This Is Igor’s Child…

This is Andrew’s child…

This story took place recently in Leeds, in a cosy fourth-floor flat of a typical nine-story block. Living there was a young-at-heart, working pensioneran independent woman named Susan Bennett.

Her life had always followed a familiar, steady rhythm: her pension, part-time job, friends, trips to visit her grandchildren, and caring for her elderly mother who lived alone in a nearby building.

That day started just as any other.

In the morning, Susan rang her mum to check on her health.

Yes, just another average day. Her day off. Since retiring, she worked shifts at a private clinicanswering calls and scheduling appointments every fourth day.

And today… Today was no different. Of course, shed make lunch and walk over to her mothers flata ritual she followed almost every day. Not that she particularly relished the task, truth be told, it often made her sigh and roll her eyes.

The walk was just two courtyards away. Cookingno bother. Especially since mum still had yesterdays shepherds pie and some scones left. But climbing five flights of stairs without a liftoh, that!

Mums medical grumbles were another exhausting chapter. Endlessly listening to her descriptions of aches and pains was a regular occupation for Susan; her mother wasnt after solutions, just an audience. The doctors many diagnoses were endlessly reconsidered, reconstructed and spiced up with tidbits from neighbours and advice from health programmes on the telly.

Any suggestion from Susan was quickly dismissed; what could she possibly know, despite working as a theatre nurse in a major Leeds hospital for forty years?

What would you know, eh? Only how to pass a scalpel!

Never mind. Just a normal day.

And she had to pop to the shop too. She left the rubbish bag in the hallway, quickly touched up her lipstick in the mirrora woman in her sixties, with just a few gentle laughter lines around her eyes. An attractive face, a smart silver bob, bold earrings. A little sag in the cheeks, but nothing more.

Must buy some rye bread for mum. And some proper butter, she mused, liner poised at her lipswhen the doorbell rang.

Their entrance had a security intercom. Who could it be? Perhaps Auntie Pat from down the hall; Pat sometimes dropped by for a cuppa.

Lipstick still in hand, Susan opened the door.

Standing there was a young woman, mousy hair in a ponytail, wearing a striped t-shirt, long dark cardigan and jeans, a rucksack on her back. Only later would Susan remember every detail, but right then she just saw her face, and a baby wrapped in a brown blanket, nestled in her arms.

Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, a sharp breath in, a step forwardand then, the bundle was thrust into Susans arms with a brusque, “This is for you!”

Susan took the baby by instinctthe lipstick still in her other hand. She glanced downgood heavens, a baby!then looked up, but the young woman was already hurrying down the stairs.

Its Andrews child… I have to study… the girls footsteps echoed away rapidly.

The door downstairs slammed shut.

And that was it.

Susan stood frozen on the landing, sure the young woman would turn round and come back. But she didnt. Eventually, Susan returned to the hallway, glanced at her rubbish bag, and oddly thought, I mustnt forget to take it out before I go to Mums.

A second, unfamiliar bag sat in the corner; Susan hadnt even noticed the girl leave it.

Only then did it really hit her.

Oh Lord! This is… This is a living child! And what did she say? Andrews child?

Did she really say Andrew?

Susan carried the baby into the living room and gently sat on the sofa. Yes, she was certainthe girl had said Andrew.

But which Andrew? Susans only son was called Matthew. A family man, father of two, living in Bristol with his wife and Susans grandchildren. Her late husband, Robert, had died five years ago.

This made no sense. The baby stirred in her arms. Oh dear!

She carefully laid the baby down and unwrapped the blanket: a tiny bundle in a cream knitted suit with a frog-shaped dummy. No more than a month old.

“There, there, sweetheart,” Susan murmured, stroking the infants hair. The baby puckered its lips and soon drifted off again.

Surely, the answer would be in the bag. Inside, she found two bottles, a tin of formula, nappies, and babys clothes.

Still, some strange, unreasonable hope lingered. The doorbell would ring, the girl would return, take the baby back, apologise… and the day would be normal again: rubbish to the chute, off to the shops, mum…

Susan even finished her makeup, peeping out of the window, scanning for the young woman.

But where was she? What sort of madness was this?

