English Girl in New York (13 page)

‘I guess the actions of others impact on us all.'

She was still touching Abraham's hand, letting his little fingers connect with hers. ‘We don't know, Dan. We don't know anything.'

He spun around to face her. ‘Of course we do. Look at him. Look at this defenceless little baby. Left out in the cold with hardly any clothes. He could have died out there, Carrie. He could have died.'

‘Don't. Don't say that. I don't even want to think about that. I can't think about that.'

She stared him down. He had to know how much his words impacted on her. How she couldn't even bear to think the thoughts he was putting in her head.

‘Why are you so critical, Dan? You must see a whole host of things in your line of work. I thought that would make you more sympathetic to people out there. Not sit as judge and master.'

‘I don't judge.' His words were snapped and Abraham flinched at the rise in his voice.

‘Well, I think you do. I think that's what you've done since the second I found Abraham and brought him to you.'

He opened his mouth, obviously ready to hit her with a torrent of abuse. But good sense waylaid him. She could almost see him biting his tongue and it annoyed her. She didn't want Dan to hide things from her. He should tell her how he really felt. It didn't matter that they would disagree.

‘Spit it out, Dan.'

‘I don't think that's wise.' His words were growled through clenched teeth.

She walked right up to him, her face directly under his chin. He was angry. She could tell he was angry. But she wasn't intimidated at all. Dan would never direct his anger at her.

‘So, you can kiss me to death, but you can't tell me how you feel?'

Dan walked over to the crib, placed Abraham down and raked his hand through his short hair, his hand coming around and scraping at the bristles on his chin. ‘Just leave it, Carrie.'

‘Why? Isn't it normal to disagree about things? I just can't understand why the guy who was prepared to risk his life for a bunch of strangers can't take a minute to show a little compassion to a woman who is clearly desperate.' She pointed over at the crib. ‘No woman in her right mind would abandon her baby. Not without good reason. I bet she's lying crying and terrified right now. I bet the past two nights she hasn't slept a wink with worry over how her son is doing.'

He shook his head. ‘You're wrong, Carrie. You're more than wrong. Good people don't do things like this. Good people don't abandon their babies or make them suffer. Everyone who has the responsibility for children should put their needs first—before their own.'

She wrinkled her brow. ‘What are you getting at, Dan? What need do you think Abraham's mother was putting first?'

He couldn't meet her eyes. He couldn't look at her. His eyes were fixed either on the floor or the ceiling. He walked towards the window, staring out at the snow-covered street, his hands on his hips. ‘Drugs, Carrie. I think his mother was looking for her next fix.'

Carrie's hand flew up to her mouth. It hadn't even occurred to her. It hadn't even crossed her mind.

Maybe she was too innocent. Maybe she'd lived a sheltered life.

‘No.' She crossed quickly to the crib and looked down at Abraham. His eyelids were fluttering, as if he was trying to focus on the changing shapes around him. He looked so innocent. So peaceful. The thought of his mother being a drug user horrified Carrie.

She hadn't lived her life in a plastic bubble. There had been women who clearly had drug problems in the maternity unit next to her's. But they were in the unit, being monitored for the sake of their babies. Although they had other issues in their lives, their babies' health was still important to them.

She reached out and stroked Abraham's skin. It still had the slightest touch of yellow, but these things wouldn't disappear overnight. Could his mother really have been taking drugs? It was just unimaginable to Carrie.

She felt a little surge of adrenalin rise inside her. ‘No, Dan. No way. It can't be that. It just can't be. We would know. Abraham would be showing signs. Drug addicts' babies show signs of withdrawal, don't they? If Abraham's mother was an addict he would be screaming by now.'

‘Hasn't he screamed the past two nights?'

She shook her head firmly. It didn't matter that she was no expert. She'd heard enough to know a little of the background. ‘He would be sick, Dan. He would be
really
sick. And Abraham's not. Look at him.' She walked around to the other side of the crib to give Dan a clear view. ‘He's not sick like that. Sure, he gets hungry and has wind. He pulls his little knees up to his chest. That's colic. Nothing else. And there are pages and pages on the internet about that.' She folded her arms across her chest. ‘If we had a baby in withdrawal right now, we'd need Shana to airlift him to the hospital. There's no two ways about it.'

It was clear from the tight expression on Dan's face that he wasn't ready to concede. He wasn't ready to consider he was wrong.

She could feel her hackles rising. She could feel they were on the precipice of a major argument and she just didn't want to go there. All her protective vibes were coming out, standing over Abraham like some lioness guarding her cub. But why would she have to guard him against Dan? The man who'd opened his door and welcomed them both in?

