Unexpected: A True Short Story

Unexpected: A True Short Story
Rosie Lewis

A dramatic and heartwarming story from foster carer, Rosie Lewis.Ellen, a 28-year-old office worker is so shocked by the sudden birth of her baby that she abandons the newborn in hospital. Foster carer Rosie Lewis begins visiting baby Hope in hospital, then a week later she is released into her care.At first Rosie struggles to understand how any mother could abandon a small baby, but when Ellen begins daily visits with Hope, Rosie sees a young woman traumatised by a dark secret. Rosie wants to help the young woman and the baby in her care and must fight to bring them together.

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Copyright (#ubab5a847-0f58-52c9-a8bf-758277d934c0)

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2015

FIRST EDITION

© Rosie Lewis 2015

A catalogue record of this book is

available from the British Library

Cover image © Alicia Mick/Arcangel Images (posed by model)

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Rosie Lewis asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

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Ebook Edition © August 2015 ISBN: 9780008113049

Version: 2015-07-17

Contents

Cover (#u4a363d92-92ba-5119-aba7-9715379429e1)

Title Page (#ulink_65423dd6-8c60-5a9e-81b0-6c1120ea3912)

Copyright (#ulink_31485844-70a4-54fe-84ba-f6f904ccece3)

Unexpected (#ulink_016acfb6-b1df-5075-8cda-34c4e21a07c3)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

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Unexpected (#ubab5a847-0f58-52c9-a8bf-758277d934c0)

All things considered, it couldn’t really get any worse. Or at least that’s what Ellen told herself when she woke to find Mark’s side of the bed cold and last night’s awful, heavy sensation still pressing on her midriff. As she blinked in the darkness, the memory of their final conversation seemed to bounce off the walls like an echo, with stress making her windpipe burn and her hands tremble. What she couldn’t work out was why her body was reacting to his exit with such shock. Hadn’t she known that he’d scramble for the door as soon as he discovered the truth?

While other women worried about infidelity, Ellen regarded Google as one of the greatest threats to her happiness, with old newspapers coming a close second. Christ, if anyone should have been used to abrupt endings it was her, but with Mark somehow – she chewed away at her jagged fingernails as she thought about it – she’d imagined that he wouldn’t freak out like the others. For the first time in her life she had felt safe, but then the dream imploded after a single, ill-thought-out confession. It was her own stupid fault. After his proposal, she’d told herself it was only fair to tell him that she would never have kids. But why hadn’t she just concocted some story about blocked tubes or faulty eggs?

Did she really believe anyone in their right mind would tie themselves to a liability like her, once they knew the full story? Not a chance, she thought, with another angry gnaw at her reddened fingertips. That’s why she’d always been careful about contraception, even asking her doctor about sterilisation. The GP had refused, declaring that, at twenty-eight, she was ‘too young to make that sort of decision’. But she could see by his wavering gaze that he understood why she wanted it done. Of course he did – he knew her history.

‘Whatever it is, nothing will change between us,’ Mark had reassured her, when she told him she had something important to say. ‘I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you,’ he’d said. A small, hopeful part of her had dared to believe him then, until she saw the doubts bleeding into his face. The next two months passed awkwardly, and it was as if they were stuck in a cold departure lounge waiting for a flight to some far-off place – she knew the parting was coming, she just didn’t know when.

‘It’s you, El,’ he’d said last night as he stuffed unfolded clothes into a suitcase. ‘Why must you push everyone away? I don’t give a monkey’s about all that other crap. You’re your own worst enemy, you know that?’ Fixing his gaze anywhere but on her pale, stricken face, he hadn’t even stayed long enough to pack up his beloved rock CDs. Do you think I’d stick around if I didn’t have to? Ellen had wanted to scream, sorely tempted to hurl one of the Metallica CD cases at the back of his head. Instead she had folded her hands in her lap and sat quietly, with unseen tears rolling down her cheeks.

It was strange to think that she might almost have felt relieved if Mark had run off with someone else – or if not relieved, then at least normal. She’d belong to the same club generations before her had unwittingly joined. After all, there was no shame in being tossed aside for someone richer, sassier or fitter, was there? Why, she could go into work today, wail about Mark’s callous disregard and wallow in the kindness of her colleagues; some might even take twisted pleasure in raking over the sordid details and tearing him to shreds. Oh, how she’d love to oblige them.

Her body protested as she trudged to the bathroom, Bow nudging his damp muzzle into her hands as she went. She leaned over and stroked his velvety ears, breaking into a sweat when she straightened up. Massaging her lower back with her knuckles, she groaned as she stepped into the shower, the sad ache in her chest weighing her whole torso down as she washed her hair and then afterwards, standing heavily at the sink to brush her teeth. Bow yawned and sank to the floor, resting his chin on her toes. He looked up at her with a mournful expression, the whites of his eyes visible below a deep molasses brown. With Mark gone, Ellen was worried about the elderly dog being in the house on his own all day. She felt bad for him, but she’d never taken a sickie in her life, and anyway, Bow was going to have to get used to being alone – they both were.

At the thought of the office and the inevitable questions awaiting her, her stomach flipped over again, this time so violently that her ribs actually hurt. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead and, feeling light-headed, she leaned forward and rested her hands on the cold enamel. She trusted Mark not to tell anyone her secret, but non-committal answers from her would surely leave colleagues puzzled, suspicious even.

Half an hour later, Ellen jogged towards the tram station, the smell of diesel from a passing taxi making her feel sick. Dust swirled up from the street and she turned her face into her coat, gripped by the conviction that, on top of everything else, she was about to come down with a bad dose of flu. She took a deep breath, the icy February air doing nothing to dispel the overwhelming gloom inside her.

If she’d had any real notion of what was about to happen, though, she might have thrown herself under the blasted 7.36 a.m. tram, instead of careering full pelt after it.

‘We’ve started little one on a four-dose course against hepatitis,’ the stout midwife, Ciara, whispered as she parked a wheeled metal trolley between the nearby incubator and my chair. It was February 2006, and although I had been registered as a foster carer for almost three years, I had never fostered a newborn before. Captivated by the tiny clothes folded on my lap (pink vests, no bigger than the palm of my hand), it was a moment before I looked up. ‘So far she’s tested negative,’ Ciara continued, glancing around the Special Care Baby Unit to make sure no one was near enough to overhear, ‘but without the usual prenatal tests, we’ve no idea of Mum’s status. My guess is that her lifestyle’s been anything but organised.’

Peering around Ciara, all I could see of my new placement was the swirl of downy hair at the crown of her head, but I longed to pick her up and shield her from the harsh overhead lighting, the disinfected air. Lindsey, my supervising social worker at Bright Heights Fostering Agency, had called earlier that morning with a referral from social services – an infant born prematurely two days earlier. The baby girl, temporarily named Hope after the paramedic who delivered her, had stunned everyone with her unexpected arrival, including, so it seemed, her own mother.

‘And Mum really had no idea she was pregnant?’

Ciara shook her head and pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves. ‘No. Well, she was on her way to work when the cramps started, so that shows you how unexpected it was. She collapsed on the tram. It’s only when paramedics examined her in the ambulance that they realised what was going on. She didn’t look pregnant, so they say. We’re guessing she was about thirty-four weeks along.’ The midwife lowered the side of the incubator, the sing-song tone of her soft Irish lilt even more pronounced as she leaned towards the baby. ‘No one on the tram could believe it, could they, dear heart? You surprised everyone, oh yes you did now.’