Hush Little Baby, page 1
HUSH LITTLE BABY
J. A. BAKER
I shall pass through this world but once. Any good, therefore, that I can do or any kindness I can show to any human being, let me do it now. Let me not defer it or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.
STEPHEN GRELLET
The greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse.
EDMUND BURKE
To our youngest additions. This is for you, little ones. Loved, always.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
More from J. A. Baker
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by J. A. Baker
The Murder List
About Boldwood Books
1
MELISSA
There was no escaping it – the noise that emanated from that house. It pulsed and echoed in my brain. Even from this distance, I could hear it: the strength of their voices. The anger in their inflection. It drowned out the sweet sound of the adjacent birdsong, obliterating the susurration of leaves as the breeze picked up, shaking the branches of a nearby tree. Then came the blare of a television followed by a high-pitched shriek that set my teeth on edge. I winced, the abrasive tone of the near scream rucking my flesh.
It wasn’t the first time it had happened, that level of noise, that type of fracas, and it wouldn’t be the last; that much I did know. I passed this way every day, had for months now, observed how inept and careless they were. How they went about their lives, ignoring their own child. Disregarding his needs and cries for help. Something had to be done to help that poor baby and I realised at that moment that I would have to be the one to do it. I had made attempts in the past to speak to them, made veiled pleas for them to change their behaviour, but my words had fallen on deaf ears. I’d tried. God knows, I had tried. In my defence, should anybody ever ask, at least I could say that I had attempted to do the right thing, to talk them round, make them see the error of their ways, but they simply wouldn’t listen. Nobody listened. Mine was and still is, a lone voice, ignored and carried off into the four winds. Trying to intervene to help that youngster and make myself heard above the hubbub was like howling into a void. And so, at that moment, that tipping point that would stay with me forever, I made up my mind. I knew what I had to do. It was something dangerous. Something illegal, but it had to be done, no matter what.
I stayed crouched behind the shrubbery, every part of me concealed. It would have been easy, taking him at that moment, picking up my pace as I strode away from the house, glancing over my shoulder while curling my fingers tightly around the handle of his pram and walking off down the street as if nothing untoward was happening. I could have done it. But I didn’t. It was a warm day, the last vestiges of a dying summer still with us; she had put the baby outside in the pram while she got herself ready. The street was empty, blinds partly covering the windows to block out the glare of the hot sun. Such a lackadaisical move, leaving him alone like that. And dangerous. Anybody could have taken him.
Including me.
But I didn’t. I watched instead, my head full of plans. I waited and I watched and I waited some more. I could see her through the window, partly visible, distracted by her phone. Distracted by the television. Her mind focused on anything other than the baby she should have been caring for. He was in there too, my son. My only child. He had plummeted in my estimation. I thought he was better than that. It was clear to me at that point that he wasn’t. He had been influenced by her presence, dragged into her slovenly, brutish ways.
At some point in their small, miserable lives, they would look back at that moment in time and wish they had had a stricter regime with their son, been quieter, given more thought to his welfare and allowed my grandson to live in a house that was less fraught. A quiet, loving home surrounded by people or a person who genuinely cared for him. But for now, everything was a mess. A haphazard approach to parenting that left much to be desired. No, it was worse than that. Their treatment of my grandchild reeked of neglect. And I wasn’t prepared to stand for it. So I went home and I made my plans. I was meticulous. As meticulous as I could be given what I was about to do. It felt extreme, but I had no other option. They had done it to me, backing me into a dead-end.
And so, the following week, I did the same, crouching behind shrubbery, watching and waiting until the time was right. It didn’t take long for the time to be right. I knew it wouldn’t. Once again, the pram was placed outside their small garden while they did whatever it was they did inside that house. I had already worked out my technique, counted how many steps I needed to reach the pram, how long it would take for me to clasp at that handle and whip the baby away to safety. Timing was everything. My plan was set out with military-like precision. My mind was made up.
Ten quick steps. That was all it took to remove Gabriel from that toxic household. I leaned in and caught a glimpse of his sleeping face, his long, dark lashes fluttering against his pale, porcelain-like skin as he slumbered, unaware that his life was about to become infinitely better. I was in charge now. Things would improve. He would be happy. He would be loved. And that was all that would ever matter.