After a few minutes, the baby began to fuss. Susan stood above her, seized by hesitation. Not her babywas it her place to undress, to feed, to care for someone elses child? She hovered by the window again, waiting.

But there was nothing for it; she had to remove the babys suit. Underneathlittle leggings and a tiny vest.

A girl.

Now, for the first time, a cold wave of responsibility crept over Susan. Someone had abandoned a baby girl in her care!

Andrew… Andrew…

What if…

Her son, after all, had been quite the charmer in his younger days. So many times shed scolded him about his serial girlfriends, even bringing some home before he married. That was years ago, though. Nowadays, he seemed happily settled. Business and family kept him busy, but post-uni struggles were easing; the mortgage paid, a new car in the driveway, kids growing up…

There, there, darling. Dont cry! Lets get you tidy, shall we?

Oh heavens. Dare she believe the mother had really abandoned her daughter?

Susans mind raced, but her hands knew what to do: deftly changing the nappy, dressing the wriggling little girl, then cradling her in one arm while making up a bottle in the kitchen with the other.

Just then, the phone rang. Susan struggled to answer, the baby wriggling in her arms.

Why so long with the phone? Mums sharp voice.

Oh, nothing. Mum, what did you need?

Have you gone to the shop?

Not yet.

Id like some pears. Not the boring ones from last time, but those ones with the rosy blush on the side, you know?

Got it, Mum.

Remember, the thin tops and the soft ones, not those hard things. The last ones were terrible…

As her mother wittered on, the little girl was scrunching her face, close to tears.

All right, Mum. Got it.

Whats that noise there?

The TV.

Im waiting for you. Now turn it off and go, or youll find theyll have sold out of bread!

Susan hung up, rocked the little girl, read the instructions on the formula tin. She had to do something about all thisnow.

Matthew!

It was late May… She counted back the months. Yes, last August, during his business trip to Manchester… Could he have used a false name? Andrew?

Possible, if it was a passing fancy. Boys will be boys. But surely, now, Matthew was a respectable man, married and devoted. Or was she just seeing what she wanted to see?

She dripped a bit of formula on her wristtoo hot, under the tap it went.

Her arm was already throbbing. Shed lost the knackonce she could carry a nine-kilo baby with ease; now…

What was she doing? Shouldnt she call 999 straight away? But if this were her sons child… she hesitated.

The baby even looked a little like her granddaughter, Emily…

What then? It would blow the family sky-highher daughter-in-law Lucy would never forgive him. The grandchildren…

The thought chilled her.

There you go, darling. Good girl…

The baby suckled greedily, falling sleepy. Susan watched, entranced by the sweetnesshow shed missed having a baby around!

Once the girl was asleep, Susan laid her gently on the sofa and tried calling her son. No answer.

Oh, bother…

She decided not to rush things. She didnt want to cause a family disaster. And perhaps the girl would come to her senses and return. She didnt look like a troublemaker, just another scrawny, serious-faced student.

But… there was no way shed tell her own mother any of thisthe thought of all the wails, accusations, horror stories was too much.

Susan called her eldest grandson, Jack, and learned that his dad was away, working on a gas contract in a remote corner of North Yorkshire, out of signal until the day after tomorrow. He did ring home in the evenings, though, and all was well.

Nothing but drama, Gran! Jack grumbled.

Though she knew Matthew was often away for work, Susan wished she could talk to him now.

She called Lucy, left a message: Please, if Matthew phones tonight, get him to ring me too. Its important.

Lucy asked if something was wrong, but Susan just reassured her.

She then rang her own mother. Ive twisted my ankle, Mum. Not coming over today. Theres enough shepherds pie and bread in, youll be fine.

Mum sighed, scolded, threatened to come round herself (except for those five stairs), and rang back five more times over the evening.

Afterwards, Susan relaxed, slipped out of her white trousers and into a house dress, sitting beside the little girl and thinking, finally, in peace.

Perhaps it had been foolish to take the child, but what else? People left babies on doorsteps for a reason. What stopped her now from calling the police, handing her over, and being done with it?

