by Imogen Clark
Grace felt every muscle tense now, and not just those she was using to push out this baby. A cut? They were going to cut her. Where was Charles? He would stop this. He wouldn’t let them butcher her like this. But on her own, what could she do?
Her thought process was blocked by another pain. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could stand. The gas and air made no difference to the agony that wracked her body each time it tried to expel her baby.
‘Please do something,’ she said weakly.
The medical team were brandishing instruments now, but Grace didn’t want to see what they would use to slice her flesh and yank out her child. She closed her eyes against them all and prayed to a long-neglected God for release.
After that everything happened quickly. The sharp pain of the anaesthetic. The cold steel of the forceps against her body. The tug as the child was wrenched from her. And then the silence.
Grace opened her eyes. The doctor and both midwives were standing over on the other side of the room looking at something that she could not see. The younger of the midwives was making notes, scribbling the numbers that the elder called out.
‘My baby!’ Grace whispered, but no one seemed to hear or take notice. ‘My baby!’ she said again, more forcefully this time. ‘Where is my baby?’
And then she heard it – a mewling sound like a kitten, followed by a feeble cry.
‘And there we have it,’ said the doctor with a confidence that wasn’t reflected in his expression. ‘You have a healthy baby girl. Congratulations. She had us worried for a moment there, but here she is. Safe and sound.’
He nodded at the midwife, who was swaddling the baby in a pale green blanket. She passed the little bundle to Grace.
‘Now, you mustn’t worry about those bruises,’ he added. ‘They will fade in a couple of days. The main thing is that she’s out and she’s fine.’
Grace looked at the tiny creased face of her daughter. Was it her imagination, or did her skull appear to be stretched out of shape? And the bruises were red and angry across her cheek and forehead. The little mite looked battered. Tears formed in Grace’s eyes and trickled down her cheeks as she pulled her daughter in close to her. What a way to enter the world! Would the poor child ever recover from a trauma like this? Would she?
And where the hell was Charles?
23
GRACE – THEN
‘But you missed the birth,’ repeated Grace. ‘You missed your own daughter being born. There are no action replays, you know, Charles. It’s not like the football. You had one chance and you blew it.’
The same could not be said of this argument. It had been three days since their baby girl had clawed her way into the world and Grace had lost count of the number of times she’d uttered these words, or words like them, as she tried to make sense of what Charles had told her.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Charles.
He was kneeling on the floor at her feet, looking so contrite that it was all Grace could do not to just forgive him there and then and forget all about it. But how could she do that? He had missed the birth of their daughter. Whenever she thought she might be getting over it, the full enormity of what he had done rose back up to confront her.
‘And I had to go through the whole nightmare all by myself. The episiotomy and the forceps and the pain and all of it,’ she continued, repeating again the hideous truth of the birth. ‘And then, after all that, I thought our baby was dead. I really did. There was no sound. Nothing. And where were you? Not there.’
In her heart, Grace knew that she was doing no good by going over this ground again and again, but she couldn’t help herself. She fluctuated between hot, intense anger at Charles for not being where he said he would be, and deep, deep sadness at the lost and unrepeatable opportunity. And now, on top of everything else, the baby blues were starting to kick in, making her want to burst into tears for no reason. Taking everything into consideration, she thought that she was actually handling things remarkably well.
Charles reached over to take her hand. Her instinct was to snatch it away crossly, but she’d had enough of this fight. There was no point crying over spilt milk. She couldn’t put the clock back and miraculously place him in that labour room. She allowed him to hold her hand in his.
He ran his thumb over her knuckles. ‘I am so very sorry, Gracie. If I could make things different then you know I would.’
He did look sorry. Grace would give him that, but she still didn’t feel ready to forgive. ‘But why did you say you were going to be at work when you weren’t?’ she persisted. ‘If I’d just known where you were . . .’
