Emily Clarke, I dont want him. Im turning him down, she muttered, legs pulled up on the hospital bed, voice cracking with irritation. All I care about is Andrew, and he says he doesnt want a child. So I dont want one either. Do whatever you like with him Im not bothered.
The matron, MrsHargreaves, leaned over the rails. Love, thats downright cruel abandoning your own baby. Even the animals wouldnt do that, she said.
Emily snapped back, I dont give a toss what the animals do. Discharge me right now, or Ill make a real mess of things here.
MrsHargreaves sighed. Youre being stubborn, my dear. God help us. Her experience told her there was little the doctors could do.
Just a week earlier, Emily had been moved from the maternity ward to the paediatric unit. She was a tempestuous, highmaintenance sort, refusing outright to breastfeed her newborn, no matter how gently the nurses coaxed her. She would only agree to pump milk, and even then she had nowhere else to go.
The junior doctor on the case, DrMia Patel, a brighteyed twentysomething, was at her wits end. Emily threw endless fits, and Mia tried to explain how dangerous that was for the baby. When Emily threatened to run off, Mia called for MrsHargreaves, who spent a frantic hour trying to reason with the irrational mum. Emily kept insisting she had to get back to her boyfriend, saying hed leave her if she didnt.
MrsHargreaves wasnt about to give up. After years of seeing mothers like this, she knew she could keep Emily under watch for a few more days maybe three to give her time to think. The moment Emily heard three days, she erupted.
Are you mad? Andrews already furious about this blasted baby, and youre still throwing me more rope. If I dont go down south with him, hell take Katya away, she wailed, tears streaming down her face. Theyre all idiots. Katya just wants to snatch Andrew away from me. I only kept the baby hoping hed finally propose.
MrsHargreaves gave a weary sigh, handed Emily a cup of valerian, and headed for the door. The resident, DrGrace, whod been silent all the while, followed.
In the corridor, MrsHargreaves paused and asked quietly, Do you really think a child can thrive with a mother like that?
Emily sniffed, What can we do? Otherwise theyll send him to a childrens home, then an orphanage. At least the families are decent both hers and the fathers. Maybe we should talk to the grandparents? Theyre adults, after all, and this would be their first grandchild. Besides, the lads a good-looking one. Find out their addresses, let me have a word with them.
Later that day Emily fled. MrsHargreaves phoned the boys parents; they barely answered. Two days later, the babys fathers dad a sour, imposing man arrived to collect his sons belongings. MrsHargreaves tried to discuss a possible handover, but the man shrugged. Im not interested. My daughter will sign a refusal form and send it through her driver. She wont come herself you cant discharge her without her signing. Follow the rules or therell be trouble. He tightened his jaw, then, seeing his own fear, backed off and said hed send his wife to sort it out.
The next morning a frail, pale woman arrived, sat on a tiny stool and broke down in tears. She whispered that the boys family had whisked him off to France, that they were wealthy and had big plans, and now this nightmare was unfolding. Her own daughter was sobbing nonstop, shouting how she hated the baby, even promising to travel abroad to get him back. Shell be with Andrew, even if the whole world burns, the woman muttered, her voice cracking.
MrsHargreaves, hoping to stir something in the womans heart, suggested they look at the baby together. The womans eyes softened; she cooed, Hes such a lovely little thing, Id love to take him home. But she was trapped her husband forbade it, her daughter refused. She clutched a fresh handkerchief and wept louder.
MrsHargreaves merely sighed, ordered a nurse to give the woman another dose of valerian, and muttered about the dwindling supply of calming meds in the ward.
She then went to see the consultant, DrThomas Reed. Hed once been a top paediatrician, and on seeing the infant a chubby little fellow shed nicknamed Biscuit his face lit up. Whats he being fed? he asked, chuckling at the boys round cheeks. The nickname stuck.
Biscuit stayed in the unit for months. The staff kept trying to persuade his mother to visit. Shed drop by a few times, even play with him, claiming she was saving up for a ticket to find Andrew. While she was there, she seemed to warm to the child, though shed always leave shaking with tears, apologising for her daughters madness. The matron would say, Thats not love, thats lust.
The mother and her own mother came often, never filing any paperwork, never actually taking the baby home. MrsHargreaves finally sat them down and explained how ill the child was getting. Everyone was on edge, and DrMia would dash over at every chance, cradling the little boy, whose hair stuck damply to his forehead. Hed lost weight, looked gaunt, and Mia would mutter, Hes not a biscuit anymore, more like a crumpet, but after a few days of careful feeding he regained his plumpness and became the wards favourite again. He loved Mias bright coral beads, always reaching for them and giggling when she let him bite them.
