This is Igors child…
This all happened very recently, in Norwich, in a well-kept flat on the fourth floor of a nine-storey block. Living there was a young-at-heart, working pensioner, a single woman named Iris.
Her life held no promise of high drama, nothing extraordinary or alarming. It was steady: the state pension, the part-time job, tea with friends, regular trips to see the grandchildren, and a hand given to her mother, who lived alone a few streets away.
That day was just an ordinary day.
In the morning, Iris rang her mum to ask how she was.
Yes, just a day, like any other. A day off, actually. She worked in a private clinic as a receptionist, part-time on a roster one day on, three days off. Answering calls, taking appointments.
And today… what of today? The usual, of course. Prepare some food and take it along to Mum the daily ritual. Truth be told, by now it was wearing thin, and Iris found herself sighing and rolling her eyes at the prospect.
It wasnt far just across two other blocks. Not a hassle to walk. Cooking, not a trouble either; besides, Mum still had some tomato soup and home-baked pie from yesterday. But Mum lived up on the fifth floor, in a building with no lift… Oh dear.
And then there were Mums endless complaints, each one encouraging a sigh. Listening to the latest chapter of aches and pains, detailed with stages, peaks, and neighbourly medical wisdom, was exhausting. And these didnt need answers, as the army of diagnoses from various doctors were always being mulled over, rejigged, and restated, laced with additions and modifications from the telly, like the omnipotent Dr Sarah Jarvis.
Any suggestion Iris made would promptly be discounted she was, after all, far from expertly trained in the particular illnesses only her mother could truly comprehend. Never mind that Iris had been a theatre nurse at Addenbrookes for almost forty years.
What do you know! Handing someone a scalpel isnt the same as knowing what this pain means!
But never mind. A day, like any other.
There was also the trip to the shop. Shed stop there on her way to Mums, after taking out the rubbish. She left the bin bag by the door and popped to the mirror to touch up her lipstick. For a woman in her sixties, she looked quite young just the faintest crows feet, and otherwise a kind face, gently ash-blonde short hair, and bold earrings. Perhaps her cheeks sagged just a little but only just.
Mum needs rye bread and some proper British butter, she was thinking, outlining her lips, when the doorbell rang.
The entrance had an intercom. Who in the world? Maybe Mrs. Jenkins from downstairs; Iris occasionally invited her over for a cup of tea.
Lipstick still in hand, Iris opened the door.
There stood a young woman with mousy hair in a ponytail, wearing a stripy t-shirt, a long dark cardigan, jeans, and a backpack. That she would remember in detail later. What really caught her eye was the baby wrapped in a brown blanket, cradled in the girls arms.
The girls eyes were narrowed, jaw set as if mustering the courage for something huge. She came close, pressed the bundle toward Iris, and blurted:
This is for you!
Iris grabbed the baby automatically, lipstick still in hand, feeling its weight. She looked down oh my goodness, an actual baby!
But by the time shed looked up, the girl was hurrying off. Iris moved to the corridor, confused beyond belief why hand her a baby?
Its Igors child I need to go study the girl called as she quickly descended the stairs.
A door slammed below.
That was it.
Iris lingered by the landing for a few seconds, hoping the girl might suddenly turn back. Then, with the baby in her arms, she returned to the hallway, pondering vaguely, Mustnt forget the rubbish on my way to Mums.
There was also a strangers bag in the hall. When had the girl put it down?
But now now the shock caught up.
Oh, Lord! Its… a real baby! What did she say? Igors child? Really? Did the girl say Igor?
But Iris only had one son his name was Leo. A family man, father of her two grandchildren, living with his wife down in Brighton. Iris lived here in Norwich. Her late husband had passed away five years before Victor.
This made not a jot of sense… The baby squirmed in her arms. Oh!
She was quick to lay the child on the sofa and unwrap the blanket: beige knitted suit, the tiniest of children with a green dummy, surely not a month old yet.
There, there, little one, she murmured, stroking the baby as it suckled on its dummy and drifted back to sleep.
