Previously…

‘Hello, Dave, can I have haddock and chips please?’

‘’Addocks off ’m; cod’s good though.’

‘Okay, cod and chips please, and don’t go easy on the chips.’

‘Yez ’m.’

As he got my order, I looked at the push chair. Did I put the brake on?

I squinted a bit, realising that I might have to get some glasses. Yes it was locked on.

My ’phone went off again. Dave looked up from shovelling five thousand calories worth of chips in the bag and winced. The crazy frog was even noisier in the confined shop.

I stabbed at the button and turned to the wall.

‘Hello?’

Silence.

‘Salt an’ vinegar?’ said Dave distracting me from my task.

‘Erm, yes please, Dave.’

I returned to my call.

‘Hello'–damn phone–‘hello, is there anybody there?’

Nothing; I shook my head and put the phone back in my bag. As soon as I had eaten my low fat lunch, I would go and see Cedric.

‘Two-eighty please, ’m.’

‘Thanks, Dave,’ I said giving him the exact money from my purse.

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘Bye,’

‘Bye ‘m.’

I left the chippy, put the wrapped fish and chips on the tray under the push chair, my mouth watering at the thought of eating it soon and then let the brake off.

‘Right, sweetie-pie, let’s go and have–’ I looked in the push chair and my heart flipped.
Of Heather there was no sign––

And now the story continues…

I screamed. Looking to my right and left, there was no sign of my little darling. Then I dashed back into the chippy and looked at Dave in desperation.

‘My baby–– Heather–gone, oh God, c—call the police, Abby, Jocaster, Dawn, Mummy–anyone, now––!

I didn’t wait for any answer but remembered afterwards that he did a very good impression of a mentally defective halibut–

I ran out of the shop and some sixth sense told me to turn left.

Further down the quay an old couple, sitting on one of the many benches dotted about, were licking ice cream cornets.

‘Have you seen someone carrying a baby?’ I asked, rushing up to them.

‘Eh, what’s that?’ said the woman cupping her ear. The man appeared to be somewhat vague, so there was no hope there.

Raising my voice; ‘I–said–have–you–seen–a–baby–?’

‘Baby? No, dear, I’m too old to have a baby at my time of life–’

I could hear the panic in my voice. ‘HAVE–YOU–SEEN–A–BABY–?’

She looked a bit puzzled and then her eyebrows shot up.

‘Baby; little thing? Yes, she went down the road with her mother a few minutes ago. Went round that there corner, didn’t she, Father?’

Father paid no attention so I just mumbled a thanks and rushed off.

I jabbed 999 and then found that I had no sodding signal on my, bloody ’phone. I shot round the corner into the High Street, which comprised of a few shops, the surgery and Post Office. It was quite busy as I saw no less than 5 people but none of them were carrying my baby!

Dashing up the street, I accosted everyone asking if they had seen someone carrying a baby. Most of them, seeing my wide-eyed panicky appearance, must have thought I was fresh out of the loony-bin but the last one–a woman about my age–said she had.

‘Yes, she went up the hill and turned into Marine Parade. I thought it was strange that she didn’t have a push chair or summat.’

‘Thanks,’ I gasped and ran on, trying my mobile again, this time to Abby–no signal! This was getting ridiculous–and where were the police when you want them? One mile an hour over the speed limit and they are all over you like a rash, but when something important like a baby abduction happens, they are nowhere to be seen!

I turned into Marine Parade and saw nothing, no-one, nada, nix, sweet Fanny Adams. Then I noticed someone I recognised–the old soothsayer. I ran up to her while she was feeding some seagulls with eye of newt or something.

‘Have you seen my baby?’ I asked.

She stopped what she was doing, thought for a moment and said. ‘Is she ‘bout four months old, blond ’air, in a pink babagrow?’

‘Yes, that’s’ her!’

‘Oh arr, I’ve seed ’er outside yurr ’ouse t’other day; pretty young thing, she were–’

‘Oh b—bugger.’ I breathed and left her, thinking less than charitable thoughts, and ran along Marine Parade, my heels clattering noisily on the cobbles. At the end was a small playground for kids with a bit of grass, swings, see-saws and stuff like that. As I went along, I had all sorts of terrible things going on in my mind. She had been murdered, maimed, taken away. Had those silent calls had anything to do with it?

Nigel’s Mum. I almost stopped dead in my tracks at that thought, was she behind all this? She was deranged as far as I was concerned and she dyed her roots––

–Where did that come from?

I cleared my head of such moronic notions because I was now almost at the end of The Parade. Where was everyone? I thought that as this place had so many busy-bodies who knew everything about everyone, somebody should have seen something.

I tottered through the green wrought iron gates and stopped in the entranceway, breathing hard and feeling slightly light-headed. I was sobbing at this point, thinking all sorts of black thoughts.

The place was empty and I nearly broke down there and then––

There was no sign of movement except one swing that was moving–

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something move, over to the side by some bushes. I could see legs–bare legs. A woman, in a skirt, her body hidden by the bushes––

I approached slowly, not knowing what I would find; my heart was thumping and I was breathing heavily. I had to find out what was going on, but dreaded the thought of what I might find––

She was sitting with her back against a tree, crying her eyes out and cradling Heather in her arms. She was a young girl–no more than fifteen or sixteen. Heather was looking up at her and making gurgling noises, her little arms waving around.