She took a deep breath. ‘Dan, you're tired and you're cranky. I know what that feels like. Let's leave this. Go and sleep for a few hours. I'm going to take Abraham upstairs to see Mrs Van Dyke. She'll be happy to see him and, who knows, she might even give me some tips.'

She could see he still wanted to argue with her but fatigue was eating away at every movement he made. His shoulders were slumped, his muscular frame sagging.

‘Fine. I'll go to sleep.' He stalked off towards the bedroom—the bed she'd recently vacated—before he halted and turned around. ‘Mrs Van Dyke, ask her if she needs anything. Anything at all. I can phone Mr Meltzer and go back along to the shop in a few hours and get us some more supplies. We'll need things for Abraham anyhow.'

There it was. Even in his inner turmoil, the real Dan Cooper could still shine through. He was still thinking about others, still concerned about his elderly neighbour.

She picked up Abraham from the crib, tapping her finger on his button nose and smiling at him.

Just when she thought Dan had gone he appeared at her elbow, bending over and dropping a gentle kiss on Abraham's forehead.

‘I'm not going to let anything happen to this little guy, Carrie. Nothing at all.' His words were whispered, but firm, and he turned and walked off to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

CHAPTER NINE

C
ARRIE
WALKED
UP
the stairs slowly, Abraham cradled in her arms.

The way that Dan had come over and kissed him had almost undone her. She was ready to fight with him, to argue with him over his unforgiving point of view.

But Daniel Cooper was a good guy—his most recent action only proved that. There was so much more to this than she could see. Maybe she'd been so wrapped up in her own grief and struggling with her own ability to cope with the situation that she'd totally missed something with Dan.

It just didn't figure for a warm-hearted Everyman hero to have such black-and-white views. To be so blinkered. Maybe it was time for her to crawl out of the sandbox and get back in the playground—to start to consider those around her.

She reached Mrs Van Dyke's door and gave a little knock. ‘Mrs Van Dyke? It's Carrie from across the hall. May I come in?'

She heard the faint shout from the other side of the door, once again almost drowned out by the theme tune of
Diagnosis Murder.
She turned the handle and walked in, crossing the room and kneeling next to Mrs Van Dyke's brown leather armchair.

She adjusted Abraham from her shoulder, laying him between her hands so Mrs Van Dyke could have a clear look at him. ‘Guess who I brought to visit,' she said quietly.

Mrs Van Dyke reached out for the remote control and silenced the television. ‘Well, who do we have here?' she asked, one frail finger reaching out and tracing down the side of Abraham's cheek.

‘We call him Abraham. It's been three days now and there's still no sign of his mother.'

‘May I?' Mrs Van Dyke held out her thin arms. For a second Carrie hesitated, instant protective waves flooding through her, wondering about the steadiness of Mrs Van Dyke's hands. But she pushed the thoughts from her mind. This woman had held more babies, more little lives in her hands than Carrie probably would in this lifetime. She had a wealth of experience to which Carrie really needed even the tiniest exposure.

She placed Abraham in her shaky hands and watched as Mrs Van Dyke repositioned him on her lap, with her hand gently supporting his head as she leaned over and spoke to him quietly, all the while stroking one cheek with her bent finger.

It was magical. Even though Mrs Van Dyke was obviously feeling the effects of age, from her misshapen joints to her thin frame, a new life and sparkle seemed to come into her eyes when talking to Abraham. It was as if he released a little spark of life into her.

Carrie couldn't hear what she was saying. It was as if she were having an entirely private conversation with him. His little blue eyes had opened and were watching her intensely. Could he even focus yet? Carrie wasn't sure. But the conversation brought a smile to her face.

Abraham was wearing one of the beautiful hand-knitted blue cardigans that Mrs Van Dyke had given her, along with the white crocheted shawl. The recognition made Mrs Van Dyke smile all the more as she fingered the delicate wool. They still had hardly any clothes for him and without Mrs Van Dyke's contribution Abraham would have spent most of the time wrapped in a towel.

* * *

Carrie settled onto the antique-style leather sofa. ‘Dan asked me to check if you needed anything. He's hoping to give Mr Meltzer a ring and go along to the shop later. Can you give me a list of what you're running short of?'

A smile danced across Mrs Van Dyke's lips. ‘He's such a good boy, my Daniel.'

She almost made it sound as if he were one of her own. ‘I'm surprised he didn't come up himself.'