Iris glanced in the bag two bottles, a tin of formula, nappies, and tiny clothes.
Some part of her still expected it all to resolve: any minute the bell would ring, the girl would return, apologise profusely, and Iris would just continue her day. Rubbish, shopping, Mum
She even finished her make-up and took to gazing out the window, watching for the girl.
Where on earth had she gone? What on earth was this mess!
After a while, the baby began fussing. Iris hovered, out of her depth. This wasnt her baby; should she really change her, feed her? Did she even have the right? She kept returning to the window, waiting…
But in the end, she had to remove the little suit. Underneath, a baby grow and vest.
A girl.
Now, the weight of responsibility began to settle on Iris. She suddenly recognised the reality: this baby had simply been left with her.
Igor Igor
But what if…!
Leo had been quite the young man in his day how many times had she scolded him for bringing home different girlfriends back in his youth? But that was long ago, before marriage.
Leo was happy now, it seemed, though busy with business and young children. Only recently he and his wife had finally paid off the mortgage, bought a new car, the kids were growing
There there, little one, dont fret, lets get you dry.
Oh God! Did her own mother truly just abandon this little darling?
Her mind still spinning, Iriss hands went into automatic, deftly changing the nappy, pulling up the babygrow, scooping the mewling baby up for a cuddle and heading to the kitchen to prepare a bottle.
The phone rang. Iris awkwardly shifted things to answer with one hand.
Why did you take so long to pick up? It was her mother.
Just busy, Mum, what do you need?
Are you at the shops yet?
Not yet.
Listen, get some pears. But not those last ones, the ones you got before that. And they must be ripe. Those last ones were dreadful…
The girl wriggled in her arms, making little whimpers.
Alright, Mum. Got it.
Whats that noise?
The telly.
Hmm. Well, dont dawdle!
Iris ended the call, rocked the baby, read the formula instructions.
No, really she needed to do something about this, didnt she?
Leo!
Its the end of May now. That means… Iris counted backwards.
Of course last August, wasnt he on a work trip in Bath? Did he call himself Igor for some reason? Would he even do such a thing?
If that was just a casual fling, well, perhaps. Men are like that, sometimes. Its easy to see your child as an upstanding adult but who really knows?
She checked the bottle with a drop on her wrist too hot, so she cooled it.
Her left arm began to ache from holding the baby. Those days of lifting nine-kilo children were long gone.
But what should she do? Should she call 999? Something held her back.
What if this child was Leos? She examined the little girl there was a hint of resemblance to her own granddaughter, Sophie.
But if so? That would mean scandal, something Leos wife Emma would never forgive. The children… Oh, she shuddered to think.
Come on now, darling, good girl.
The baby smacked her lips contentedly, eyes fluttering shut in pure satisfaction. Iris was for a moment enchanted. Shed forgotten how sweet babies could be.
When the baby finally snoozed, Iris gently put her on the sofa, crept to the kitchen and rang her son. He was unreachable.
Typical…
So Iris decided not to act hastily. She didnt want to jeopardise Leo. And she still hoped, somehow, the girl would come back. She hadnt seemed like the type to be completely irresponsible just a thin, student-looking girl.
She dared not mention any of this to her mum that would bring a litany of anxious, harrowing theories.
So she rang her eldest grandson, Josh, to learn that his father was working out of coverage, laying gas pipes somewhere in the borders, not due to call till after tomorrow. But he called his wife regularly and everything was fine.
Oh, you could at least keep me updated, you know! muttered Iris.
But she understood Leo was always somewhere for work, certainly didnt need to report to his mum. But now, when she needed to talk to him, it gnawed at her.
She called her daughter-in-law, Emma, to ask her to have Leo ring if he could.
Has something happened? Anything to tell him? asked Emma.
No, just ask him to call, please.
Alright, Iris.
Mum, Ive twisted my ankle, so I wont be round today, she lied to her mother on the phone, but youve plenty of soup and enough bread…
Mum fussed, quizzed, threatened to come check on her (though, the fifth floor!), and called back five times.
