Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
When Beatrice was a little girl, most nights, her mom put her to bed and she’d read Goodnight Moon or Where the Wild Things Are . But on the evenings when her dad got home from work before she was asleep, he’d come into her room, sit in the armchair by the bed and tell her a special bedtime story. It wasn’t read from a book; it was told from memory.
Beatrice couldn’t remember when she’d heard it first. She was probably too young to remember anything. But she did know that it wasn’t always the same; embellishments were added over time, words changed. Sometimes, if her dad was in a hurry, he’d try to short-change Beatrice by leaving out some of the detail.
Beatrice always knew when that happened, and it came to serve as a clue that her parents were going out for the evening and she’d be looked after by a sitter.
Once long ago, there lived a man and a woman. They had a big house in the city, with a big garden where a great maple tree grew. The maple tree was perfect for hanging a swing off of. Upstairs in the house was a charming little bedroom overlooking the garden, which would be perfect for a little girl’s room. It had cosy pale-green carpet on the floor, and in the mornings the sun cast shadows from the maple tree through the window, falling where the little girl’s bed would be.
From as early as she could recall, Beatrice knew the story well enough to say, ‘Like my bedroom!’
Her dad would nod, stroking Beatrice’s hair back from her face.
Just like your bedroom. But this man and woman had no children, and this made them very sad. Every day they dreamed of having a baby. Every Sunday they prayed to God to send them a child. They went to many physicians for help, but still no baby came. Some nights the woman would weep with longing, feeling as if her heart would burst from all the love she had there with no one to give it to, and the man’s head would hang in sorrow because there was nothing he could do to help.
Even though she knew the story had a happy ending, Beatrice always felt her own heart ache when she imagined the man and the woman feeling so sad.
Then one day, the man came home from work with joyful news. He told the woman that they were going across the sea, to the country where he was born, where he would spend two years working. And he had an idea. The reverend at their church had told him that in that country, they might be able to find a baby they could bring home to live with them always. The baby would be theirs just as if it had been born to them, and they’d be able to give it all the love they had in their hearts to give.
‘So they got on an airplane,’ Beatrice would prompt.
So they got on an airplane and they flew across the sea. The man was happy to be back in the country he’d left as a child, and the woman was excited because she had never been there before. But both of them were thinking most about one thing: that by the time they returned home, they might have their baby with them.
‘What happened then?’ Beatrice would demand, although she knew the answer.
They found a place to live, an apartment in the heart of the city with big windows that looked out over the river. The man went to work each morning, and each night when he returned the woman would tell him about all the things she’d seen and done that day. And each night when they went to bed, she would ask, ‘Have you…?’ and he’d tell her, ‘Not yet.’ This went on for almost two whole years, and the man could tell the woman was losing faith. Until one day, when she asked the usual question and the man answered, ‘Yes. Tomorrow.’ The next day, they went to meet a priest: an old man in a long black robe, a gold crucifix hanging down the front. He had the kindest blue eyes the man had ever seen.
Beatrice’s own eyes would open wider at this point. She knew the best bit of the story was coming.
The padre took them to a large, grey building surrounded by green lawns, a little way out of the city where they were living. A sister met them there – a beautiful young nun who smiled all the time. The man and the woman knew that the babies she cared for would have known nothing but kindness.
Beatrice would snuggle down into her pillow, listening and waiting.
The nun was holding a baby. The most perfect wee baby the man could have imagined, with golden hair and pink cheeks. He knew that this little girl would always be happy and smiling, always tell the truth, and that she’d grow up to be kind and smart as well as beautiful. The woman took her in her arms and held her close. The baby gurgled contentedly and the woman wept tears of joy.
By the time the story got around to her, Beatrice would generally be dozing off.
The baby slept at the woman’s side that night and for thirty nights afterwards, and then it was time for them to go back on the plane to fly home. The baby girl was as good as gold – she didn’t cry once, all through that long journey.
By now, Beatrice’s father’s words would become indistinct, blurred by sleep. Still, they were as comforting as the rustle of leaves on the maple tree outside or the Aramis cologne her father always wore.
The man carried the baby in through the front door for the first time, and upstairs to the little room that had been waiting for her all those years. The woman selected a cuddly toy from the shelf above her crib – a tawny-coloured bear with a gingham bow around his neck – and tucked him up in bed next to her new daughter.
Even in sleep, Beatrice’s hand would reach out for Harold the teddy bear, her thumb rubbing the special place behind his ear where by now the fur was almost worn away.
Then the man leaned over and kissed his child goodnight. All of his dreams had come true and his heart was full. He said, ‘I love you, my Beatrice.’
Beatrice couldn’t remember the last time her dad had told her that story, any more than she could remember the first. At some point, it must have stopped: one or other of them deciding she had grown too old for it. Whenever that had been, though, it was some time before something even more important had changed: Beatrice had realised that in spite of all the detail in the story, someone was missing.
There was one character who never made any appearance, even though without her there would never have been a baby at all.