Then the peace shattered. Emily learnt that her boyfriend had married someone else. She convulsed with rage, shouting that everyone was conspiring to keep them apart, that she hated everyone, especially the baby. If he didnt exist, Id be with Andrew now, happy. Ill file the refusal form and have him sent to an orphanage. Then Ill go after Andrew, convince him to dump this mess and marry me. She handed the form to the consultant, placed it on his desk, turned and walked out without a word. The consultant called MrsHargreaves in.
When she returned, her face hard as stone, she said, Its done. The paperworks in. The senior will now arrange for the child to go to a childrens home. What can we do?
DrMia started to sob. MrsHargreaves sat down, took off her glasses and rubbed them vigorously, murmuring to herself. Everyone knew when the matron rubs her glasses, shes on edge. Shed sometimes rub her coat to hide tears, but she kept a stiff upper lip.
Meanwhile, Biscuit was playing happily in his cot. A nurse popped in, and the little lad squealed with delight. Suddenly he froze, his bright eyes fixing on something. The nurse, a seasoned hand, knelt to check on him and felt a strange tug at her chest a wave of sorrow she couldnt explain. She looked into his tiny eyes, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Shed later learn that this was the moment Emilys refusal form had been signed. The matron snapped, Enough of this nonsense! Stop making up stories.
Its all just superstition, the nurse thought, but the baby seemed to sense the abandonment. Abandoned children always sense when theyve been rejected, whether by angels or by the cold world. They try to become invisible, not to trouble anyone. Its as if they know the world will try to push them into grey, forgotten corners.
No one will read them a bedtime story, no one will pull a blanket over them. The world is indifferent, and the wise, abandoned kids understand that. Yet theres still a sliver of hope that one day, someone will notice them, that some kindness will shine through the darkness.
From then on Biscuit lay quiet in his cot, no longer smiling, just staring seriously at anyone who tried to cheer him up. DrMia kept trying:
Biscuit, want a cuddle? Look, Ive got beads, lets play? shed say, reaching out, hoping hed take her hand. He just stared, unmoving, and shed retreat, tears welling again.
One day she snapped, Were betraying him, you know that? Its not his fault he was born into this mess! I hate it! She sank onto the sofa, head in her hands, a low whimper escaping her lips. MrsHargreaves rose, sat beside her, and gently patted her shoulder.
Love, I dont know what to do. I feel sorry for Biscuit God, what a job, she said.
Then I wont just sit here, Mia replied.
Fine, dont sit, the matron snapped. Dont think you can adopt him theyll never let you. You live in a flat, no husband, youre out of luck. Ive seen more Biscuittype kids than I can count. Well give you time, but you need to find him a proper family.
So Mia set out to find the perfect parents for Biscuit. She was so sincere that even the other staff got pulled into the mission. By some twist of fate, an angelic couple appeared: Laura and Liam Thompson, both in their thirties, childless, who had long dreamed of adopting. Laura was a graceful woman with a soft smile and a melodic voice; Liam was a sturdy, militarytype bloke who adored his wife. Their home was warm and welcoming.
MrsHargreaves liked them straight away. She even let out a little chuckle when Liam walked in, then quickly cleared it up: Sorry, just surprised to see such a big lad. She asked, halfjoking, What was his birth weight, love?
Um, I didnt catch that do you need it for the adoption? Liam stammered.
Laura laughed, Hell keep mum with the questions anyway, she said.
The weight isnt needed for the paperwork, MrsHargreaves clarified. You just look a lot like Biscuit.
Laura pushed the door open, stepped in, and found Biscuit asleep, his tiny hands curled, a single tear glistening on his cheek. He stirred, blinked, and when his gaze met Lauras, he froze, his eyebrows knitting together, then his eyes widened.
Laura stared at him, taking in every tiny feature. Biscuit examined her, a little wary, then reached out and clutched her thumb tightly. The nurses laughed, calling him a spry little thing. Laura and the baby locked eyes, and he gave a faint, tentative smile. She returned it, nodding gently, and he let out a tiny squeak.
MrsHargreaves cleared her throat and said, Lets call this the first meeting. Youll both go home, think it over, and decide.
Laura, without turning to the matron, said calmly, Weve already decided.
The matron raised an eyebrow, looked at Liam, who gave a sheepish grin. Right, weve thought it through. We want this lad.
Laura leaned over, whispered to Biscuit, Hold on to my finger, love. Ill be back, I promise. Biscuit hesitated a heartbeat, then relaxed his grip. He smiled a toothless grin, letting out a bright, delighted squeal.
MrsHargreaves muttered, Its just a reflex, love, as she snapped her glasses back into place, wiping them with the cuff of her coat, mumbling to herself about the endless reflexes of newborns.