After that Iris relaxed, pulled off the white trousers and changed into a house dress, sat next to the baby and started thinking, finally, without the rush.
Shed been so blindsided she took the baby from the girl without a second thought. At least those who leave babies at doorsteps know whos on the other side.
So, what was stopping her from calling the police, handing the baby over?
First, the fear however unlikely that this could really be Leos child, however little the name Igor meant. What if hed lied to the girl? Second, a strong reluctance to deal with the explanations and paperwork, and third was her feeling about the young woman herself her gaze had been unforgettable: a mothers mixture of despair, anger, and desperate certainty.
But she did need an opinion, and who better than her oldest friend?
Vicky, you wont believe this someone just left a baby on my doorstep…
Unshockable Vicky gave it some proper thought à la Sherlock Holmes and promised to come by after work.
No panic, Iris, lets work this out before anyone rushes things.
You think I shouldnt call the police?
Maybe wait. Lets find Igor first.
Oh, Vicky, which Igor?
The childs father. Any Igors in your block?
How would I know? There are over fifty flats, nine floors. You think she got the wrong one?
Could be. But lets check. Maybe Leos got some explaining to do as well.
The whole day slipped away caring for the baby. Iris even searched the web for baby feeding schedules and, overwhelmed by motherly advice, started giving the child a massage, got her to go to the loo, bathed her and used nappy cream, even sang her a lullaby.
What about your ankle? You coming round tomorrow? rang Mum.
Tomorrow everything would be sorted, Iris assured her.
Vicky came and, true to form, began her own investigation examining the babys things, questioning neighbours (claiming to be in search of a letter for Igor).
Got something! Vicky announced, clattering back in.
Quiet! hissed Iris, as the baby was almost asleep.
Oh, shell nap fine, have a look, Vicky peeped in, promptly waking the little one who began to wail, But I found it! By the way, we were right!
Turns out, there was an Igor living on the sixth floor, right block, just two floors above possibly the father.
Im sure she simply got the wrong floor, Vicky said with excitement, Well? Shall we go?
Where?
To investigate! Lets see Igor and get an answer.
And if he denies it?
Well press him for the truth!
Vicky… its a bit silly. Well barge in and hell think were mad. Poor old dears have lost the plot.
Come on, Iris. You want to know or not?
Of course she did. They rocked the baby to sleep, then skipped the lift, quietly crept up two flights, and rang at flat 21.
Who is it? came a croaky voice.
Were looking for Igor, Vicky called through the door.
A hunched little old lady answered, frowned, and scuttled inside: Igor! Someones here for you, again…
Vicky strode into the dark hallway; Iris hovered behind. Out came a rumpled-looking fellow, not exactly tall, sturdy and a little bearded.
Hello are you here about the tablet?
Tablet? No, another matter. See, our Iris has… your child, somehow?
He stared at them blankly.
My child? Eyes wide as saucers.
Well, youre the only Igor here, Vicky pressed.
I dont have any children! he insisted.
We just need to prove that, Vicky retorted. She was given a baby by mistake; wrong flat, we think.
Hold on, Vicky, Iris interjected, less convinced. Let me explain. I live downstairs today a young woman brought a baby girl, said it was Igors child, and left her. I have no Igors in my life. Any idea?
So why me? he asked.
You dont want to admit to the baby? Vicky was getting wound up.
What baby? the poor chap was bewildered.
Come and see, if you must! Vicky invited.
Are you sure you didnt have a girlfriend, or a brief thing last summer? Iris asked, softer this time.
No, honestly, not at all. Unless you mean online… But, youre mixing me up with someone else. He hesitated. Did she leave a name?
No. She didnt introduce herself, Iris said, apologetic. Sorry to bother you looks like we were wrong.
She gave Vicky a tug and they started downstairs.
Wait, maybe I can help? Im an IT consultant, and a bit of a blogger… Maybe we put out a post missing childs mother, maybe father. Photo, age
No, thank you, Iris declined, still worried for Leo and conscious of the law. Best keep things private for now.
