A Is for Abigail Read Free Page B

keep it!
    But Abigail wasn’t a bad girl, and she wasn’t stupid. She knew she couldn’t keep it.
    With aching heart, she slung the bag over her shoulder, then carefully lifted the moses basket with its sleeping occupant. Somewhere not too far away, she heard a car door slam and an engine start up and speed away, but her thoughts were only on the little mite asleep in the basket.
    Sam followed obediently behind as she walked out of the woods and down the lane towards home. As she reached her gate, she knew she must continue past, and walk into the village and to the police station.
    Stan might not be on duty. Then what? Perhaps it would be better if I just kept the baby until the morning. It’ll need feeding and changing soon. I can do that.
    Her heart hammered. Straight on to the village, or home?
    Instead of walking past her gate and heading for the village, she turned and followed Sam who had already swung up the path to the kitchen door.
    The decision was made.
    A deep feeling of contentment washed over Abigail and the gypsy’s voice rang in her ears.
    You have done well, Abigail Martin. You have chosen the right fork of the crossroads.
    She would keep the baby.
    For the moment, anyway.
    Just one night wouldn’t hurt.
    As she turned the key in the lock, the baby stirred. The little fists flailed, and the eyes eased open for the first time.
    “It’s okay, baby,” whispered Abigail, “we’re home.”

Chapter Six
     
    Abigail locked the door behind her and placed the moses basket on the kitchen table. The baby was more agitated now, kicking at the coverlet and beginning to screw up its face and turn its head as though searching for milk.
    “Are you hungry? Just hold on, little one, I’ll soon sort something out for you.”
    Was the baby a girl or boy? She realised she didn’t know.
    The first priority was food, so she pulled the tin of formula out of the bag and quickly scanned the instructions. She didn’t have a steriliser, but she boiled the kettle and poured boiling water into the bottle, hoping that would do the trick instead.
    How much formula to make? According to the tin, it depended on the weight of the baby.
    Very carefully, she lifted the baby out of the basket. It felt warm through the little stretch suit it was wearing. A wave of tenderness swept over her as she cradled it in her arms. So young, so perfect, so innocent. She walked slowly to the bathroom and stood on the scales. She knew exactly how much she weighed, and could now calculate the baby’s weight. Okay, so she needed to make about 500ml of formula. She was doing well.
    She placed the baby back in the basket. Using the scoop and following the instructions to the letter, she made up the feed and set it aside to cool.
    Next came the nappy change, and the revelation.
    Boy? Or girl?
    She opened the changing mat and gently lifted the baby into the centre of it. The baby kicked and she sensed it was getting agitated. As quickly and gently as she could, she removed the little sleep-suit and nappy.
    “You’re a little girl!” she breathed.
    First she wiped the baby clean, then fitted a new nappy around her, pressing the adhesive strips to keep it in place.
    “Well, that wasn’t too hard,” she said and lifted the baby into her arms.
    The nappy promptly fell off.
    The second attempt was more successful. Next, Abigail offered her the bottle and the baby sucked enthusiastically. She held her to her shoulder and patted her back as she had done for her nieces and nephews. She was rewarded with a fat burp. An hour later, the baby was clean, fed and drifting off to sleep again. As Abigail tidied the kitchen, a contented feeling enveloped her and she realised that the cold, gnawing sensation, deep inside her, had vanished.
    With the baby asleep, she made herself something to eat and relaxed, always keeping one eye on the basket. In addition to the large table and chairs, there were two easy chairs in the huge kitchen, Aiden and Abigail’s