William settled himself comfortably at his desk, laptop open and a strong cup of tea in hand. There were a few work matters that needed tying up. Suddenly, the shrill ring of his mobile broke his concentration. The caller ID was unrecognised.
Hello, William speaking.
Is this Mr William Edwardson? Im calling from St Thomass Maternity Hospital. Are you acquainted with a Miss Emily Bishop? The voice sounded older, perhaps in his sixties.
No, Im afraid I dont know anyone by that name. Is there a problem? William asked, puzzled.
Emily passed away yesterday during childbirth. Weve been in touch with her mother. She informed us that youre the father of the child, the man paused, waiting for a response.
What child? Father to whom? I really have no idea what this is about! Williams confusion was evident in his tone.
Emily gave birth to a baby girl yesterday. And youre the fatherif youre William Edwardson. Youll need to come to the hospital tomorrow; there are things to discuss the man said, carefully enunciating each word.
What is there to discuss? William was still none the wiser.
Just come to St Thomass tomorrow. Ask for Nicholas Pearsonthats me. Well talk.
The line went dead, leaving William staring at his phone in disbelief. He tried, and failed, to process what hed just heard.
Emily Who on earth is Emily? he muttered, pacing about his flat. Right, lets do the maths. How long are women pregnant? Nine months Its May now, so nine months ago September. What happened in September?
He glanced down at his nearly forgotten tea and grimaced, putting it aside. I could do with something stronger, he thought, but
Then it hit him. SeptemberI was in Brighton for a fortnight. Thats it! Emily!
William vaguely recalled herblonde, blue-eyed, a flash of a smile. How many Emilys had there been? He was nearly forty, never married, and never wanted children. His life was set, and he had no intentions of changing anything for the sake of a woman he hardly remembered.
But shes dead The thought thudded against his mind.
How could she have died? She couldnt have been more than twenty, he said aloud to the ceiling, looking for answers he knew he wouldnt find.
He craved a cigarettehadnt smoked in ages, but stilland was left with a swirling mess of feelings: guilt, confusion, regret?
A child he spoke the word as if it might disappear if he said it aloud, talking to the empty flat. Let Emilys mother take her. Shes the grandmother, after all. Whos to say the babys even mine?
William decideda trip to the hospital, a quick word with the doctor, sign whatever needed signing, and that would be that. Life would continue as before.
Even with his decision made, sleep eluded him that night. His mind whirled with memories he thought forgotten. He tried to banish the image of Emilys laughter, how shed run along the pebbled beach, the way shed looked at himso full of hope. Just a girl hed left behind as soon as his train home pulled out of the station. Now she was gone.
Next morning, at the hospital, William found Nicholas Pearson easily enough and dismissed his offer to see the child, wanting instead to speak with Emilys mother.
She was unmistakablea slim woman in a simple black scarf, eyes swollen with grief, sitting at the end of a plastic corridor bench.
Good morning, William managed, throat tight.
Im Margaret. Margaret Bishop, she murmured, Emilys mother.
Im William, he offered awkwardly.
I know. Emily spoke about you. Now she never will again, Margarets voice broke as tears fell.
William stood, bewildered, with no sense of what he should say or do next.
Margaret wiped her eyes. Please. Dont turn your back on your daughter. I cant let my granddaughter end up in careshes all I have left. You see?
But surely you could bring her up? Youre her grandmother, after all. William tried to reassure her, though privately he thought, Shes no older than me, surely
They wont allow it. Im in poor healthcongenital heart disease. Im begging you, just acknowledge her. Ill look after her, you need never be troubled, Margaret pleaded, reaching out desperate hands.
Lets go, he said, taking her to Nicholas Pearsons office.
Nicholas looked up from his paperwork as they entered.
What needs to be done to confirm paternity? William asked, nerves betraying him in his voice.
DNA test, Nicholas replied, examining William closely. Have you chosen a name? he smiled.
A name for whom? William looked lost.
For your daughter.
Another offer to meet the baby. William declined.
The paperwork was settled swiftly. The test proved it; she was his child. William still didnt know how to feel or what to do, and couldnt bring himself to say daughter aloud. She was just a child, a responsibility he hadnt looked for.
He resolved to help as much as he couldhed set up a direct debit, buy a pram, whatever Margaret and the baby needed.
But when he finally saw the nurse approaching, holding a bundle swaddled in pastel-pink, complete with ribbons and lace, William suddenly felt parched.
Margaret took the bundle and turned back a corner of lace, asking, Would you like to see her?
Before he could reply, Nicholas called Margaret into his office, so, for a minute, the baby was handed to William.
He frozethe bundle was warm, sweetly scented. Then, a small noise, like a kittens mewling, and then a determined wail erupted. Startled, William looked at the childand saw his own face staring back at him.
Dizzy, he dropped heavily onto the nearest chair, gingerly rocking the baby. Instantly the crying ceased. She gazed up at him andfor a heartbeathe thought she even smiled.
Margaret stepped back into the corridor.
Let me take her, she offered.
No, Ill hold her, William blurted out. She just smiled at me!
His face broke into a genuine smilethe kind he hadnt felt in years. Lets go home, Margaret, he said quietly. And as he stood, he knew his life would never be the same; sometimes, our greatest responsibilities become our greatest gifts, and its in caring for others that we truly find meaning.
