Misty held the baby while her world crumbled beneath her. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. She and Jack had been together for over two years.
She could vaguely hear the sounds of the party raging on behind her as she stood on the front drive, more alone than she ever thought possible. The woman was lying. Or mistaken.
On a trip home to Pepperell after her first movie hit big, one of Misty’s high school friends confessed she’d had a one-weekend-stand with Robert Downey Jr on a trip to New York. She showed Misty the strip of photo booth photos they’d taken together. Misty, who had just had a bunch of meetings with Bob about a project before Ally MacBeal swallowed up his availability, spotted right away that her friend’s paramour bore no more than a passing resemblance to the actor.
That must be it. Somebody once pointed out to some young guy that he looked kind of like Jack McCann, and he decided to use it to his advantage. It was a tale as old as time.
The fact she and Jack had bought this castle in the middle of Loch Lomond was well-publicised. They’d had some issues with paparazzi helicopters for a few weeks when the story first broke, but it seemed to have settled down over the past little while. Clearly, this young woman had come across the news and thought she could track down the man she believed to be her erstwhile fling.
Or hell, maybe she thought she could make some money by claiming a celebrity father who might pay her off to avoid bad press. Misty firmly shoved aside the memory of the young woman’s evident distress as the idea took form. Leaving the baby behind was a ballsy move, but maybe she was hiding behind a tree just out of sight, waiting to see what Misty did.
Paternity test, she thought. Jack needed to take a paternity test. Then all this would be taken care of. Misty had no idea how one procured a paternity test, but surely somebody on their staff would know.
The baby stirred. Misty glanced down, and Jack’s eyes stared back up at her. The world stood still. Ice washed over her, and for a horrifying moment, she thought she’d drop the child.
The police. She needed to call the police. This was the kind of thing they should deal with. She wondered how to pick up her phone without dropping the baby. Pins and needles ravaged her as she found herself unable to break contact with those terrifyingly familiar eyes.
The baby smiled, a lopsided flicker of a grin that Misty knew as well as her own. Her heart swelled and shattered. ‘No,’ she muttered out loud. ‘Please, god, no.’ She couldn’t call the police. She couldn’t tell anyone.
Misty felt frozen, as though moving, making any decision, or taking action would somehow confirm this nightmarish reality. Footsteps sounded on the gravel, and Misty instinctively shrank to the shadows, shielding herself behind a bush by the kitchen door. She clutched the baby against her chest, her heart thudding. A couple of partygoers sniggered as they drew close together to light a cigarette.
She couldn’t stay out here. Somebody would catch her. On auto-pilot, Misty slipped through the side door, past the scullery and scuttled quickly up winding turret stairs before the kitchen staff spotted her.
The second floor was oddly silent, the noise of the party muffled by centuries-old walls. Misty headed along the long hallway towards her bedroom as the baby started to squirm and protest. The seven dresses she had discarded earlier that evening before going for her favourite Galliano for Dior slip lay crumpled on the thick cream bedroom carpet. The day they moved in, she joked to Jack that she felt like a Care Bear going to sleep on a cloud. His blank look reminded her uncomfortably of their age difference.
Misty stepped on the cornflower blue Chloé cocktail dress crumpled on the floor that was the first couture she had owned as she padded to her dressing room. She was almost certain she’d read in some novel about turn-of-the-century hard times that people used to have infants sleep in drawers. She opened a deep drawer that held cashmere casuals, and considered it.
The shape was undeniably crib-like. If she removed the clothes and formed a mattress from thick Egyptian cotton towels, it would kind of work as a temporary solution. After a moment’s hesitation, Misty laid the baby on the floor while she worked. It felt wrong, but the carpet was soft and she wasn’t sure at what age babies were liable to roll off stuff.
The baby was awake, staring solemnly at Misty as though judging her every fractured thought as she worked quickly, horribly conscious that people would soon notice her absence. No offence kiddo, I’m sure you’re swell. The baby yawned, and her eyes began to flutter. It’s just that you destroyed my world. I’m sure you understand.
Misty gently placed the baby in her makeshift cradle. She squeaked a little in protest and seemed to be winding up to a screaming session before sleep washed over her. Her tiny hands were balled into fists as her breathing became deep and even.
An odd sense of calm descended over Misty, though relief danced out of reach. What was she going to do? There was no immediate harm the baby could come to, as far as Misty could tell, but what did she know? She couldn’t leave an infant unattended, yet she couldn’t abandon the party indefinitely. She had to tell Jack — she couldn’t ever tell Jack —
A crash and a yell pierced the air. Both Misty and the baby jumped, but the baby mercifully stayed sleeping. Several screams sounded as Misty ran across the vast bedroom to the window that looked over the courtyard.
A crowd had gathered, and she couldn’t see what was going on, but her blood turned to ice as she heard Maeve’s boyfriend clearly bark an order to phone 999. He asked for space, and the crowd moved back a little to reveal Liam crouching over someone, urgently asking if they could hear him.
‘They’re asking if he’s breathing?’ someone shouted.
‘Yes, and responsive. He fell from about three metres, obvious head injury with — I need you to stay very still, okay — try to stay calm, help is on its way — Jack? Jack, can you hear me?’
The crowd shifted again. Misty saw Jack’s legs sprawled on the courtyard. Her knees went from under her.
1. is hiding the baby the best thing Misty could have done here? Is it understandable that was her first instinct?
2. do you believe Jack is the father?
3. have you heard of babies sleeping in drawers in the early 20th century? Did your family do that?