Page 50 of The Baby Plan

Alana was in her playpen, ‘talking’ to Mutt on the other side of the bars. She smiled broadly and gurgled in pleasure as Sophie bent over her. Picking the baby up, her traitorous body gave a tingle of pleasure at Samson’s scent surrounding his daughter. She gave Mutt a goodbye pat, grabbed the changing bag and her car keys, and silently left.

* * *

Walking through the downstairs, something immediately struck Samson as wrong. It was... he was unsure, then realised: it was too quiet. He saw the playpen he’d put Alana in was empty, and he again searched for Sophie. He went into the garden, but Sophie and Alana weren’t out there. Perhaps upstairs? he thought uncertainly. Passing back through the hall, goosebumps rose on his arms as he spotted the changing bag missing. They always put it in the same place: leftmost coat hook. He’d hung it there not five minutes ago. Running to the first floor, calling out their names he checked Alana’s room then Sophie’s. Nothing. The bathroom door was ajar, and that room empty too. He checked his study: also deserted. But his searching gaze, and knowledge something was very wrong, drew him to his desk. The top drawer wasn’t properly closed. Opening it fully, he withdrew the topmost papers. The court documents. The adoption papers he’d got for Sophie, his gift to her, the papers to formally make her the mother she already was. Sticking out from under the first sheet was the positive paternity test.

Oh God. He felt suddenly cold. She’d misunderstood horribly. He could easily construe her reasoning: he was trying to take Alana from her; the test, the forms, the awkwardness of the past weeks — all crystal clear. But... so wrong. Crossing to the sash window, he wrenched it up and leaning dangerously out, checked far down the street. Her car had vanished. The love of his life and his daughter had left him.

His faculties momentarily whirled with a cacophony of emotional discord, but within seconds, calm order had been imposed. He could fix this. Logically, she couldn’t have got far, and given the fresh tears on the page, the discovery had happened only moments ago, so their flight was unlikely to have been premeditated. He quickly checked Alana’s bedroom for confirmation — nothing missing that he could see, no clothes, nappies or other baby supplies seemed to be absent, other than those which would have been in the changing bag. Going into Sophie’s room, he swiftly surveyed the space. Thank goodness! The box of Natasha’s keepsakes was still here. She wouldn’t go for ever without that for Alana he was sure. It was 4.35p.m. now. Without any expectation of an answer, he tried calling her mobile: nothing.

Where would she have gone? Back to London? He didn’t know much about her London life, her haunts, her favourite hideaways. Her old flat was let out, he knew, so not there. Though would she honestly think of her old life first? He hesitated, no — it would be Brighton. He’d check the park, the playground, even Natasha’s old flat — though that too was likely to have a new tenant. And he’d call her friend — what was her name? Janet? Julia? Yes, that was it, he had the number in his phone. Though how helpful she’d be and whether he could trust her answers, he didn’t know.

* * *

“Damn it!” Samson cursed as he struck the steering wheel of the pick-up with his fist. It was nearly seven. He’d been driving futilely about for almost two and a half hours. Though ‘driving’ had almost been an exaggeration — peak time, the tourist season, and a beautiful day had all conspired to reduce driving to crawling. He’d eventually covered everywhere he could think of and had even met with an extremely hostile Julia, who’d been as helpful as he’d anticipated. Still, he was pretty certain she had no idea where Sophie and his daughter were. Mutt whined forlornly from where he was spread out over the back seats: he knew something was very wrong. And not just the fact he hadn’t been given his tea yet.

Samson had stopped in the hospital car park — he’d been that desperate he’d even checked there — and was marshalling his thoughts for his next move. London? He guessed so. It didn’t seem... right. As he’d suspected, Natasha’s old flat had seemed to be occupied with new tenants, but they weren’t in when he called. He’d driven about the area without luck but there was the extremely remote chance they might know something. He decided to swing past there once more in case they were now in, before heading off to London. He was almost there anyway, he had nothing to lose.