2
MELISSA
Being alone has made me resourceful, forcing me to take on tasks that ordinarily, would have been done by my husband. Cleaning the guttering, drilling walls, carrying out minor repairs on my car – I’m proficient at them all. When a light appears on the dashboard or when the drains need unblocking, I’m not gripped by panic and I don’t stand doe-eyed, looking helpless. I can deal with it. I am also highly adept at managing my finances. I’m not immensely wealthy but I do have savings. Which is just as well, given I now have another person in my life. A tiny mouth to feed. Somebody who needs clothing and looking after.
I glance at him, my little grandson, and can’t suppress my smile or the soft thump of my heart that kicks in every time I study his features. I am in love with every part of him; his perfectly formed face, his full mouth and dewy skin giving me a lift, putting a spring in my step as I push him to safety. I reluctantly shift my gaze to my car that is parked up nearby then glance back at him for fear of missing a single second of not looking at him. My life with him in it will be a shinier happier version of my current lacklustre existence. This is the start of something special. We’ll have a close relationship, Gabriel and I, each of us dependent on the other. I will care for him and he will fill the void in my life that has been there for too long.
I stop for a second and take a long, juddering breath. Listen to me, getting ahead of myself, eagerness and exhilaration muddying my thinking, my mind full of naïve notions of how this is going to be. It will be difficult; I’m not stupid. I do know that. We’ve a long journey ahead of us. I need to stay focused, not get pushed off course by quixotic concepts of what could be. Because people will soon be out searching for us. Missing babies make headlines. The world stops what it is doing to try and find them. Being vigilant is key. No getting carried away by foolish puerile daydreams. No thinking I can relax because I can’t.
A bubble of air gathers in my chest, a fist of anxiety trapping it in place as I begin walking again, my sights set firmly on my car. A few more steps and I’ll be there. Just a few more yards and I can shed the worry of getting caught. The idea of Gabriel being suddenly snatched away from me and handed back makes me weak-limbed with dread.
I feel the air behind me shift. My blood turns to sand, my skin puckering as I hear the voice.
‘Well, isn’t he a little beauty? What’s his name?’
A thunderous clap explodes my ears, an army of angry insects buzzing and swirling around my brain, battering against my skull, trying to break free.
‘Edmund. His name is Edmund.’
Edmund was the name of my father-in-law, the first name that springs into my thoughts. My own father’s name isn’t worth mentioning. I refuse to give him space in my head.
I make to move past him, this old chap who is impeding my progress, but he steps to one side and peers into the pram, his grey whiskers springing out from his face like a mass of silver antennae trying to break free from their anchored base.
‘I had an Uncle Edmund once. Not as good looking as this little chap, though.’ He smiles at me, revealing a row of perfectly white, ill-fitting dentures that clack together when he speaks. ‘I take it by the blue clothes and blue pram that this is a little chap and not a little lady? Because you never really
‘He needs feeding. Sorry,’ is all I can manage as I bump the old guy aside with my hip and unlock my car, all the while ignoring his offers of help, and wishing he would leave me alone.
Placing a recently awoken, hungry baby in a car seat shouldn’t daunt me but today’s endeavour proves a little more difficult than I anticipated. Gabriel’s snuffles turn into a cry, his shrieks soon reaching a pitch that could shatter glass. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and neck, running down my back, coating my arms and hands and making everything a hundred times more difficult. My fingers are hot and clumsy. I can feel the old man standing behind me, his presence as irritating as Gabriel’s endless howling. Soon his parents will notice their child’s absence. Panic will be set in, everything put in motion as the emergency services are notified. Within a matter of minutes, this area will be swarming with police. I need to hurry, to speed up my movements and get rid of this person who is loitering behind me like a lost child. I can almost feel the heat from his body as he edges closer, curious to see what I am doing, why such a seemingly simple task is taking so long.
‘I’m fine. We’re fine,’ I shout over my shoulder, hoping it will be enough to send him on his way.
I keep my eyes fixed on the buckle of the car seat, pressing it down repeatedly with hot, slippery fingers, and breathing a sigh of relief when it finally clicks into place.
‘All sorted,’ I say brightly, my forced tone overcompensating for the awkward situation. I slam the door shut and step back onto the foot of the old onlooker. He is unperturbed, watching me closely. Monitoring everything I do and say. Perspiration runs down my neck, gathering around my collar, sitting on my top lip like a tiny oil slick. ‘Now I really need to get on and get this little man fed.’
