by Karen Swan
She walked without looking, moved without thinking, but it was no surprise when her feet stepped up some steps and stopped outside the glossy greenish-black door. At some level, she had known she was going to come here. She hadn’t been able to pick up the phone to her, or even message her before now, because she knew when she did, she would have to say the words she had never told anyone. Not even Dr Hansje. Yet. She would have to admit her culpability in this.
She knocked and waited.
Knocked and waited.
Knocked and waited again.
She knew Gisele was in there – the lights were on and she had seen a shadow on the first-floor wall. She went back down the steps and crossed the cobbles, looking up from across the street, looking into the first-floor drawing room. She was about to call up – like Harry that last time on her doorstep, she really didn’t care who heard or looked or watched – but the door was already opening, a narrow shaft of light falling onto the steps.
Lee ran over – very nearly colliding with a cyclist who, rightly, yelled at her. She bounded up the steps, seeing how, curiously, the door hadn’t opened further.
‘Gisele?’ she enquired, pushing on it gently and peering into the marble-floored hall. Gisele was standing behind the door, her hands on the walls and her arms outstretched, head hanging down between them as she panted.
Lee took one look at her. ‘Oh fuck.’
She walked the corridor, up and down, up and down . . . it was more waiting, more than she could bear. The baby was five weeks early. Viable, yes, but this was too soon. This was all wrong. This was her fault.
The ambulance had arrived quickly, Gisele’s bag already packed and by the door, just as she’d told her the day they’d had coffee. They’d not spoken on the way to the hospital, not in the conversational sense, Lee instead just telling her how well she was doing, not to panic, holding her hand when the contractions hit, rubbing her back . . . just getting her through it. The doctors had been waiting for her when they’d arrived, whisking her off in a wheelchair and, minutes after that, wheeling her on a trolley into theatre, an oxygen mask over her face.
Lee had rung home, explaining the situation to the others. Mila was going to stay over with Jasper; there was no question of leaving Gisele here alone – her parents were still trying to get back from their distant, exotic holiday; apparently it had been several days before word had even got to them about their son-in-law.
Gisele had been utterly alone.
Lee moaned, wanting to cry but unable to. She knew she should have made contact before now – rung, texted, visited . . . but she’d been so pole-axed by the double whammy of Sam’s betrayal and Harry’s capture that she’d been unable to see beyond her own pain. She’d been so immersed in the miasma of her story, her past, she had failed to see it was also Gisele’s present and Gisele’s future. The woman was pregnant, she was alone and she was completely, wholly ignorant of what was going on and why.
Whatever Lee was going through, she realized now it had to have been worse for Gisele. She was in the dark about everything – she didn’t have Harry’s letter, Dita’s contacts, Lee’s history. She had no idea about why her husband had left her to go to one of the most hostile places on earth, weeks before their baby was due. Wouldn’t it have been better – kinder – for her to know he’d gone to right a wrong and try to become a good man, in his own eyes at least, before he became a father? It would have given her something to hold on to.
One of Gisele’s neighbours had come out as they’d waited for the ambulance; she’d described how Gisele had practically been under siege for the past week, reporters camped outside her door. No one had seen hide nor hair of her in that time, the lights remaining off day and night, so that eventually the press had moved off, believing her to be hiding out somewhere else. Lee couldn’t bear to think of her sitting, heavily pregnant, in the house in the dark like that, night after night, not daring to switch on a light, the television. The stress she must have been under . . .
A doctor in scrubs came through the swing doors, pulling off her cap. ‘Next of kin to Gisele Cunningham?’
Lee’s heart froze, forgetting to beat, as she watched the doctor cast her gaze around the waiting area. Next of kin? Slowly she raised a hand. ‘I’m her friend,’ she said quietly. ‘But not her next of kin.’
The doctor came over. ‘You brought her in?’
Lee nodded, panic beginning to rush. Surely—
‘Well, I’m happy to report Mrs Cunningham is out of theatre now.’
