Penny

Chapter 19

Over the coming months, baby Abigail's health improved and she was returned to the welfare centre. Jean kept a special eye on Abigail, and also allowed James to visit her from time to time. James would sit with Abigail, singing the lullabies he'd once sung to Philip and Wendy when they were babies. In the meantime, Jean made the final arrangements for Abigail's collection from the centre by the couple she had eventually found to be most suitable.

On the day before baby Abigail was to be collected by her new foster parents, James arrived at the welfare centre carrying a hessian bag. Procedure required that one of the centre staff should accompany visitors that weren't family. To avoid awkward questions, Jean normally ensured it was she that accompanied James during his visits to Abigail.

"James, Jean will be with you in a few minutes," said the centre receptionist, aware of this arrangement, "She's on the telephone at the moment."

James knew that Jean had selected suitable foster parents for Abigail, and that this would be the last time he would ever see her. He walked over to the door of the baby room, and looked through the window set into the door. The tiny girl was gazing up at the star mobile he had bought her.

"What if..." James whispered to himself.

Jean slammed down the phone.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed. She furiously tore up the certificate lying on her desk. The couple who had been scheduled to collect Abigail the next day had just called. They had admitted that they had been considering other options, and another child requiring fostering had turned up. A child without any disabilities. Jean had explained, pleadingly, that that child would quickly find other foster parents, but it would be more difficult for Abigail to find a suitable home. The couple had expressed their heartfelt apologies, but had made their minds up. They would not be fostering Abigail after all.

Jean opened the folder on her desk and pulled out the short list of candidates she had compiled for fostering Abigail. She looked down the list. She had already discounted most of the names as either being too young, too old, or suspected of just doing it for the financial support with no real concern for Abigail's welfare. She tapped her pencil against the desk anxiously. There was no-one on the list that Jean regarded as really suitable to take care of Abigail. Her intercom buzzed.

"Jean, James is here when you're ready," said the receptionist through the intercom.

"James is here..." Jean whispered to herself.

Jean scanned the waiting area, then returned to the reception desk. "Where is he?" she asked.

The receptionist stood up, looking around the chairs and the hallway. "He arrived about five minutes ago, when you were on the phone. Maybe he's in the bathroom?"

"Yes. Of course" said Jean.

Jean, trying to appear nonchalant, walked back towards her office. The receptionist answered a telephone call. Jean looked back and saw that the receptionist was now busy taking notes, her back turned. Jean turned back and walked quietly into the baby room. To her relief, Abigail was still there, mesmerised by the stars circling on the mobile above her head. Jean was about to exit the room, back into the hallway, when she noticed something on the chair beside Abigail's cot. A hessian bag. Inside the bag was a brown paper-wrapped package with a pink envelope attached to it.

It was a pleasantly warm Autumn evening as James pulled the weeds out of his lawn. Over the past few weeks the garden was slowly returning to something resembling the beautiful garden it had been years earlier. He'd filled the old pond with compost and planted nasturtium and daffodil bulbs. He thought a pergola might look nice along the south side of the garden, with hanging baskets attached to it. They'd need a lot of watering, he thought. He started to imagine little Wendy alongside him, helping him in the garden. In his imagination she was still a little five year old girl, just as she was the last time he'd seen her alive. He was fully aware that her 21st birthday had been a few months previously. It was on that night that he'd tried to kill himself.

James bent down to tend the white rose bush that had somehow survived the years of neglect. Then, his thoughts turned to baby Abigail. He so hoped she'd find a happy and loving home with her new foster parents. Just then, there was the faint sound of the doorbell ringing at the front of the house.

Whilst removing his gardening gloves, James opened the front door. There, stood Jean, looking furious.

"What's this?" demanded Jean, thrusting forward the hessian bag in her hand.

"Oh, it was just a little gift for-"

"I know it's a gift!" exclaimed Jean angrily, "What are you doing walking into the baby room alone? And then leaving this bag lying around? Do you realise the trouble you could have got me into?"

"I'm sorry," said James, "I just wanted to say goodbye, that was all."

"I've stuck my neck out for you James. If someone had reported you for that, they might have found out who you are and I could have lost my job for breaking the rules. Luckily it was me that noticed you'd left this."

"You opened it?" said James.

"No I didn't open it. It's obviously a doll. I knew it was from you after I read the card inside the envelope you attached. James, you don't leave packages lying about in public places like that. If someone else had seen it they may have had to evacuate the centre while they destroyed it you idiot!"

"I'm sorry," said James, "I wasn't thinking."

"Get the kettle on," sighed Jean.

Over the next two cups of tea, James became increasingly perplexed by the many probing questions Jean was asking. She wanted to look around the house and the garden. She made comments about some things being unsafe that should be put right.

Jean and James sat down at the kitchen table, and Jean poured them each a third cup of tea. She then clasped her hands before her, resting them on the table.

"James, did you really mean what you wrote in that card you attached to the dolly?" asked Jean, seemingly casually.

"Yes, yes of course I did," said James, confused.

Jean took a deep breath. "OK, OK. Well, with the condition I visit you twice a week, at least at first, then..." Jean nodded her head, assuring herself it was the right thing to say, "then how would you feel about becoming Abigail's foster parent? It'd only be until-"

"Yes," said James definitively.

Trying to mask her smile of relief, Jean said, "You understand it'd only be until we found a standard fostering option again, which shouldn't be too long?"

"I'll have her room ready in an hour," said James.