A Baby’s Cry. Cathy Glass
Harrison let out a cry from his pram behind me in the hall. ‘Well maybe – sort of. Why?’ I asked, my heart starting to pound.
The man in his thirties looked at me oddly, which was hardly surprising considering I didn’t appear to know if I owned a baby or not. ‘It’s just that I found this on the pavement outside your house,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be yours.’ He held up a yellow toy duck, which I recognized as Paula’s. She’d put it in Harrison’s pram the day before and it must have fallen out.
‘Oh yes, thank you,’ I said, smiling. I felt utterly relieved and a complete idiot. ‘That’s kind of you. I’m looking after a baby temporarily,’ I added, not sure if this made it look better or worse. ‘Thank you so much,’ I flustered.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. He handed me the soft toy, which was only a little dusty from a night on the pavement. ‘I’ve got kids of my own, so I know how precious these toys can be.’
‘Thanks again,’ I said gratefully, closing the front door. But I knew that I needed to remember that, although I would be following Cheryl’s advice to be vigilant, not every stranger who came to my house or I passed in the street posed a threat; otherwise I would soon become paranoid.
Harrison was restless for the whole of Saturday morning for no obvious reason, as babies can be unsettled sometimes. I fed and changed him, winded him, and tried sitting him in the bouncing cradle, laying him in his pram and walking the house with him in my arms, but he refused to settle. Then I remembered that, following my mother’s advice, when Adrian and Paula had been unsettled as babies I’d put their pram in the garden – not so that I couldn’t hear them cry but because fresh air seemed to settle a fractious baby. I returned Harrison to his pram and then pushed it through the sitting room and out through the open French windows, and parked it on the patio. Almost immediately he stopped crying, placated by the new stimuli from being outside: the sights, sounds and smells of the garden and the feel of the fresh air on his face. I raised the pram hood so that the sun wasn’t directly on him and, while Adrian and Paula played further down the garden, I went indoors and cleared away the breakfast things, which were still on the table at 11.00 a.m. With the windows and French doors open I could hear Harrison if he woke and cried, and Adrian and Paula would also tell me if he woke. But when Harrison did eventually wake he didn’t cry but was content to lie in his pram and be entertained by all the different sensations from being outside. It was a good piece of advice from my mother and I know many mothers today do similar.
After lunch we went to our local park. It was a pleasant afternoon and I was looking forward to visiting the park more often when Adrian and Paula broke up from school for the summer holidays in two weeks’ time.
That night Harrison woke at 2.00 a.m. and then again at 5.30. He settled straightaway after each feed so that I had two three-hour slots of sleep, which was fine for me. I went back to bed at 6.00 and dozed off. When I woke it was nearly nine o’clock and it was to the harmonious sounds of Harrison gurgling contentedly in his cot and Paula and Adrian playing in their bedrooms. All three children kept themselves amused while I showered and dressed. Sundays in our house, as in many households, are more leisurely than weekdays, so we didn’t have breakfast until nearly ten o’clock, with Adrian and Paula still in their nightwear. After breakfast the children washed and dressed while I fed and changed Harrison, and by 12.30 p.m. we were all ready for my parents, who were coming for dinner.
Harrison was in the bouncing cradle at one end of the kitchen, watching me prepare the vegetables for later, while Adrian and Paula were in the front room, looking out of the window for their nana and grandpa, who were due any time. Whenever my parents visited Adrian and Paula would go into the front room and look out for them and then call me as soon as they saw their car pull up. They had been in the front room for about ten minutes when Adrian called, ‘Mum!’ But I instinctively knew his call wasn’t because Nana and Grandpa had arrived: I heard excitement in his voice but also anxiety.
‘Yes?’ I called back from the kitchen, pausing from preparing the vegetables. ‘What is it?’
‘Someone’s watching the house.’
I immediately put down what I was doing and went round to the front room. Although Adrian was a nine-year-old boy with a good imagination his worries needed to be taken seriously. I entered the front room and crossed to the bay window. ‘Where?’ I asked, joining him and Paula behind the net curtains.
‘There!’ Adrian pointed.
I looked across the road to the woman standing on the opposite side of the street a few houses up. She was of medium height and build and was dressed in beige summer trousers and a short-sleeved blouse. She wasn’t looking at our house now, but up the street as if she might be waiting for someone. Her face was turned slightly away, so I could only see her profile, but it suggested someone in her late twenties or early thirties with chin-length dark hair.
‘She’s been standing there for ages,’ Adrian said.
‘She’s probably waiting for someone,’ I said. ‘What makes you think she’s watching our house?’
‘She keeps staring over here,’ Adrian said, with the same mixture of excitement and anxiety. ‘She’s stopped now. But she’s been there all the time we’ve been watching for Nana and Grandpa.’
As I looked the woman did indeed look over and possibly at our house or the house next door, but it was no more than a cursory glance before she continued looking up and then down the street.
‘There! Told you,’ Adrian said.
‘She just glanced over,’ I said. ‘I’m sure she’s waiting for someone. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘It’s all those silly spy comics he reads,’ Paula put in.
‘No, it isn’t,’ Adrian returned.
At that moment my parents’ car drew up and Adrian immediately forgot the woman as he and Paula rushed into the hall, where they waited for me to open the front door. Before my parents were out of the car we were on the pavement welcoming them, and the woman was walking up the street, presumably to meet the friend she’d been waiting for.
We had a lovely afternoon with my parents. Mum chatted to me in the kitchen as we put the finishing touches to dinner. Then after we’d eaten we all went in the garden, as the weather was warm and dry. Mum and Dad were soon as besotted with Harrison as we were, and Harrison spent most of the afternoon on one of their laps being cuddled and fussed over. Mum naturally asked me why Harrison’s mother couldn’t look after him and I replied honestly that I didn’t know. Mum helped me bath Harrison while Dad played badminton in the garden with Adrian and Paula. It was seven o’clock before my parents left, and once they’d gone the children began their bath and bedtime routine, ready for school the following day.
The following week was very busy and flew by. I drove Adrian and Paula to and from school each day. On Tuesday I took Harrison to the clinic to be weighed – he’d put on four ounces, which the health visitor entered in his red book. On Wednesday I had foster carer training run by Homefinders fostering agency, who also provided a crèche so that Harrison was looked after in the room next door while I attended the course. On Thursday I went to Adrian and Paula’s school sports day with Harrison in his pram. He slept for a while and then when the cheering and applauding woke him I held him in my arms so that he could see what was going on. So many outdoor activities in the UK rely on the weather for their success and the weather stayed fine that afternoon, so the annual sports day was a great success.
By the end of the week I felt I had established a good working routine with Harrison and although I was tired – from having two three-hour sleeps instead of one of seven hours – I knew from the experience of having Adrian and Paula that in a few months Harrison should, I hoped, no longer need his 2.00 a.m. feed and sleep through. And to be honest I didn’t mind the early-hours feed, as I hadn’t minded it with Adrian and Paula. I found something quite serene and magical in sitting in bed by the light of the lamp with Harrison in my arms – the two of us quietly alone while the rest of the world slept. It was