Something told me that my wee angel was in no danger and the girl meant her no harm. She wasn’t even aware that I was there. I could have just grabbed Heather and run for it, shouting for help, but, for some reason, I didn’t. I sat down by the girl and just waited. The girl gradually stopped crying and then seemed to be aware of where she was and that I was sitting next to her.

She looked up and her eyes focussed on me.

‘H—h—hello,’ she said, ‘are—are you her Mummy?’

‘Yes.’ I replied gently.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Heather.’

‘That’s a pretty name.’

‘Yes.’

‘A pretty name f—for a p—pretty g—girl.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘S—Sophie.’

I could hear the sound of sirens in the distance but ignored them.

‘That’s a pretty name too.’

She looked at Heather and then smiled sadly.

‘You’d b—better have her b—back,’ she said, sniffing and handing me my baby.

‘Thank you.’ I replied, trying to keep the relief out of my voice.

‘S—sorry I took her. I thought for a bit that she was mine.’

‘Why?’

She broke down and cried and I soon had two people to look after, a baby who perversely had gone to sleep and a young girl who was soaking my cardi with her tears.

‘I—I had a miscarriage.’

‘When?’

‘Y ¬—yesterday.’

‘Why aren’t you in hospital or at home?’

‘My dad w—would’ve k—killed me. He’s been strange since Mum died. I wasn’t big or anything, I never really showed–just hid my bump under loose clothes.’

‘Where is the baby?’ I asked.

‘What?’ she said looking up at me with tears in her eyes.

‘You had a miscarriage, where is the baby?’

‘In the garden; I g–gave ’im a proper burial and ’at. He was tiny–’

She came into my arms again and cried even more. I could hear voices coming from over the other side of the playground and I called out.

‘I realised that she wasn’t my baby after a bit and nearly brought her back, but I—I just wanted to hold a real live baby for a while an’–an’ see what it was like. I’d never have hurt her.’

‘I know, honey, I know.’

Seconds later, Jo, David and Dawn were there, together with young Tom Bailey, the new Community Support Officer. It took a few minutes to explain what had happened and Tom, David and Jo took the girl away leaving Dawn with Heather and me. Jo had said that she would make sure that Sophie would be looked after.

Now it was my turn to cry my eyes out. I cried for the stress that I had been through, the terror at the thought of losing Heather and guilt that I had left her and let someone take her away. I also cried for the young girl who had suffered also and had buried her own stillborn child–

When I had calmed down a bit, we sat on a bench in the playground while I pulled myself together again. After a while, I glanced at Dawn, who had not said much, but had been there for me.

‘Poor girl,’ I said, ‘did you see the bruises on her arms and legs and that awful black eye?’

‘Yes, she looked dreadful,’ replied Dawn.

‘I’ll give you three guesses as to who I think did that and who the father is.’

‘You don’t have to paint a picture. I wonder what will happen to her.’

‘Well I won’t prosecute and judging by the state of her, I would be surprised if she would be charged, but you never know. I’ll ask Katie to look after it. She shouldn’t go back home either. Her father…’ the rest I left unsaid.

~ §~

After things had calmed down a bit I went home and didn’t want to let Heather out of my sight. She hadn’t suffered and wasn’t aware of the drama that had taken place. I kept picking her up and cuddling her. I was so relieved that she was safe and in my arms again. Eventually, I fed her and put her to bed.

As soon as she was settled, I rang Jocasta.

‘Hi Jo, how is Sophie?’

‘She’s with me now. I’m looking after her for a bit. The social services have David and I as emergency fosterers, so there’s no problem there.

‘She’s been cautioned by the police and I have to take her to the police station in town tomorrow morning. It seems doubtful if she will be charged though, due to her circumstances and state of mind. The CPS don’t think that they would get a conviction.’

‘I don’t want a conviction, I want to help her, poor lamb.’

‘Marcia Sinclair has seen her, she says that Sophia should be okay, but she has booked her in for an appointment at the hospital tomorrow morning. The police have collected the miscarried foetus from Sophie’s garden. The poor thing was at about five months.’

There was silence for a moment as we both thought about what Sophie must have been through then Jo continued,

‘She evidently lived with her dad in Bodmin. She has happy memories of being here with her mum when she was little so, to get away from her dad, she came here.’

‘What about the father?’

‘He’s being questioned by the police in Bodmin. An unsavoury character, by all accounts.’

I sat down on a chair and sipped my cup of tea.

‘I want to help her, Jo. We must try and do something for her. Mummy Dotty would know, she has her fingers in so many pies.’

‘Mmm, I agree, we need to have some sort of council of war, but do you really want to get involved, considering the problems you are having with Heather’s great grandmother?

‘I can deal with that bitch...sorry, I get emotional when I think of her.’

‘Understandable; look, lets see what happens tomorrow and then we can decide what can and what cannot be done. Look, I have top go. Jennifer and Phillipa are showing Sophie their horses, but they’ll be back soon. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

‘Okay…and thanks, Jo.’

‘No thanks are needed, bye.’

After I put the ’phone down, it kept ringing and I left it on answer phone–I didn’t want to talk to anyone. If I heard one more platitude from my friends, I thought that I would break down entirely.

I was sitting with a cat, purring away on my lap, when I jumped slightly as my mobile went off for the first time today. I picked it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, love, I thought that I would ring you. We got that contract for the pottery. The way things are progressing, I might have to get more help in the shop; anyway, what sort of a day have you had?’

‘Oh Abby––!’

To be continued…

Please leave comments…thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing, help with the plot-lines and pulling the story into shape.