You know where I am if you decide.
What a generation! Vicky shook her head as they descended. Dont even need to leave home for work. Think he was lying?
No. Computer genius, probably. Clearly a homebody, not a ladies man.
Leo still hadnt called. Iris phoned Emma, whod been out all over town for various childrens activities, frazzled and embarrassed.
If only she knew what Iriss day had been!
Right. Tomorrow Ill ring the police, Iris resolved.
But when she finally lay down, she saw the girls face again and again that desperate, plaintive hope. Where would this child end up if she made that call?
Iris barely slept. Every whimper woke her, up and down, feeding, hushing, changing, cuddling. They both eventually dropped off at dawn.
Mum woke them with another call.
Hows your ankle, then? Coming today?
She looked out the window, then at the baby.
Ill come.
Get pears, and
Babies needed fresh air. She fashioned a scarf into a sling, changed the little one with genuine maternal pleasure. The girl really did have the prettiest new clothes. Off they went to the shop.
And she actually found herself liking it not walking alone for a change. But then the fifth floor.
Whats that? Mum gaped.
Not what, who. Here are your groceries, Iris dropped the bags and went to lay the baby down (and herself next to her).
Whered she come from?
Just Mrs. Clarkes granddaughter. Shes at the salon, needed me to watch her for an hour.
And your ankle?
Better now.
For once, there were no dreary monologues about symptoms and stages. Mother and daughter cooed over the baby. How tightly she grabbed their fingers! But whats her name?
I didnt ask. Just had her for the hour, thats all.
You really are something who takes a child without asking her name? Mum chided.
And all the way home, Iris found herself pondering what the babys name might be. Why? Who knows but she wanted to guess, to imagine what her mother had called her.
Then ping a text! Leo.
She sat with the baby on her lap and rang him instantly.
Mum, what on earth? Im married, you know! he replied after her muddled tale.
Well, yes, but… I thought, what if you were Igor?
Mum. You named me Leo. Call the police, for heavens sake. Want me to do it?
No, Ill do it. Shes hungry. Fresh air did us good, Ive just got the bottle ready.
Mum! Ring them now! Youre scaring me…
Oh, calm down. Ive just been imagining things, and honestly, this little girl is just… so adorable.
You shouldve taken Peters son as your lodger. Honestly, Mum. Youre making me nervous.
Dont be silly. Ill sort it Vickys helping too.
Straight away, Mum.
But Iris did not call straight away. The child was hungry, her nappy needed changing, so many things to be done. When that was done, shed check in with Vicky…
Oh, but to hand the baby over… Where would she end up some childrens ward? It was no secret to Iris, with her experience, that care homes werent always ideal. Nowhere better than with herself, really.
But… she was due on shift tomorrow, and besides, this was technically criminal: keeping someone elses child without telling authorities.
Leo was right.
She sighed and got on with her tasks. She was exhausted, but what good, bustling days shed been having!
They both finally fell asleep together Iris and the girl, the latter sated and warm. It was a comfort.
They were woken by a frantic knocking.
Carefully, Iris withdrew her arm from beneath the baby and squinted through the spyhole. She opened the door.
Where is she? Did you hand her over? Why didnt you say anything straight away?
On her doorstep, clutching the frame for support, stood that young mother wild-eyed, panic-stricken, dressed only in a vest and shorts though the day was chill, hair all over the place, breathing hard as a hunted animal.
You didnt say? Iris quizzed, still not entirely awake.
That youre not the right flat! The girl answered, almost accusing.
I suppose, because I am, arent I? Iris replied, raising an eyebrow. You didnt hang around long, did you?
But you know where she is? Really, you do? The girls eyes pleaded. You must know! Please, tell me you do!
Come in.
The young woman entered, desperate for news ready to rush off as soon as she got the answer. Watching her, Iris took a moment, then said:
Shes here.
Where? wild, hungry for detail.
Right here, asleep on the bed.
Iris gestured for her to come through to the bedroom.
