So, wondered, Bex, was Amy planning on gatecrashing? Frankly, knowing Amy as she did, she wouldn’t put it past her. Shameless was a word that sometimes sprang to mind where her cleaner was concerned. Bex paused halfway across the outfield and slipped her shoes off. She wished her feet didn’t ache quite so much. Carrying an extra stone was bad enough but this heat was putting the tin lid on things.
Bex put her shoes back on again and plodded on, waving at others from the town that she knew or recognised; Bert and Joan, Olivia, Dr Connolly and Jacqui, Harry from the pub, Jo from the PTA… The kids had already scattered to hang out with friends but Bex wasn’t concerned. They’d been told they could go where they liked as long as they didn’t stray beyond the cricket pitch. She made her way into the community centre to find a cold drink. The rundown old prefab was stiflingly hot, even with all the windows open, and most of the guests who had already arrived had collected a drink and a plate of food and were lounging on the grass outside the building, some on portable picnic chairs, some on rugs, some just sprawled out on the outfield. The kids were more active with the boys running around after a football while the girls either seemed to be making daisy chains or were practising their handstands up against the side of the building. It was, thought Bex, a lovely scene, the epitome of English village life.
The building was almost empty. There were a couple of small groups of people standing around chatting or collecting plates of food from the impressive spread while Heather, the host, was busy topping up the tea urn with more water. Bex couldn’t imagine why anyone would want tea on a day like this but then it was England so presumably there were those who did.
‘Hi, Heather,’ she said as she made her way to one of the tables to collect a glass of squash. Heather, she noticed, was looking quite pink. No surprise given that she was partially enveloped in steam from the boiler. ‘Hot, isn’t it,’ said Bex.
‘Isn’t it just. I really don’t want to sound as if I am complaining but there’s a tiny bit of me that would be quite grateful if we got one of those threatened thunderstorms – just to clear the air, you understand.’
‘I know what you mean and I agree. I’d forgotten just how hot having a baby makes you.’
‘Oh, yes. You poor thing, you must be boiling.’
Olivia came over and joined them. ‘Goodness, Bex…’
‘I know, I’m vast.’ She tried to sound as if she didn’t care but the joke was wearing a bit thin. ‘Anyway, how’s life with you?’
‘Good, thanks. We’re settling down to the new routine.’
‘And Jade?’
Olivia shot a look at Heather. ‘Fine as far as I know. We don’t see much of her these days now she’s at the vicarage.’
‘She’s a model tenant,’ said Heather. ‘She even cooks supper if I’m going to be late back.’
Olivia’s jaw dropped. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ said Heather firmly.
Bex took a gulp of her drink. ‘That’s wonderful. I long for the day when Megan looks after me – although I am very lucky that Miles is pretty handy in the kitchen.’ Movement near the door caught her eye. Miranda Osborne was hovering on the threshold. Bex looked at Heather and raised a questioning eyebrow. Surely Heather hadn’t invited her. Heather responded with an infinitesimal shake of her head before she swept forward.
‘Miranda – what a surprise. Have you come to join us?’
‘Not really. I have a bone to pick with you.’
‘Oh, that sounds ominous.’
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from behind Miranda which Bex recognised as Amy’s. Amy pushed her way past and came into the hall carrying a cake on a plate.
‘I know I’ve not had no invite,’ she said, ignoring the fact that she was interrupting. ‘But as I didn’t do nothing much for the bells, I thought the least I could do was to help out now with the party.’ She thrust the cake at Heather.
‘Oh… Amy, that’s very generous of you. Thank you.’
Amy looked at Heather expectantly. ‘Yeah, well…’
Heather got the hint. ‘Would you like to join us?’
‘Oh – don’t mind if I do.’ She toddled off across the room and began piling a plate with sandwiches and cocktail sausages. Bex stared at the spread laid out on the table and found that she didn’t really fancy any of it. In fact, the very thought of eating made her feel a touch bilious.
‘As I was saying…’ said Miranda.
‘Oh, yes, you said you have a bone to pick. Let me guess, it’s about the bells.’
‘Indeed. Yesterday and last week, when they were practising, the noise was intolerable.’ Miranda glared at Heather. ‘I was completely unable to enjoy my garden because of them.’
‘I live much closer to the church than you do,’ said Bex, ‘and I love them.’
Miranda gave Bex a withering look. ‘I am not prepared to be deafened on a regular basis by that racket.’ As she finished the sentence, right on cue, the bells began to ring the promised quarter peal to celebrate the success of the fundraising.
‘I think you’ll find you are in a minority and as the bells have been in existence for centuries, I think, as an incomer, you have very little right to criticise our tradition.’
Bex’s feet began to ache again so she made her way to the edge of the room to find a seat. She could have taken herself off to the slightly cooler temperature outside but she wasn’t going to miss this showdown between Miranda and Heather for the world. She noticed Amy was blatantly eavesdropping too.
‘Just because something is a tradition,’ said Miranda, ‘doesn’t make it right or acceptable in the modern age.’
‘I disagree,’ said Heather firmly.
‘It used to be traditional to burn Catholics at the stake but we live in more enlightened times.’
