Colin M. Johnson's Fiction - Short Stories

"BABY SIMON"

by Colin M. Johnson


      "Can I ask three questions, Granny?"

      I looked down at the young lad standing directly in front of me, his upturned face confident that I had three sound answers to give him.   I felt like bending down to pick him up first, but he was becoming far too heavy.

      "First," he said in that well-organised tone I found so entertaining, "I want to know why we're having a sort of party tonight.   It isn't Christmas and I had my seventh birthday a month ago.   Is it your birthday, or don't old spinsters have birthdays?"

      I looked him in the eye and smiled.   Was that how he saw me - just an old spinster?

      I'd never actually heard him use the word before, but that's what happens when you send an intelligent young lad to school.   He'd obviously put two and two together, and since his answer hadn't come to four he was asking questions.   He must have noticed my post addressed with the word Miss in front of my name.

      And a hastily scribbled note through the letter box was how it all began, precisely seven years ago ...

      If I hadn't been standing in the hall at that vital moment, I might not have seen the folded piece of paper as it fluttered onto the mat.   It was a curious fluke of timing that the writer hadn't allowed for.   She thought she'd be off and away, down the road and well out of sight before anyone found it.

      It took only two seconds to read.   Then I dashed outside and hurried after her.   When she heard me, she glanced frantically over her shoulder and began to run as though afraid of being recognised.   But she had to wait before crossing the busy main road, and this gave me time to catch up.

      "Don't keep running," I said, panting to get my breath back.   "I need to know more about this idea of yours."

      She looked urgently both ways as though still determined to elude me by darting into the stream of heavy traffic.

      "Look," I added before the chance was gone, "why not come back to my house for a cup of coffee?   You look as if you need one."

      The girl looked up, her wild eyes fired with despair and shame.

      "I'll only try somewhere else," she said defiantly.   "If you won't take him, someone else will.   They'll have to.   It's the law."

      I remained calm.   "Who says I won't take him?   Come on, let's sit in the warm and talk this over.   February's not a good month to be outdoors at night.   How about a nice hot drink by the fireside - then we'll chat about what to do next."

      She began to shiver, and offered no resistance as I put my arm around her shoulder and walked her slowly back to my front garden.   There, halfway up the path, she stopped, looked over towards the mulberry tree and pointed.

      "Still there!" she sighed, her voice a mixture of relief and concern.

      Beneath the tree lay a black plastic bag, and sticking out from one end of it I saw what looked like a rug.   She went over and picked up the bundle which suddenly began to cry.

      "Oh, not again," she wailed.   "That's what gets me!   He never stops, just goes on and on, and no-one's prepared to look after him, not when he's like this ..."

      The girl was clearly at the end of her tether and on the verge of tears.

      "Oh," I quickly interrupted, "but he's adorable.   How old is he?"

      "Five weeks.   But it's no use, I can't go on.   They encouraged me to keep the baby, but it's all too much.   It's just too much."

      "I know," I said.   "I'm told it's never easy when they're this age.   It's a twenty-four hour job looking after one of these, yet it's the most rewarding job you'll ever have.   What's his name?"

      "Simon," she said.   "I named him after his father."

      "That's nice.   And what happened to Big Simon?"

      She looked at me horrified, shaking her head and biting her lip.   I knew I wouldn't hear more till she was ready.

      "Come on," I said.   "Let me hold him, while you make us both a cup of coffee.   Can you do that?   I'll show you where everything is."

      Out in the kitchen my visitor filled the kettle.   She prepared two mugs while I held Simon close to my breast and swayed him gently to and fro.   Soon he was calm and his eyes opened.

      "Oh, aren't you sweet!" I whispered.   "Lucky I was home, wasn't it, or you might have been stuck out there all night, all by yourself!"

      "I made sure first," the girl volunteered.   "I saw your shadow through the curtains before leaving him."

      "Even so, my dear, I might not have seen your note till morning.   It's only by chance I was in the hall ..."

      "I was going to phone," she added quickly.   "I got your number out of the book."   She had shown a fair degree of responsibility in her actions, despite the desperate measures she seemed prepared to take.

      The kettle boiled and we took our coffee into the lounge.   The girl added two large spoonsful of sugar to hers and stirred it vigorously.

      "We know this is Simon," I said, "but what's his mum's name?"

      "Annette."

      "He's your first one, is he?"

      "Yes.   You must think I'm awful, leaving him like that, as if I didn't want him, but it's not true, I do want him.   I love him."

      Tears welled into her eyes and in mine too.   There was no doubt she meant it.   I put my arm around her, and we held Simon close between us, both looking down fondly at the only one who seemed content.

      "I couldn't bear it," Annette said, "if the Welfare came and took him off my hands.   I might never see him again.   But I want him to have something better than what I can give him."