When the girl saw her child, she stopped dead, dropped to her knees and sobbed as if years of tears burst from her at once. Iris had to help her up, get her water and strong tea, and offer chocolate to stop her fainting.
And, between gulps and tears, the story came out. The girls name was Julia; the babys Ellie.
An ordinary tale, really. Julias a student at the medical college the same one Iris went to when she was young. Grew up in a small Norfolk village.
Shed fallen in love last summer. The father, a student at the local university, had promised to marry her. Shed only been to his flat number 21 once, with him. For a time, he seemed willing to accept the baby and made promises, including his mum would help.
But after New Year he vanished, blocked her number.
She knew where hed studied and his real name. Searched, found hed transferred to a course up in Manchester. No one would give her a number or address.
Family back home let her down stepmother cool, father furious, called her names, threatened her with no more money.
So, she was left pregnant, in a student halls room. A kindly auntie sent a little cash. She studied hard anyway.
After the birth in Norwich, she couldnt go back to halls, so couch-surfed with a friend. Desperate to sit exams for her final year, but stuck with baby on arm. Meanwhile, she saw endless social posts with her Igor, on the arm of another girl.
So she set off, remembered that promise, Mum will help. She walked to number 21 in the identical block in the next street, left the baby, ran for the bus in tears, unable to look back.
That night she crammed for exams, not daring to think of her girl. Broke down next morning, messaged Igor online, trying to arrange to collect the child after her exams. That was when she learned from him hed not heard anything from his mother, or about a baby.
Horrified, she dashed back realised, wrong block, wrong flat, wrong family.
I saw pictures of his mum looks just like you. Short hair, earrings… What a mess Ive made! Julia exclaimed.
As they say, only a fool creates a masterpiece and then denies the authorship. Iris smiled. I kept wondering what sort of woman could give up such a treasure? Im glad youve come back. Will you take her to Igors flat now?
No, Julia shook her head. I nearly lost my mind in just one day without her. My breasts ache, my arms reach for her at night. Ill go back to halls for now, see how things go. Have to finish exams. Hope I havent put you out too much?
Honestly, yes. For a brief moment I thought she might be my sons child with his family, that would be a nightmare! And Vicky and I owe an apology to poor Igor upstairs
Iris described their investigation with Vickys comic overtones, making Julia smile despite herself.
Poor man. I should go and apologise, Julia tried to rise.
Youve got enough to be going on with. Look at your eyes. Julia, stay the night here. I live alone. Besides, my son keeps saying I should take a lodger. Why dont you move in here for now?
With you? I couldnt, I have no money for rent. Ill have to make do in halls, even sleep in the corridor with Ellie if I have to. Ill ask my aunt next. Maybe shell take us for a bit.
Stay, Julia. At least for this month. When are your exams?
Day after tomorrow. But
Fine. Use the bedroom, get yourself ready. Im working tomorrow, but theres food in the fridge, formula for Ellie, and youve got your books. You can breastfeed
But Julia had fallen asleep mid-sentence, and baby Ellie snoozed beside her.
(Vicky, quietly, on the phone) No, not Leos. He called. Nor upstairs. Listen, I have her. Shes fine. Julias back. No, Im not sending her away. Im glad I didnt call the police.
***
Julias milk didnt fade, she finished her exams with top marks, and before long was helping Iriss mum more frequently up the fifth floor. Miraculously, the older woman listened to all of Julias advice, obeying with barely a protest.
Shes got current knowledge really clever, that girl!
Soon, Julia was employed, thanks to Iriss contacts, covering ambulance shifts at weekends. Medicine truly was her passion, and she often sought Iriss advice.
As for Igor upstairs, he took to having Julia give his gran her injections. Not long after, Julia moved two floors up with Ellie, helping Igors elderly gran, tending both her patients and her own wounded heart, writing the next chapters of her life with care and hope.
***
Looking back, I realise that sometimes its best to wait, to show kindness rather than panic, for only then do good things happen. I learned that every ordinary day could be the start of something extraordinary, especially when you open your door, and heart, to the unexpected.
