by Tony Parsons
‘It’s you,’ he said, with a weak smile. He had looked for her everywhere. And now she had come to him. But it wasn’t meant to be quite like this.
‘How are you?’ She smiled, as if he were an old acquaintance she couldn’t quite place.
Then she did something incredible – she turned away, dismissing him, tucking into the prawns, and he felt his spirits sink. But still he stood there, paralysed by the sight of Megan Jewell. The one-night stand that he would be thinking of on the day he died.
Cat cleared her throat. ‘We’ll have another bottle of the Bollinger. When you’re ready.’
‘Right away,’ Kirk said.
‘Who’s that?’ he heard the old boy say as he walked away.
‘Oh, that’s nobody,’ said Megan.
They were celebrating.
At sixty-two, Jack Jewell had landed his first Hollywood role. At an age when his contemporaries were scrambling for bit parts as pub fodder in the soaps, Jack was looking forward to three weeks in LA, playing the father in a Vietnam War-era remake of Little Women.
‘The devoted dad of a difficult, demanding brood of daughters,’ he smiled.
‘That’s going to be a real stretch,’ Jessica said.
‘Talk about typecasting,’ Cat said.
They all laughed, but Megan wondered how close to life it would really be. As much as she loved him, she knew their father had always been quietly bewildered by what he called ‘girls’ stuff. As much as he loved them, Jack’s daughters had always been a mystery to him.
It had been Cat who had guided first Jessica and then Megan through their debut periods. She guessed that their father had no idea that Jessica had had an abortion at sixteen, or that Megan was on the pill when she reached the same age. Even now there was a look of quiet panic in his eyes when Jessica’s endometriosis or Megan’s pre-eclampsia came up. Megan had always felt sorry for their dad. A father couldn’t become a mother simply because the mother had done a runner.
‘Little Women,’ Jessica said, and they raised their champagne flutes, although Megan’s contained only peach juice. ‘It’s going to be good.’
‘It’s going to be great,’ Cat said.
‘Go get ‘em, Dad,’ Megan said.
It was just the four of them. No boyfriends, no husbands – which really just meant no Paulo, as Jessica was the only one of them with anything resembling a partner. But Paulo was happy to sit it out. When the sisters and their father got together, he always felt like he was gate-crashing some club where he wasn’t a member.
‘How’s the new place, Jessie?’ their father asked.
‘Five bathrooms,’ she said, and they all made impressed noises. It was always the absurd number of bathrooms that she felt compelled to draw attention to. ‘It’s just so good to get out of the city. It’s cleaner, greener, safer.’
‘And the people are friendlier, I bet,’ their father said. ‘More time for you.’
Jessica quickly agreed, even though it wasn’t true at all.
She had found that the suburbs were bursting at the seams with smug mums – all these women with Mrs degrees (Hons), fulfilled biological destinies, who saw the world in their little charges. The truth was that she missed her sisters, Naoko, Chloe and the city.
If you smiled at the children in the suburban parks and streets, the self-satisfied mums acted as though you were going to steal their child away. Jessica secretly wished that she had never left their old house, their old life, Naoko and little Chloe. Naoko understood that she would never do anything to hurt a child. Naoko knew she loved children. Naoko knew that she was only smiling.
‘I have to pee immediately,’ Megan said. ‘I mean – now.’
She eased herself out of her chair, and almost immediately heard the explosion of a bottle of champagne hitting the ground.
She stared across the restaurant at Kirk.
And Kirk stared back at her belly.
When they left the restaurant, he was waiting on the street.
‘Do you want me to deal with this guy?’ Cat said to Megan. ‘Jesus Christ, he works for me. I’ll kick his butt all the way back to the bush.’
‘I’ll deal with him,’ Megan said. ‘It wasn’t true. What I said about him being nobody.’
They stared at her, and then at the young Australian.
‘He’s not – the one, is he?’ Jessica said. ‘He is, isn’t he? He’s the one.’
Cat took her arm, suddenly seeing it all.