Lee exhaled like she’d been smacked on the back, pitching forward slightly. ‘You mean she’s okay?’
‘Yes, she’s going to be fine.’
‘Oh God,’ Lee breathed. ‘I thought, when you said . . .’
‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t on the notes who had brought her in. You’re a friend of hers?’
‘Yes. I dropped by to check on her and she was already in labour.’
‘It was as well you visited when you did. The cord had become wrapped around the baby’s neck. If her waters had broken, there may not have been a happy outcome.’
‘So the baby’s okay too?’
‘Yes. The paediatricians had some work to do after delivery, with him being so small, but he’s stable now. He’s in an incubator in the Prem unit and Mrs Cunningham is coming around from her sedation. You can sit with her if you like, but she’ll be groggy for a few hours yet.’
Lee nodded but her attention had snagged. Him. They’d had a boy? Harry had a son? Gisele had told her they were expecting a daughter. ‘. . . Then can I see the baby first?’
‘Yes, but you can’t hold him, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘This way then, I’ll show you where he is.’
Lee grabbed her coat from the chair and followed the doctor back through the swing doors, stepping out of the way as some other medics rushed past, pushing a trolley and another patient towards the theatre lifts. They were on the front line too, these people, saving lives every day, helping others . . . They must see things that invaded their dreams as well, surely?
They walked down a long corridor, the doctor stopping finally at an internal window. ‘Baby Cunningham, third from the left here.’
Lee pressed a hand to the glass, staring in at the improbably tiny human – wrinkled skin, sealed-shut eyes, hairless head warmed by a skull cap and a thin body swaddled in a utilitarian, no doubt hospital-issue white sleepsuit; Lee realized the clothes Gisele would have bought would be for a full-term baby, far too big for this little thing. He was lying on his back in the Superman position, tubes smaller than drinking straws poking out of his body.
‘I’ll leave you here. Mrs Cunningham is in the maternity wing when you’re ready.’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ Lee said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘For everything you’ve done. You don’t know how important this baby is to them.’
‘All babies are important to their parents,’ the doctor smiled, before heading off.
Lee looked back through the glass again, searching for something of Harry in that barely formed face, but it was impossible to say; he’d been born too soon.
She felt a tear roll down her cheek, followed by another. Then more. He was safe, but everything was a mess, nothing was as it should be. And it was all her fault.
Harry was a father and he didn’t even know it.
He didn’t know.
Worse – would he ever?
Chapter Thirty
‘Hi Lenka.’ Lee slotted her key into the lock, glancing down at her neighbour with a tired smile. She just wanted to go to bed, regardless of whether or not she actually slept.
‘Oh. Hello.’ Lenka nodded as she stepped out of her doorway. She looked pale and even more tired than Lee, her eyes seeming swollen, as though she’d just been crying again.
Lee felt another, distant shot of sympathy for her as she remembered her predicament; with everything that had been going on with Sam and Harry, and now G
isele, she had forgotten all about it. She’d forgotten about lots of things. Did Lenka know about Gus’s affair? Was it Lee’s place to say, when she didn’t have proof?
‘Nearly ready for Christmas?’ she asked instead, bewilderingly unable to fully cast off her British manners, even in the face of adversity and exhaustion.
‘Oh.’ Lenka looked down and Lee saw her legs were bare under the coat too; it had to be a couple of degrees below freezing out here. ‘No, I forgot.’ She looked back at Lee. ‘It is soon?’
Lee gave a small bark of disbelief. Was she serious? ‘Uh, yeah – three days.’
‘Oh.’ She shivered, looking upset and embarrassed.
She actually was serious? The poor girl really did have other things on her mind. ‘Don’t worry, there’s still plenty of time,’ Lee said limply. ‘I haven’t made a start on my presents either. I’ll just go to HEMA, that’s my one-stop for emergency presents.’
