Consider
the lilies of the field, whose bloom is brief:—
We are as they; Like them we fade away,
As doth a leaf.

- Christina Rossetti, "Consider"

Tiny crystals of snow hissed against the windowpane of the nearly-dark flat on a quiet street in Oxford. Oblivious to the weather, and very close to dozing, Detective Inspector Robbie Lewis lay stretched on the settee in his front room. The day's Oxford Mail in his hands sagged in tandem with his eyelids. It was late, and the large tumbler of scotch he'd enjoyed during the evening was adding to his drowsiness.

The sudden buzz of the doorbell jerked him awake, and he crumpled the newspaper as he started up. Blinking, he checked his wristwatch. Ten past eleven. Must be Hathaway. Who else, at this hour?

But when he clicked the intercom and inquired about his visitor, it was not his dour sergeant he heard in reply. Instead, a young woman's voice answered. "It's me, Dad."

He immediately buzzed the lock and flung his door open wide.

"Lyn! What brings you here at this hour? Come on in, pet. And who's this?" He stared in amazement at the baby car seat she lugged in one hand. Noting Lyn's obvious breathlessness, he reached for the car seat, peering down at the tiny, pink-clad form asleep beneath a fleece baby blanket.

"Here, let us give you hand with that, get in and get warm." He couldn't take his eyes off the infant.

"Thanks, Dad." Lyn redistributed her other bags and entered the flat as directed by his outswept arm. "Meet Lily, your granddaughter."

"Granddaughter? You never said! When did—?" He blinked. "Ah, sorry, first things first. It's good to see you, it's been ages." He kissed her fondly, and glanced back at the baby. "Obviously." He was unable to control his wide grin. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Wine?" It was slowly creeping into his thoughts that it was highly unusual for his daughter to drop in unannounced, unexpected, and at an hour very close to midnight. "Where's Tim? Has something happened?"

"Tea, please. Can't have wine, I'm nursing." She set down the various bags she'd flung over her shoulders and arms and took a deep breath. "Tim and I had a bit of a falling out. Is it okay if Lily and I stay the night? I didn't know where else to go."

He could tell her words were well-rehearsed, and he felt a nagging unquiet in the corner of his mind. "Of course, pet, you know you're welcome here any time." He brought her a steaming mug of milky tea. "This 'falling out', is it serious?" His voice was full of concern.

She studied the wall. "It felt serious when I left." She sipped her tea carefully, and glanced up. "Ta."

He didn't want to press the subject at this time of night; it was clear his daughter was tired from the long drive down from Manchester. But he was disturbed by the idea that Lyn would run out on her husband in the middle of the night because of a row. He inhaled, allowing the matter to go unchallenged. For now.

"Well, you'll be needing your sleep, as any new mother does. I'll just make up the spare bed. Have you got something Lily can sleep in, or I have a basket I think would work."

"If you have something, that would be great." She followed him into the spare room and helped him with the sheets, avoiding his eyes as she spoke. "Lily's twenty-eight weeks now, about six-and-a-half months. Born twenty-eighth May. I'm . . . I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Dad. She wasn't an easy baby, colicky and all. We were tired all the time and . . . sort of . . . arguing a lot. Tim thought if I told you, you'd come up uninvited and be all telling us what to do. I didn't want to add to his stress, so I went along." She stared at the bed. "I'm sorry, Dad, I should have told you. We were nervous about the pregnancy and the baby just kind of threw everything into a muddle."

He wrapped her in his arms. "Ah, sorry, pet, if I gave you and Tim somethin' to argue about. Only, you know me, you could have told me to stay put and I would. I've always done whatever you tell me, haven't I?" He squeezed her and felt her flinch, as if in pain. He released her immediately, worry written all over his brow.

"Did I hurt you, love?"

She shook her head. "It's just . . . y'know, nursing. Lily hasn't fed in a while, and I'm a little tender."

"Ah, sorry. I remember how it was with your Mam when she nursed you and your brother. It was months before I could hug her proper-like. I'll be more careful, promise." He glanced toward the wardrobe. "Now let me see if I can find that basket."

