Pregnant Midwife On His Doorstep

by Marion Lennox

He did better this time. He didn’t put his arm around her. He just stood beside her as the chopper became a speck in the sky and was gone.

  ‘It’s all organised,’ she told him bleakly. ‘Autopsy because she hasn’t been to a doctor for years, then, when the death’s cleared as being from natural causes, her body will be released to the funeral home in Stingray Bay. He says probably within a few days. I’ll let my family know, but they won’t come. If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay on until then and clear Moira’s belongings. As long as the sea’s settled I can get a water taxi and go back to Townsville from there. It’ll hardly be a big funeral. There’ll only be me.’

  ‘There’ll be us’ he told her, and the urge to put his arm around her again was almost overpowering. ‘I was her neighbour, and as long as I’m welcome I’ll be there.’ I’ll be with you, he thought but he didn’t say it. It wasn’t Moira who seemed alone now. It was Hannah.

  ‘It’s a shame Maisie’ll be too busy to attend,’ he told her, seeing her bleakness and aching to drive it away. ‘Maisie’s the one who loved her, and she loved Maisie. Moira wasn’t totally alone. And she knew you cared. Sometimes even a breath of family is enough.’

  ‘Is that what you have now? A breath of family?’ She caught herself and dashed her hand across her eyes. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean... You don’t have to answer.’

  He managed a smile. ‘It’s okay. And my sister Madison is more than a breath. She’s a blast.’

  ‘Bossy?’

  ‘You’d better believe it.’ But as he said it he thought of Madison’s brusqueness and her dictatorial pronouncements and he thought she hadn’t been like that before Alice’s death. Or not so much.

  He hoped she wasn’t driving people away with her façade. Had he caused that, too?

  ‘Hey, Josh, don’t look like that.’ Hannah sounded startled and he realised her bleakness had been replaced by concern. ‘You’ve done good. We’ve both done good.’

  ‘We have.’ But he couldn’t get rid of the bleakness fast enough—or maybe he didn’t want to, because pain helped him keep the shutters up between him and the outside world. Shutters were important.

  And Hannah seemed to sense what he was thinking. That alone was good.

  ‘I might clear up here a bit now,’ she said, striving for matter-of-fact. ‘I’ll start with the light stuff, clearing the fridge and things. I’ll come back for dinner. Is that okay?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But something simple. A can of something on toast. Don’t you dare go to any bother. Then I’ll help with the mess over there.’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘Then I’ll come back here and work until dark.’

  ‘You’re eight months pregnant, Hannah. You’ll be sensible.’

  ‘Then I’ll go to bed,’ she said. ‘But I won’t disturb you any more than I have to.’

  ‘You won’t disturb me.’ What a lie!

  ‘I already have,’ she told him, with a rueful smile. ‘I know it and I’m very sorry. It’s just a few more days, though, Josh, and you can resume life as you know it. I’m not going to land me or my dog or my pups on you one day longer than I must.’

  ‘Hey, I have responsibility, too,’ he said, striving for lightness. ‘I concede Dudley’s the father.’

  ‘So he is,’ she said, suddenly cheerful. ‘So we should split the litter down the middle. Dudley gets two, Maisie gets two. As soon as they’re weaned I’ll bring them back, but I’ll do it in the dead of night. I won’t disturb you any further. It’ll be a true secret baby thing. You’ll wake up one morning and there’ll be two puppies in a basket at your front door.’

  ‘You’ll have your baby by then.’

  ‘So I will,’ she said, still cheerful. ‘So it might not be me who does the dumping. I hear you can rent a man-with-a-van. Do they deliver puppies? Then there’s the issue of no bridge. It’ll take some figuring but I’ll work it out.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ he said, still in the bleak voice he couldn’t seem to get rid of.

  ‘Right,’ she said, and visibly braced. ‘Next. House cleaning. Off you go and do yours, Josh O’Connor, and I’ll start with mine. See you at dinner.’

  And she gave him that same cheerful grin, headed back into Moira’s house and closed the door.

  She didn’t hear him leave. Maybe he was still standing on the veranda.

  And she... The smile had slipped from her face the moment she’d closed the door. She leaned against it and it was all she could do not to slump to the floor.

  She was shaking all over.

  Somehow she managed to get herself into the gloomy living room, sink onto Moira’s overstuffed settee and bury her head in her hands.

  It was stupid to shake. There was no reason.

  Why did it feel as if she’d just closed the door on her only link to sanity?

  ‘It’s reaction,’ she told herself. ‘It’s the storm. Plus half drowning, and rescuing kids and Mick and Skye, and saving the puppies. And Moira’s death.’

  Moira. She’d been a fiery, hard loner but she hadn’t kicked Hannah out when she’d come. Neither had she looked at Hannah’s obvious pregnancy with disgust.