‘That’s hardly comparable.’
‘I think that these wretched bells are inflicting a cruel and unnatural torture on anyone in earshot – just like an ordeal by fire.’
‘That’s a total overreaction,’ snapped back Heather.
Bex was aware of her head starting to throb. Was it the heat… the noise…? She took another gulp of her drink.
Row or no row Bex needed some fresh air. Much as she was loath to miss the action she had to get outside. She made her way to the door, leaving Heather and Miranda hissing at each other like a pair of cats. If anything it was almost as bad outside as it was in – the temperature was truly oppressive and the air was sticky with humidity to boot. Bex plonked down on the steps to the community centre and toed off her shoes. What she wanted, she thought, was to be drenched in cold water but the only place she would achieve that was to go home and have a shower. Only she didn’t have the energy. She leaned against the door jamb and shut her eyes. Even blotting out the glare of the sun didn’t ease her head and she began to feel dizzy. Across the other side of the pitch the bells continued to ring out their joyous message that they were back in action and although Bex was a fan of the bells, on this occasion she wished they’d stop. She wanted everything to stop – the heat, the noise, the sunshine… everything.
She sat on the step, her eyes shut, and waited for the world to stop rocking and rolling. She’d be better in a minute, she told herself. It was nothing and it was going to pass.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Amy.
‘I’m fine,’ lied Bex opening her eyes and trying to look more chipper than she felt. ‘Just needed to get the weight off. You know how it is at this stage of being pregnant.’
Amy nodded as a low rumble of thunder reached them. As it did the sun was blotted out by a cloud. ‘Yeah, I do. I was always needing a sit-down when I was pregnant with my Ashley and I was a lot younger than you. That and always wanting the lav. It’s no picnic, is it?’ There was another rumble – louder and more sustained. ‘Looks like we’re in for a storm,’ she observed.
For Bex, it couldn’t break soon enough. Maybe her wish to be drenched in cooling water was about to be granted. She felt a bit
sorry for Heather as it would put a damper on the party but Bex was feeling too ropy to care about being selfish. People began to drift off the cricket pitch towards the sheltering safety of the community centre. Bex moved over a little on her step so as not to be in the way.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. I could murder a glass of wine. Can I get you anything?’
‘No thanks,’ said Bex.
The first fat drops of rain began to splash down onto the grass and a gust of cooler air made the leaves shiver. Bring it on, thought Bex. She leaned against the building as the trickle of people echoed the rainfall which was rapidly becoming a torrent. In a couple of minutes the area was empty and everyone had crowded into the building. The sound of the party, of people having fun, eating and drinking swelled but Bex sat alone on the step in the rain. She jumped when there was a bolt of lightning and an almost simultaneous crash of thunder which managed to utterly drown out the bells. Bex thought her head was going to split but at least she was cooler. Feeling ghastly, she waited for the rain to have an effect and wondered if maybe she ought to ask for help but by now she was feeling so dreadful she didn’t even have the strength to do that. She lay down on the step and curled up, willing the pain and the nausea to go away.
‘Oi, Bex! You all right?’ asked Amy.
Bex wasn’t going to risk opening her eyes as she replied. ‘No,’ she admitted.
Behind Bex, in the body of the community centre, came the sound of the townsfolk chattering and laughing, in front of her was the hiss of the rain and the clanging of the bells, interrupted by the rumbles and crashes of the storm but she was oblivious to almost all of it as the throbbing in her head grew.
Miranda’s cut-glass voice sliced through the noise. ‘Amy says you’re not well. I’m calling you an ambulance.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ croaked Bex, ‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’
But Miranda had obviously ignored her as she then heard, ‘Yes please, an ambulance. It’s an emergency – I think it might be pre-eclampsia… Yes, the cricket pitch at Little Woodford. Yes… as quick as you can.’
Chapter 52
Miles got to the hospital just as Bex was being taken into theatre for an emergency caesarean.
He’d driven like a loon through the storm to the hospital in Cattebury and had abandoned his car in the car park and raced in with no thought to buying a ticket. He pounded through the puddles, coatless, and arrived at reception sodden and dripping. His anxiety was at an epic level where it had been since Heather had phoned the pub and told him of the situation.
‘And don’t worry about the children. Jade and I have them safe at the vicarage. The boys haven’t a clue as to what is going on and Megan is being very brave.’
Miles had gabbled his thanks, told Jamie and Belinda they’d have to cope without him, to which Belinda told him to take as long as he needed and, if necessary, she’d get a temp chef in to help Jamie.
‘Now go!’ she’d ordered.
Miles didn’t need telling twice.
‘Bex Millar,’ he said to the receptionist at the entrance to the maternity department. ‘Where is she?’
‘Take a seat, Mr Millar – she’s being taken to theatre.’
‘She’s what?’
‘She’s very poorly and we need to deliver the baby.’
‘But… but…’
‘She’s in safe hands, Mr Millar.’
