NO. NO. NO.
This was the only way.
She checked through the window that the heap of clothes was in place. She reassured herself that no one would want to break in to this old banger and that the heap seemed innocuous, and she walked away briskly, looking back all the time.
As she entered the reception area, Hope went straight to the receptionist, grateful that there was no queue, and said, ‘I’m sorry, but my name is Hope Parker – well, no, I’m not sorry about that, but I need to know if the appointments are on time? It’s just that … I have an elderly mother waiting for me …?’
‘OK, Mrs Parker—’
‘Miss.’
‘Miss Parker, I’ll call you as soon as possible.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Take a seat.’
Hope looked around. There were very few people waiting, thankfully. It must be a slow time for births, deaths and marriages. Maybe the human race was on a general go-slow when it came to matters of life?
She wasn’t.
She wanted to get this done and get straight back to Minnie. She sat down next to an older man whose face told a story of unimaginable loss. He looked haunted and was clutching a brown envelope. Hope couldn’t engage with him, she knew it would draw her into an emotional pit she couldn’t enter. On the far side of the room was a woman in her early thirties with two toddlers and an infant in a pram. Thankfully the toddlers were a welcome distraction from the gloom that orbited the old man. The only other couple were cuddled up in the corner facing the other way, clearly not wanting to be there.
But Hope’s thoughts were with Minnie in the car. Why wasn’t there a window in there, from which she could keep the car in sight? Stupid room. Stupid ill-thought-out room. It was almost as if they didn’t WANT mothers with stolen babies who were secretly stashed in the car to be able to keep an eye on them … or something …
She was shocked out of her agitated reverie when the receptionist called out, ‘Miss Parker? Room Two, please.’
Hope walked up the corridor, knocked on No. 2 and went in.
A friendly woman welcomed her and gestured that she should sit in the blue pleather chair across from her desk. ‘Hello, Miss Parker, I’m Susan Meagre … You on your own today?’
‘Yes, miss. Is that OK?’
‘Of course. I was just … probably … hoping you might have some support at this difficult time?’
Difficult time?
In the chaos of the previous few days, Hope had all but forgotten the real reason she’d come here, she was hitherto simply fulfilling a necessary formality.
‘Oh. Yes. No, I’m OK, thank you. Just want to get this over …’
‘Yes, of course. Now then, you are what’s called the primary informant, so of course you can register on your own, but I need to ask you if you would like to have the father’s details entered? If so, I’m afraid he would need to be here.’
‘No. Thank you. That … won’t be the case today.’
‘Right.’
‘He’s … gone … home to … another country.’ Hope told as much of the truth as she could manage.
‘I see. Do you have the documents with you from the hospital?’
Hope handed over the envelope Fatu had given her and she watched as the registrar opened it and started to fill in the details in her big important book.
Hope gave her name and her London address.
She watched as Susan Meagre filled in Minnie’s name and in a box marked ‘Cause of Death’ she wrote ‘Unknown’.
Yes. Unknown.
In a box marked ‘Details of Father’, she put lines through the boxes. Obliterated.
Also unknown, in effect.
Hope’s heart hurt to think that anyone might suppose Isaac didn’t care, because he so passionately did. For the first time since she left the hospital, Hope thought about Minnie. The first Minnie.
Her daughter.
She pictured her so clearly. She remembered every detail of her little sweet sleeping face.
‘Are you all right?’
Hope looked up at kind Susan Meagre, and she crumpled. Susan came around the table and put her arms around the trembling Hope.
‘I know. It must be awful. You’ve been so brave. God bless little Minnie …’
Little Minnie? Yes, she must get back to her immediately; she might have woken by now. Hope took the certificate Susan gave her and, after thanking her profusely, raced back to her car to find little Minnie safely still fast asleep. As usual, being the best behaved little soul so that her mummy could get her to where she needed to be: in Bristol, where, hopefully, no one would ask any further questions because they were all expecting Hope home, bringing her brand-new daughter, little Minnie.
So Hope took that one last glance up at the flat. She propped up Isaac’s picture of Captain Paul Cuffee that she’d brought with them in the car. She wanted to see it so she put it between the gearstick and the dashboard. She put the car into first gear.
She mouthed, ‘Thank you, Isaac.’
And she pulled away.
She was going home.
With Minnie laid to rest.
With Minnie right beside her.
And with Isaac in her heart.
All of them free now.
But.
All of them chained to the truth.
And each other.
Minnie’s 1st Birthday: Isaac
Watching his family sitting together around the simple wooden table on the porch of his house made Isaac feel waves of contentment. That he could at last provide something for those who had supported him for so long was a source of great pride.
He had only had his real full-time job for a few months, but with his new degree finally in his arsenal, he could earn properly, he could move out of his parents’ home and he could afford the rent on this little one-storey wooden house near the port in Freetown.
He wanted to be near the harbour. His close friends didn’t understand why he’d choose to be near all the mayhem, the clatter of