‘Come on, Jess.’
Their father stood on the kerb, hailing a black cab with a yellow light, blissfully unaware of all this girls’ stuff. A cab pulled up and Megan kissed her sisters and their father goodbye. They reluctantly left her, Cat promising to call tomorrow, Jessica still staring at Kirk, and reminding Megan that she was coming with her for the next round of tests. When the cab had gone, Megan felt him by her side.
‘Where do I know that old boy from?’ Kirk said.
‘My father’s an actor,’ Megan said coldly, bridling at his mildly insulting small talk. What did he think this was – a date? ‘Where do I know you from?’
He grinned, as if she was attempting to charm him.
‘That’s funny. You want to get a drink or something? There’s a bar on the next block.’
‘No bars,’ Megan said, giving her abdomen that protective stroke. ‘No crowds, no cigarette smoke and no alcohol.’
He nodded.
‘Stupid of me. Sorry. What then?’
She shrugged.
‘You can walk me to my car.’
He looked crushed. ‘Sure.’
They made their way to Megan’s car, and he awkwardly kept his distance, as if afraid of what might happen if he touched her.
‘Is it –?’
She laughed, genuinely amused. Then sighed. ‘Yours?’
He looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hey – you’ve got every right to ask.’ Megan smiled. ‘It’s okay. Yes, it is your baby – Kirk, right?’
Was she kidding? She hadn’t really come close to forgetting his name, had she? He could never quite tell when she was joking and when she was deadly serious.
‘Kirk. Right. But why didn’t you tell me?’
She avoided his eyes.
‘No forwarding address. No phone number.’
‘I gave you my phone number!’
She looked up at him, a hint of defiance there now.
‘Yeah, but I chucked it away.’
He thought about this for a while. ‘God almighty – you’re having a baby. What are you – six months gone?’
It wasn’t a bad guess. She was impressed. He must have spent some time around women. Married, possibly, or once married. Or maybe he had sisters. Or maybe this had happened to him before.
‘Thirty-one weeks. So – a bit more than six months.’
He stared at her bump, his brow furrowed with concern. No, on reflection she didn’t think that this had happened to him before. He was too awed by it all. And she could understand that. If you didn’t feel awe in the face of this everyday miracle, then you never would.
‘Everything okay?’ he said.
Megan shot him a sideways look. ‘Why should you care?’
He bristled at that.
‘Because that’s my son you’re carrying,’ he said quietly.
She smiled. He was a good-looking bastard. And he had a kind enough heart. She could understand why she would want to have sex with him once in a lifetime.
‘It’s a girl.’
‘A girl? A girl.’ Somehow he had never imagined that his first child would be a baby girl. But he smiled and nodded, realising that he loved the idea. A girl!
‘Then that’s my daughter.’
Megan stopped and stared at him. She wasn’t quite sure how she should feel about this man. But right now a kind of intolerable impatience seemed just about right.
‘But so what?’ she said.
He flinched.
‘So what?’
/>
‘I mean – really, so what? You going to marry me? Make an honest woman of me?’
He looked at her, as if seriously considering it. For a second Megan was afraid he was going to get down on one knee.
‘Is that what you want?’
‘No! Jesus!’ She took two steps away from him. ‘Not exactly perfect husband material, are you?’
‘You don’t know anything about me.’
‘That’s true. I don’t know anything about you. Apart from the fact that you’re this guy who has one-night stands at parties.’
Kirk raised a wry eyebrow.
‘Maybe now’s the time to get to know me. Now that you’re having our baby.’
‘No offence, Kirk. But there’s no need. You’re this – what? This Aussie skateboarder type.’
‘I never owned a skateboard in my life.’
‘Athletic. Good with the ladies. Getting on a bit now, but still getting plenty of sex. Feeling that there should be a bit more to life than teaching overweight tourists how to dive.’
He seemed pleased. ‘So you do remember me.’
‘What’s to remember? It was one night. Not even that. A quick tumble on top of the coats in a spare bedroom, as I recall.’