Miles didn’t think to point out that he wasn’t called Millar but Patterson and anyway, what did it matter? All he could think about was Bex and the baby and the danger they were both in. He paced up and down the corridor a couple of times before he slumped in a chair. He’d never been the least bit religious but he was praying right now and making promises to a God he’d never really acknowledged before. If Bex and the baby pull through I promise I’ll never swear again. If Bex and the baby pull through I promise I’ll never get angry again. If Bex and the baby pull through… And so it went on as he checked the clock every few seconds and his worry and the fear of what might happen went off the scale. Minute by interminable minute ticked past. The nurses on duty offered him a cup of tea but he declined. Somewhere down a corridor he heard the cries and groans of a mother giving birth and he tried to shut out the sound. Bex wasn’t doing that – she was unconscious, under the knife.
‘Mr Millar?’
Miles jumped. ‘Yes?’
‘The baby has been delivered and she’s fine. A little on the small side but she’s breathing on her own. We’re taking her down to the neonatal unit and your wife is in the recovery room. She’s just coming round and you can see her in just a few minutes.’
Miles felt almost weak with relief. ‘Thank God,’ he whispered.
‘You’re lucky your wife’s friend recognised the symptoms and called for an ambulance when she did.’
‘Yes, yes, that was wonderful.’
Miles went back to his chair, light-headed, blinking back tears of happiness at the reprieve he’d been given and thought about the news. He was a father. He had a baby girl. Oh, my God, he thought. He had given up hope of this ever happening. And now… now he had a daughter. His very own little girl. And he was going to be the best father ever. He fast-forwarded to the future; he’d teach her to cook, he’d walk her down the aisle… He was dizzy with happiness.
‘Mr Millar? You can see your wife now.’
The nurse led him along the corridor and opened a door.
‘Not too long,’ she warned. ‘Your wife is very tired. She was very poorly.’
In the centre of the opposite wall Bex was sitting up in bed, propped up on pillows, a drip in her arm. She looked exhausted and groggy.
Miles rushed across the room and took her hand. She looked so weak and vulnerable.
He clasped her hand and leaned forward and kissed her gently. ‘Oh, my darling girl. How are you?’
‘I’m feeling much better than I did. We’ve got a little girl.’
‘They said. Oh, Bex…’ Miles felt his eyes welling up again as he thought about what might have happened.
‘Hey,’ said Bex. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘But it might not have been.’
‘And the baby is doing really well. She’s four and a half pounds they say – which is good for someone so prem.’
‘But she’s not with you.’
‘She needs to be kept warm and they need to give her a little help with her feeding but they tell me she’s going to be fine – she just needs a little bit of extra care for a few days, maybe a couple of weeks.’
‘And you?’
‘Still drugged to the eyeballs.’ She gave him a wan smile.
The nurse came back in. ‘Mr Millar, I need to check on Bex, here. If you’d like to go down to the neonatal unit and meet your daughter while I do that and then I think it’ll be time for Bex to get some rest. Come back this evening.’
Miles kissed Bex again. ‘The nurses here have married us off. Maybe we ought to make it official when you’re up and about.’
‘Is that a proposal?’
‘I rather think it might be.’
‘Then I rather think I’d like to say yes.’
The nurse cleared her throat. Miles took the hint and edged towards the door.
‘But I’m going to get hold of Richard’s folks,’ he said. ‘They need to know what happened.’
‘OK,’ said Bex. ‘You’re right. Good luck with that.’
‘Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
*
It was two days before Bex was allowed home but she’d not been bored in hospital as there had been a near-constant stream of visitors to see her and when she wasn’t seeing her friends and family she was in the intensive care unit gazing at her daughter and wondering how anything so tiny could be so perfect. Miles gave her updates on how they were coping at home without her, including a blow-by-blow account of his FaceTime call to Granny Helen.
‘She was concerned about you, obviously,’ said Miles.
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Bex found that hard to believe – except that her stay in hospital meant she was falling down in her duties as the live-in carer for Helen’s grandchildren. And, if something happened to her, who would there be to look after them. She didn’t think Helen would let Miles take over.
‘And the baby,’ asked Bex.
Miles rolled his eyes.
And why would Helen care? The baby wasn’t a blood relative, she mistrusted her daughter-in-law and had made her views on Miles pretty clear. Oh, the joys of happy families. Bex dreaded having to take the children to the Med to see their grandparents but in fairness to the children it would have to happen. Maybe she could put them on a plane on their own – find an excuse as to why she couldn’t go… She’d think about it.
*
She arrived back at The Beeches to a houseful of flowers, cards and presents that had been delivered by, so it seemed, half the residents of the town. She was completely overwhelmed by everyone’s generosity and felt suddenly rather teary as she contemplated the gifts.
‘It hormones,’ she told Miles as she blew her nose. ‘They’re all out of kilter.’
‘Why’s Mummy crying?’ asked Alfie.
‘Mummy’s not crying,’ said Bex. ‘Not really.’ She gave Alfie a gentle hug. ‘I’m just a bit sad that your sister has to stay in hospital a little longer. We’ll go and see her later today, shall we?’
‘When is she coming home?’ Alfie wanted to know.
‘In a little while. Promise.’
‘You go and sit on the sofa,’ said Miles, ‘and I’ll bring you a nice cuppa.’
The Bells of Little Woodford Page 38