‘You’re here,’ she said unnecessarily.
‘Yes. I’ve been here ten minutes. I thought you were leaving it a bit late, so I just wanted to check you were OK.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, her eyes unable to hold his. ‘I’m going to walk.’
‘You haven’t got time, Kate. That’s why I’m here, so you don’t have to.’
‘We can’t go in together! What if we’re seen?’
‘What of it? What difference does it make?’
None. Everyone must know by now that they were seeing each other, but not in the antenatal department—
‘Can we go in through different entrances? Just to...you know.’
He shrugged and opened the car door. ‘Sure. Come on. I’ll drop you off and meet you in there after I’ve parked the car.’
She nodded, and he held the door for her—that bone-deep politeness again that had obviously been drummed into him by a mother who hadn’t run off and absconded from the task—shut it, and slid in beside her, starting the engine and pulling out without wasting a moment.
Three minutes later he pulled up outside the patient entrance, reached across and squeezed her hand.
‘It’ll be OK, Kate,’ he murmured.
She wished she had his faith. She wanted to hang onto him but she couldn’t. She had to do this bit by herself. Sucking in a deep breath, she pulled her hand away, got out of the car and headed for the entrance without a word.
* * *
She couldn’t look at him.
That worried him. A lot. She’d obviously spent the whole of yesterday and all of the night fretting herself into a blind panic, and now she’d gone in without him.
He hadn’t wanted that, but it was her body; he wasn’t in any position to argue with her, so he let her go and tried to steady his breathing. He could feel his heart pounding, the need to be in there—to see his child for what might be the only time—overwhelming him.
His emotions were in turmoil. A child had been the last thing on his wish list since Kerry had died, but now, faced with the reality of it, the existence of a baby in his life assumed mammoth proportions and he couldn’t believe how much he wanted it.
He got up, pacing to the window, hands rammed deep in his pockets to stop him from wringing them.
Please call me in. Please, please call me in—
‘Mr Ryder?’
His head whipped round, and he strode towards the beckoning sonographer.
‘Kate wants you to come in now.’
He nodded, went in and met her eyes. She was lying on the couch, her clothes tucked out of the way so the subtle curve of her abdomen was exposed, and that barely there bump stole his breath away.
He heard the door close behind him, and he crossed the room in a stride and took her hand, uncurling the fingers that were clenching the edge of the couch and wrapping them around his own.
She curled them tight, clinging to him, her eyes searching his.
‘I can’t look. Can you, please? Just to see if it’s all OK?’
Her eyes were frantic, and he could feel the pulse beating in her hand—or was it his? He didn’t know. They probably weren’t much different.
He nodded, unable to talk, and fixed his eyes on the screen. Kate’s lower abdomen was covered in gel already, as if the sonographer had started and then stopped, and as she picked up the wand and moved it over that little curve, a grainy image popped onto the screen.
A baby, very small, but instantly recognisable.
It was lying on its back, its head to the left of the screen, and he could pick out a little tip-tilted nose, the neck and spine running along the underneath of the image, with the faint lines of the ribs across the chest. And within the chest a tiny, tiny heart, beating steadily a zillion times a minute.
His baby’s heart.
How had they done this? How had some random act driven by impulse made anything as incredible, as amazing as this? It should have been an act of love, not lust, he thought with a wash of shame.
The wand moved, catching a stubby little hand waving, the teeniest fingers so clear for a moment, and he hauled in a breath and crushed Kate’s hand and blinked away the sudden sting of tears.
* * *
There was something wrong.
She didn’t know what, but his face was rigid, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and she felt dread flood through her.
‘What? What’s wrong?’ she asked, her voice rising with fear, and he shook his head.
‘Nothing,’ he said, his voice ragged. ‘There’s nothing wrong. It’s just amazing. Look at it, Kate. Please, look at it. It’s incredible.’
I can’t! I can’t see it! How can I make this decision if...?
But her head turned, against her will, and she looked at the grainy screen and gasped.
‘Oh—!’ She reached out her hand towards the screen, her fingers tracing the line of its nose, coming to rest over the beating heart. And then the tears she couldn’t stop slid from the corners of her eyes and she had to blink them away so she could see again. ‘It looks so real,’ she whispered.
‘It is real,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s real, and it’s ours.’
She stared at the little image, registering for the first time the full enormity of what lay ahead, the responsibility, the utter reality of the fact that a tiny, dependent child was growing in her body and she was going to have to nurture and care for it, to guide it, to protect it. To love it, as it deserved to be loved.
And as if to confirm it, the baby waved again, and kicked its legs, the little limbs flickering on the screen as they came and went.
How could she keep it out of danger if she was the biggest threat it faced, either now or in the future? And really, she knew nothing about Sam. Was he a threat as well? Too damaged by grief to take this much responsibility, no matter how good his intentions? What then? Because this wasn’t Kerry’s baby. Would he resent it, and her, for that?