‘Don’t be like that. I thought about you all the time. In Sydney. In the Philippines. I kept thinking about you. I don’t know why. You just got under my skin. There’s something different about you.’
‘That’s very flattering.’ Megan’s voice was brisk. ‘But you really don’t know me. And I don’t know you. I appreciate that you want to do the decent thing. I honestly do. It’s kind of nice that you’re not heading for the hills and demanding DNA tests and all that. But I can handle this thing alone. With my sisters. I don’t need some man who is looking to fill a hole in his life. This is my car.’
She pressed the key and the lights flashed twice.
‘I just want to be a part of this.’
How could she explain it to him? He wanted to play happy families. And she didn’t even know if there was going to be any sort of family. She might be all alone soon.
‘Listen, Kirk – to be honest, I don’t know if this baby is going to make it.’
She had one hand on the car door handle. But she wasn’t leaving. She watched all those emotions she lived with every day – fear, uncertainty, a horrified disbelief – pass across his handsome face.
‘Not going to make it? What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know if this baby is going to live. I could give birth any day. I could give birth tonight. And if the baby comes this early, she would be fighting for her life. Literally fighting for her little life.’ The tears came then, she couldn’t stop them, but with the back of her hand she angrily wiped them away. ‘Do you know what pre-eclampsia is?’
Then he surprised her.
‘My sister had it. It’s to do with blood pressure, isn’t it? My nephew had to be born early. Emergency Caesarean. He was in an incubator. With a woolly hat on. All wrapped up to keep warm.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘Poor little bloke.’
‘How far gone was she? Your sister?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘See – that’s what counts. The number of weeks. That’s everything. If it’s born at twenty-eight weeks, a baby only has a fifty-fifty chance of survival. Did you know that? Of course you didn’t. Where I am, thirty-one weeks, the odds are better. There’s a ninety per cent survival rate. But there’s still the other ten per cent who don’t make it. The babies who die.’
He nodded. For a moment she thought that there were tears in his eyes too. But it was probably just a trick of the streetlights.
‘I’m two months away from full term. That’s a long time. I’m never going to hold out for two more months.’
‘You might do.’
This she didn’t need. Mindless, unfounded reassurance. Megan already had her profession’s exasperation with the layman’s opinion.
‘Are you a doctor? No – you’re a waiter. I’m the doctor. So listen to me. This pregnancy is never going to term. If my baby was born tonight, it couldn’t survive outside of an incubator. That’s a given. The longer I can hold on, the better for both of us. And I am not talking about you and me, Kirk.’
‘I understand.’
Now she wanted him to understand. Now she wanted him to know. This was the most important thing in her world, and she needed him to truly get it.
‘Even if I hang on for a few more weeks, pre-term babies have all sorts of problems. Breathing. Feeding.’ She ran her fingers through her hair, and quietly cursed. ‘Look – the thing about premature babies is that their lungs aren’t developed. They can’t fucking breathe. You appreciate that’s a problem. Not breathing. Frankly, Kirk, I’ve got enough on my plate without you hanging around trying to play daddy.’
He spread his hands helplessly.
‘I just want to help you. Any way I can. That’s all, Megan. Is that such a bad thing?’
She felt so tired now, from putting on a brave face at dinner, from the walk to the car, her back aching from the muscles at the base of her spine loosening in preparation for birth. Who was this strange boy? Why didn’t he just leave her alone? Leave them alone?
‘Listen, Kirk, why don’t you just go and –’
Suddenly the baby seemed to irritably lash out with her tiny foot.
All right, all right, Megan thought. Keep your shirt on.
So Megan gave Kirk her number. And she told him when and where the next round of tests would be. No, she didn’t want him to come – her sisters would be with her. But she would let him know how they went. And she even let him place a chaste little kiss on her cheek.
There are none so chaste, she thought, as those we once fucked.
‘Megan,’ he said, patting her arm. ‘The baby is going to make it. The baby is going to be fine.’
