Tommy Smiths life begins with a rejection. No reason, just a flatout no. His mother gives birth in the dead of night, sweats for an hour, then, without checking if the baby is breathing, wraps him in a dirty rag and tells her housemate to toss the bundle in the rubbish bin.
Morning the bin gets emptied, and itll be hidden! Get it out before anyone wakes up! she shouts.
Luckily, the people her mother fears rise early. The housemate, a simpleminded fellow, does not throw the bundle away. He leaves it by the bin, covering it with an old coat someone else has discarded.
The baby stays warm and, after a while, Aunt Lucy walks her energetic dog Biscuit out for a morning stroll. Biscuit suddenly cant hold its bladder any longer, barking loudly and refusing to settle. Lucy squeezes the damp snout in her fist, silencing the animal for a moment, then, in her nightgown and slippers, hurries outside, complaining to her husband that his anniversary present could have been more sensible.
Biscuit, thrilled by the sudden freedom, darts around the yard, does its business, then freezes, ignoring Lucys shivering and the cold. She calls after it, Where are you going, you mad thing? Who are you talking to? The dog ignores her and races to the rubbish bins, circles the bundle where Tommy whimpers, and lets out a howl that makes Lucy clutch her chest.
Whats that? What have you found? she cries.
Curiosity beats caution. Lucy pulls aside the coat, lifts the rag, and screams, Good people! Help! Somebody, please!
Her husband, Uncle Mike, is a deep sleeper. Neither Biscuits bark nor the neighbours weekend drills rouse him; only his wife’s sobs get his attention.
Lucy! Im coming! he mumbles, stumbling from the bed in the colourful boxer shorts his wife sewed for him, flinging himself into the yard, clueless about the scene but certain his wife needs help.
Seeing the bundle, he forgets his plans with his brother-inlaw and takes the baby to the ambulance. He wraps Tommy in his wife’s warm robe, shouts at the frantic Biscuit, Home! and the paramedics whisk the infant away.
Lucy spends a long time weeping on her husbands shoulder, then drags herself to the kitchen, prepares a meagre breakfast, and feeds Biscuit almost all the remaining sausage out of pity. Whether she feels more sorry for the dog, the abandoned infant, or herself remains a mystery even to her.
It seems the story should end thereTommy has no reason to return to the yard that almost cost him his life. Yet fate, mischievous as ever, clings to the boy. He lies in a hospital ward, staring at the white ceiling, eating well, sleeping soundly, and charming the nurses with his quiet demeanor.
The gold, not the child! So calm, hardly a whimper. Others wail, but this one only cries when truly needed. Who would ever turn down such a gift? Its a living miracle! a nurse remarks.
Tommy cannot answer. He doesnt even know he has a mother, let alone a father who has scattered his other children across the country, refusing to know about them. Social services give him the surname Smith, the same as his birthplace, to avoid confusion.
The baby home also loves him, pampering him because he never throws tantrums or demands special treatment; he simply waits for someone to come close.
Someone will take him soon, hes healthy and handsome. Maybe his parents will appear, the carers whisper.
But destiny has its own plan. He does get taken, and quickly. Six months later, his new mother, after signing all the paperwork, decides she isnt ready to raise someone elses child. She returns Tommy to the place where she found him, as if returning a defective toy to the shop.
The new father, Michael, accepts this without protest. He is overjoyed, thinking he will soon be a real dad after ten long years of longing. Doctors, however, repeatedly tell him he cannot become a father naturally; nature, they say, wont allow it.
Tommy, still bewildered by his turbulent short life, only mourns that he no longer gets bedtime lullabies or nighttime cuddles. He soon forgets this sorrow, as people often do, remembering only the bad.
He continues to stare at the white ceiling, eat his porridge obediently, and smile when someone strokes his cheek, even if it isnt always welcomed.
Do the work, not the whining, someone would say.
At three years old, another family arrives, hoping to adopt. A man, holding out his hand, says, Im Tom! and declares, Autumn!
The man raises an eyebrow, Is he odd? He looks at his beautiful wife, who nods, No, no. We need a healthy child. He doesnt fit.
