The first few days of her son's life went by quite serenely for Vesper. She slept when Henry slept, fed him when they woke, ate and bathed and tended to her own needs when she could. She liked to be near him at most times, holding him against her, watching as he moved and breathed and gurgled. She liked to take him over to the window and show him the city, his eyes goggling at the bright tableau.
His umbilical cord began to shrivel after a few days, and was now just a desiccated brown stump. She cleaned it every day, knowing it would soon fall off and the last vestige of the connection between them would be lost. He ate steadily, nursing every few hours, and he seemed to be thriving outside the womb.
She gave her doctor a call the day after Henry's birth, and after assuring the nurses that the two of them were completely healthy, was given an appointment for the next day. She knew it was prudent to see the doctor, despite their apparent well-being.
She had purchased a baby sling before her son's birth, though she hadn't been sure how much use she would get out of it, being as though she needed to keep his existence a secret. But she pulled it out of the box nonetheless and was pleased to find he didn't hate it, promptly falling asleep after she slipped him into it. She found that she liked it as well, being able to keep her son close and also have the use of both her arms.
The baby slept nearly the entire way there beneath her thick coat, and the two of them were quickly given a clean bill of health, her son tipping the scales at a healthy three and three tenths kilograms.
The doctor reminded her she would need to register her son within forty-two days of his birth. She frowned at this, having forgotten about the requirement. She would be making his existence a matter of public record, which meant it would be all-too-accessible for anyone keeping track of her. Although, she remembered, M had not contacted her in quite some time, and Vesper suspected her attentions lied elsewhere at the time.
So, she climbed on the bus one day, her week-old son snuggled beneath her coat despite the warm weather, and went to register his birth at Croydon Town Hall. She was mildly dismayed to find that being unmarried, the baby's father absent, meant that only her name would appear on his birth certificate. Not that she had planned to put James's name on it, as this would likely raise some flags, but she was irked by the fact the option was taken from her.
But when she left the register office later, her son's certificate clutched in her hand, the baby still sleeping soundly inside her coat, she resolved that it had probably been for the best. She would have been tempted by the option, and it would have been imprudent.
Her son's first two weeks of life went by uneventfully, which suited her quite well. She began to wonder what all the fuss was about, why so many new parents lamented their lack of sleep. Her son rarely cried, only fussing softly when he was hungry or wet, and was a sound sleeper, waking during the night only to eat and then nod off again.
Her body had recovered quite well from the birth, her uterus and abdomen firming up quite quickly, and she was glad to see the stretch marks were less noticeable now. The discharge had cleared up, no longer even tinted pink, and her body eventually began to feel like her own again. Her nipples were sore and cracked from her son's constant meals, her breasts often feeling full and tender, but she hadn't encountered any other complications, any infections or deficiencies. She knew she was fortunate that everything had gone so well, though she knew her youth had a lot to do with it.
But three weeks into her son's life she got a rude awakening one afternoon, quite literally, when he let out a miserable wail from his cot, pulling her quickly out of sleep and filling her with panic. She picked him, comforting his surprisingly loud cries, bouncing him and patting his back.
And so began the worst bout of colic he would experience, and, it turned out, the last he would experience at number eight, Gulliver Court.
It happened one afternoon, the baby finally falling asleep after countless hours of bobbing and rocking, of feeding and winding and soothing words. She had unplugged the telephone the day before as a precaution when he had fallen into a rare deep slumber, and had forgotten to plug it back in, as it rarely rang much these days anyway.
She was sitting on the floor beside his cot, hesitant to move lest he wake again. She was truly exhausted, having slept very little since he started his little fit several days ago. It seemed as though every time she closed her eyes an anguished cry woke her, and she could only lift her son up, soothing him. She felt awful for him, and helpless that she could not pacify his obvious discomfort.
She had leaned back against the bed, her eyes starting to droop, when she heard it. Her eyes snapped open and she looked into the cot, expecting the see his little face screwed up in agony. But he was still sleeping peacefully. Then she heard it again, and the sound was so foreign to her, it took a second to register what it was.