Her eyes filled with hot, grateful tears, and this time she didn’t try to wipe them away. She so desperately needed to hear that her baby would live. But in her heart she thought – no good. Oh, no good at all. You can’t have the pregnancy and then decide to have the relationship. It doesn’t work like that.
It’s all the wrong way round.
Megan was leaving the hospital with Cat and Jessica when they saw her obstetrician in the lobby. As always when Mr Stewart appeared in public places, there was a buzz of scarcely contained excitement around him. It was more like the personal appearance of a pop star than an obstetrician picking up his mail.
The girl on the reception desk was gazing at him with naked adoration. A couple of midwives were loitering beside him, blushing and giggling, hoping he would notice them. Mr Stewart smiled at Megan, revealing even white teeth, little crinkly lines forming by his blue eyes. His wheat-coloured hair was adorably tousled, as if he had been too busy taking care of women to comb it.
Jessica and Cat stared at him, and then at Megan. She knew what her sisters were thinking. This guy is your obstetrician? This younger Robert Redford? He’s a fanny doctor?
‘There’s something I would like you to see,’ Mr Stewart said to Megan. ‘If you’ve got five minutes.’
He made the suggestion sound almost casual, but as he led them to the Intensive Care Unit, Megan realised that he had planned it this way. That he must do this with all of them.
The women like her.
The Intensive Care Unit seemed deserted. There were no nurses, and apparently no babies. Just a collection of empty incubators. But they all dutifully washed their hands in a big, industrial-looking sink, and as the three sisters followed Mr Stewart across the room, they slowly realised that it was not empty. The baby, so small that he hardly looked like a baby at all, was all alone on the far side of the ICU.
‘This is Henry,’ said the obstetrician.
Megan thought it seemed a strange name for a baby that weighed less than two bags of sugar. A big, fat, swinging cock name – the name of kings, a name for a man.
Not a heartbreaking l
ittle sliver of life, panting inside an incubator.
It was warm in the hospital’s Intensive Care Unit, and yet Henry was dressed for deep midwinter. Wrapped in a blanket, tiny mittens on his hands and feet, and a sort of bobble hat, ridiculously huge on his head the size of a small apple, slipping down over his poor little wrinkled face.
‘My God,’ Jessica said, hands to her mouth. ‘He looks like the loneliest little thing in the world.’ She looked around desperately. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘They’re taking good care of him,’ Mr Stewart said. ‘Don’t worry.’
Cat was speechless. I had no idea, she thought. This happens every day, and I had no idea. Jessica clung to her, and couldn’t take her eyes from the incubator, and Cat didn’t need to look to know that her sister was crying.
Megan looked at Henry and felt the panic rise in her. This is where my baby will come. This is where my baby will live or die. This thing will happen. But she fought to remain the calm, cool professional with ice in her veins. As if all her questions were purely academic.
‘When was he born?’ she said.
‘Two days ago, at thirty-five weeks,’ Mr Stewart said. ‘He’s doing really well. He’s a bit of a tiddler, obviously, but the mother had steroids in plenty of time and his lungs are strong.’ He smiled sympathetically at Jessica’s tears. ‘No need to be upset. Look at him – he’s breathing unaided.’ He turned to Megan. ‘The mother had pre-eclampsia too.’
Megan looked at Mr Stewart with new eyes. What a clever thing to do, gently insisting that she came to the Intensive Care Unit to see Henry. What a good obstetrician. What a wise man.
Gently preparing her for life as a mother whose baby was born too soon.
Fifteen
And then everything was the baby.
Megan, who had planned to work up until the moment her waters broke, who had imagined that she would still be seeing patients and prescribing antibiotics until the baby poked out her head, found there was no time for anything but preparing for the birth, and delaying it for as long as possible.
Dr Lawford couldn’t have been more understanding. He let Megan take her holiday allowance all at once, and told her they would worry about it later if she needed more time. He smiled shyly and said he could always write her a sick note, and Megan thought that it was his first recorded joke.