Saved by Their One-Night Baby

by Louisa George

  Claire grimaced. ‘We’re not somewhere else, though, are we? And in this particular instance I’m not prepared to pretend otherwise. We’re here and we have to leave the past in the past.’

  ‘If only it was that easy.’ Ethan sighed. He’d been trying to put the past behind him for too long already. It wasn’t working.

  ‘We have very different futures planned, Ethan. If we’re going to survive the next few weeks living in such close quarters we’re going to have to agree that we forget about last night. Please, let’s not mention it again.’

  ‘Okay. You’re right.’ But, regardless, everything about not touching her again felt wrong.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to, it just makes sense not to. I’m here to work, not mess around with an unsuitable man.’

  He couldn’t help laughing. ‘Well, you definitely have the measure of me.’

  ‘I know. Okay... I think it’s safe to put little Aya down now. I wanted to give her mum a break. They were all exhausted and I imagine they have a long road to walk until they find some peace.’ Shrugging, Claire walked over to the women’s sleeping area and laid the little girl next to her mother, and just like that last night was put in its place and the line heavily drawn over in thick vivid pen so neither of them could forget where it was. Right there between them.

  He saw how carefully she placed the child down into the crook of her mother’s arms and almost couldn’t bear the hope in her eyes. ‘It’s hard not to get attached, but they’ll be gone in a matter of hours.’

  ‘I heard there’s a problem finding a port we can go to, so it might be a few days.’

  ‘We’re here to help them rebuild their lives, Claire. This is their first step; we make them safe and then we let them go, to whichever receiving country we can find, and that’s where it ends for us. It has to, we can’t keep track of them all. I know how easy it is to want to know what happens to them—we all want to believe in a happy ever after, right?’ Even though they both knew that might never happen for some of the people they rescued. ‘I had to keep reminding myself not to get involved when I first started this gig.’

  ‘It’s hard not to.’ She glanced back at little Aya before they started to make their way on a walk around the deck. The sea was a little calmer now and walking was substantially easier. ‘It’s hard knowing they’re at the mercy of strangers.’

  ‘I know, but we’re strangers too and we care. That’s the most important thing. And at least we hand them over to agencies who can help.’ As it was her first mission she’d need to know she was valued and that she’d done a good job. No doubt what she’d seen and done today would live with her for a while. And there was, inevitably, more to come. ‘You did well today, Claire. It takes a lot of guts to leave everything you know and come here to do this kind of work. It can be harrowing and difficult, but also very rewarding. Was your trouble sleeping because your mind was going over today’s events?’

  ‘Totally. I feel as if I’m never going to sleep again because there’s so much going round in my head. It’s certainly been a day of surprises.’ She rubbed her hand over her neck and moved her head from side to side as if easing out knots in her neck. Ethan had to clench his fists to stop himself running his hands under her hair and massaging the tension away. But it didn’t escape his notice that he wanted to, regardless of what they’d agreed.

  ‘It has indeed.’ He paused as they came across Chase sitting on his own in a dark corner of the deck, staring out to sea. He had that troubled expression again, as if he was trying to solve the problems of the universe. ‘You okay, Chase?’

  ‘Fine.’ His old adversary raised a hand and waved them on, but Ethan didn’t want to leave him alone like that. He stopped and looked at the SARCO, caught his eye and raised a question. You really okay?

  Chase huffed out a breath and turned away.

  Ethan didn’t want to walk away but Claire shook her head and pulled his arm and he had no choice but to follow her.

  Once out of Chase’s earshot Claire whispered, ‘He’s been there for about an hour. Akil said he sits there every night, just staring into the distance. They just let him be. I guess we all have different ways of coping.’

  Or not.

  Did Chase ever think back to that night? Did he ever wonder why he’d been left on this earth when those four boys had died, when the building had collapsed on them and not him? Did his head threaten to explode the way Ethan’s did when the words spun round and round like some sort of torment? Why me? Why me? Why me? Did Chase believe there had been a higher reason for choosing him over Nick?

