M allowed them to stay at number eight for another week, and left Vesper alone to pack and prepare for the journey while she made the arrangements.
That night, as she changed her son's nappy, his now completely shrunken stump of umbilical cord finally fell off, leaving behind a slightly inflamed navel. She picked up the tiny bit of cord, that which had once connected the two of them and suddenly tears threatened to fall.
She quickly cleaned her son's new bellybutton, dressed him and placed him in his cot, before leaving the room so he could sleep. When she got to the living room the tears had begun in full, and she lay down on the sofa, sobbing desolately.
Suddenly she so very yearned for those halcyon early days of her son's life, when it was just the two of them in their quiet little sanctuary, or the days of her pregnancy when she would sit on the sofa, watching his body rippling the skin of her abdomen.
She yearned for those days again, realised now how lucky she'd been, how blessed to be able to spend that time with him, and she wished it could go on. But it would not.
Eventually, her tears dried, and she stood, now spent, and gave one big, sad sigh, gazing around the flat, before joining her son in their bedroom.
The next day she set about packing her belongings and was surprised to find that it did not take very long at all to pack up everything she'd accumulated over the nearly nine months she'd been here. When she was done, she looked at the two suitcases sitting near the door, so forlorn and insignificant that tears burned at the corner of her eyes, and she had to turn away.
M dropped by soon after, handing her the boarding pass and papers she'd need, including a passport for Henry. Vesper opened it to see his little baby face under the iridescent security film, next to his true name, birthdate and birthplace. She thanked M for the document, thankful she had not altered it any way.
M then handed over the keys to her New York flat, as well as the directions on how to get to it, and Vesper looked at the Upper West Side address curiously, unable to believe she'd soon be inhabiting it. The flight was in two days, leaving at one o'clock in the afternoon, and M assured her that a car would be arriving to drive her to the airport before noon.
Vesper laid the documents on the counter as M hovered nearby, Henry wide-awake in Vesper's arms, babbling and vocalising. His bout of colic had calmed down in the days since M's unceremonious visit, and he was once again the happy, thriving baby she hoped he'd continue to be.
Vesper turned and approached the older woman, extending the hand not occupied with her son to her.
"Thank you," she told M, and she tried very hard to convey the fact that she meant it. She knew now that this woman had everyone's best interests at heart, whether they be James's, Henry's or even MI6's. She was caught up in the same machine that Vesper now found herself in, helpless, in a way, to escape it.
M shook her hand firmly, and her eyes flicked to Henry's face, his blue eyes wide and bright today. He was sucking on one of his fists, watching M curiously.
"You're welcome, Miss Lynd," M replied. She released Vesper's hand and reached up to brush the soft blond hair back from Henry's face, smiling at the baby. "And good-bye, young Master Henry. I do hope you have a safe journey."
Henry gurgled in response and Vesper could not help but smile. M stepped back, and Vesper saw a momentarily chink in her armour as the older woman looked them over, the dark-haired, lithe young woman holding her impossibly blond son. Just a little falter. But then, it was gone.
"Good luck, to you both," she said.
"Thank you," Vesper replied, and M turned to leave.
"I'll be in touch," she said before closing the door behind her, and Vesper almost smiled. She wouldn't have expected anything less.
Ω
Over the next two days, Vesper set to saying goodbye to the flat, as well as the rest of South Croydon. She took her son out for a walk in his sling, glad to be finally able to discard the heavy coat, breathing in the fresh May air.
She received several smiles from passers-by as they strained to get a look at the baby in the sling and she obliged them, eventually pulling him out of the carrier and into her arms, showing him around all the sights she had loved.
It was so nice to be able to carry him around in the open with impunity that she was beginning to almost anticipate getting to New York, to be able to take him around in a pram or the sling, for him to play in the park when he got old enough and walk down the street. It had been such a burden keeping his existence a secret all these months, and she hadn't even realised how freeing it would be for her son to be able to go out and enjoy his environment.
The days passed by quickly and soon it was their last day at number eight, their last day in England, and she let the driver in to collect her things, her son sleeping soundly in the sling draped around her. She turned before she followed the man, looking at the flat where Henry's life had begun, now empty and silent.
She allowed herself a few seconds, breathing through the sadness that came to her, threatening to swallow her as the memories came back. Her son's almost serene birth, carrying him around the flat on his first day in the world. Their first few weeks together.
She wiped away the few tears that had fallen, and then she turned to leave, closing the door behind her. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and followed the driver down to the car.
She had a flight to catch, after all.