‘It was just a mix-up. I got my weeks confused. I went in for a rehearsal as usual and when I found the place shut up I just went off for a drive instead. It was such a glorious day and I was just driving and thinking.’
‘That’s the part I don’t understand,’ said Grace. ‘You say you drove all the way to Scotland! I suppose I can see that. But then why didn’t you come home? You didn’t even ring.’
‘I did ring,’ he said quickly. ‘Or at least I tried to, but the phone was always engaged. In the end I decided that it must have got knocked off the hook or there was some problem on the line. And once I’d driven to Edinburgh, I called in on Mungo Sinclair. You remember him? And we got chatting and had a drink or two and then I couldn’t drive back so he put me up. It never occurred to me that you might have gone into hospital, Grace. Truly. Please can you forgive me? Pretty please.’
Grace sighed. She knew there was nothing that could be done to change the way things had turned out. They just had to get over it and move on, and she was going to have to forgive him sooner or later.
She screwed her face up and watched as he waited, every muscle in his body tensed, for her decision.
‘All right,’ she said eventually, her eyes narrowed and the merest hint of a smile on her lips. ‘I will forgive you. But only because I don’t have any choice. And you can expect me to bring the subject up again and again over the years when I’m particularly cross with you.’ She shook her head at him and he, sensing that the storm was finally over, beamed back at her. Then he leant over and gave her a peck on her cheek.
‘We really should give her a name, you know,’ he said. ‘People keep asking, and I can’t go on saying that we haven’t decided.’
With Hector they’d had two lists, one male and one female, all agreed and ready to be whipped out at the appropriate moment. This time things had been different. Charles didn’t seem to have been around as much, and Grace was too busy focusing on Hector to pore over the baby names book like she had the first time round. Whilst each of them had made various suggestions during the eight months of her pregnancy, nothing had been agreed upon. They should have had at least three more weeks to finally decide, but then the baby had confounded them by turning up early.
‘Well,’ said Grace slowly. ‘There are our mothers’ names, but I’m not sure she’d thank us for either Dolores or Ethel.’
Charles shook his head. ‘I’m not sure either of those are even up to being middle names,’ he said. ‘What about our aunts? Did any of them have a name worth preserving for posterity?’
‘To be honest,’ said Grace, ‘if we’re struggling to remember their names, I don’t think any of them means enough to us to call a child after.’
‘Maybe we should stick to the classics,’ said Charles. ‘You can’t go wrong with the Greeks. Hector is a fine name.’
Grace went through a few of the goddesses that she could think of, but she either didn’t like the name or didn’t want her child associated with the goddess in question.
‘Not sure about goddesses. What about the Muses?’ she suggested instead. ‘Do any of those have pretty names?’
Charles stood up and reached for the relevant volume of the Encyclopædia Britannica. It was an ancient, leather-bound set that had been her mother’s and was horribly out of date, but some things, such as the Greek Muses, remained t
he same year on year, so there it sat on the shelves. Charles opened the book and ran his finger down the list. ‘Thalia?’
‘No,’ said Grace.
‘Calliope?’
‘How would anyone ever spell it?’
‘Terpsichore?’
‘Definitely not. I thought the Muses were supposed to be inspiring,’ said Grace with a weak smile.
‘How about Clio?’
Grace rolled the word round her mouth. She liked it, and it had the benefit of being short, which was good, bearing in mind the double-barrelled mouthful that her daughter would inherit as a surname, not to mention the ‘Honourable’ title that went with it.
‘Do you think people will muddle it up with Cleopatra?’ she asked.
‘Quite possibly. And she would probably have to spend her entire life spelling it. Maybe something else? Diana? Or how about the virtues? Patience?’
‘She wasn’t patient, though, was she, being born before her father could even get there.’ Grace raised her eyebrows, looking sideways at Charles before letting a tiny smile show him that she was joking, but they both knew that this was how it was going to be for a while until his absence at the birth stopped being so raw for her.
‘Faith? Charity?’ Charles continued.