While he rummaged, Lyn brought her things into the room. Lewis found the washtub-sized basket and lined it with a thick, folded towel. As Lyn gave her approval, they both heard quiet, animal noises from the front room. Lewis looked up, an eager light in his eyes. "Can I bring her to you?"

"Sure, Dad, if you can manage the car seat straps."

A few moments later, he returned with Lily in his arms, gazing at her as though she were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "She's a perfect little rosebud, aren't you, Princess?" She obligingly cooed up at him and smiled, grasping his outstretched finger with her tiny hand. He fussed over her for some time, until her squirming and mewls made it clear she was too hungry to be admired any longer. Lyn arranged herself on the bed and took Lily from Lewis. As Lyn started to unbutton her blouse, Lewis ducked his eyes, respecting her modesty.

"I'll just be in the other room. Let me know if you want me for anything, alright?"

"Thanks, Dad."

Lewis went out quietly and returned to the settee, straightening out his newspaper to read. But he didn't read; instead, he puzzled over the unexpected appearance of a baby granddaughter on his doorstep this winter's night. He had been at Lyn and Tim's house at Christmastime last year. Lyn must have been a good four months pregnant, but hadn't said a word. Well, he knew sometimes couples felt it was unlucky to say something too soon. And if it had been a high-risk pregnancy, even at four months they might be uncertain, especially if they had been unsuccessful in the past. Had they? He realized he was not as in-touch with his daughter's life as he probably should be. Certainly, if Val were still alive, she would have known everything about the potential-grandchild aspect of their children's lives. He smiled a little sadly to himself. What Val wouldn't have given to hold Lily. And what he wouldn't give for the ability to see grandmother and granddaughter together.

He shook himself. Life was unfair and cruel, and that was that. He had to be grateful for the little gifts he was given, such as this, his first grandchild, even though Val couldn't share his joy.

He cleaned up the tea things and rinsed out his scotch glass, puttering quietly around the flat to avoid disturbing his visitors. At last, he decided Lyn had to be done nursing Lily, and he peeked cautiously into the spare room. Lyn was asleep on the bed with Lily lying next to her. The baby was awake, playing with her tiny toes. Lewis crept in and picked her up gently after laying a cloth over his shoulder. Holding her up against his chest, he swayed slowly and rhythmically in place, patting her on the back. All the handling techniques came back to him as though it had been only last week since he had burped a baby. He knew it would be awhile before she slept again, so he scooped up the handle of the changing bag and took it out with him to the front room. He spent the next several hours entertaining, and being entertained by, Lily, finding toys in the bag, tickling, talking to, and even reading to her when he found a board book buried deep in the bag.

The next thing of which Lewis was aware was a chill feeling on his chest that hadn't been there before. He stirred from his sleep and opened his eyes. His back felt stiff after a few hours of lying on the settee, and he realized he had fallen asleep with Lily lying on top of him and with his cheek nuzzling her soft head. Lyn now stood over him, cradling the baby and smiling happily.

"You two were so adorable I couldn't bear to wake you. But then she started to stir, and I was afraid she might fall off of you."

He grinned. "Aw, I'd never let any harm come to her, you know that. Guard her with me life."

Then it occurred to him with alarm that there was an awful lot of daylight in his flat for a winter morning. His eyes flew to his wristwatch.

"Oh, God, I'm late, I have to get going, Lyn, I'm so sorry. Stay as long as you like, okay? There's a spare key under the telly if you need to go out. Stay another night if you want, it's been fantastic having you and Lily here."

His daughter smiled some more. "Thanks, Dad. I'll do that. It's been so long since I've spent any time with you. And Lily obviously is in love with you."

"No more than I am with her. She's a peach." He scurried around, getting dressed and wolfing down cereal in milk. Before he went out the door, he paused.

"Lyn, you need to try to work out this thing with Tim, y'know. You should call him. Does he know where you are, even? He must be worried sick, what with the weather and all." He noticed her insubordinate expression. "Eh, pet? C'mon, you're a family now. Try to find a way to make it work. For Lily. Promise your old Dad?"

She set her mouth in a line. "I'll think about it."

"That's a good lass. We'll talk about it over tea tonight, okay? Gotta run." He kissed them both and jogged out the door, keys jingling in his hand.