Page 6 of The Baby Plan

“Well, who do I need to inform?”

“About Natasha dying? No one. She died in hospital, it’s all being taken care of. I’ve signed anything that needed to be signed.”

“No, no. About Alana. As her dad, I guess it’s down to me. Do you know who I should contact to let them know where she’ll be living? I suppose I should take her now,” he rambled, clearly dazed by the enormity of what he felt confronted him, but determined to step up.

“Alana’s not going anywhere,” said Sophie, firmly. “She’s had more than enough upset in the last twenty-four hours. She’s staying here with me right now — I’m her aunt, she doesn’t know you. You had no idea she existed until yesterday.”

Technically a day ahead of me, she added internally. She was maybe being unfair. She understood, at least a little, of what must be going through his mind, but her desire to care for Alana was disconcertingly strong. She knew it was right, especially after reading Natasha’s letter. She was sure it was what her sister would have wanted. Neither she nor Samson had known Natasha’s secret or been there for Alana for the first months of her life. But she was there now, and she would protect and love her niece as well as her mother would have. She and Alana needed each other. She didn’t know a thing about this man. Other than that her sister had presumably chosen to be a single mother.

“I’m her father. She’s my responsibility.”

“You’re not taking Alana anywhere,” Sophie reiterated. “She’s staying with me.”

“You have no right to do that,” he said, voice rising with his temper.

“My sister was Alana’s mother.”

“And I’m her father.”

This was all too much for Sophie to deal with, too much upset and confusion. She needed this man gone so she had time to think and work out what she was going to do. She somehow had to learn how to look after a baby and completely reshape her life around her. There was no way she could add in some random chap who’d turned up claiming to be Alana’s father to the equation. And she couldn’t even contemplate giving up the only family she had left.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” said Sophie, defensively, though deep down there was no doubt her niece and this man were related. All Alana’s features, from her hair to her chin resembled his. And anyway, what a bizarre ruse for him to pull if he were lying, why would he want to do it? The only logical explanation was that this man was Alana’s father, the repercussions of which were huge.

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea if you’re actually who you say you are, you have no proof, and I’m not going to hand my niece over to a stranger with no concept of how to take care of her!” said Sophie hotly, blindly saying the only thing she could think of to make this man leave.

“It doesn’t appear you’re much of an expert yourself!” retorted Samson, gesturing to Sophie’s rather inept holding of Alana. “And she should be with her father.”

“I would like you to leave,” Sophie said, resolutely.

Samson glanced from Sophie to Alana, debating what to do. He glared at Sophie. “Fine, I’ll go, but I’ll be in touch soon,” he said ominously before turning and going back through the hallway and out of the flat.

She kicked the door closed after him as both her hands were taken up with her niece and the bottle of formula., Her heart thumping in her chest, Sophie carried Alana into the sitting room and peeped around the drawn curtains to check on the street outside. Samson stood, staring thoughtfully at the house for a moment, before shaking his head and walking away. Sophie rubbed her forehead, it was beginning to ache, and looked down at her niece, who was seemingly unaware of all the drama unfolding around her and focused solely on drinking her bottle of milk.

It seemed to Sophie that just as her situation couldn’t get any more complicated, this man’s arrival messed things up even more. Samson, even if he was Alana’s father, meant nothing to her niece. It seemed he couldn’t pick his own daughter out of a line-up. A tiny voice in her head kept stubbornly pointing out that she was also an extremely new addition to Alana’s world, but she ignored it: Natasha had been her sister, and Alana was all Sophie had left of her; there was no way she was going to give her niece up without a fight.

Sophie sunk down into an old armchair, already mentally exhausted by what had gone on. It seemed incredibly likely Samson was Alana’s father. As far as she could see, her best hope was that being the surf bum he clearly was, he’d swiftly lose interest in the idea of having a child. He couldn’t exactly have been very reliable before, otherwise he’d already be playing some part in Alana’s life. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that whatever feelings of paternal responsibility he was currently experiencing would swiftly pass.

Sophie relaxed a little and became absorbed in watching her tiny niece guzzling down the milk. She was so beautiful. Alana finished and pushed away her bottle before letting out a huge burp. “Pardon you,” said Sophie, smiling.

She was contemplating attempting to get up and make herself a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang again. Sophie felt her heart begin to beat faster. Was this Samson back? Was he going to force her to hand over Alana to him immediately? Should she ignore the door? The knocking that followed the ringing indicated he was unlikely to give up. She’d have to face him and stand her ground.

Sophie carried Alana back through to the hallway and reopened the front door, only to find herself facing not Samson, but a small, smartly dressed woman. She appeared in her fifties, with a greying bob, and held a folder in her hands.

“Hello, can I help you?” Sophie asked.

“Good morning, my name’s Yvonne, I’m from Social Services. I’m here to check in on Alana. Is this her?” the woman said, smiling, and holding out her hand to the baby, who eyed this newcomer suspiciously.

Sophie felt a moment of panic. What had the woman from Rodney Street gone and said?

“Yes, this is Alana. I’m Sophie, her aunt.”

“I see. May I come in for a little chat?”

“Of course, come through,” said Sophie, nervously. “Sorry I’m not dressed yet, we slept in.”

Sophie led the social worker into the small living room, cringing at the mess, the unvacuumed carpet, and old mugs lying about the place, and seeing the situation through Yvonne’s eyes.

“I’m sorry about the state of the place... Would you like a cup of tea?”

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