Lucy Gordon: This Is My Child

Melanie had been forced to leave the files she’d brought and depart, trying to look indifferent to conceal her inner turbulence. After all these years she’d found her son.

She had to wait until next morning to find out more. When she casually mentioned the incident and asked what had brought David to the office, Mrs. Grady, the headmistress, said, “Stealing, and not for the first time. I suppose we shouldn’t blame the child too much. He never acted like this before his mother went away.”

“Went away?” Melanie asked.

“Ran off and left the poor little mite, about a year ago.”

Something was constricting Melanie’s breathing. “And—his father?”

Mrs. Gray’s voice became tart with disapproval. “I had to get his father out of a board meeting yesterday to tell him what had happened. He wasn’t pleased. Oh, I think he’s fond of the boy in a business-must-comefirst sort of way, and he used to be proud of him. But frankly he’s not coping very well, either, and if he doesn’t start managing better he may lose David entirely.”

“But why?” Melanie asked, startled. “Lots of fathers bring up children alone these days.”

“It’s not that. David’s run away twice, trying to find his mother. Once he was gone for two days. We had to call the police out to search for him. So of course the social services became involved, and then they discovered about the stealing, as well. To them he looks like a disturbed child. He actually has a social worker assigned to him, and I know she doesn’t think Giles Haverill is doing a marvelous job of giving David the reassurance he needs.”

That night Melanie dreamed Peter was calling to her again. The baby she’d heard crying eight years ago and the little boy who’d run away to find his mother merged into one child, pleading for her to go to his rescue. She awoke with her mind already made up. Fate had offered her the chance she’d prayed for, to be reunited with her son, even if it meant being his nanny, not his mother.

She went about her plans with cool determination. There could be no failure. While learning secretarial skills she’d sometimes worked as a baby-sitter. Now she contacted the parents for references, and when she had them she telephoned Giles Haverill.

Confronting the man himself was the hardest part. Melanie’s dislike of Zena was a rational thing, based on their meeting. But over the years Giles had loomed in her mind as a monster, the unseen puppet master whose demand for an heir had made his wife grasp at a child she didn’t love.

Now she was over that hurdle. Giles Haverill was no longer a monster, but a stern, unlikable man. He’d sized her up like goods to be assessed before buying, and she’d tolerated it because she had her eyes on her goal. There would be other things to put up with, but she would endure them all. This was her chance, and she was going to take it, Giles Haverill or no Giles Haverill.

The room that Melanie had been allocated was right next to David’s. It was spacious and pleasant, and Brenda, the middle-aged housekeeper, had made it spotless.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Miss,” she said as she showed Melanie the room. “I’ve had all I can take of that child. He’s a right little devil. He’s rude and awkward, shuts himself in his room for hours at a time, and when he does come out, half the time he won’t talk.”

“Perhaps he’s got nothing to say,” Melanie observed, disliking Brenda.

“Humph! Last week all my dusters went missing. Every single one. He’d hidden them under his bed, just for the fun of watching me chasing around.”

Melanie laughed. “That doesn’t sound so very wicked, just normal childish mischief.”

“And there’s the staring.”

“What do you mean?”

“He stares at you as though he could see right through you. Just stares on and on. It’s unnerving.”

“Does he have any friends?”

“Not anymore. He made some at school, I think, but since he became a thief—”

“Don’t call him a thief,” Melanie said quickly.

“What else do you call a kid who steals? You do know he steals, don’t you?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to hang labels around a child’s neck,” Melanie said firmly.

Brenda shrugged. “Please yourself. But be sure to hide your things away.”

A shadow darkened the door. Melanie looked up to see Giles. “When you’ve finished settling in, Miss Haynes, perhaps you’d come down to my office.”

He departed without waiting for an answer. Melanie went down a few moments later and found him regarding her dispassionately. “Perhaps I should make it plain at the outset that your duties will not include listening to Brenda slandering my son,” he snapped.

“I think my duties include anything that will help David,” she said calmly. “And first of all that means learning all I can about his problems.”

“I can tell you everything you need to know.”

“Can you? There’s probably a lot about him you don’t know. Why not let me approach him my own way?”

He considered her thoughtfully. “Very well,” he said at last in a dismissive voice. “But I don’t want to overhear any more conversations like that.”

She was turning away, confirmed in her poor opinion of him, when he stopped her. “Miss Haynes…” There was an uncertain note in his voice that took her by surprise.

“Yes?”

“Those dusters—it was just childish mischief, wasn’t it? The sort of thing any boy of his age might do.” He was almost pleading.

“Exactly the sort of thing I did when I was a child. I told you I was the black sheep. Can you tell me where to find David?”

“In the garden.”

The garden was huge and could have been an enchanted place for a crowd of children, but it dwarfed one solitary little boy. David was sitting on a log, absently tossing sticks. Melanie was sure he detected her approach, but he refused to raise his head as she crossed the grass toward him.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully.

He continued tossing twigs, ignoring her presence.

“Do you remember me?” she persisted.

At last he raised his head to look at her silently, and she understood what Brenda had meant about his staring. “My name’s Melanie,” she said. “And I know you’re David. It’s nice to meet you properly at last.” A sudden impulse made her put out her hand, and she said, “How do you do?” as she would have done with an adult.

After watching her carefully for a moment, he took her hand. “How do you do?” he said politely.

“Has your father told you very much about me?” she asked, feeling her way by inches.

“Yes. He says it’ll be like having Mommy back, but it won’t. ”

On the last words his voice rose to a sudden shout that made her flinch. She stared at him, appalled. For a moment the mask had cracked, giving her a glimpse of the rage and misery that boiled beneath. “Of course it won’t,” she said quickly. “Daddy didn’t mean that I could take Mommy’s place.” It hurt to speak of Zena as his mother but she had no time for her own feelings now. “He just meant that I’d be here if you ever needed me.”

“I don’t need you,” he said coldly. “I don’t need anyone. I don’t need Mommy or Daddy, or you or anyone. ” Again there was that unnerving shout, coming out of nowhere.

“Well, perhaps you don’t,” she said, as if giving the matter serious consideration. “But maybe Daddy needs you. Have you thought of that?”

He shook his head. “Daddy doesn’t need me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m bad.”

The bald statement brought tears to her eyes. She fought them back. “Don’t call yourself bad. It isn’t true.”