Firstfear for her son (even if he wasnt Andrew). What if hed made some mistake, lied to a girl, used another name? Secondshe really didnt fancy explaining everything at the police station, not at her age. Thirdshe felt an odd sympathy for the girl: she’d looked like a mother driven to the edge.

She needed to talk, so she called her life-long friend.

Vicky, youll never believe this. Someones left a baby on my doorstep…

Vicky didnt panic, she became all Sherlock Holmes, promising to come by after work.

Dont worry, Susie, well sort this. Just dont go and gallop into anything.

You think I shouldnt call the police?

Not till weve found this Andrew.

Goodness, Vick, what Andrew?

The baby’s father, obviously! Does anyone called Andrew live in your building?

How would I know? Theres fifty flats or more! You think she got the flat wrong?

Possible. But it could be Matthews, you know. Get hold of him.

The whole day Susan alternated between baby care and online searches for feeding schedules. She followed the advice: massaged the little tummy, bathed the baby, sang lullabies.

Hows the ankle? Mum called as usual. Coming tomorrow?

Susan promised to visit. She was sure the whole dilemma would resolve itself by then.

Vicky turned up as promised, rifled through the babys things, then took to questioning the neighbours, inventing a story about a letter for Andrew.

An hour later she burst back in, beaming.

Found him! Theres an Andrew living two floors above you, right-hand corridormatches the description.

She probably just mixed up the floor! Come on!

Where to?

Lets find out. To this Andrew chap, of course.

What if he denies everything?

Well press him. Hell crack.

Vicky, its madness. If he thinks were nuts, God knows what hell say.

You want the truth, or not?

Susan did. They rocked the baby to sleep, walked upstairs (avoiding the lift), and rang the bell.

Whos there? an old womans voice.

We need Andrew, said Vicky confidently.

A bent, cranky old lady opened the door, then vanished inside, shouting, “Andrew! Someones for you, again!”

A scruffy-looking bloke, short with a beard, shuffled out.

Hi, here about the tablet?

No, not the tablet. Were here about something else. See, my friend Susan here seems to have ended up with your child.

A pause as Andrew blinked at them, stunned.

My child?! Im sorry, what?

Well, youre the only Andrew here, Vicky pressed on.

No, honestly, I dont have any kids, he shook his head, lost.

Thats what you think… She mustve confused the flats.

Wait, Vicky, Susan cut in, less sure, Let me explain: I live downstairs, and this morning a young woman pushed a baby into my arms, said it was Andrews child, and ran off. I thought shed just confused the flats.

Why me? Andrew protested, gesturing to himself.

Not admitting to your responsibilities, eh? Vicky needled him.

What responsibilities? the poor man goggled.

Well just show you the child, then, Vicky insisted.

Youre sure you didnt have a girlfriend, say, late last summer? Susan asked, gently.

What, me? No, only online girlfriends. No, youve got the wrong man entirely! Erwhat did this girl look like?

I didnt ask her name, Susan said, dejected, Sorry we bothered you, perhaps it was all a mistake.

Susan tugged Vicky away. But as they started down the stairs, Andrew called after them.

Dyou need help? Im a blogger, IT guyI could put out a search online: lost mother, lost father, photo…

No, thanks, Susan said firmly; she still put her faith in Matthew, and anyway, the proper response was to ring 999, not post online.

Ah, well. If you change your mind, Im always at home, Andrew smiled.

These kids! Vicky muttered as they left, Working from home… Think hes telling the truth?

I do. Hes clearly one of these computer whizzes, not Casanova material.

No call from Matthew. She tried Lucy.

Sorry, totally spaced out! Stressed. Emily had swimming, Jack forgot his football kit for tomorrowjust did a mad dash through the classifieds. And then Matthew called. What a day!

If only she knew the half of it.

Thats it. Tomorrow I call the police.

But that night, when she finally went to bed, the girl’s face haunted her: despair, terror, hope. What would happen to the child if Susan handed her in?

The night was dreadfulshe woke at every sigh, feeding and soothing the baby until dawn.

The phone woke her.

Hows the ankle? You coming?

Susan glanced at the sleeping baby, then out the window.

Yes, Mum. Ill come.

