**I Wont Leave My Daughter**
” So, you wont take the girl?”
” No. And I wouldnt advise it either, Barry. You dont know what its likea baby. But I do. Raised three of them, barely out of nappies…”
” I wont leave her!” He slammed his small glass on the table, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.
Barry had drunk too much. Now he sat hunched over the worn oilcloth at his sisters table, gripping the glass tight. His sister, Jean, hissed at him to keep quietthe kids were asleep.
” We told you, didnt we? But no, you had to joke about itAn orphan, no mother-in-law, what a blessing! Well, look where that got you.”
” Whats that got to do with anything?”
” Everything. If thered been at least one grandmother around. But no…”
Barry had a reason to drink. He didnt do it oftenjust twice since his wife died. The first time was after the funeral.
Lydia had died in childbirth. Or rather, after it.
A nurse, whod taken a bar of chocolate from him, had clattered up the stairs in her worn slippers and returned with news.
” Its a girl. Big onethree point eight kilos.”
” A girl?” Barry had grinned, surprised. Hed thought hed wanted a sonall men do. But there he was, smiling. “And Lydia? When can I see her?”
The nurse had frowned, waving a hand. “No idea. The baby was breech. They say theres bleeding. Come back tomorrow.”
Barry hadnt thought much of the bleeding. He assumed it was normalmen didnt understand these things.
He returned the next evening, after work.
Walking past the hospital fence, he glanced at the windows, smiling. Maybe Lydia was already up, watching for him. His bag wasnt heavyjust fresh bread, boiled eggs, a couple of apples, and grapes. Back then, they didnt restrict nursing mothers much.
In the corridor, he waited, hiding his grease-stained hands in his pockets. Finally, a doctor approached.
” We did everything we could. But the bleeding was severe. It happensa complication. Im sorry…”
Barry stared, uncomprehending.
” Shes dead?”
The doctor nodded.
He sat there, numb, then stood abruptly.
” The baby,” the doctor added. “Shes healthy. Well keep her a little longer. You should arrange the funeral first.”
” The funeral Right.”
The grief hit him at homesharp, relentless. Lydia His Lydia. He hadnt protected her.
Barry had grown up in a small village, working on a farm. He married latenever quite found the right woman. Then his mother died, and he stayed in the house with his sisters family. It was awkward. His sister was sharp-tongued, always tired from household chores.
So when the factory in Riverton offered him a job, he took it. There, he met Lydia.
She was young, quiet, kind. An orphan, raised in care, but she had a grandmother in town. Barry moved in with thema crumbling cottage, damp and eaten away by rot. The grandmother was bitter, worn down by life, but she tolerated Barry. He was a hard worker.
And Lydia? With him, she bloomed.
One night, she told him about the childrens home.
” They beat me on the third day.”
” The boys?”
” No. The matron. Dragged me by my hair, locked me in a cupboard. I hated that place. My children will never end up there. Never.”
Now Jean insisted he send the baby to care. “Shell be better off. You can take her back when shes older.”
But Barry remembered Lydias words. No. His daughter would stay with him.
The factory gave him leave. A month to figure things out.
The nurse eyed his dirty hands disapprovingly.
” You cant hold a baby like that! Thats not machine oilits a child!”
She made him scrub with a harsh solution until the grease bubbled away.
” Do you even know how to change a nappy? Bathe her? Have you sorted the baby clinic? Oh, youre in trouble…”
She wrapped the baby tightly, explaining feeding and bathing basics.
” You need a womans help. Whats her name?”
” Alexandra. Lydia wanted a boyAlex. So I named her Alexandra Barry.”
” Little Alex, then. Here.” She handed him the bundle. “Off you go. Call a doctor if you need to.”
Outside, the winter air bit his face. The baby squinted against the light, her tiny mouth opening in a soft grunt.
For the first time, he was afraid. She was alive. Not a doll.
At home, he fumbled with nappies, panicked at her cries. The neighbours offered advice, but nothing helped. Exhausted, he wondered if care wouldve been better.
Then his coworkers visitedloud, cheerful. Catherine, the timekeeper, cooed over the baby.
” Look at her! Youll have suitors lining up one day.”
Theyd brought giftsa pram, clothes, even a knitted blanket.
That night, Barry slept properly for the first time.
He started to learn. Feed, change, play. Routine.
And one day, he realisedhe loved her.
But what about work?
The nursery had no spaces. Hed have to wait.
Catherine hinted she could helpmore than help. She was divorced, raising two kids alone.
” You need a woman about the place,” she said, eyeing the mess.
Barry hesitated. Lydia had been so different.
Then little Alex fell ill. Feverish, coughing.
At the market the next day, he met Nina.
Her son, Alex, had wandered off. Barry helped find her.
She was prettysoft-spoken, with deep eyes and a thick plait under her hat. A single mother, selling dairy to make ends meet.
When Alex got sick again, Nina came to the house. She knew what to docool the fever, not bundle her up.
” I nearly trained as a nurse,” she admitted.
Barry liked her. More than liked her.
One evening, he blurted it out.
” Nina Im not much of a catch. Older, with a kid. This house is falling apart. But Id be good to you.”
She laughed. “And Im a lame single mother. Hardly a prize.”
” You are to me.”
Her boy, Alex, interrupted.
” Mum! The baby did a wee on the bed! Girls are weird.”
They laughed.
Their Alexes would grow up together. That much was certain.
