Page 20 of The Baby Plan

“You said I could keep whatever I wanted at your house!”

Samson seemed as if he were going to argue with her, but thought better of it. “Maybe I could dismantle it and put it in the cellar until you decide what to do with it,” he said reasonably.

Sophie managed to stop herself from continuing to argue. Even in her upset state, she knew Samson was being more than fair, and it was lovely of him to help her like he was. This was her not him. The cot wasn’t nearly as nice as the one he’d bought. It must have been second-hand when Natasha got it. There was no real reason to keep it. She would want to replace it herself even if they didn’t stay at Samson’s for long.

“It can go to the dump,” she said quietly.

“Are you sure?” Samson asked.

Sophie nodded as her emotions got the better of her and she began to cry.

Samson came straight over and held her, saying nothing, but rubbing her back soothingly until she was done.

“Better?” he asked gently as she dried her eyes on her sleeve.

“A bit.” She forced a small smile. “There was so much I didn’t know about Natasha. We weren’t all that close, and now I’ll never know her. Her stuff here... it seems like the last chance I have to discover more and to be able to tell Alana about her mother and give her an insight into what Natasha was like. And to show Alana her mother loved her.”

“I wish I could help you more, but I didn’t know Natasha well. I never even came in here,” Samson said. He stood quietly, thinking for a moment. “When my grandma passed away, my mum kept her perfume to remember her by. That might be nice for Alana. And possibly some of her clothes? I can’t see any photos out, but maybe she’s got some hidden away somewhere?”

Sophie nodded gratefully, her chest tight at the thought of Alana growing up with no memory of her mother, but gave her eyes a last wipe, determined to be pragmatic. Getting upset in front of Samson was embarrassing and she didn’t want Alana to see her crying. “The good thing about her not having much stuff is we should be able to clear the last of it in a couple of loads.”

“It doesn’t look like she was sentimental,” said Samson.

“It seems not . . .”

“Actually, there’s a women’s shelter near here which would be grateful for any of the furniture you didn’t want to keep.”

“All of it can go. Could you give them a call and see if we can drop it off today?” asked Sophie decisively, trying to get organised, at least about the things which could hold little, if any, emotional value.

“Sure,” said Samson, taking out his mobile and doing a web search for the number.

It wasn’t until they’d got the final load of the day on the pick-up truck, and Samson had driven off with it, taking Alana with him, that Sophie pulled out an old shoebox from the back of the built-in wardrobe in Natasha’s room. Lifting the lid hopefully, she found what she’d been searching for: the photos and little keepsakes she knew Alana would so value when she was older and desperate to discover more about the mother she lost when she was too young to remember her.

Sophie sat cross-legged on the floor, her back resting against the wall, and delved in.

The box was stuffed full of a complete hodgepodge of ticket stubs, photos and scraps of paper. Sophie smiled as she picked up a picture of Natasha with her arms around two friends Sophie didn’t know, grinning at the camera. She put it aside in a ‘keep’ pile. Perhaps it wasn’t the most productive ‘sorting’ she could be tackling right now, but it was what she needed to do.

She uncovered some treasures, chief of them Alana’s hospital wristband from when she was born. Other mementoes — tickets to bands Sophie had never heard of, photos of people she didn’t know — served to reinforce the hurt that it had been a very long time since Sophie played any sort of part in her sister’s life.

Samson came in as she was tidying everything up; she’d kept practically all of the box. The contents had been carefully gathered and each thing must have meant a lot to Natasha. It would be the best window into her mother’s life that she could give Alana.

“Are you all right?” Samson asked gently, touching her on the shoulder.

“I think so,” she said, getting up.

“Are you finished?”

“Well... no. I got sidetracked.” She raised the box in her hands in explanation. “But I want to get back to make tea for Alana. Thanks for the last couple of days. You were right, it would have been far worse doing it on my own. I was glad you were here.”

“It’s fine, I was happy to help, and it’s good you’ve found the keepsakes you wanted for Alana,” he said sadly. “I’ve taken the last of the stuff to the refuge, so let’s load up the truck with what you want to keep.”

They locked up the flat and posted the keys through the letterbox. Sophie probably would have found it hard to pull herself away, but Alana was tired and hungry and began to cry, pulling Sophie back to the present and away from her sad thoughts of the past.

It was a pitifully small amount in the back of the truck Sophie thought to herself as she held the box of memories safely on her lap, but she had what was important and she was glad she’d kept it.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Alana was safely asleep in her cot. Sophie and Samson had eaten some over-cooked pasta and pesto Sophie had made as a thank you to Samson for all his help that day, and then felt the need to apologise for. Samson had gone to work in his office upstairs. Sophie suspected he had quite a bit to catch up on from the last couple of days, not that he’d mentioned it.

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