‘And then home to his parents afterwards, eh?’
I recoil, his words twisting my guts and making me dizzy. I say nothing in return. A dry, cloying sensation fills my throat. Is he a neighbour? Did he see me taking Gabriel? He appears harmless but I can’t trust anybody. He’s an old man. A pensioner who probably sits at his window day after day, watching the world go by. All-seeing, all-knowing. I need to leave.
I shake my head and turn away, too flustered to reply.
‘It’s a good job these young ’uns have grandparents like you. Gives them a well-earned break, I should imagine.’ His voice lowers, his despondency tangible as he continues. ‘I lost my daughter. She was just a little girl. Eight years old she was. Meningitis. There wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I would have loved to have seen her grow up and have little ones of her own but I guess it wasn’t to be.’ He stares in the car at Gabriel, the loss of his own child, his sadness and longing evident in his expression.
Guilt burns in my chest, a stinging, clawing creature that slams into my ribcage, knocking all the air out of my lungs. He’s being kind – I know that. I’m not completely callous and unfeeling. God knows, I’ve had enough heartache of my own over the years. I know how it feels, that sense of loss: those continual feelings of wretchedness. He’s a lonely, old man in need of company and means no harm, but I need to move quickly, to leave this place. And I need to do it right now.
I lift the pram into the boot and slide into the driver’s seat, then turn on the engine, pressing my foot down hard on the accelerator. The vehicle picks up speed when I swing it around out of the parking space, and that’s when I see him: the elderly gentleman. The one person who seems hellbent on stopping me. He is standing close to the edge of the pavement, waving at me to stop, his fingers clutching something, his eyes wide with desperation. I can’t do this. I don’t have time for any more conversations or recollections of his earlier life. As sad and heart-rending as they are, time is against me and I need to get moving, to get a head start before the police turn up and begin their search. I push my foot down even harder on the pedal, Gabriel’s screams filling the car and beating in my ears. The rev counter spins, the car gaining in speed just as the old man steps out in front of me, his arms raised above his head. He is saying something, gesticulating wildly and waving at me to slow down and stop, but I can’t and I don’t. It’s too late to brake and I am all out of time.
The thud of him hitting my bonnet is enough to stun Gabriel into a muffled, confused silence. It’s only when I tear down the street, glancing behind in my rear-view mirror for the briefest of moments, that I spot the cuddly toy lying in the road next the old man’s body. Gabriel’s cuddly rabbit, its stuffing spread out over the road, its head and arms ripped from its torso by the wheels of my speeding vehicle.
I gasp, my heart a wild, thrashing thing in my throat, but I don’t have time for guilt or fear to penetrate my tough veneer – the suit of armour I have created for myself in order to survive the harsh realities of life. I don’t have time to think about whether the poor guy is alive or dead. I have done a terrible thing but at this juncture, my grandson – my beautiful, precious grandson – is the only thing that matters to me. I push my foot down even harder on the accelerator and head off towards the place that will become mine and Gabriel’s new home.
3
1970
His anger filled the whole house: a profound, physical force that permeated walls, eating through solid brick, corroding everything in its path. Nancy flinched as he pushed past her, the baby pressed hard against her bosom, her bony frame and small breasts providing little protection for the child should her husband’s anger escalate. She held her breath and said a short prayer, watching his hunched figure as he strode from room to room, back arched like a predator stalking its prey. He was looking for reasons to lash out, to justify his dark mood, his need for violence. She tried hard to not be that reason.
‘Tell her to keep the noise down. It’s like having a herd of fucking elephants up there.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling, lip curled in disdain at the barely audible noises of their daughter moving about in her bedroom above them.
This too will pass. The thought rattled through Nancy’s brain as she willed her daughter to be quieter, for her to sit silently on her bed until her father’s temper dissolved and all was well again. She counted the seconds. Seconds turning into minutes as she yearned for time to move on. For him to become normal once more. Whatever normal was. Nancy bit at the inside of her mouth. Normal was the wrong word. There was nothing normal about their lives or this house. Roger’s moods oscillated between being mildly suspicious to being incandescent with rage. Happiness no longer featured in his range of emotions. It was as if it had leaked out of his pores and been replaced by paranoia and distrust that rapidly morphed into fury at the slightest provocation.