It was a knock at the door, her door, she soon realised, as a second later she heard it again. This time it was accompanied by a woman's voice calling her name.
She froze, her blood going cold, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest, for she soon recognised the voice, and, with a spike of terrifying panic, realised the woman was calling her name. And it was not her new, false name, the one she still had not gotten used to after eight months, but the name she was born with.
M was at her door. Vesper struggled to stand, terror flooding her. She managed to make her legs work somehow, leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind her softly. She looked around the kitchen for any incriminating evidence of her son's existence, thankfully finding none. She silently thanked her fastidiousness as she tiptoed toward the door.
She paused before the door, hoping beyond hope that she would assume Vesper was out and leave. But a second later her hopes were dashed, as M knocked again loudly, calling her name.
"Miss Lynd," she said, "I have a key. I'm coming in." There was then the sound of a key in a lock and Vesper reacted almost without thinking. She jumped forward to open the door, and there stood M, wearing a tan coat over her sharp black suit and looking very surprised.
"You're home," she said, looking the younger woman's tired form up and down curiously. "I've been calling you. You didn't answer, I was worried."
"I'm fine," Vesper told her, aware the dark circles under her eyes said otherwise. "I unplugged the phone to take a nap, I just forgot to plug it back in."
M took this in disbelievingly, peering past Vesper into the flat. "I'm sorry I haven't been in touch," M said, pocketing the key she was holding, "there was a bit of a situation, but it's been resolved."
"Is everything okay?" Vesper asked.
"Yes," M replied, and it was obvious she knew exactly who she was asking after. "Are you?"
"I told you," Vesper said, impatience beginning to bloom, "I'm fine. I just…I haven't been sleeping very well." She glanced at the bedroom door surreptitiously and quieted the small rise of alarm when M seemed to notice her impatience.
"Are you sure?" the woman asked. She took a tiny step toward Vesper, encroaching on the threshold, and for one terrifying second Vesper thought she was going to force herself in.
"Yes," she said, adamantly, hoping the tone of her voice would convince the other woman.
But she needn't have bothered, as mere seconds later it was all over.
Her son's piercing cry suddenly filled the air, unmistakeable despite the closed bedroom door. M's head snapped toward the sound, then back at Vesper. She had never seen the woman look so acutely astonished, so completely and utterly rattled, that Vesper felt a thrill of satisfaction in spite of everything.
Curiosity overcoming her bewilderment, M stepped in, closing the door behind her, and Vesper could only sag dejectedly as the woman strode past her. She headed toward the bedroom, opening the door tentatively, and Vesper moved quickly to follow her.
She entered the room with Vesper close behind, watching as the older woman glanced around the room in surprise, at the various baby supplies and clothing strewn about. She approached the cot on the bedroom floor, the source of the loud, anguished cries. When she sighted the infant inside it, she turned back toward Vesper slowly, fixing her with a gaze of utter and complete astonishment.
Vesper stepped around the woman, pushing back the shame and guilt that came to her involuntarily, and picked up her son from his bed. She clutched his tiny body to her chest desperately, kissing him and comforting his cries, bouncing him and patting his back.
She glanced up to see M watching her curiously, her hands in now in her pockets. She was still obviously surprised, but a rueful smirk had crept onto her lips as she watched the two of them. Not until the baby's cries began to abate, comforted by his mother's embrace, did she speak.
"How long did you think you'd be able to keep this a secret?" she asked, the amusement in her voice sending a wave of irritation through Vesper.
"I don't know," she replied hotly. She kissed her son's soft head, frowning at the woman. "Do you blame me?"
M smiled humourlessly. "I suppose not." Her eyes strayed to the infant in Vesper's arms, now quiet, his blue eyes struggling to stay open. "Bond wasn't aware?"
Vesper shook her head.
M nodded, seemingly satisfied. She glanced at the baby sympathetically. "Come on," she said, turning to leave the room, "I'll make us some tea."
Vesper had no choice but to follow her.