Jack’s eyes widen, and he steps forward. “No! No! She definitely belongs to one of us. We just… don’t know who.”
The other two nod, as if that’s a completely reasonable explanation, and notabsolutely batshit insane.
“Right. Yeah. Okay.” Edging slowly away, I turn to the door. “I’m calling the police.”
“Shit,” Cyrus swears.
Jack jumps up, moving to block my exit. “Please, no! Crap. I know this looks suspicious, but I swear we’re telling the truth.”
“Get out of my way,” I tell him, my voice shaking. “Now.”
He does, reluctantly, running a hand through his spiky blonde hair. “This is not how I expected this to go.”
“And what did you expect?!” I ask. “For me to walk in, find you all standing here with some random baby, and sayokay, yeah, that’s totally fine, just keep it?”
“We’re not lying,” Jack insists. “She definitely does belong to one of us.”
“Well, almost definitely,” Cyrus amends. “The dates all match up.” He shuffles up on the couch, patting the cushion next to him. “Will you please just sit down and let us explain?” He cajoles.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath through my nose. “I’m notsitting down,” I bite out. “You have exactly five seconds to tell me why the Hell you have this baby.”
Cyrus and Jack share a helpless look. “It’s kind of a long story,” Jack starts.
“Summarise.” My voice is hard.
I’m not usually like this. I’m generally a pretty shy person. I don’t think I’ve ever been so rude to a group of strangers in my life, but I don’t screw around with child safety.
The third man stands up. Sebastian. My heart starts to beat faster as he turns on me, meeting my gaze.
He’s… intimidating-looking. Everything about him is sharp and angular. He’s dressed in a dove-grey suit, with a crisp white shirt and a thin tie knotted precisely around his throat. His coppery-brown hair is styled neatly, his pale grey eyes are cold and steely, and his hard, sculpted face looks like it’s been carved out of rock.
The only thing that softens up his expression is his mouth. His lips are full and pink, almost sulky, as he steps towards the coffee table, laying a hand on the car seat.
“We got a call from the porter this morning,” he says. His accent is crystal-clear and clipped, like a BBC newscaster. “He was furious. Shouting and swearing at us down the phone. We couldn’t work out what was wrong, so we went down to the reception.” He twists the car seat around, and I suddenly notice the gold gift tag tied onto the handle.Appt. 5Ahas been scrawled on the back in felt tip. I feel sick. “Someone had left this on the doorstep of the building,” he says grimly. “Inside it was Camilla, a packet of nappies, and her birth certificate.”
I’m absolutely horrified. I clutch Cami even tighter. She starts chewing on my dress. “Please,pleasetell me you’re kidding.”
“No.” He picks up a piece of folded paper and holds it out to me. “There was also this.”
I stare at the paper like it might explode. Slowly, I shift Cami onto one hip and reach for the page, flipping it open.
It’s a note, written with biro in shaky, child-like handwriting.
To the boys in apartment 5A
Congratulations. You have a kid. This is Camilla (Cami). She is six months old. Please take care of her. She belongs to one of you.
I tried to keep her but I can’t anymore because I am in trouble for dealing and possession of smack and my family is sending me to rehab for it.
I am not a good mum. She’s yours now. I know you’ll be as good to her as you were to me.
Sorry I didn’t tell you
Anisha
I put it down slowly. “And you know this woman? Anisha?”
“In the biblical sense, obviously,” Cyrus says casually. “We didn’t know her well enough to know that she would pull a Dumbledore and leave a defenceless baby on a doorstep instead of, like, ringing the doorbell and giving her to us in person. But, yeah, we were prettyfamiliarwith her.”