  And what kind of measure was he using to see if Ethan had been worth it after all? Was it the same measure Ethan himself used? Numbers tallying into the hundreds? Lives saved. But never enough.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’ Claire’s hand was still on his, tugging him back to the present. So much for leaving the past in the past. Her smile was soft and concerned and like a punch to his heart. ‘Don’t tell me...back in Africa? Somewhere warm and dry and sunny?’

  ‘No.’ Ethan shook away the rank memory. ‘Sorry, not Darfur this time, but I was miles away.’

  ‘It’s okay. It’s all okay.’ Soothing and soft and sensual. ‘Want to talk about it?’

  It wasn’t okay at all but he shook his head, because talking certainly wouldn’t fix anything. ‘No. But thanks.’

  ‘You have to let it go.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whatever it is that’s eating you up from the inside.’

  He scrubbed his hand over his hair, amazed she was so perceptive and so vocal. ‘This is what they mean about living so closely with people—they get to know you too well.’ And it hadn’t ever bothered him until a particular someone had started probing into his thoughts.

  ‘You want some privacy? Yes. Sorry, I should have thought. It is claustrophobic, not just in lack of space but with the number of people here.’ She took a step back. ‘I was just trying to help.’

  ‘You are helping. Like you wouldn’t believe.’ The way she was looking at him, with a mixture of empathy and compassion, just about undid him. The temptation to talk to her about that night and about Chase and about being here was growing stronger with every minute he spent with her.

  But what would that achieve? Absolutely nothing, apart from opening a can of worms he’d screwed closed sixteen years ago. Some things were best not discussed with anyone other than those who had been involved. Maybe Chase? Maybe one day. Certainly not today and not with Claire within listening distance. She didn’t need to hear that.

  It was weird how he felt so drawn to her. He wanted to tuck back a stray lock of hair that had been whipped up in the wind, but thought better of touching her; their connection was only getting more intense. It was made even more so by the thick cloak of darkness that seemed to cocoon them, and their lowered voices that spoke of an intimacy he was attracted to and yet overwhelmed by. So he took a step back too.

  ‘You should try to get some sleep. It’s going to be another big day tomorrow.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, I’ll give it another try. You should too.’

  ‘Try being the operative word. Good luck and goodnight.’ He walked behind her down the steel steps, keeping his eyes pinned to the space above her head and not paying any attention to the sway of her hips or the swing of her ponytail. Not breathing in that coconut scent. Not wishing he had a time machine that could dial back twenty-four hours and press pause.

  Then he crawled onto the tiny bunk and lay back with his hands behind his head, listening to Akil’s wheezy snoring.

  The refugee work was second nature, but it was everything else that made Ethan feel all kinds of confused. The only thing he knew for sure was that the longer he was on the ship the harder everything would get.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BY THE NEXT afternoon they’d reached Malta and Claire had waved
goodbye to Hassan, Aya and their mother, and the other refugees, with a happier heart. Happy that they’d got to that point in their journey safely at least.

  Then they sailed right back into international waters and fished more refugees out of the unforgiving sea. Rinse and repeat. And again. And, like the raging storm, the continual stream of people felt like it was never going to stop.

  Sixteen days passed and they’d rescued four hundred and thirty-two men, women and children and found places of safety for them in various ports around the northern Mediterranean. And every single minute had been a mix of wonder and hell. Wonder at the resilience of these souls who’d had absolutely nothing but a desperate sense of survival as they’d fled atrocities so bad they often couldn’t speak of them.

  And the hell of spending sixteen long days where she saw Ethan for about fifteen hours a day, and the torment at being around him was driving her crazy.

  Sure, it made sense for them to keep their distance but they were constantly tiptoeing around each other, like right now when they were heading to another rescue. It was a situation that could literally throw them together at any given moment and it made their conversation stilted. The temptation to touch him was almost unbearable but ever since that first night on the ship, when they’d agreed not to talk about what they had done in the lift, he’d kept his distance.

