Come Fly With Me.... Fiona Brand

door and gave a little knock. ‘Mrs Van Dyke? It’s Carrie from across the hall. May I come in?’

      She heard the faint shout from the other side of the door, once again almost drowned out by the theme tune of Diagnosis Murder. She turned the handle and walked in, crossing the room and kneeling next to Mrs Van Dyke’s brown leather armchair.

      She adjusted Abraham from her shoulder, laying him between her hands so Mrs Van Dyke could have a clear look at him. ‘Guess who I brought to visit,’ she said quietly.

      Mrs Van Dyke reached out for the remote control and silenced the television. ‘Well, who do we have here?’ she asked, one frail finger reaching out and tracing down the side of Abraham’s cheek.

      ‘We call him Abraham. It’s been three days now and there’s still no sign of his mother.’

      ‘May I?’ Mrs Van Dyke held out her thin arms. For a second Carrie hesitated, instant protective waves flooding through her, wondering about the steadiness of Mrs Van Dyke’s hands. But she pushed the thoughts from her mind. This woman had held more babies, more little lives in her hands than Carrie probably would in this lifetime. She had a wealth of experience to which Carrie really needed even the tiniest exposure.

      She placed Abraham in her shaky hands and watched as Mrs Van Dyke repositioned him on her lap, with her hand gently supporting his head as she leaned over and spoke to him quietly, all the while stroking one cheek with her bent finger.

      It was magical. Even though Mrs Van Dyke was obviously feeling the effects of age, from her misshapen joints to her thin frame, a new life and sparkle seemed to come into her eyes when talking to Abraham. It was as if he released a little spark of life into her.

      Carrie couldn’t hear what she was saying. It was as if she were having an entirely private conversation with him. His little blue eyes had opened and were watching her intensely. Could he even focus yet? Carrie wasn’t sure. But the conversation brought a smile to her face.

      Abraham was wearing one of the beautiful hand-knitted blue cardigans that Mrs Van Dyke had given her, along with the white crocheted shawl. The recognition made Mrs Van Dyke smile all the more as she fingered the delicate wool. They still had hardly any clothes for him and without Mrs Van Dyke’s contribution Abraham would have spent most of the time wrapped in a towel.

      * * *

      Carrie settled onto the antique-style leather sofa. ‘Dan asked me to check if you needed anything. He’s hoping to give Mr Meltzer a ring and go along to the shop later. Can you give me a list of what you’re running short of?’

      A smile danced across Mrs Van Dyke’s lips. ‘He’s such a good boy, my Daniel.’

      She almost made it sound as if he were one of her own. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t come up himself.’

      Carrie felt her cheeks flush. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. ‘He’s really tired. Abraham kept him awake most of the night. I told him to get some sleep and I would come up and see you.’ It almost made them sound like some old married couple. She was hoping that would pass Mrs Van Dyke by.

      But the old lady was far too wily for that. The smile remained on her lips and as she regarded Carrie carefully with her pale grey eyes it was almost as if she were sizing up her suitability. ‘I could do with some things,’ she said slowly.

      ‘No problem. What do you need?’

      ‘Some powdered milk—there won’t be any fresh milk left. And some chocolate biscuits and some tins of soup.’

      ‘What kind of soup do you like?’

      Mrs Van Dyke smiled as she played with Abraham on her lap. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Daniel knows exactly what to get me.’ She eyed Carrie again. ‘Sometimes I wonder what I’d do without him.’

      The words seemed to drip with loyalty and devotion to Daniel. These two had known each other for most of Daniel’s life. How much had they shared?

      Carrie pushed the queries out of her head. She was fascinated by how content Abraham looked, how placid he was on Mrs Van Dyke’s lap, with her wholehearted attention. ‘You’re much better at this than me. Maybe you can give me some tips.’

      Mrs Van Dyke raised her head. ‘Tips? Why would you need tips?’

      ‘Because I’m not very good at this. I think he’s feeding too quickly. He gets lots of wind and screams half the night.’ She pointed over at his little frame. ‘I’ve no idea what he weighs. So I don’t know if we’re giving him enough milk or not. This baby stuff is all so confusing.’

      Mrs Van Dyke gave her a gentle smile as Abraham wrapped his tiny fingers around her gnarled one. ‘I’m sure you’re much better at this than you think you are. He’s around six pounds,’ she said.

      ‘How do you know that?’ Carrie asked in wonder.

      Mrs Van Dyke smiled. ‘I just do. Years of experience. I think he might have been a few weeks early.’ She touched his face again. ‘But his jaundice will settle in a few days. Have you been putting him next to the window, letting the daylight get to him?’

      Carrie nodded. ‘Dan has a friend who is a paediatrician at Angel’s Hospital. She told us what to do. I just wish we could actually get him there so he could be checked over.’

      ‘He doesn’t need to be checked. He’s fine. As for the wind—he’s a new baby. It will settle.’ She slid her hands under his arms and sat him upright. ‘It’s a big adjustment being out in the big bad world. A few days ago he was in a dark cocoon, being fed and looked after. Now he’s got to learn to do it for himself.’

      Carrie felt a prickle of unease. ‘I wish Dan felt like that.’

      Mrs Van Dyke’s eyes were on her in a flash. ‘Felt like what?’ There was the tiniest sharp edge to her voice. A protective element. Just like the way Carrie felt towards Abraham. It heightened Carrie’s awareness. Mrs Van Dyke had known Daniel since he was a child. What else did she know?

      Carrie gave a sigh. ‘Dan doesn’t think that Abraham’s mother cared about him at all. He doesn’t think she looked after him. He thinks she might have been a drug user.’

      She could see Mrs Van Dyke’s shoulders stiffen and straighten slightly. Maybe she was wrong to use the drug word around someone so elderly.

      But Mrs Van Dyke just shook her head. ‘No.’ Her eyes were focused entirely on Abraham. ‘His mother wasn’t a drug user.’

      Carrie leaned back against the leather sofa. Even though it looked ancient, it was firm and comfortable. Much more comfortable than Dan’s modern one. How many people had rested on this sofa over the years, laid their hands on the slightly worn armrests and heard the pearls of wisdom from Mrs Van Dyke?

      ‘Then what happened?’ She gave a sigh. ‘I just can’t get my head around it. I keep thinking of all the reasons in the world that would make you give up your baby, and none of them are good enough. None of them come even close. I keep thinking of alternatives—all reasons a mum could keep her baby. None of them lead to this.’

      ‘Not every woman will have the life that you’ve had, Carrie.’ The words were quiet, almost whispered and spoken with years of experience. The intensity of them brought an unexpected flood of tears to Carrie’s eyes.

      Her voice wavered. ‘You say that as if I’ve lived a charmed life.’

      ‘Haven’t you?’

      She shook her head firmly. ‘I don’t think so. Last year I lost my daughter. I had a stillbirth.’ She looked over at Abraham, her voice still wavering. ‘I came to New York to get away from babies—to get away from the memories.’

      Mrs Van Dyke was silent for a few moments. Maybe Carrie had stunned her with her news, but, in truth, Mrs Van Dyke didn’t look as if anyone would have the capability of stunning her.

      Her answer was measured. ‘It seems as