‘HEMA?’ Lenka repeated blankly.
Lee was surprised she hadn’t heard of it. It was the biggest department store in the city. ‘Yes, on Kalverstraat.’
‘Kalverstraat.’ Lenka looked blank.
Lee frowned. Kalverstraat was the main shopping thoroughfare. How could she not know it? It was like a Londoner not knowing Oxford Street.
The door behind Lenka opened again and Gus peered out. ‘Oh, hi, Lee,’ he said, breaking into a friendly smile. ‘I thought I heard voices! How are you?’
She ignored the question – it demanded either an outright lie or an answer so detailed they’d be here till breakfast. ‘We’re just talking about Christmas shopping. Or lack thereof.’
‘Oh. Yes. Same here. We’re so behind.’
She tried not to sigh out loud – they didn’t have a five-year-old boy and a Christmas stocking to shop for. ‘Have you got any plans?’ Lee pushed the door open and retracted the key from the lock again.
‘No, just a quiet one for us,’ he shrugged. ‘You?’
‘Yes, same.’ She gave a small smile, but she was too tired, too worn down for further small talk today. ‘Well, see you around. Bye.’
‘Yes, bye.’
She stepped in and closed the door, catching sight of Lenka stepping onto the cobbles and walking away, looking like the loneliest woman in the world. She paused for a moment, watching her pityingly through the crack and wondering where she was going at this time of night. The young woman looked so desolate; there were dark circles under her eyes and her hair looked unwashed. She was neglecting herself, and Lee felt she was clearly depressed—
‘. . . You okay?’
She turned to find Mila standing on the stairs. ‘Yes, I’m fine . . . Tired.’ She was so bone-achingly tired. Everything felt wrong, rattled, jarred out of position.
‘I’m not surprised. How is she?’
‘Sleeping. They had to give her a general anaesthetic so she’s pretty out of it, in and out of consciousness. There wasn’t much point in staying, in the end. And the baby’s in an incubator so . . .’ Lee tried to give a shrug, but to her shock, a sob escaped her instead, the tears flowing – as surprising as they were unstoppable.
‘Oh Lee!’ Mila flew down the stairs and wrapped her arms around her, rubbing her back. ‘What a fright you must have had, finding her like that. It’s been one thing after another for you lately.’
But Lee pulled away again, refusing to accept kindness or sympathy when she knew she was the architect behind all this. ‘I’m fine. I’m not the one this has happened to!’ she protested, her breath coming in ragged gulps. ‘Gisele’s the one lying drugged up in a hospital bed with no idea she’s become a mother!’
‘And how is the baby?’ Mila’s hand rested comfortingly on her shoulder, nonetheless.
‘A little boy. Three pounds four. Absolutely titchy. He’s in an incubator in the Prem unit.’ She dabbed at her still-leaking eyes.
‘Oh, the poor darling.’
‘I know. I’ll go back tomorrow and see how they’re doing.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘I stopped at some shops on the way home and bought some extra-tiny sleepsuits for him. Everything she bought will be far too big.’ She limply held up the shopping bags in her hands and Mila took them from her, setting them down carefully by the coats so she’d see them on her way out again in the morning.
‘That’s so sweet of you.’ Mila squeezed her shoulder affectionately. ‘Listen, Jasper’s in bed but not quite asleep. I said I’d send you straight up.’
‘. . . Okay. Are the boys still here?’
‘No, they had to go. But I’ve put your dinner in the oven, it’s just on a low simmer so have it when you’re ready. But make sure you have some. You must eat.’
Lee nodded obediently, already knowing she was too tired to eat. She also sensed her friend was restless. ‘You should go. You’ve been here for hours.’
‘I can stay if you need me to.’
‘No, really, I’m just going to eat and then go straight to bed.’ She’d had enough of this world for one day.
Mila reached across her for her coat.
Lee watched her, seeing energy in her friend’s movements. ‘Have you got plans?’