Pick up the pears, and…

Children need walks, she convinced herself. Wrapping the baby in a scarf sling, she went shopping, relishing the feeling of not being alone for once. Apart from the fifth-floor climb…

Whats that? Her mothers eyes bulged.

Not what, who. Hold these, handing over the groceries, Susan breezed into the lounge and laid the baby down, collapsing beside her.

Where did she come from?

Nadine Foster asked me to mind her granddaughter while she was at the hairdressers. Only for an hour.

And the ankle?

Got better!

Her mother was so taken with the baby she forgot her list of medical gripes for once.

Look at those little fingers! Gosh, whats her name?

Didnt ask. Only for an hour.

Oh, Susan, you mustnt take babies without knowing their names!

All the way home, Susan pondered baby names, almost as if it mattered. What did the girl call her daughter?

A text message pinged: “Matthew now available.” Her son!

She perched on the sofa, baby on lap, trembling as she rang.

What? Mum, are you mad? Im married, came Matthews voice after her rambling tale.

But the girl said Andrew…

Mum, you named me Matthew yourself. Just call the police, please. Want me to do it?

No, I will. I just (the babys so hungry, she wanted a walk, Ive got to make a bottle…).

Mum! Police, for goodness sake! Im worried about you…

Its all right, dear. I was just being daft. Shes such a sweetie…

He joked that she shouldve kept his mate Petes son like this; some people just attract trouble.

Itll be sorted today, Susan promised, Vickys helping me.

Not today. Now. Call them, Mum!

But Susan didnt. The baby was waking again, nappy change needed, lots to do! After lunch, shed call Vicky and

Oh, shed have to hand over the baby. And then what? Shed no doubt end up in the local hospital, the infectious disease ward. Susan knew the wardsshe began to run through their conditions in her mind, sure no place would be better for the girl than her warm, clean home.

But… she was due back on shift tomorrow. And, well, this was technically a criminal offencekeeping a strangers baby without telling anyone.

Her son was right.

She sighed, tended to the baby, thinking, exhausted but oddly content: her days had never been so full.

The two of them fell asleep together, comforted by each others warmth.

A loud ring at the door woke them.

Susan gently disentangled her arm, peered through the spyholeand nearly froze. She opened the door.

Where is she? Did you hand her over? Why didnt you say immediately? On the threshold, clutching the frame, stood the very same anxious young mother, wild-eyed, dressed only in a vest and shorts despite the chill, her hair a mess.

Say what? Susan was still groggy.

That youre nother, the girl spat out, voice trembling.

Maybe because… I am, Susan answered, arching her brow, And you ran off so quickly.

But you know where she is, dont you? Pleaseyou do? Her eyes pleaded for hope.

Susan stepped back.

Come inside.

The girl entered, desperate to hear where her daughter was, ready to run off again if needed. She waited, watching.

Shes here, Susan said, tension in her voice.

Where? I need to know exactly

In bed, sleeping.

Susan led her to the spare roomhesitating, the girl walked in, but then, seeing her daughter, collapsed to the carpet and sobbed. Great, gut-wrenching sobs shook her body. Susan had to help her up, press water (and a chocolate bar) into her hand, then tea.

Eat, love. Eat something, or youll keel over.

As the girl’s breathing steadied, Susan explained she hadnt contacted the police.

I thought theyd take her from me. Oh, thank you… I got the address wrong…

Once calmer, she explained: her name was Emma, her daughter Lily.

It was an old tale. Emma was a medical student, just like Susan had been (in those days, a training nurse). Shed come from a little village in Northallerton.

Shed fallen in love last summer. Andrew, a Leeds lad, was studying at the university. Shed been inside Flat Twenty-One with him only once. At first, Andrew promised marriage, promised his mum would help, even accepted the baby.

Then after Christmas, he simply vanished. Phone dead.

She knew he studied at Leeds Met, finally tracked down his classmates, but hed transferred to Manchester. No one gave her any contact.

Her fatherfurious, called her all sorts, cut off her money and threw her out. Her stepmother was merely cold.

Pregnant and alone, she lived in the student halls, helped a bit by her aunt, her late mums sister. But it wasnt enough. Emma soldiered on, determined to become a nurse.

Andrew surfaced online now and againresponded a few times, then blocked her. Wanted nothing to do with the baby.

