you have the knack,’ Amy said.
He laughed. ‘Maybe she just likes the song.’
Or his voice. He had a gorgeous singing voice, rich and deep. The kind of voice that made your knees feel as if they were melting. To cover her confusion, she asked, ‘How did you get on at the supermarket?’
‘Ready-mixed formula milk, a couple of bottles, a pack of newborn nappies, some baby bath stuff, three vests and three sleep suits,’ he said, indicating the bag. ‘Oh, and my milk and bread.’
‘Do you want to put the milk in my fridge for now?’ she asked.
‘Thanks. That’d be good.’ Then he grimaced. ‘Um. I think we’re going to have to give her a bath sooner rather than later.’
Amy could see the wet patch spreading on the blanket. ‘And wash that blanket?’
‘Maybe leave the blanket until the police say it’s OK to wash it, but we can’t leave the baby wet. Is it OK to use your bathroom to clean her up?’
‘Sure. I’ve got plenty of towels.’ She found the softest ones in the airing cupboard and placed one on the radiator to keep it warm while Josh ran water into the bath. This felt oddly domestic: and it was almost exactly as she’d imagined her life being with Michael and their baby.
Except, thanks to Gavin, she couldn’t have babies. And Michael was no longer part of her life. She’d heard that he’d got married and had a baby on the way, so he’d managed to make his dreams come true—because Amy was no longer holding him back.
She shook herself. This thing with the abandoned baby was only temporary. As soon as the police had taken a statement from her and from Josh, they’d take the baby to some kind of foster home and she probably wouldn’t see Josh again for weeks. That frisson of desire she’d felt when his skin had brushed against hers was utterly ridiculous, and she needed to be sensible about this instead of moping for something she couldn’t have.
Josh tested the temperature of the water with his elbow. ‘OK. Time for your first bath, little one.’
At the first touch of the water, the baby screamed the place down. Even Josh looked fraught by the time he’d finished bathing her, and Amy’s teeth were on edge.
The screams abated to grizzling once the baby was out of the bath and wrapped in the warm towel.
‘She’s hungry, probably,’ Josh said.
Amy’s heart contracted sharply. ‘Poor little mite.’ And how desperate the baby’s mother must’ve been to abandon her.
Between them they managed to get the baby into the nappy and sleep suit, and Josh rocked the baby and crooned softly to her while Amy sterilised one of the bottles he’d bought and warmed the formula milk in a jug of hot water. And then it was her turn to cuddle the baby and feed her.
Sitting there, with the baby cradled on her lap, watching her drink greedily from the bottle of milk, really tugged at Amy’s heart.
If she’d been less clueless about Gavin’s real character—or, better still, hadn’t dated him in the first place—her life could have been so different. She could’ve been sitting here cuddling her own baby, next to the man of her dreams. Instead, here she was, desperately trying to fill her life with work, and right now she was holding a baby she’d have to give back.
She couldn’t help glancing at Josh. His expression was unreadable but, before he masked it, she saw definite pain in his eyes. He’d said that he was an uncle of three, but she had a feeling there was a bit more to it than that.
Had he lost a child?
Had someone broken his heart?
Not that it was any of her business. He was her neighbour. They knew next to nothing about each other. And that was the way things were in London. You avoided eye contact as much as you could, smiled and nodded politely if you couldn’t avoid eye contact, and you most definitely didn’t get involved.
The baby fell asleep almost the second after she’d finished her feed. Amy folded up a towel as a makeshift bed and placed the baby on it, covering her with another towel. She’d just tucked the baby in when her intercom buzzed.
Thankfully the noise didn’t wake the baby. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s the police. PC Graham and PC Walters.’
She buzzed them in.
One of them was carrying a sturdy metal case, which she presumed contained forensic equipment, and the other had a notebook.
‘I like the scene-of-crime tape improvisation in the lobby,’ the first policeman said with a smile. ‘I assume you’d like the bandages back when I’ve finished?’
Josh smiled back. ‘No. It’s fine to get rid of them. Do you think you’ll get anything to help you track down the baby’s mother?’
‘I’ll go and dust the area now,’ the first policeman said, ‘while my colleague PC Graham here goes through everything with you.’
‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ Amy asked.
‘That’d be lovely. Thank you,’ PC Walters said, heading out of the door with his case.
‘Mr and Mrs Howes, isn’t it?’ PC Graham asked.
‘Ms Howes and Mr Farnham,’ she corrected. ‘We’re neighbours.’
‘I see.’ He made a note. ‘Would you mind taking me through what happened?’
Between them, Amy and Josh filled in all the details of how they’d found the baby.
‘I’m a doctor,’ Josh said. ‘I’ve checked the baby over, and she’s fine. I think from all the vernix on her face—that’s the white stuff—she’s a couple of weeks early, and I have a feeling the mum might be quite young. I’d be a lot happier if you could find the mum and get her checked over, too, because she’s at a high risk of infection.’
‘It might take a while to find her,’ PC Graham said.
‘I’m afraid we had to give the baby a bath,’ Amy added. ‘She didn’t have a nappy or any clothes, just the blanket, and the blanket got a bit, um, messy. I haven’t washed it yet, in case you need it for forensics, but I’ve put it in a plastic bag.’
‘Thank you. So you didn’t recognise the voice over the intercom?’ PC Graham asked.
‘Nobody spoke,’ Amy said. ‘I just assumed it was a courier. Then I heard what sounded like a baby’s cry. I don’t know why, but some instinct made me go out and see for myself.’
‘Just as well you did,’ the policeman said. ‘And you don’t know anyone who might have left the baby here?’
‘I don’t know anyone who’s pregnant,’ Amy said. Mainly because she’d distanced herself from all her friends and colleagues who’d been trying for a baby, once she’d found out that she could no longer have children herself. It had been too painful being reminded of what she’d lost.
‘So what happens now?’ Josh asked.
‘Once the social worker’s here, she’ll take the baby to the hospital,’ the policeman said.
Josh shook his head. ‘I don’t really think that’s a good idea. Right now, the children’s ward is stuffed full of little ones with bronchiolitis.’
‘Bronchi-what?’ PC Graham asked.
‘Bronchiolitis. It’s a virus,’ Josh explained. ‘If adults catch it they get a really stinking cold, but in babies the mucus gums up the tiny airways in the lungs—the bronchioles—and they can’t breathe or feed properly. Usually they end up being on oxygen therapy and being tube-fed for a week. And I really wouldn’t want a newborn catching it—at that age it’s likely to be really serious.’
‘What