Mickey sat in the softly lit gloom of Loveday’s curtained bay on the maternity ward, holding his son and watching with fascination the dear and oddly familiar face. Phantom dreams twitched Baby Hal’s lips and wrinkled his nose. Mickey lifted the swaddled body to his face and nuzzled the soft red hair, sitting like a halo on the fragile head. Hal looked like Loveday but he smelled of his own unique perfume. Warm, new and precious.
He whispered in his son’s ear: ‘I love you, Hal. I’ll always be here for you. You can come to me for anything, ’cos I’m your dad.’
Hal wriggled and stretched, a beatific smile spreading over his face. His eyelids fluttered and opened a little. Man and boy stared at each other. ‘Hello. I’m your daddy,’ said Mickey.
‘And I’m the mummy,’ said Loveday, rustling the waterproof mattress and cotton sheets as she hauled herself upright from her sleep.
‘Hello, Mummy,’ grinned Mickey. ‘We were just having a little chat while you were grabbing a few zeds.’ He held Hal up, in front of his own lips, and said in a squeaky voice, ‘Hello, Mummy. Daddy and I were just thinking of going for a pint.’
‘Lucky you. I could murder a cider,’ Loveday smiled.
‘No luck, love, but I can get a cup of tea if you want?’
Mickey carefully handed his precious bundle to Loveday then went in search of refreshment. Loveday held Hal and stared at him. Examining every inch looking for similarities. After a few moments, she grunted with satisfaction. He looked like her. Same hair colouring. Same chin … but whose eyes did he have? Mickey’s. Definitely Mickey’s. Yes, Mickey’s.
She analysed again her beautiful son’s face; she couldn’t find a trace of Jesse.
But a voice in her head began to whisper insidious doubts.
He’s a big boy for being two weeks early. But he’s the right size for being ten days overdue. Are you sure that little bleed – spotting really – in January was an actual period?
She bent her face to her innocent child and drank in the scent of him. Her lips feeling the wrinkles of his neck as she mouthed softly, ‘You’re mine and that’s the important thing.’
The curtains around her bed swished on their plastic track and Mickey appeared with two cups of tea on rattling saucers. ‘Here you go, my bird. Just saw the nurse. She’s asking about breast-feeding. I said yes please.’
Loveday laughed, in spite of herself. ‘Daddy’s a cheeky monkey, isn’t he, Hal?’
As if on cue, Hal started to whimper. His little face screwing up in pink confusion as he thought about what he really wanted. Then came the full-blown cry of a hungry baby.
By the time the nurse, an efficient woman of about thirty with short blond hair, got to him, he was happily clamped onto Loveday and suckling drowsily.
‘Well done, Mum!’ congratulated the nurse. ‘You’re a natural. Now then, I think we’ll keep you in tonight and …’ She turned to look at Mickey. ‘Daddy, if everything is all right, you can come back in the morning and take your lovely little family home.’
‘Ideal,’ smiled Mickey happily.
The nurse turned back to Loveday. ‘I’ll check on you both later, but first I’ve got to check on a lady who’s on her way in as an emergency.’
They heard the sound of wheels on the rubber floor and the noise of anxious voices approaching.
The nurse stopped and listened. ‘That’ll be them.’ And with another swish of the curtain, back and forward on its rail, the nurse left.
‘Have you phoned home yet and told the grandparents?’ asked Loveday, who had happily lost track of all time and all responsibility for the outside world. Her focus had shrunk to her son.
‘Yeah. Did that when you two were having a kip. They’re all delighted and your mum sends her love. She wanted to come in tonight but I told her you were knackered.’
‘Thank you, darlin’.’ Loveday did feel a bit knackered now she thought about it. ‘Do I look all right?’
‘You look bleddy beautiful.’ He got up from the armchair and bent to kiss his wife. ‘Who’s a clever girl?’
‘I am.’
‘All right, big head!’ he joked, ducking before she cuffed him.
‘I think I might make tracks. I want to tell Jesse all about fatherhood. It’ll be the first time I’ve ever had anything before he has.’
Loveday felt the wound of her betrayal split open a little.
‘Bye, Hal.’ Mickey was bending to kiss his son. ‘Be a good boy for Mummy.’
*
Beyond the curtains, a man’s voice started to shout, sounding panicked. ‘Nurse. Nurse. My wife is unwell. Help. Nurse.’
Mickey and Loveday listened, stock-still, as at least two sets of footsteps walked quickly towards the man’s voice.
‘She’s shaking. She’s blue. What’s happening, Nurse?’ asked the man, his voice trembling with panic.
‘She’s having a seizure,’ said a female voice, who they recognised as the nurse who had just left them. She was using a calm, professional voice, which became more urgent as she issued sharp instructions to her colleague. ‘Call theatre. Tell them we’re on the way down.’
‘Will she be OK? Will my baby be OK?’ The man was beyond anguished.
‘Mr Behenna, we will do everything we can to safely deliver your child. Now please …’ Mickey and Loveday heard the metal sides of a hospital bed clang. ‘I must get your wife to theatre.’
‘Can I come with her?’
‘The best thing you can do is wait here and I’ll bring news as soon as possible.’
They listened as the bed rattled from the ward and went down some unknown corridor.
They listened as the man tried to quieten his frightened sobs.
Mickey knew what he had to do. He stepped out of the cubicle and put his arms around his best friend.