  Moira had been family. Not much but a little.

  Now...

  Who else did she have?

  Almost unconsciously her fingers lifted her phone from her pocket. It had been useless since she’d arrived on the island, it had got wet with the dunking, but suddenly the bars on the front told her connection had been re-established. And she still had charge.

  It’d be early morning back in Dublin, she thought. Her family would be awake. Her sister would be about to leave to work.

  Dear God, she missed them, and it wasn’t just them. It was the village, her town, the whole feeling of belonging. ‘I’m too old to miss my mother,’ she whispered, but it didn’t help.

  She phoned.

  Her parents still only had a landline. It rang and she waited, imagining her father leaving the breakfast table and heading down the hall. Grumbling. He hated being disturbed before he’d read his paper, but the job of answering the phone was his alone.

  ‘Yes?’ When finally he answered the word was a snap.

  ‘Dadda?’

  ‘Is it you?’ She heard his breath hiss in. ‘Have you got rid of it yet? Your mother wants you home.’

  ‘Could I speak to her?’

  ‘I told you, you’re not part of this family until I know it’s gone. What do you want?’

  ‘Aunt Moira’s died.’

  There was a silence on the end of the phone. Then... ‘God rest her soul, then, but she’s made it clear she’s nothing to do with us.’

  ‘Could you tell Gran?’

  ‘We’ll not be telling your grandmother. We saw her last weekend and she’s slipping.’

  Gran. No!

  ‘Da, just how sick is she?’

  ‘Your grandmother’s health is nothing to do with you,’ he snapped. ‘Nothing in this family is until you get rid of whatever shameful thing it is that you’re carrying and come home.’

  The phone went dead and she was left with bleakness.

  During their childhood her father had been a harsh and autocratic parent, a manipulative bully who’d long since turned his wife into a defeated husk. Hannah and Bridget, though, had found ways to have fun despite him. Sometimes it had seemed as if he’d hardly noticed the two little girls who’d learned to be mouse-like in his presence, but as they’d reached adulthood, his need for control had closed like a vice.

  Hannah had escaped, to Dublin, to study nursing. Then, as his interference had escalated, she’d left to see the world—with a man she’d fallen for for all the wrong reasons.

  Bridget, though, had caved in. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah, but I need to stay. I love our village and I love Mam. You’re making your own l
ife but I don’t have your courage. I couldn’t bear the yelling. You and Gran both stand up to him, but I can’t. I need my home.’

  Home. Where was it for Hannah? Among a pile of cheap furniture in hospital accommodation in Townsville?

  What sort of home was that?

  She tugged open Moira’s curtains and Josh was sweeping sand from his veranda. He must have seen the movement because he raised his hand and waved.

  She didn’t wave back. The way she was starting to feel about Josh, it was all she could do not to leave this gloomy house and head back over there now. To ask him to hold her. Ask him to give her the comfort she craved.

  He’d already saved her life. What else was she asking?

  She was asking nothing.

  She headed into the kitchen. Josh had already done a cursory clean—when he’d come over the day before to check? There were few signs of the drama that had taken place.

  She moved to more practical things. A garbage bag and the fridge. She moved slowly because she ached.

  Josh was now shovelling banked-up sand from under the eaves. Surely that wasn’t his most urgent task. Was he doing it so he could keep an eye over here? Or to let her know she wasn’t alone?

  That was fanciful. And she wasn’t alone.

  Bridget, her sister, would be at work now. She worked for a local solicitor, a friend of their father, and she wasn’t supposed to take calls at work. But needs must. She rang and Bridget answered. Cautiously.

  ‘Oh, Hannah, love, are you well?’

  ‘I’m well. Bridget...’

  ‘You haven’t had the baby?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’ll come home after you’ve had it? Will you be getting it adopted?’

  She sighed. ‘No. Bridge, did Dad tell you Aunt Moira’s died?’

  ‘Has she?’ Bridget sounded distracted.

  ‘He didn’t tell you? Bridge, what’s wrong with Gran?’

  All through their childhood Gran had been their haven, their one true thing. Hannah had been ringing her all through her time away, and she’d been a source of love and comfort through the whole nightmare of her pregnancy.

  ‘She’s been losing weight and now they say she has cancer. Terminal. They’ve just moved her into this hospice place.’

  ‘Oh, Bridge...’ She hadn’t even known of the weight loss.

  ‘I need to go,’ Bridget whispered. ‘Love you, Hannah.’

  ‘Bridge...’ She cut across her sister’s dismissal, her need urgent. ‘Will you send me details of where Gran is and keep me in touch? Please. I need to know these things.’

  ‘Dad says I mustn’t.’

  ‘Will you disobey him? For me?’

  A deep breath. A sound that could have been a sob but then...