‘I like Clio,’ said Grace.
‘Do you?’ asked Charles doubtfully. ‘How about royal names? Elizabeth? Victoria?’
‘No. I think it should be Clio,’ replied Grace evenly. ‘And I think I get to choose, don’t you? Seeing as you weren’t even there.’
Charles nodded, slightly reluctantly, and it was agreed.
The baby, Clio, was a speck of a thing, only five pounds ten ounces when she struggled into the world. The hospital had sent them home on day three, once the nurses were sure that she was feeding properly, but Clio looked comical in the clothes that Grace had chosen for her with long sausage skins of arms and legs unfilled by actual limbs dangling at each corner. Having not cried at her moment of birth, now she seemed unable to stop, but it wasn’t a full-lunged shout like Hector’s but more of a whine that wormed its way under Grace’s skin and twanged her already taut nerves. She knew that babies’ cries were designed to be impossible to ignore, but the sound that Clio made was more irritating than most.
But she was here and more or less healthy, and that was obviously the most important thing. And now she had a name. Clio.
The name decision made, Charles went off to make a start on the birth announcement cards whilst Grace took a nap. She hadn’t asked him what it was that he needed to think about that took him all the way to Scotland. The last thing she thought as she drifted off to sleep was that she must remember to do that.
24
LEAH – NOW
What are you doing on Sunday?
I looked at Clio’s text and ran through my diary in my mind. Well, that was easy – nothing. Catching up on housework, washing school uniforms, cooking – basically nothing.
Nothing, I texted back. Why?
Fabulous! came the instant reply. Well you are now. I’ll be at your front door at 2. Wear something nice.
I looked at the message again to see if I’d missed something vital. It was unsatisfactorily vague. Where were we going? Were the children invited, too? What did ‘something nice’ mean? Did the kids also need to be smart? I could text back and ask for more details, but actually it didn’t really matter. Whatever Clio was planning could always be abandoned if I didn’t fancy it when the time came.
My life seemed to be running pretty smoothly just then. Clio and I were getting along really well. She was less like a rabbit in the headlights and seemed far more relaxed around me. I no longer felt like she was watching her every word in case she said the wrong thing (which was a relief), and the kids absolutely adored her.
Poppy was keeping out of trouble, too, so there’d been no reoccurrence of her fighting. She’d finally confessed to what had caused the fight in the first place. Stacey’s nasty daughter had called Noah ‘a half-caste bastard’ and Poppy had just seen red. I wasn’t sure what to do about it. It was probably easiest not to do anything, to just ignore it and move on. In fact, that’s probably what I would have done before I became a mum. Now that I was, though, things were very different. Taking the easy path was no longer an option. Now I had to do what was right.
So I rang school and explained what had wound Poppy up. They made all the right noises about it being unacceptable, against school policy etc., but nothing had actually happened to Cindy as far as I could tell. I decided the best thing to do was just to let it go, after all. I had played my bit and so had Poppy. Noah’s honour had been defended, and hopefully nothing like that would happen again. If it did, I thought, I might end up belting Cindy Waters myself.
So as the clock ticked round to two o’clock on that Sunday, I started to wonder what Clio had in mind for us that afternoon. I put a newish top on and a lick of mascara but that would have to do. If I didn’t look the part for whatever it was, then that was tough. When the doorbell rang, though, there was a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. I didn’t know if that was the right collective noun, but I read it once and it sounded so pretty that I started using it anyway. Thinking about it now, it was probably stuff like that that made Stacey Waters pick on me in the first place. Hindsight is such a beautiful thing.
Anyway, I opened the door and there was Clio. She didn’t look hugely dressed up, so that was a relief. It wasn’t the races or anything like that then.
‘Hi,’ I said, and Clio placed a kiss firmly on each of my cheeks, then stepped inside, closing the door behind her. ‘So, are you going to tell me what all the mystery is about?’