  And she’d kept hers. So she was down to just skirting around him as they worked, but the more time she spent with him and the more she saw his care and efficient compassion, the more she fell just a little harder for him.

  ‘Claire? Claire, come, quick.’ Ethan was taking the weight of a heavily pregnant woman as he tried to help her over to the medical room. ‘She’s in labour.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ This was going to be a challenge. ‘Hello, there. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable. What’s your name?’

  But the woman kept moaning, one hand on her belly, the other trembling and pointing towards the refugees’ boat.

  Claire took the woman’s arm, and spoke to the translator. ‘Fatima? Can you translate? Is she with anyone else? Husband? Partner? Other children? Anyone to support her?’

  Fatima, who was also Claire’s cabinmate, spoke to the woman. Paused. Tried a different-sounding language. Eventually they ascertained she was from Eritrea and her husband was one of the bodies they were now loading onto the ship. Claire bit down the terror and distress rippling through her, because it was nothing compared to what Mariam—they’d discovered her name—was going through. ‘Is there anyone else with her?’

  Fatima shook her head.

  ‘Right, then. She has me.’ With Ethan guiding, Claire helped Mariam up onto the examination couch. Then she snapped on gloves and with gentle coaxing Mariam relaxed enough for an internal examination. ‘Does she know her due date?’

  Fatima asked and then translated. ‘End of June, she thinks.’

  Claire did the maths and didn’t like what she worked out. ‘So, eight weeks early, with ruptured membrane, seven centimetres dilated and very regular contractions. This baby is coming.’ She looked at Ethan. ‘Is there anything we can do to delay things?’

  He shook his head, no doubt knowing as well as she did that once a baby decided to come there wasn’t a lot to stop it, especially when they weren’t medically equipped enough to have a full-blown obstetric service. ‘Doubtful, but let’s offer the betamethasone injection to help baby’s lungs.’

  ‘If only we had Freja.’ Their midwife had been amazing just the other day with a mum who had been in a similar situation, but she’d had to leave the ship at the last port for a family emergency and their replacement midwife hadn’t materialised yet. Typically poor timing. And, worse, Mariam was malnourished and exhausted. Claire couldn’t imagine what horrors she’d endured up until now.

  They set up a drip and gave her the injection, but Claire couldn’t help noticing that her hands shook a little. This was another life at stake, one not even born yet, and the weight of responsibility hung heavily on their shoulders.

  ‘Stress brings the babies early but we can do this. We can,’ Ethan said so reassuringly and with such conviction that she couldn’t help but believe him. Or wanted to, at least. ‘I’ll ask Chase to radio the base and airlift her out.’

  ‘In this weather? They’ll struggle to get a chopper out here and I’m not sure we have enough time. But baby’s going to need an NICU for sure.’ If he or she survives. Claire wouldn’t give that thought more space in her head. This child was going to survive.

  Fatima nodded. ‘I’ll go and ask him.’

  ‘Wait.’ Ethan looked up, anguish etched into his features despite his positive words. ‘Tell him it’s a preemie baby and that I said we need a chopper. Tell him we need to save this baby, there isn’t a choice here. Say those words.’

  Claire’s heart did a little jolt as she watched him working. She liked it that he genuinely cared, that this seemed to be more than a job to him. He strapped a monitoring belt onto Mariam’s belly and tried to get her to relax. ‘Okay, Mariam. It’s okay, baby’s coming soon.’

  ‘No. No.’ Mariam held her belly and cried.

  ‘We’re going to need you to stay strong, honey, because this baby’s coming whether we want it to or not.’ Claire stroked Mariam’s hand but Mariam clutched Claire’s fingers. ‘No.’

  It was clearly the only English word she knew but she also understood smiles and soft voices. ‘We’ll help you, Mariam,’ Claire crooned. ‘Stay strong for the little one.’

