I need her downstairs now to keep an eye on the dinner. Tell her now, not when it suits her.’

  The children scuttled off and Bonnie knew they were used to doing as their mother told them and that Maggie was used to being obeyed. Yet while Maggie was firm, Bonnie sensed she was also very caring and loving – so unlike her own mother it was difficult to believe they were blood relatives.

  She heard the children’s footsteps disappear upstairs and then their shouts of: ‘Hey, Liza! Mum wants you now. Guess what!’

  Maggie looked at Bonnie as she perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa. ‘Relax, girl. You can tell me later what’s been going on. First, we need to get this little one fed and bathed. Is she ill? I can smell sick.’

  ‘She was sick, but I gave her medicine from the chemist.’

  ‘You didn’t take her to a doctor?’

  ‘No. She stopped being sick.’

  ‘So what does she eat?’ Maggie now asked, taking the empty milk-stained feeding bottle from the Moses basket.

  ‘Milk, yoghurt and anything soft I have,’ Bonnie said.

  Maggie didn’t voice her thoughts. ‘OK, let’s start her with a bottle of milk first and then we’ll bath her. Then, once she’s more comfortable we’ll give her some dinner. We’ll also need to wash her clothes and the covers from the basket.’

  ‘I have some clean clothes for her in my bag,’ Bonnie said, grateful that Maggie knew what to do to help them.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and the children reappeared, with a teenage girl dressed fashionably in leggings and a long jersey top. She looked at Bonnie and then at Lucy in her mother’s arms.

  ‘Liza, this is Bonnie,’ Maggie said. ‘My sister’s girl, your cousin. I need you to help me with dinner while I get this little one sorted out.’

  Bonnie thought she saw the faintest flash of resentment cross Liza’s face as she gave a small nod and then left the front room to go into the kitchen.

  ‘You hold your baby while I fix her a bottle,’ Maggie said to Bonnie, placing Lucy in her arms. She took the bottle, which was in need of a good wash, and disappeared into the kitchen, while the two younger children stayed, staring quizzically at Bonnie.

  ‘Are you going to sleep here?’ the boy asked after a moment.

  Bonnie shrugged. ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Haven’t you got a home?
’ the girl asked.

  Bonnie shook her head and concentrated on Lucy, who was sucking hard on her fist.

  ‘How come?’ the boy asked. ‘How come you haven’t got a home and a mum and dad?’

  ‘I just haven’t. That’s all,’ Bonnie said, niggled by their intrusive questions. She could hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen and hoped Maggie would reappear soon. These kids had so much confidence they frightened her. She felt safe with Maggie, and Lucy was going to start crying again soon and worry her further.

  In the kitchen, Maggie was using boiling water and a bottle brush to thoroughly clean the bottle of congealed milk. ‘Little wonder the baby was sick,’ she said, scrubbing the rim of the bottle for the third time.

  Milk was warming in a milk pan on the hob and Liza was keeping an eye on it while stirring the pan of food for dinner.

  ‘Is she staying?’ Liza asked, glancing at her mother.

  ‘She’ll have to tonight,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s late and cold. She can’t be out with a baby. They’ve nowhere else to go.’

  ‘You weren’t thinking of giving her Bett’s bed?’ Liza said, giving the spoon a sharp tap on the edge of the pan before setting it on the work surface.

  ‘Yes, just for tonight.’

  Liza knew better than to complain; it was her mother’s decision to allow Bonnie to use her elder sister’s bed while she was away at university.

  ‘What about the baby?’ Liza asked. ‘Is she coming in my room too?’

  ‘She’ll have to until I get something else sorted out.’

  Maggie poured the warmed milk into the clean bottle and took it into the living room where she left Bonnie to feed Lucy while she went upstairs to prepare the bedroom.

  That evening, once Lucy was fed, dressed in clean clothes and asleep, and the family had eaten, Maggie had a long talk with Bonnie, from which it soon became clear that there was no point in phoning her sister as she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help her daughter. So Maggie assumed the responsibility, although she made it clear from the outset that Bonnie staying was only temporary, until she could find something more suitable. The social services’ records show that Bonnie and Lucy stayed for two months and that Bonnie came to view this period as the best two months of her life – living in a loving family headed by a woman who actually cared for her.