Clio winked at me. ‘In a minute. Now, where are those gorgeous children of yours?’
Moments later Noah came careering down the stairs. Poppy stayed at the top, but she waved hello to Clio.
‘How do you two fancy a trip to the movies?’ asked Clio. ‘I’ve had a look and there’s a great new Pixar film on. I know you’re a bit grown-up for that, Poppy, but you could tolerate it just this once for the sake of your brother, couldn’t you?’
Poppy loved Pixar films and seeing one would be no hardship for her, but I liked the way Clio had dressed it up for her so that she could say yes without getting embarrassed.
Right on cue, Poppy played it cool. ‘Yeah, suppose so,’ she said, and shrugged her shoulders as if this was a huge favour that she was doing us all.
Noah bounced up and down on the spot.
‘And what about me?’ I asked. ‘Is no one interested in whether I want to see the film?’ I pulled the corners of my mouth down sadly but with a wink at Noah so that he could understand that no one had actually hurt my feelings. He was really sensitive to stuff like that, the little lamb.
‘You’re not coming!’ said Clio, suppressing a giggle. ‘I’ve got other plans for you.’
I raised an eyebrow at her. ‘What plans?’ I asked dubiously, wondering precisely what she had in mind for me whilst they were all living it up at the flicks.
‘Well,’ said Clio slowly. ‘There’s someone outside who I know you’d get along with famously if you just had the chance to spend some time together. So, I thought, if I took the children out for a couple of hours that would give you the perfect opportunity.’
Now I was really confused.
‘Who?’ I asked, frowning hard at Clio.
‘Take a look,’ said Clio, nodding towards the street.
Rather than opening the front door, I bought myself some time by going through to the lounge and peering through the window. I couldn’t see anyone that I knew. In fact, I couldn’t see anyone at all. I turned back to Clio.
‘What are you up to?’ I asked, narrowing my eyes at her and grinning. ‘There’s no one out there.’
Noah had wormed his way in between my hips and the window and now he was pointing at the parked cars.
‘There, Mummy, there!’ he shouted.
I fo
llowed his finger and then spotted the Volvo that had picked us up from the station. There, in the front seat, sat the carroty head of . . .
‘Marlon!’ I said. ‘Is it Marlon?’
For a second, I saw Clio’s smile slip, as if she might have misjudged the situation, but her doubt was fleeting. She was obviously getting to know me well, and annoyingly I thought this might actually be a good call, although I wasn’t going to tell her that. Not yet, anyway.
‘Yup!’ she said confidently.
‘And what is this exactly?’ I asked. ‘A blind date?’
‘Noooo,’ said Clio, shaking her head, her smirk a mile wide. ‘It’s just two potentially good friends who haven’t yet spent much time together leaving the house at the same time. With each other. And no one else.’
How long was a film? A couple of hours at least. Oh, good God. Would we find enough to talk about? I mean, he seemed nice enough, but still . . . I pulled back from the window.
‘Oh, Clio. I’m not sure . . .’
‘No time for all that,’ said Clio, bustling Noah back out into the hall. ‘The cinema tickets are bought and if we don’t get a shift on there won’t be time to get the popcorn before we go in. Where are your shoes, Noah?’
Noah raced off, nearly bursting at the prospect of the double treat of a film AND popcorn.
Clio put her arm round my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. ‘It’ll be fine, Leah,’ she said. ‘He’s lovely, and if nothing else he’s great company. I think it’ll be good for you to meet some new people and anyway, you said you had nothing better to do this afternoon.’
I was still sceptical. ‘What did Marlon say when you asked him?’ I asked. ‘He doesn’t think it’s a date, does he?’
‘God, no!’ said Clio with a tad too much protest in her voice. ‘But he doesn’t have much in his life apart from the Hall and I just thought it might be nice . . . But if you really don’t want to go, that’s fine. I’ll take the kids, Marlon can wait in the car and you can have an afternoon of peace.’