‘Right, I need to take some measurements,’ the sonographer said, and talked them through it—the nuchal translucency figure which was the measurement of the fluid between the skin and the back of the baby’s neck, which would help determine the likelihood of Down’s, the crown to rump measurement so it could be dated—and all the time the baby waved its arms and legs and Kate fell more and more in love and further and further into an abyss of fear and self-doubt.
The sonographer smiled. ‘Goodness, what a wriggler! But it’s a healthy little foetus, and the nuchal translucency measurement is nice and low. And there’s a good strong heartbeat—a hundred and fifty-two a minute. It’s all looking good. I’d say you’re twelve weeks exactly, which makes it due around the twenty-first of October? Does that fit with your dates?’
They both nodded, and she heard Sam let out a shaky breath, as if he’d not quite believed until then that it was his.
‘Do you want a photo?’
‘Yes, please,’ they said together.
‘Can we have two copies?’ Sam asked, and the sonographer nodded.
‘Sure. Do you want a different shot?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ Sam said, his voice gruff.
The second shot was a close-up, showing the baby’s head and body, the miniature fingers of one hand, the fine lines of the ribs, and Kate’s heart felt swamped with love.
She kissed her fingers, laid them on the screen over the baby’s heart, her own breaking.
I can’t bear to hurt you...
The sonographer slipped the photos into an envelope and handed it to Sam while Kate stared at the now blank screen.
‘There, all done. And I’ll see you in eight weeks for the anomaly scan.’
She gave Kate some paper towel to wipe the gel off her tummy, and when it was done she swung her legs over the side and stood
up, tucking the little bump away out of sight.
But not out of mind.
Her child was in there, nestled apparently safely in her body, its future in her hands. But they weren’t safe hands, they weren’t to be trusted. They let everybody down.
I can’t do this...
Sam opened the door for her, and Kate walked out of the room, her legs shaking.
So weird.
She’d gone in there a woman, and come out feeling like—a mother?
Was this what a mother felt like? Torn by fear and love and uncertainty for the future? Had her mother felt like this when she’d taken her to school and left her for ever?
‘Here.’
She took the envelope Sam was holding out to her with trembling fingers and headed for the door, needing fresh air and space to get her head around the miniature time bomb growing inside her.
Taking her arm as if he knew she needed the support, he led her to the car, opened the door and settled her in, then went round and got in beside her. ‘Where to?’
Where? Somewhere a million miles away, so she didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to face whatever the future held.
But it wouldn’t matter how far she went, she couldn’t outrun it.
‘Wherever. Just get me out of here, please,’ she said, and closed her eyes.
* * *
She had no idea where he was taking her. She was beyond caring, beyond noticing, because all she could see was the image of the baby on the screen.
Her baby.
Their baby.
Sam opened her door, and she realised the car had stopped. He helped her out and she followed numbly, crunching over gravel. She could hear the rattle of halliards, the screech of gulls, and they walked past a big boat propped up on some kind of cradle.
The harbour, she thought numbly, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as he led her up the steps onto the sea wall.
‘Walk or sit?’ he asked, and she shrugged, hugging her arms around herself to try and stop the shaking, but it didn’t work and her legs started to give way.
‘OK, sit, I think,’ he said, catching her before she fell, and he led her to the steps that went down to the sand below. Her legs didn’t make it, and she plopped down onto the steps, sagging against him, the emotional roller coaster of the past week and a bit catching up with her all at once, and she turned her head into his shoulder with a little moan.
The feel of his arm around her, the solidity of his body against hers, the reassuring rise and fall of his chest should have soothed her. It didn’t. It just reminded her of everything that was at stake, of everything that had happened and wasn’t only happening to her.
She ached for peace, but the sea was quiet today, too quiet to soothe her, its power so muted that it wasn’t strong enough to override her fear. And maybe it never would be.
‘I can’t do it, Sam,’ she whispered. ‘I really can’t do it.’
‘We can, though,’ he said, his voice steady and confident. ‘Together, we can. And I’ll be there for you, Kate, every step of the way. You won’t have to do this on your own, I promise.’
His words should have been reassuring. They were meant to be, so why didn’t they reassure her?
Because he didn’t know her. He didn’t know that everyone promised to stand by her and when the chips were down, they all left her. Left, or drove her out.
‘You make it sound so easy,’ she said bleakly.
‘I haven’t said it’ll be easy. I don’t imagine for a moment it’ll be easy. That doesn’t mean we can’t do it, though, if we work together. It’s just teamwork, Kate. We’re both used to that. We can do it.’
He sounded so sure. How? How could he know it would be all right? A few hours at a time in Resus was one thing. This was a lifetime.
She pushed herself upright, shifting away from him, and became aware of another, more pressing matter.
‘I need the loo—all that water they made me drink for the scan? Is there one near here?’
He laughed, got to his feet and pulled her up. ‘Come on, I’ll let you in. We’re at James and Connie’s house.’
‘Oh.’ She hung back, wary now. ‘Is Connie here? I don’t want her to see me.’
‘No,’ he said, to her relief. ‘She’s out for the day. You’re quite safe, and anyway there’s a bathroom in the cabin.’
