‘Oh, nothing, really-’ She hesitated and then blurted out against her will. ‘I’m a bit concerned about the baby not being christened.’

Blackie was flabbergasted. He stared at her uncomprehendingly and threw back his head and roared with laughter. Emma looked hurt, but he could not help it. ‘Concerned about the baby not being christened!’ he echoed, trying to swallow the last of his merriment. ‘I can’t believe me own ears, Emma. Why should that matter to ye? After all, ye’ve been telling me for months that ye are an atheist.’

‘I am! I haven’t changed my mind about that,’ Emma cried. ‘But I don’t feel right about it. Not having her christened. The baby might believe in God when she grows up, and then she might hold it against me if she ever finds out she wasn’t baptized.’

He could see she was in real earnest and so he said, ‘Why don’t ye go to see the vicar of Christ Church and arrange-’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that,’ Emma interjected harshly, fixing him with a cold stare. ‘The vicar would want her birth certificate, that’s customary, and he’d see straightaway that the baby is-is-illegitimate, and then he wouldn’t do it. Besides, I don’t want him, or anyone else, knowing my business.’

‘Well, Emma, if ye don’t go to Christ Church, I don’t know what ye can do. There’s no solution I can think of. Ye can’t have her christened, and that’s that!’

‘Yes, I know. I wouldn’t have mentioned it to you if you hadn’t asked me why I was gloomy. And you’re right, there’s nothing to be done. I shall just have to hope the baby isn’t angry with me one day.’

If the child’s ever angry it will be about her illegitimacy and not her baptism, or rather lack of it, Blackie thought. But he said, ‘Ye are such a contradiction, mavourneen mine. But look here, Emma, if it’s that important to ye, why don’t we take the baby to a church in another part of Leeds? One where ye are not likely to be knowing anybody, and have her christened there. Then it won’t matter about anybody seeing the birth certificate.’

‘No! No! I don’t want a soul to know she’s illegitimate,’ Emma snapped.

Suddenly an idea occurred to Blackie. A marvellous idea. ‘I’ve got it! We’ll have our own christening! Right here and now!’ He leapt up and strode purposefully to the sink in the kitchen. ‘Leeds Corporation water is as good as any for a baptism, I am thinking,’ he shouted gaily. ‘Bring me a bowl.’

‘What do you mean by “have our own christening”? I don’t understand.’ Her brow puckered into a frown.

‘Since ye are so troubled about the bairn not being baptized, I meself am going to do it. Now. Bring her over to the sink. Come on,’ he urged, standing in the kitchen doorway.

Total disbelief flickered on to Emma’s face. ‘You do it! But would it be proper? Would it be a real christening, I mean?’

‘Sure and it would. Do as I say,’ Blackie commanded. ‘I can do just as good a job as a vicar, or a priest, for that matter. Even though I am a lapsed Catholic I still believe in God, ye know. I might not be going to the church, Emma, but I never lost me faith. Never. Be sure of that. And God lives within all of us. That is my true belief. I feel Him in me heart, and that’s what’s most important. To feel His love and His presence eternally with us.’

Although Emma was astonished, she knew that he meant every word he said.

Blackie continued in a tender voice, ‘I don’t think He will be angry that I am taking matters into me own hands, in this emergency. And He will accept her as one of His blessed children, Emma. Sure and He will. His own son, Jesus, said, “Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God.” Please, believe me, it’s the baptism and the spirit of love behind it that counts, and not the man that does it, or where it’s done. We need neither a church nor a font, Emma.’

‘I believe you, Blackie. I want you to christen the baby.’

‘That’s my Emma,’ said Blackie. ‘Now, pick up the baby and bring her over here.’ Blackie occupied himself at the sink, preparing the bowl of tepid water, and then he hurried across to the sideboard and pulled open a drawer, searching for a towel.

Emma now lifted the baby out of the makeshift cot and cradled her in her arms, stroking her small face and cooing to her. ‘Oh, my sweet little girl,’ Emma exclaimed, entranced with the child. Unexpectedly Edwin Fairley’s face flashed before her eyes. If only Edwin had not been so cruel. If only Edwin could see the baby now, he would love her as I do. To her horror, Emma found she could not expunge his face, or his name. She had not thought of him for weeks and then only with the most intense hatred. He had barely crossed her mind when the baby was born. Emma was so involved with these unparalleled thoughts of Edwin Fairley that she became distracted and her guard was lowered.

Blackie was calling from the other side of the room, ‘And what will ye be calling Tinker Bell, then? Have ye thought of a name?’

So preoccupied was Emma, she did not think twice. Edwin’s name was on the tip of her tongue and she said automatically, thoughtlessly, ‘Edwina-’ As that name fell from her lips Emma froze by the sink, so aghast was she at her own carelessness. What made me say that name? she wondered, furious with herself. She had never had intention calling the baby after Edwin. She had decided to name the baby Laura weeks ago. Emma felt as if the blood was draining out of her.

Blackie’s jaw had dropped open and he was staring at her back. He could see that she held herself tensely and her shoulder blades were protruding through the thin silk of the white blouse she was wearing. He repeated the name Edwina to himself and then, without having to give it a second thought, he knew who the father of her child was. Edwin Fairley. There was no doubt in his mind about that. Everything fell neatly into place. Why had he not thought of Edwin before? It was so obvious. And he had been suspicious of her story for months, convinced that the fastidious Emma would not have entangled herself with a village yokel. Blackie’s heart ached for Emma and he longed to console her. But he held himself in check. Although her face was turned away from him, Blackie was now acutely conscious of her embarrassment and he guessed that she had just made a dreadful slip of the tongue. He was positive she had never meant to call the child Edwina. Why would she so blatantly spell it out for him? No, the canny Emma would never do that. It had been a mistake she could not now gracefully correct.

And so Blackie adopted an unconcerned tone and said, with a show of gaiety, ‘And where did ye find such an elegant name, mavourneen? In one of them illustrated magazines, I am thinking. Sure and it is real fancy, but very fitting for me darlin’ Tinker Bell. I like it. Sure and I do.’

Emma nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Blackie fussed with the towel, draping it over his arm, and then he tested the water, taking his time so that she could regain her composure. ‘Now then, I’m ready,’ he said with a bright smile. ‘Hold the babe forward, Emma…Yes, that’s right. Good, mavourneen.’

Somewhat recovered, Emma said, ‘Her full name is to be Ed-Edwina.’ She almost faltered, then swallowed and went on more steadily, ‘Laura Shane-’

‘Shane!’ interrupted Blackie, his surprise evident.

‘Yes, after you. I can’t very well call her Desmond or Patrick, and Blackie would seem odd, now wouldn’t it?’

Blackie chuckled. ‘True! True! Well, ‘tis flattered that I am and right pleased, Emma. So, let’s commence.’ He dipped his fingers in the bowl of water with a flourish and made the sign of the cross on the baby’s forehead.

‘Wait a minute,’ Emma exclaimed, her eyes stretching widely. ‘I’m not a Roman Catholic and neither is the baby. In the Church of England the vicar just sprinkles the water on in drips. He doesn’t make a cross. We must do it properly. Start again, please.’