      "Well, at least you wrapped him up nice and warm.   It's a very thick blanket."

      "It's a rug," she said.   "I pinched it out of the room we was in."

      "Where was that?" I enquired, but she didn't want to tell me, not yet.   So I changed the subject.   "How long since his last feed?"

      "There's something wrong with my milk," she said.   "I can't seem to feed him like I should, and the other stuff's so expensive.   The truth is I just can't afford to keep him, and yet he's all that's left of Simon ..."

      She began sobbing loudly, and I tightened my comforting hold.

      "Oh, my dear," I said.   "Life on this planet gets very tough sometimes.   Believe me, I know.   And the tough times seem to hurl themselves at you all at once, don't they?   Tell me, is anyone expecting you home later on?   If not, I have a spare room if you'd like to stay for the night?   I might need someone here for a while to help me look after Simon."

      "He cries all night!" she said.

      "Maybe, but that's my responsibility now.   You did decide to leave him, didn't you!"

      "He's still my baby!" she insisted vehemently.

      I smiled.   "Of course he is, he always will be.   And you're still his Mum too, remember that."

      We sat side by side on the settee unable to take our eyes off the tiny pink face, so trusting even then.   I asked Annette why she'd selected my particular garden.

      "I noticed you in the paper shop this afternoon," she said.   "I watched as the man wrote down your address.   You looked like the sort of person who'd be kind to Simon if I left him."

      "My dear, I'm flattered, though really I think little Simon might be upset if he knew.   You see, Annette, I never knew either of my parents and I've always envied those of my friends who had a family to belong to.   When this little fellow grows up, he's going to need you, do you know that?   All children deserve a nice Mum to love and look after them.   It's horrible if they can't have that."

      "He still won't have a Dad though."

      "Why don't you tell me what happened?" I said.   "It'll be easier if we both understand."

      Annette thought for a few moments, and evidently decided to trust me.

      "We weren't married," she said.   "But we would have been, honest, before the baby came along.   Simon had a motor bike, a powerful, noisy thing which I hated - but he adored it.   I always knew it was dangerous, in fact I told him so, over and over again, but he was too cocky to listen.   Then he crashed it last December and killed himself.   I always said I wouldn't ride with him, especially not while I was carrying little Simon."

      She sighed bravely.   "Anyway, I can't get a job now because of this little fellow, and I couldn't afford to live where we were, even if they hadn't thrown us out.   I was going to sleep rough tonight but I couldn't let him suffer that too, poor lamb, he's so young.   I thought maybe if I was free of him for a while I could get myself a job, then I could come back later and collect him.   But I know if the Welfare get their hands on him, they'll claim I'm an unsuitable mother and take him off me for good.   I couldn't bear that, not for always.   He's not just any baby, he's part of me and a part of Simon too."

      "Of course he is.   Look, he's fast asleep.   I've got an old suitcase upstairs.   If we take the lid off it'll make a perfect cot for tonight.   Should I have him in with me, my dear, so you can get some sleep?"

      "No," she said.   "No, I still want to look after him.   Do you think I ought to take this rug back?"

      "We'll talk about that tomorrow."

      I unwrapped Simon from his layer of carpet and set him down on the settee.

      "Careful," Annette warned, "he might be wet."

      "Don't worry," I said, seeing the makeshift arrangements she'd made for him.   "We'll get him some proper pads tomorrow as soon as the shops are open.   You know, Annette, I'm quite looking forward to this - I'm very glad you picked my house."

      "It wasn't the house I picked," she said, "it was your kind face.   I knew you'd be willing to help.   I just knew it."

      It's amazing how some relationships get established so quickly.   Ten minutes earlier Annette had been a complete stranger.   Now she was leaning towards me for a big hug.

      "You know," she said, "you're a perfect granny.   Just perfect."

      And from that day, seven years ago, that's what I tried to be ...

      I looked down at the seven-year-old beside me.

      "I'll never forgot the way she said that," I confided to him.   "A perfect granny.   You see what can happen if someone thinks you've got a kind face?"

      Simon nodded in total agreement.

      "You said there were three questions," I reminded him.

      "I think I don't need to ask the others now," he said.   "When's Mummy coming home?"

      At that moment we heard a key in the door, and Simon ran to greet his mother home from work.   Annette gave him a loving hug, then looked across at the supper table, set ready with seven candles.

      For a moment she looked confused.   Then she remember, smiled and put her arms around me.   I was glad we were able to celebrate - seven years to the hour when a lonely spinster's life suddenly took on a new and meaningful role.

THE END


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Except where specifically noted, all music and stories on this web site are my own creations.   You may not use any of them for any purpose without written permission from me.     Copyright © 2003 Colin Johnson     All Rights Reserved.