‘Maybe. They were only provisional. Obviously everything’s been dependent on things here, but seeing as it’s early still . . . I’ve got another date with Joost.’
‘Who?’
‘You know – Alexander Skarsgård?’
‘Oh.’ Dodgy shoes, she remembered Liam saying as her friend pulled on her coat.
‘He’s been messaging me all week, wanting to meet up again, but I’ve been putting him off to be here with you. But I don’t want him to give up on me altogether.’
‘No, of course not.’
Mila gave a bemused smile as she tied her scarf. ‘Honestly, it seems the more I tell him I’m unavailable, the more the guy seems to want me.’
‘Classic,’ Lee said flatly, unable to muster enthusiasm. The world of dating seemed so far from her emotional landscape right now.
Mila pulled her in for another hug. ‘Go see your boy and have a good night’s sleep. You look wrecked.’
‘Okay,’ Lee said obediently, too worn down to argue.
‘Oh – and before I forget, Liam said to tell you he’s throwing a Christmas Eve party at his. Nothing wild: carols, mince pies . . . he says it’ll be family-friendly, can you believe it? I thought he was terrified of children? Anyway, that could be something to look forward to?’
Lee took a step back. She couldn’t think about celebrations, festivities, songs, happiness, a world existing several days in the future. She couldn’t see past right now. ‘Maybe. Let’s see.’
‘There’s no pressure, of course. Just if you feel up to it.’ Mila smiled at her. ‘I’ll be back in the morning.’
‘Mils, you can’t keep taking all this time off work.’
‘Oh, trust me, they owe me holiday.’
They walked to the door together.
‘Have fun tonight,’ Lee said wanly. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
‘Hmm. That widens the scope for what I can do quite considerably.’ Mila winked at her.
Lee raised a reluctant smile at that, waving her friend off and closing the door behind her, fastening all the bolts, the chain and the Chubb lock. She pressed her hands against the door and stood there for several moments, as though making sure the world wasn’t pushing against the other side, trying to ram-raid its way in. It was just them again, her and her boy.
She climbed the stairs, turning off the lights as she went, putting the mesh guard in front of the fire, turning off the fairy lights on the tree – there were yet more presents under it, his over-indulgent godparents seemingly on shopping steroids. She picked up the remote to turn off the TV – it was on mute and set to Sky News, Harry’s story now relegated to the ticker tape that ran along the bottom of the screen. No news meant no news coverage. It had been eight days; public interest and private hope was fading . . .
She went upstairs to Jasper’s r
oom. Shrouded in a fuzzy, not-quite-complete darkness, she could smell his scent as she walked in, see the dark shapes of his clothes strewn on the beanbag.
‘Hey,’ she whispered, curling around him on the bed. He was in his tightly balled shrimp position, thumb in. No Ducky. Getting off to sleep without him had been difficult this past week, but he was almost off now, stirring fractionally and giving a tiny moan as she leaned over and kissed his temple. ‘I’m back,’ she whispered. ‘I missed you.’
‘. . . Missed . . . you.’
She listened to the sound of his breathing, steady and strong. She reminded herself, as she had the day he was born, that every breath he took, was a step she took further away from the horrors of her past. He was her benchmark, her getaway car. An AA member’s sobriety token.
She lay her head down beside him on the pillow, feeling it was damp. She touched his hair but that was dry; he’d been crying again. Broken-hearted, his trust betrayed.
She stroked his cheek. ‘You okay?’ she whispered.
There was a long silence and she thought he’d dropped fully into sleep when his words finally drifted into the darkness. ‘I miss . . . Sam.’
‘You’re not sleeping,’ Pabe said, watching her as she carefully unloaded the logs into the log basket.
‘Oh dear, do I look that bad?’
‘Well, put it this way – I’m almost blind and even I can see how exhausted you are.’
She smiled. ‘Face mask tonight then.’