Ω
Her son's first plane trip went, thankfully, as smoothly as it possibly could. Henry slept nearly the entire time, awaking only once to eat, and then spending the rest of the flight calmly surveying this new environment from his mother's lap.
The elderly woman beside her was completely smitten, playing and talking with the boy for hours, and Vesper, thankful, gazed out the window at the occasional flashes of blue ocean she'd see beneath the clouds.
She took Henry's behaviour as a good omen, a sign that her decision was the right one. And as they neared the continent of North America, she began to anticipate their landing.
They landed at JFK nearly eight hours after they'd left England at just before three o'clock local time, and Vesper carried her son off the plane, the two of them gaping at the busy terminal.
A car was waiting for her, the driver loading her luggage as she secured her son in the car seat that had been installed for her. And then they were off, Vesper gazing out the window as they made their way through Queens, catching glimpses of the looming island of Manhattan, its impossibly tall buildings gleaming in the spring sun.
It was strange to think of this place as her new home, the place where her son would grow up, and as they exited the Queens Tunnel into Midtown Manhattan, she could only look around in wonder at the vibrant city. It was so much brighter and busier than sleepy, rainy Croydon, the streets full of cars and sidewalks full of people rushing to and fro.
Her son remained quiet as they made their way along Forty-Second Street, passing by Times Square, full of people on this warm afternoon. She smiled down at him beside her, his wide eyes watching as the bright city passed by.
The flat was, as M had promised, much bigger than their Croydon flat. Vesper explored it as the driver carried their bags up to the third-floor unit, leaving them just inside the door. Vesper thanked him, and then he was off, leaving the mother and son alone in their new home.
The flat was part of a brick townhouse, in the middle of a relatively quiet block near Riverside Drive, and had been built in the early thirties or late twenties, which made it much older than the nineteen-fifties brick behemoth her last flat had been part of. But the hardwood floors gleamed, having just been waxed, and the bright white walls had been scrubbed clean, all of the appliances modern.
She was delighted to discover that there were two bedrooms, one furnished for her and the other with a nice wooden cot, changing table and chest of drawers for Henry. She also found that, like her flat in Croydon had been, the cupboards and refrigerator were well-stocked and the telephone and television were hooked up, as well.
She smiled at Henry as she lifted him out of the car seat. He was beginning to fuss, and she quickly changed his wet nappy on the new changing table, marvelling at how it expedited the whole process. When he was dry and happy again, she held him to her chest as she stepped over to the window that looked out into the sunny courtyard behind the building.
The view from his room, and it turned out, from hers was quite nice, and she proceeded to give her son a tour of their new home, showing him around her bedroom and the spacious living room with the big window facing out onto the street. The black-and-white tiled bathroom was pristine, with a big claw-footed bathtub and a beautiful porcelain sink.
She sat down on the sofa to feed him, watching as the people walked by outside, rushing home from their jobs. It was so strange to be so far away from everything she had ever known, to be expected to integrate herself into this community, but she was also surprised at how freeing it felt.
No one here knew her, knew of her past deeds or misdeeds, of her fateful affair with her son's father, or that she was here on the dole of the British Secret Service. They would look at her and see a young English mother with her cherubic blond son and assume she was a young professional, or perhaps a stay-at-home mother and wife of one, and would not give it a second thought.
She would get good references, she knew, from the Treasury once M undoubtedly spoke with them, and it would not be difficult to acquire a fairly lucrative position when the time came. She would be able to pay her own rent, pay for things for her son. She could be independent here, finally her own person, her false name the only remnant of that time.
She smiled, stroking her son's head as he fed, watching as his eyes moved around. Occasionally they would settle on her face, and now nearly a month old they were better able to focus. Recognition often dawned on his little face when he saw her, and she could not help but smile and babble to him when it did.
It made everything better, to see that he knew her and was getting used to the fact that she was his mother. As he got older she knew this bond would only strengthen, and she found herself becoming excited at the thought of the months and years ahead of them.
When he was done, she sat him in her lap and patted his little back, giggling when he let out a wet little belch. Then she stood, holding him in front of her, facing out so he could see, and went over to the window.
People were still rushing past, walking dogs and riding bikes, some in tailored suits and others in workout gear. His little eyes went wide as they gazed out the window, struggling to focus on the fast-moving bodies, and she smiled and kissed his head.
"This is our new home, sweetheart," she whispered to him, "do you like it?"
Henry didn't reply, of course, but continued to look out at the street wide-eyed, rapt by the hustle and bustle of his new hometown.
She took that as a yes, and smiled.