Carrie felt her cheeks flush. She wasn't quite sure what to say. ‘He's really tired. Abraham kept him awake most of the night. I told him to get some sleep and I would come up and see you.' It almost made them sound like some old married couple. She was hoping that would pass Mrs Van Dyke by.

But the old lady was far too wily for that. The smile remained on her lips and as she regarded Carrie carefully with her pale grey eyes it was almost as if she were sizing up her suitability. ‘I could do with some things,' she said slowly.

‘No problem. What do you need?'

‘Some powdered milk—there won't be any fresh milk left. And some chocolate biscuits and some tins of soup.'

‘What kind of soup do you like?'

Mrs Van Dyke smiled as she played with Abraham on her lap. ‘Oh, don't worry about that. Daniel knows exactly what to get me.' She eyed Carrie again. ‘Sometimes I wonder what I'd do without him.'

The words seemed to drip with loyalty and devotion to Daniel. These two had known each other for most of Daniel's life. How much had they shared?

Carrie pushed the queries out of her head. She was fascinated by how content Abraham looked, how placid he was on Mrs Van Dyke's lap, with her wholehearted attention. ‘You're much better at this than me. Maybe you can give me some tips.'

Mrs Van Dyke raised her head. ‘Tips? Why would you need tips?'

‘Because I'm not very good at this. I think he's feeding too quickly. He gets lots of wind and screams half the night.' She pointed over at his little frame. ‘I've no idea what he weighs. So I don't know if we're giving him enough milk or not. This baby stuff is all so confusing.'

Mrs Van Dyke gave her a gentle smile as Abraham wrapped his tiny fingers around her gnarled one. ‘I'm sure you're much better at this than you think you are. He's around six pounds,' she said.

‘How do you know that?' Carrie asked in wonder.

Mrs Van Dyke smiled. ‘I just do. Years of experience. I think he might have been a few weeks early.' She touched his face again. ‘But his jaundice will settle in a few days. Have you been putting him next to the window, letting the daylight get to him?'

Carrie nodded. ‘Dan has a friend who is a paediatrician at Angel's Hospital. She told us what to do. I just wish we could actually get him there so he could be checked over.'

‘He doesn't need to be checked. He's fine. As for the wind—he's a new baby. It will settle.' She slid her hands under his arms and sat him upright. ‘It's a big adjustment being out in the big bad world. A few days ago he was in a dark cocoon, being fed and looked after. Now he's got to learn to do it for himself.'

Carrie felt a prickle of unease. ‘I wish Dan felt like that.'

Mrs Van Dyke's eyes were on her in a flash. ‘Felt like what?' There was the tiniest sharp edge to her voice. A protective element. Just like the way Carrie felt towards Abraham. It heightened Carrie's awareness. Mrs Van Dyke had known Daniel since he was a child. What else did she know?

Carrie gave a sigh. ‘Dan doesn't think that Abraham's mother cared about him at all. He doesn't think she looked after him. He thinks she might have been a drug user.'

She could see Mrs Van Dyke's shoulders stiffen and straighten slightly. Maybe she was wrong to use the drug word around someone so elderly.

But Mrs Van Dyke just shook her head. ‘No.' Her eyes were focused entirely on Abraham. ‘His mother wasn't a drug user.'

Carrie leaned back against the leather sofa. Even though it looked ancient, it was firm and comfortable. Much more comfortable than Dan's modern one. How many people had rested on this sofa over the years, laid their hands on the slightly worn armrests and heard the pearls of wisdom from Mrs Van Dyke?

‘Then what happened?' She gave a sigh. ‘I just can't get my head around it. I keep thinking of all the reasons in the world that would make you give up your baby, and none of them are good enough. None of them come even close. I keep thinking of alternatives—all reasons a mum could keep her baby. None of them lead to this.'

‘Not every woman will have the life that you've had, Carrie.' The words were quiet, almost whispered and spoken with years of experience. The intensity of them brought an unexpected flood of tears to Carrie's eyes.

Her voice wavered. ‘You say that as if I've lived a charmed life.'

‘Haven't you?'

She shook her head firmly. ‘I don't think so. Last year I lost my daughter. I had a stillbirth.' She looked over at Abraham, her voice still wavering. ‘I came to New York to get away from babies—to get away from the memories.'

Mrs Van Dyke was silent for a few moments. Maybe Carrie had stunned her with her news, but, in truth, Mrs Van Dyke didn't look as if anyone would have the capability of stunning her.

Her answer was measured. ‘It seems as if we've shared the heartache of the loss of a child. At least with Peter, I had a chance to get to know him a little. To get to share a little part of his life. I'm sorry you didn't get that opportunity, Carrie.'