  Mariam’s breathing changed and she became more focused as the contractions came fast and furious. She wriggled off the bed and stood up, pressing down on the examination couch as she moaned long and hard, then started to pant.

  At the start of the next contraction Ethan held up his hand and counted with his fingers, waiting for the right moment. ‘One. Two. Three. Push.’

  Mariam bore down with a grunt.

  No baby.

  Claire squeezed her hand. ‘It’s okay, you’re doing fine, Mariam. We’ll just wait for the next contraction and you can push again.’ Claire did the actions of panting and pushing, hoping Mariam would understand and follow her lead. ‘That’s right. Pant. Pant. Pant. Push. Push. Push for me. Push.’

  No baby.

  The heart rate that had sounded so clear and strong a few minutes before was starting to slow, which meant the baby was getting into distress. Claire took a deep breath, trying not to worry. Labours could be long and tough, especially with first babies. ‘Can you push again, Mariam? Yes, I know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon.’

  When the next contraction started Ethan positioned himself and counted. ‘One. Two. Three. Push. Again. Push.’

  Still no baby. No head crowning. Mariam started to cry again. ‘No. No.’

  ‘Okay, we can wait a little longer.’ Ethan smiled, but Claire knew that giving birth on a rocking ship with strangers was not a formula for a relaxed birth. She fished out her phone and found some soothing music. It won her a smile, and then another. She stroked Mariam’s hair back from her face, massaged her lower back and tried to make her feel as relaxed as she possibly could.

  As the next contraction gripped their patient they waited for the count. Waited for the push. Waited for the head.

  Still no baby.

  The foetal heart rate was decelerating. And at the same time Claire’s was increasing.

  ‘She’s exhausted, look at her.’ She held Mariam’s hand as she slumped back onto the bed, face screwed up tightly in pain and fear. Her breathing was accelerated and she was limp and clammy. ‘We just need some time.’

  Mariam pushed again and again and again. But each time she became more and more despondent. Claire was starting to panic inside, but tried to keep as calm as she could. ‘One more time, honey.’

  They were running out of time and Mariam’s energy was draining fast. She lay back
on the bed and closed her eyes. ‘No. No.’

  Claire took a deep breath and blew out slowly. ‘If we were in a hospital we’d have everyone on standby now, we’d have all the equipment. If we don’t do something they’re...’ They’re both going to die. She didn’t need to say it but the words hung in the silence. ‘We need this baby out.’

  Ethan closed his eyes briefly, said something quietly then nodded. ‘Okay.’

  Claire was intrigued. ‘Was that a prayer or something?’

  ‘No. I was just going through all the possible reasons why labour doesn’t progress. Common things occur commonly, my guess it’s a nuchal cord compression. Right. Mariam, one more time.’ His voice was gentle and if there was any worry at all in his mind he wasn’t showing it to their patient. Luckily Fatima came back in at that moment and was able to help with the translation.

  Claire took Mariam’s hands in hers. ‘Just wait for Ethan’s instructions. For your baby’s sake. Please. He’s going to help.’

  ‘A big push now. Please.’ And Mariam pushed and Ethan calmed her and encouraged her.

  And then baby was there.

  And silent.

  No. Claire’s breath stalled in her lungs.

  Breathe.

  With a calmness Claire certainly didn’t have, Ethan clamped and cut the cord, and placed the floppy baby into the little incubator. He rubbed its tiny chest, suctioned mucus. Listened to its heartbeat. Said a few choice words that were barely audible. Administered oxygen. Rubbed the tiny chest again. And Claire held Mariam’s hands—because the new mum just wouldn’t let go. She was holding onto Claire the way Claire wished the baby would grab onto life; tight and hard.

  Come on.

  Thirty-two weeks or thereabouts, a starving, grieving mum and a terrible sea voyage. Stress. Fear. They had rudimentary suctioning and resuscitation equipment and excellent medical expertise, but what they needed was a miracle.