Jesse started. ‘Mickey! They’ve taken Greer to theatre. She was shaking and her eyes were rolling. I’m scared. They won’t let me go down to be with her. I’ve got to wait here.’ He looked at the empty bay that had just held Greer’s bed. ‘Will you wait with me?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘You haven’t got to get home to Loveday?’
‘No.’
‘Did Mum tell you we were in the ambulance up here? Is that why you came?’
‘No. I was here anyway.’
‘What?’
‘Loveday’s had a little boy. We’ve called him Hal.’
Jesse looked demented. ‘You have a son?’ He clasped at Mickey’s sleeve. ‘Loveday has a son?’
Mickey nodded, and steered his bewildered friend to a chair. ‘Let me get you a cup of tea.’
‘Can I see them? The baby and Loveday?’
Loveday, behind the safety of her curtains, gripped her sleeping son a little tighter and held her breath, hoping fervently that Mickey would say no.
‘Let’s see them later,’ she heard him say. ‘When we know Greer is all OK. Then we can meet together. Babies, mums and all.’
Jesse was slumped onto his chair. ‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’
‘Right, let me get you that cup of tea.’
*
Greer’s son, Freddie, was delivered at 9.38 that night, by Caesarean section. He weighed five pounds six ounces and, despite being two weeks early, was pronounced healthy. Greer, on the other hand, knew nothing of the birth, or that she had a son. The severe pre-eclampsia had developed very rapidly that afternoon. That morning she had woken with a painful headache, which she couldn’t budge. By teatime she had blurred vision with flashing lights and her hands, feet and face were getting increasingly swollen. It was Elizabeth who had called the ambulance.
*
Jesse, pale and exhausted, was finally allowed to see her some time after midnight. She was asleep in a quiet side room. Drips and monitors surrounded her. ‘How is she?’ he asked the young nurse who was writing something on the clipboard that hooked onto the foot of the bed.
‘She’s stable but needs complete rest.’
‘Can I sit with her?’
‘Of course, but she needs to sleep. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to do her checks again.’
Jesse nodded his understanding and pulled up a small plastic chair that was nearest to the bed. He sat and took her hand. There was a cannula taped to the back of it with a tube leading to a stand with a bag of fluid on it. Like a metronome, it dripped its regular drip into her body.
‘Greer?’ he whispered. ‘Can you hear me?’ She gave no response. ‘We have a little boy. Freddie has arrived! We did agree on Freddie, didn’t we?’ He wrinkled his eyebrows anxiously. ‘If you want to change it when you wake up, that’s no problem.’ The quiet hiss of the oxygen tube under her nostrils was the only response. He carried on regardless, the sound of his voice in the silence reassuring him, soothing his frayed nerves.
‘I’ve been to see him. Handsome boy. Ten fingers and ten toes. He’s in special care at the moment. They’re keeping an eye on him till you’re able to.’ He felt the prick of tears and bowed his head, resting it on her hand. ‘Darlin’, you’m gonna get better soon. The doctor says your liver, or did he say kidneys, I always get them mixed up; anyway, they might be affected, but you’re in good hands. You’ve got to rest, take it easy.’
The nurse entered the room. ‘I think you should go home now, Mr Behenna. We’ve given your wife a sedative that should keep her sleeping for the next few hours. Get some rest. Come back in the morning. Your wife is going to need you to be fit to take care of her and …’ She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
‘Freddie,’ he said.
‘Freddie. What a lovely name. So yes, you go home and we’ll see you in the morning. Any change and we’ll call you.’
*
Mr Cunningham sat reassuringly and handsomely at the desk in his consulting room. Greer’s father was insistent that this should be a private appointment rather than NHS.
Greer and Jesse were shown in by the cool secretary, who looked like Miss Moneypenny and had clearly also been in love with her employer for years.
Mr Cunningham stood up and greeted the couple.
‘Do take a seat.’ He gestured to the comfortable upholstered chairs facing his desk.
‘How are you, Greer?’
‘A lot better, thank you.’
‘And young Freddie? Not keeping you awake too much?’
‘Oh, you know. He’s not a great sleeper, but my mother is doing the night feeds and being back at my parents’ house is nice.’
‘All those home-cooked meals?’ smiled Mr Cunningham. He turned to Jesse.
‘And how’s Dad doing – you’ve had quite a lot to deal with, haven’t you.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Jesse took his eyes off the silver-framed photos of Mrs Cunningham and offspring and tried to shake the tiredness from his brain. God, he was exhausted. Freddie was noisy, angry and impossible. Greer was fragile, and distanced from him, now that she was back at her parents’ house.
‘Sorry … what did you say?’
Mr Cunningham gave a benign professional smile. ‘You’ve had a lot to deal with. Greer’s illness. A new baby.’
‘No, I’m fine. Just want to know how Greer is.’
‘Ah, yes.’ The consultant opened a leather folder on his desk and took out a more modest buff folder. Inside were several sheets of paper: Greer’s medical notes. Mr Cunningham cleared his throat. ‘Greer has had an episode of severe pre-eclampsia which developed into eclampsia. If we hadn’t operated on her and delivered Freddie, you might have lost them both.’
The consultation took thirty minutes. Mr Cunningham explained that the condition was little understood, but that it needn’t necessarily stop the majority of women from having normal pregnancies in the future. Mr Cunningham paused and arranged his features sombrely. ‘Unfortunately, Greer falls into the minority group of women who I wouldn’t recommend trying for another baby. It could be dangerous for her and the child. This is only my recommendation and you must do as you think best – but, truthfully, I do believe you shouldn’t contemplate adding to your family. I’m sorry.’