The sincerity in her words was clear. She meant every single one of them. And even though Carrie didn't know her well, it gave her more comfort than she'd had in a long time. Maybe this was all on her. She'd kept so much bottled up inside for so long. She didn't want to share. And now, in New York, the only two people she'd shared with had shown her sincerity and compassion—even though they were virtual strangers.

‘You had five children, didn't you?'

Mrs Van Dyke nodded. ‘Peter was my youngest. David, Ronald, Anne and Lisbeth all have families of their own now.'

‘Are any of them still in New York?'

There was a sadness in Mrs Van Dyke's eyes. ‘Sadly, no. David's in Boston. Ronald's in Washington. Lisbeth married a lovely Dutch man and is back in Holland. Anne found herself a cowboy and lives on a ranch in Texas. She spends most of her time trying to persuade me to go and live with her and her family.' Mrs Van Dyke showed some pride in her eyes. ‘She has a beautiful home—a beautiful family. But I find Texas far too hot. I visit. Daniel takes me to the airport and I go and stay with Anne for part of the winter. But New York is home to me now. It always will be.' She hesitated for a moment, before looking at Carrie with her pale grey eyes. ‘And Peter's here, of course. I would never leave my son.'

It was as if a million tiny caterpillars decided to run over her skin. Tiny light pinpricks all over.

Ruby. Her tiny white remembrance plaque in a cemetery in London. She'd visited it the day she left and wondered if anyone would put flowers there while she was gone. The chances were unlikely. Most people had moved on.

Part of her felt sympathy for Mrs Van Dyke not wanting to leave her beloved son. Should she feel guilty for coming to New York? All she felt was sad. Ruby wasn't there any more. Her talismans were in the box upstairs and in her heart—not on the little white plaque next to hundreds of others.

She was trying to put things into perspective. Her past situation and the current one. Trying to find a reason for Abraham's mother's behaviour.

Mrs Van Dyke's voice cut through her thoughts. ‘You have to remember, Carrie. Our children belong to God. We're only given them on loan from heaven. Sometimes God calls them home sooner than we expected.'

The words of the wise. A woman who'd had years to get over the death of her young son, but it was clearly still as raw today as it had been at the time. But here she was, with the help of her faith, rationalising the world around her. Getting some comfort from it.

Carrie moved from the sofa and knelt on the ground next to Mrs Van Dyke's armchair. ‘Then why would we waste any of that precious time? Why would we want to miss out on the first feed, the first smile? It's all far too precious, far too fleeting to give it up so easily. I can't believe that Abraham's mother doesn't care. I can't believe she abandoned him without a second thought.'

‘It's a sad world, Carrie. But sometimes we have to realise that not everyone has the same moral standing and beliefs that you and I have. Not everyone values babies and children the way that they should.'

It was a complete turnaround. The absolute opposite of what she'd expected Mrs Van Dyke to say. But as she watched the elderly face, she realised Mrs Van Dyke was lost—stuck in a memory someplace. She wasn't talking about the here and now; she was remembering something from long ago.

It sent a horrible, uncomfortable feeling down her spine. She'd seen the awful newscasts about abused and battered children. She'd seen the adverts for foster carers for children whose parents didn't want them any more. The last thing she wanted was for Abraham to end up in any of those categories. It was just unthinkable.

She was staring at him again. Transfixed by his beautiful skin and blinking blue eyes. ‘I just can't think of him like that. I just have the oddest feeling—' she put her hand on her heart ‘—right here, that I'm right about him. I can't explain it, but I just think that Abraham's mother didn't abandon him because she didn't love him. I think it's just the opposite. She abandoned him because she
did
love him.'

Mrs Van Dyke sat back in her chair, cradling Abraham in her arms. Carrie was almost envious of her years of experience. The strength she had to draw on. It radiated from her. Being around Mrs Van Dyke was like being enveloped in some warm, knowledgeable blanket. She could only hope that one day she would be like that, too.

After a few moments she eventually spoke. ‘It seems to me like it's time to ask some hard questions, Carrie.'

The words made her a little uncomfortable. Could Mrs Van Dyke read her thoughts? See all the things that were floating around her brain about Daniel? That would really make her cheeks flush, because some of those thoughts were X-rated.

But surely Mrs Van Dyke had no inkling that anything had happened between them. She hadn't even seen them together. She couldn't possibly know.

‘What kind of questions?' she finally asked.

‘The kind of questions you're skirting around about. Why exactly would a mother leave a baby on our doorstep? What reasons could she possibly have? And why this doorstep? Why not another?'