‘Cabin?’
‘Yeah, it’s in the garden—I’m living in it at the moment. Gives us all elbow room. Come on.’
* * *
He was glad Connie was out, too. He wasn’t ready yet to explain all this, at least until Kate had made her decision, and he’d realised that her keeping the baby wasn’t a foregone conclusion.
He opened the door of the cabin, pointed Kate in the right direction and left her to it, letting himself into the house and putting on the kettle. Technically he had basic cooking facilities in the cabin, but he didn’t have any milk and he was sure they wouldn’t mind, so he made her a cup of Connie’s decaf tea and helped himself to a coffee from the fancy machine that James had installed.
He was watching through the kitchen window when Kate emerged from the cabin.
‘I’m up here,’ he said, going to the door and looking down at her from the veranda. ‘I’ve made you tea. Sit on the bench there, I’ll bring it down.’
The garden would be better than the veranda. More private if anyone wandered past, and she was hanging by a thread. Not that she was alone. So much hinged on today, and if he messed up—
He loaded a tray with their drinks and a packet of gooey cookies he’d found on the side—Connie’s, probably, but she’d forgive him—and sat down beside Kate on the bench by the cabin, nursing his mug and giving her time.
She’d left her tea on the tray and was playing with a cookie, breaking bits off and staring down absently at her hands, eating the odd bit but mostly just stalling, he guessed. He let her do it. She’d talk when she was ready.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said after a long silence that he’d let stretch almost to the limit.
‘What for?’
‘Being so—cowardly?’
He turned and frowned at her. ‘Cowardly? Having a baby’s a big thing, Kate. It’s not cowardly to be overwhelmed by it, especially not with your history. Being abandoned as a child is massive, and it’s bound to shake your confidence.’
She looked away, but not before he saw the bleak sadness of an old grief in her eyes.
‘How could she just leave me, Sam? I must have been a horrible child.’
He had no idea. Her voice was so forlorn that he wanted to kill her mother in that moment. ‘Probably no more horrible than any other child,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘They all have their special moments, so I don’t think you can blame it on yourself. What do you know about her? Do you remember her?’
She shrugged. ‘Not really. She used to read to me. I can remember that. I’d snuggle up in bed at night and she’d sit next to me with her arm round me and read. I had a favourite book and she read it to me every night—it was in my school bag that day. She must have put it there. I’ve still got it.’
The tatty, much loved little book he’d seen on her shelves.
‘Is that all you’ve got of her?’ he asked softly, unbearably moved by that because, for all his parents’ shortcomings, and they had plenty, he’d always felt secure and loved. And Kate must have done, until that day. ‘Just the book?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Social services went to the flat and got my clothes, but there was no trace of her. Her things were there, but she never came back to collect them, so I was told later. She must have walked away with just the clothes she stood up in, but she simply disappeared off the radar and she’s never reappeared. Well, not as far as I know. I’ve never really looked for h
er, not properly.’
‘What about your father?’
She shook her head. ‘No father. Social services got a copy of my birth certificate and there was nothing on that, nothing I remember her saying ever, and I don’t remember there being any men around, but I was only tiny, don’t forget.’
He hadn’t forgotten. Not for a second. ‘Are you on any social media sites? Might she have seen your name?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t use my real name on social media, and I tend to avoid it anyway. I’ve been burnt.’
He nodded, unsurprised by that. ‘I’m glad you’re wary of it. The internet can be nasty, and dangerous. Have you tried looking for her at all?’
She nodded. ‘A little. There are lots of Rosemary Ashtons, but no one that looks like me. Not that that necessarily means anything, but it’s all I’ve got, that and her name and age and my place of birth. And anyway, I’m not sure I want to see her. I don’t know what she’d have to say to me that I might want to hear. It could just make it worse.’
He couldn’t see how, but it wasn’t his mother, it wasn’t his childhood and it wasn’t his business, really.
He put his hand over hers and stilled it.
‘You’re making crumbs,’ he said gently, and took the remains of the biscuit out of her hands and put her mug in them. ‘Drink up, and we’ll go for a walk along the river wall. A leg stretch might clear your head.’
And his, because all he could see was the image of his baby deep within Kate’s body, and the tatty little book that was all she had of the mother who’d abandoned her.
* * *
He was right, it did clear her head and make her feel better. That, and the tea and cookie, because she’d been too nervous to eat before her scan and her blood sugar must have been in her boots.
They cut across the pub car park and onto the river wall at the harbour mouth, heading behind the boatyard and up along the raised earth bank that held back the river at high tide, and as they strolled she felt the fear fall away a little.
‘It’s gorgeous here, isn’t it?’ she said, drawing the air deep into her lungs. ‘The way the smell of the river mud takes over from the smell of the sea, the little boats moored out there on the water—it all looks so innocent and peaceful on a day like today with the sun shining and just a light breeze, but it can change so fast. That’s what I love about the sea, all that raw power lurking under the surface.’
Their Meant-to-Be Baby Page 8