They dont know that Tommy merely wants to share the new lessons his caretaker taught him that morning. She had placed him on the windowsill, traced a finger across the glass, and said, See, Tommy, autumn is here! The rain weeps, leaves carpet the ground. Beautiful, isnt it? Autumn is your friend! You were born in September; maybe fate will bring you happiness now. Good parents would be wonderful, wouldnt they?
Perhaps hearing that, fate lifts the danger from Tommy. Those who were about to take him turn and leave. Tommy, unaware of who they were, forgets them by the next day, still unaware that the very woman who raised him is now searching for her own happiness.
She first checks the yard where Tommy was found. There she spots Aunt Lucy, early as always, walking Biscuit, standing by the rubbish bins, sighing as if the world itself knows her story.
Lucy, once a lively soul in her youth, used to juggle study, work, and dreaming of great love. She wasnt a great beauty, so she never expected many choices, but dreaming was never forbidden.
Her mother once urged her to buy a shorter skirt, Girls wear those now, but you need longer, prettier legs. She replied, If I have flaws, Ill have strengths too. Your hair is thick, your eyes lovely, lashes bright. We can fix the rest. Her mother coached her to dress well, to love herself, believing that confidence would draw men.
Lucy learns to pick outfits, to look at men beyond the surface. She finishes university, lands a job, but still hasnt met the right partner. Her parents later buy her a secondhand car, which she learns to drive with the help of a reliable mechanic, Michael.
Their romance is calm: bouquets, chocolates, meeting the parents. When Lucy announces shes marrying, everyone says, Lucy, were thrilled! Mike is a good man; you two are made for each other.
Years later, doctors tell Lucy and Michael they wont have children. They share a quiet sigh, clasp hands, and hide the pain from anyone else. Well manage, love, Mike says. Youre my everything.
They never bring up the subject again; together they find it easier to bear. Time eases the hurt, and they accept their small family. Lucys parents pass away, leaving a gentle melancholy and warm memories. Their home gains a new member: Biscuit.
Everything would go on as usual if fate hadnt nudged Biscuit to bark on the very morning Tommy was born. Since then, Lucy has been haunted by dreams of crisp autumn mornings, cold air scented with damp leaves. She walks the yard, watches the dog, and hears a faint babys cry calling her somewhere. She wakes in a cold sweat, trying to piece together where to go, and meets Mikes concerned gaze:
Whats wrong, love?
Just a dream
Bad?
I dont know, Mike Im not sure
For the first time, Lucy hides her anxiety from him, fearing hell think shes losing her grip. She clutches a tiny head she once held for a minute, then lets go as Mike swaddles the baby in his coat. The feeling lingers.
Mike also stays silent, afraid to stir Lucys nerves by mentioning the strange find. He knows how hard it is to hold a strangers child, abandoned without remorse, while yearning to be a mother.
Then the crisis hits: Biscuit disappears.
Lucy lets the dog out as usual, lets it do its business, then bends to clean up, only to find Biscuit gone. She searches neighbouring yards, looks under every bush, calls the dog, then phones Mike to continue the hunt together. Biscuit is nowhere.
Two days and nights pass while Lucy weeps and roams the neighbourhood. On the third day Biscuit returns, dirty and dripping from rain, but alive.
Biscuit! My joy! Lucy scoops her up. Where have you been?
Biscuit licks Lucys nose, wagging wildly, and Lucys mind flashes to that tiny head she held that morning.
Mike! she cries, but hes already rushing to her, sensing something important.
That evening Lucy finally tells Mike everything: her fears, her dreams, the boy she cant stop thinking about, the infant she found with Biscuit on an autumn morning.
Do you think theyve taken him into a family? she asks, wiping tears with a kitchen towel that can no longer hold the flood.
I dont know, Mike replies. We could ask the council; they might know. If hes been taken, thank God. If not
He stops, pulls Lucy into a hug, and says, Lets get some sleep. Tomorrow will be clearer.
Six months later, Tommy looks into the eyes of a woman he will never remember and reaches out to a tall, sturdy man:
Im Tom.
Mike shakes his small hand gently, then looks at his wife and says, Enough lamenting, love. Its time to go home.
