‘Aww! She’s so precious.’ The ten-year-old girl wears that gorgeous bright sunshine smile of hers. She twirls her finger with the softest touch in my daughter’s downy curls.
I tell her, ‘I need you to take her somewhere.’
I tell her what to do. Ten minutes later, I press my lips to my daughter’s face. I don’t cry. Instead, I whisper, ‘Be a good girl. I will come for you when I can. Mummy will always love you.’
The girl gently takes my precious one from my arms. ‘Maybe I can take her to the police station—’
I shake my head firmly. ‘No! Take the baby where I tell you. Then I’ll need you to go to the police with something else.’
I reach into the drawer in the bedside unit and take out my other friend. The Good Knight. My dad gave this to me as a baby and now it will be passed on to the next generation.
‘Leave this with her.’
I keep my eyes on my daughter until she is gone. Then I start to sob, my soul wretched from my body. Nearly an hour later I hear Danny on the stairs. I know what’s going to happen to me. I’m going to die. But my baby will live. She will live.
Ten-year-old Miriam hides her face beneath her hood and battles through the sheets of bitter-cold rain. The handles of her gym bag are secured over her shoulder to keep the terrible weather from getting to the baby inside. Her heart beats with such a fury because she is so terrified of what might happen. Scared to death that she won’t be able to deliver the baby to the place she had been told to leave her. Miriam isn’t sure whether it’s rain on her cheeks or her tears. The baby’s mewling makes Miriam increase her speed. Her dad is going to go nuts if he finds out.
A yelp escapes her mouth as she skids on the slippery pavement. Her feet become tangled. She wobbles sideways. Don’t let me drop the baby. Don’t let me drop the baby. Quickly, she shoves a hand up to keep the handles of the bag in place. With dismay she watches the Good Knight fall out of her pocket. It hits the edge of the pavement, breaking into two, separating the Knight from his Lady who sits on the back of his horse. Miriam furiously sucks back the tears, picks up both pieces and stuffs them back into her pocket.
She drives on with determination, through the rain and her fear. Through the whimpers of the baby in the bag. Finally, she makes it to the location where Hope has told her to leave her precious little daughter. Hood flopping over her face she crosses the road. With the greatest care she places the baby in the bag gently on the ground. She takes the Good Knight and snuggles him in beside the new-born baby.
‘Be brave little one,’ she soothes. One of her tears falls on to the baby’s forehead. Miriam doesn’t wipe it away, instead wishes hard that it will bring the baby the best luck in the world. ‘Someone will find you soon.’
Hearing a noise from inside the Caribbean Social Club, Miriam spins and runs away. It is only when she gets home that night Miriam realises she has the Good Knight’s Lady still in her pocket.
CHAPTER 44
My half-sister gazes at me, streaming tears peeling the last residue of colour from her face. ‘All these years I’ve wondered if you lived or whether the cold set into your new lungs and took you from this world.’
‘You saved me? Helped bring me into this world?’ My voice is weak with disbelief and so many emotions. No wonder I’ve always felt a link with her. I’d always put it down to the kindness she’d shown me when we first met. Did I subconsciously recognise her? Did I remember her as the one who saved my life?
I try to say more, but an emotional assault clogs my throat. I’m shaking badly. Reeling. Miriam has confirmed what Sugar told me, that Hope was my mother.
Miriam picks up the Good Knight’s lost lady, rubbing a finger softly over her frozen flowing hair. This is the precious item her ex-girlfriend, Lauren, stole and for which Miriam was prepared to spend the night in a police cell to get back. Still with her gaze averted she says, ‘I never realised that Hope’s baby was the same daughter that Dad told me about. My own half-sister.’
‘But how could you not have known?’ I don’t understand. ‘Surely you saw Danny with Hope back then at the centre.’
Miriam throws her head up, the gesture of a swimmer coming up for air. ‘But I didn’t. I would often stay with my grandmother, especially during the holidays. She would take me to the centre and I’d muck around and play. I did go there a few times with Dad, but I was too busy playing.’ Her fingers rustle through her fringe. ‘Suzi Lake was my grandmother—’