with the snowstorm it might be a few days before they can collect the baby.’
Mrs Van Dyke handed her a small pile of clothes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t keep too much. There’s some vests, socks and some hand-knitted cardigans. Oh, and a blanket.’
‘These will be great. Thank you so much. I’ll launder them and bring them back to you in a few days.’ She fingered the edge of the intricately crocheted blanket. ‘This is beautiful and it looks brand new. Are you sure we can use this?’
Mrs Van Dyke smiled and shook her head. ‘It’s not new. I made a new blanket for every child. This was the final one. You’re welcome to use it.’
Carrie smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you, it’s gorgeous and I’m sure it will be perfect.’ She sat the clothes inside the cradle and picked it up. ‘I’m sure Dan will be really grateful to you, too. If there’s anything you need in the next few days be sure to let us know. We can ask Mr Meltzer to open his store again.’
Mrs Van Dyke shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine. My pantry is well stocked.’
Carrie walked over to the door. ‘Thanks, Mrs Van Dyke.’ She opened the door and gave a little smile. ‘You have a beautiful home here.’
Mrs Van Dyke smiled. ‘And you’re welcome in it any time.’
Carrie juggled the cradle in her hands and closed the door behind her quietly.
Wow. Not what she’d expected at all.
Mrs Van Dyke was lovely, a real pleasure to be around. And she could imagine that Mrs Van Dyke could regale Carrie with hundreds of stories about her life and her family.
She thought of the little carving of a mother’s and child’s hands interlinked. It was heartbreaking—and it was beautiful. It hadn’t felt right to ask any questions about her son Peter. She’d only just met Mrs Van Dyke and that would be intrusive.
But she’d felt the connection. The connection that only another mother who had lost a child could feel.
Obviously she hadn’t said anything to Mrs Van Dyke. The woman hardly knew her. But that little feeling in the pit of her stomach had told her that this woman would be able to understand exactly how she felt.
Their circumstances were obviously different. Mrs Van Dyke had spent seven years loving and cherishing her son, getting to know his thoughts and quirks, growing together as mother, child and part of a family. Carrie had missed out on all that.
She’d spent seven months with her hands on her growing stomach, with a whole host of hopes and expectations for her child. In her head she’d been making plans for the future. Plans that involved a child.
None of those plans had been for a future without her daughter.
Her hands were starting to shake a little. Was it from the weight in her hands—or was it from the thoughts in her head?
A cradle is only really a cradle when it holds a baby.
How true.
She’d loved the white cot she’d bought for her daughter. But it hadn’t been nearly as beautiful as this one. It had been dismantled and packed off to the nearest charity shop, along with the pram, because she couldn’t bear to look at them.
Hopefully some other baby had benefitted from them.
Carrie walked down the stairs carefully, making sure she didn’t bang the cradle on the way. Who knew what Dan would say to her? She wouldn’t be surprised if he let rip with some choice words.
Her ears pricked up. Crying—no, wailing. The baby was screaming at the top of his lungs. Her steps quickened and she pushed open Dan’s door with her shoulder.
‘Dan, what on earth is going on?’
* * *
Dan’s ears were throbbing. Weren’t there environmental laws about noise? No one seemed to have told this little guy.
He changed him over to the other shoulder. This had been going on for the past fifteen minutes. What on earth had gone wrong?
He screwed up his face. Why was he even thinking that? He knew exactly what had gone wrong. The little guy had nearly finished the entire bottle without burping once. And according to what he’d read on the internet—that wasn’t good.
He tried to switch off from the screaming. Tried to focus his mind elsewhere. Who would leave a baby outside in the cold?
The thought had been preying on his mind since the second Carrie had found the baby. Sure, he’d done the cop thing and made a half-hearted attempt to look for the mother—to see if someone was in trouble out there.
But truth be told—he wasn’t that sure he wanted to find her.
Some people just weren’t fit to be parents. Fact.
He was living proof and had the scars to back up his theory.
Even twenty-five years ago social services had tried to support his mother to keep him, when the truth of the matter was they should have got him the hell out of there.
Thank goodness his grandmother had realised what the scars on his back were. The guys in the station thought they were chicken-pox scars, and he wasn’t about to tell them any different. But cigarettes left a nasty permanent burn.
The expression on Carrie’s face had said it all. She’d felt compassion; she’d felt pity for the person who’d left this baby behind. He felt differently. Maybe this little guy was going to get the start in life he deserved.
There was a light tap at the door, then it was shouldered open. Carrie—with a wooden crib in her hands.
She wrinkled her nose at the noise. ‘What did you do?’ She crossed the room and sat the crib at his feet. Had she been with Mrs Van Dyke all this time? It was the only place she could have got the crib.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fed him.’
She shook her head. ‘He shouldn’t be squealing like that. Give him here.’ She held out her arms and he hesitated. What was going on? This woman had hightailed it out of here as if there were a fire licking at her heels. Now she was back as if nothing had happened?
He placed his hand protectively on the little guy’s back. ‘What happened, Carrie?’ He didn’t care how blunt it sounded. He didn’t care how much help he really wanted right now. He needed her to be straight with him.
She looked him straight in the eye. But he could see it—the waver. The hesitation in her blue eyes. ‘I needed a little space for five minutes. And now—I’ve had it. I spent a little time with Mrs Van Dyke. She’s great. I wish I’d had the opportunity to speak to her before today.’ She walked over to the sink and lifted one of the pacifiers out of the sterilising solution. ‘Has this been in there thirty minutes?’
He glanced at the clock and nodded, watching as she put the pacifier in the baby’s mouth and lifted him from his shoulder. ‘Let’s try something else, then.’ She sat down on the sofa and laid the baby across her lap, face down, gently rubbing his back.
Dan