Emma had given birth in Leeds, stayed two weeks at a friends, desperate to pass her exams and stay afloat.

Then everything collapsed: friend wanted her out, money finished, couldnt attend examsbaby in arms, no one to leave her with. Photos of Andrew with another girl surfaced online.

Remembering his promises about his “mum”, Emma went looking for helponly to mix up the number of the block, leaving her daughter in a strangers hands. She spent that evening cramming, trying for normality; she didnt sleep all night, crying for Lily.

In the morning, she commented online, saying shed collect Lily after her exam. Only then did she realise Andrew hadnt told his mother about the child, hadnt even heard.

Panic-stricken, she dashed backin shorts, barely dressed, praying for a miracle.

Her Andrew lived not in Susans block, but in an identical one, just next door.

I saw his mums picture. She looked just like yousame haircut, even! Oh dear, what have I done! She wept anew.

How do they say it? The height of foolishness is to give up your masterpiece and own nothing of it. I kept thinking that. Looking at Lily, I thoughtwhat kind of woman can abandon such a treasure? So glad you came back. Will you be taking Lily to Andrews mother?

Never again, Emma shook her head, This day nearly broke me. At night I just ached for Lily. Ill go back to the hall, somehow. My aunt will help if things get worse. Sorry to trouble you, I really am.

If Im honest, I was frightened, I thought my son was involved! Now I need to apologise to that poor chap Andrew upstairs.

She told the whole sorry tale; even Emma managed a laugh.

That poor guy, Emma smiled through her tears, Maybe Ill apologise in person.

Not with those red eyes. Actually, Emma, stay here for tonight. Im on my own. In fact, my son keeps nagging me to get a lodger. Why not stay a while?

Move in here? I cant possibly afford it.

I dont expect money; just company. Tomorrow, fetch your books and things. Exams soon?

The day after tomorrow. But…

Then its settled. Come now, lie down. You need to rest.

Emma sank into a comfy chair as Susan fetched spare bedding, quietly persuading her.

Im working tomorrow. You can study here, take care of Lily. Theres food in the fridge, and I got fresh formula…though, youll be able to breastfeed now.

She glanced backEmma was fast asleep, Lily tucked beside her.

Vick, listen… No, not Matthews! He called. Not Andrews either. Shes here. Sleeping. Yes, back together. Dont shout! Good thing I didnt call the police!

***

Emmas milk came back. She passed her exams, earning commendations. Trips to Susans mother grew more frequentup those five flights.

In a pleasant twist, Susans mother now listened to Emmas advice without question.

Shes got the freshest knowledge, what a clever young woman!

Emma found work soon after graduationSusan old contacts found her some NHS shifts. The two women became close.

As for Andrew, Susans neighbour, he realised at last that his gran needed caresoon, Emma was helping her with medicines too.

By the autumn, Emma and Lily moved two floors up, nursing Andrews old grannyrebuilding her life, healing her heartbreak, and writing a new script for herself in strong, clear handwriting.

***Sometimes Susan would wake to the gentle creak of floorboards abovea childs giggle, the kettle whistling, Emmas clear voice drifting down. Shed smile to herself, padding barefoot to the window where Leeds glimmered, a patchwork of hope and ordinary miracles.

Susans little flat was exactly as beforeexcept bolder, lighter, threaded with laughter and the quiet certainty that anyone, at any age, might stumble into someone desperate for kindness and accidentally offer it, stumblingly, gloriously.

One golden evening, as the scent of fresh-baked scones wafted down the hall, Susan watched Emma swing Lily high in the courtyard, tiny arms outstretched, Emmas laughter ringing out. Again, Mummy, again! The girls shoes flashed against the setting sun.

From her kitchen, Susan tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear and waved at them through the glass. For once, she didnt mind the stairs, the routine, or her mothers endless lists. She felt, deep down, that a door had opened which might never have, letting in two lives she needed as much as they needed her.

And sometimes, on wild, busy mornings, when Lily pressed her nose to Susans knee and called shyly, Gran-Sue, look!Susan would stoop down, heart warm and full, to join in the wonder, knowing she had, quite by ordinary chance, found her own new beginning.