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. At 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
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