The direct road was closed due to road works, so he followed the detour. Taken down towards the beach, he passed the by now fairly empty, seaside car park. What was that? Had it been Sophie’s car? He recklessly slammed on his brakes and did a sharp U-turn. The traffic and Mutt all vocally voiced their disapproval, but he was heedless. It was her car. Drawing to a halt with a squeal of brakes next to it, he jumped out of the cab. Her car was empty. But they must be here somewhere. Close. She wouldn’t be able to get far across the stones with Alana even if she’d taken the buggy with her. He scanned up and down the beach. The tide was way, way out and the stick figures scattered widely over the large area were all indistinguishable. OK. He could wait here, for them to get back. But he was too worked up with emotion for that. He had to be doing something. He’d take Mutt. They’d walk back and forth in expanding arcs, keeping the car as the focal point — he had to keep an eye on it. He was going to find his family because that’s exactly what Alana and, yes, Sophie, were to him now. He had to make this right.

* * *

Sophie gazed out across the sand to the band of blue-grey of the horizon. The sun was low and red and ochre blushed out in the far distance. She could smell the sea from here, where she sat, high up on the beach with Alana fast asleep in her arms.

She hadn’t known where to go when she first fled the house. She figured Samson would quickly be after them, but she needed space to think. To decide how to proceed before some heated confrontation. So, she kept moving, aimlessly drifting about, before slowly — inexorably even — being drawn back here. It had a poetic symbolism, she supposed.

This is where it had all started. Her journey. At the end of that horrible night when her sister died, this is the spot where she came, carrying Alana. And at the dawn of the new day, this was where she’d promised to be a mother to this precious little girl. She’d sworn to look after her and be there for her. Always.

That sunrise had been a rebirth for her, her niece a priceless gift that had put colour and meaning into what had been an empty life. She grieved and regretted losing her sister, of course she did, to the very bottom of her soul. But at the same time, she couldn’t be without her little girl. And she’d met Samson. She’d cried herself empty over him and his betrayal, but she loved him still. It was silly she knew. They’d had one night together, had been a ‘couple’ for a matter of hours. She hadn’t seen what she had, known fully what she felt until it was over, her seemingly perfect man gone.

She’d criticised him for his underhandedness, but she’d hardly been a paragon of virtue in that regard herself. She’d sought to represent the truth in her own best interest, kept him in the dark about her real relationship with Natasha and Alana, and manoeuvred to cement herself foremost as her niece’s guardian, and to keep him out, she realised. She’d wanted him there for Alana — and for her, she confessed — and so valued the love he’d given his daughter — but she’d never given him the respect he’d deserved, never treated him truly equally; always been amazed when Samson had shown himself to be vastly more than she’d initially thought him to be.

So much of this was of her own making she concluded. It didn’t change anything: what had happened, had happened. Her chance at blissful happiness was gone. But she was Alana’s mother now. The baby needed her, as much as she needed Alana. She wasn’t going to hand her over to Samson and disappear quietly. No matter the cost. But she didn’t want to separate father and daughter either. That wouldn’t be right in any sense. She had to treat him justly; for his sake and Alana’s. She’d try to speak to him. Try to form a truce and avoid the irreversible harm a custody battle would exact on them all.

She should move out at once, and offer to divide Alana’s time evenly between them. Get his name on her niece’s birth certificate and legally seek joint guardianship. To earn his trust, she needed to trust him.

* * *

A shape rapidly lolloping across the beach drew her from her introspection. Mutt. Joy flooded through her, then the wet shaggy form was on her. He licked her enthusiastically in-between excited barks, very proud of himself for finding her. His soggy tail slapped against her in a tornado of affection. She fended him off lovingly, and looking around, sure enough, saw Samson approaching.

“Hey,” he said gently.

“Hi,” she responded quietly. His chest heaved with the effort of searching for her and the breeze ruffled his hair.

He sat down next to her. “I’ve been searching for you for hours. I saw you found the papers.”

She nodded in affirmation.

“I know what you’re feeling and I want to explain. It’s not what you think.” When Sophie didn’t comment, he took it as leave to continue. “I should have told you I was doing the paternity test.”

“Yes, you should.”

“Yvonne advised me to do it.”

“I didn’t think you’d go behind my back though.”

“I had to be sure and I was too embarrassed to share my fears with you,” Samson explained, softly.

“You weren’t sure Alana was yours?” asked Sophie, shocked.

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