  ‘I will, Hannah. As long as you let me know...when the baby’s born.’

  ‘When my baby’s born.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bridget whispered. ‘My niece or nephew. Good luck, Hannah. Bye.’

  She disconnected.

  She could still see Josh on the veranda. Dudley had come out to join him. They were both standing...as if on sentry duty?

  It helped.

  ‘I can do this,’ she muttered, and rose to fill a bowl to start wiping the shelves. ‘I can do this alone.

  Especially if Josh was at her back.

  ‘I don’t need him,’ she muttered, but he was there, and she thought if he wasn’t...

  He wouldn’t be for more than a few days.

  ‘But I’ll take what I can get,’ she told the empty fridge and started cleaning.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HE TOOK HER back to Townsville. Hannah objected but how could he not? Her wreck of a car was still mixed with the wreckage of the bridge.

  Josh’s truck was stuck on the island, but he organised a water taxi to collect them on the day of Moira’s funeral. All of them. When they reached the mainland he settled bedding in the back, parked it in the shade and left the dogs to sleep while Hannah said goodbye to her aunt.

  The service was short to the point of brutal. Hannah and Josh were joined by a director of ceremonies, a couple of funeral parlour employees and an almost empty church.

  Hannah clung to Josh’s hand during the service—she needed to—but as they left the cemetery she made one last bid for independence. ‘Josh, let me take the van. You go back to the island.’

  How could he?

  ‘I’ve hired the van to be returned here,’ he growled. ‘How do you think you’ll return it if I don’t come?’

  She bit her lip. ‘But I’m so beholden already.’

  Which was the last thing he wanted her to feel. This woman had so much on her shoulders.

  And when they reached the city he discovered she had more.

  Apparently, she’d been sharing an apartment with three other nurses, but she’d made arrangements to move into a bigger apartment, by herself, before the baby arrived. The move was supposed to have happened two days ago and her room in the shared flat was already spoken for.

  ‘We moved your stuff for you. Just collect the key from the janitor,’ a bright young nurse told them, eyeing Josh curiously before heading off on her own business. So they found the janitor, collected the key and unlocked the ground floor apartment door.

  She was met with her belongings, carried into the living room and no further.

  He could tell she was mortified but after one glance she pinned on a bright smile and faced him.

  ‘Josh, thank you. I’ll be fine now. If you could...if you could carry Maisie and the pups into the laundry. I think there’s a laundry... Regardless, you need to get back. Thank you for everything.’

  He looked around the apartment with distaste. They’d walked through a scrappy courtyard to get in so at least Maisie could be let out, but the place itself... Ugh.

  It’d be all she could afford, he thought.

  Could he offer to help financially? He took one look at her set face and knew how such an offer would be received.

  But he could help in other ways.

  ‘I’m staying until you’re sorted,’ he said, eyeing her pile of ‘stuff’. Even her bed was a mess. It had been disassembled for the shift and was now a base, four legs, a plastic bag of bolts and screws that looked ominously small, and a mound of tangled bedding.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she repeated, but she couldn’t make herself sound like she meant it.

  ‘Pigs might fly.’

  ‘Josh, no. I can manage.’

  ‘I know you can manage but you don’t need to.’

  ‘My friends will help me.’

  ‘I’m thinking your friends are the ones who tossed your belongings in here,’ he said grimly, and then he shrugged and smiled. ‘Don’t make this into a big deal, Hannah. Dudley needs a bit more dad-bonding time anyway. We’ll stay overnight, help you get this place in order and then disappear from your life for ever.’

  ‘For ever?’ The words came out as an almost instinctive reaction of dismay. He saw the flash of what might have been fear, quickly quashed. ‘I’m sorry. Of course for ever. Don’t mind me, I’m pregnant.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he told her. ‘You’re pregnant and you need help.’ She was three weeks from her due date, he thought, and she was alone.

  She was in a hospital apartment. That was reassuring. There’d be midwives and doctors close by, but still...

  Apart from a brief stint in basic training he’d had little to do with obstetrics but one thing he did remember was the memory of labouring mothers clinging like a drowning person to their support person.

  Who was Hannah’s support person? One of the people who’d dumped her stuff in here?

  ‘I’ll stay tonight and then leave but it doesn’t need to be for ever,’ he growled. ‘If you need me again...’

  ‘I won’t
.’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ he told her. ‘You decide.’

  It could have been a nightmare. Instead it was almost fun.

  She’d been through a nightmare, but Moira’s funeral had seemed a marker to end it. She was off the island. Josh had made phone calls to the insurance company and a replacement car was on its way. Maisie was safely delivered. The pups showed every sign of being gorgeous and it should be easy to find them great homes. She had Maisie with her permanently, and she kind of liked having Maisie.

  It was almost dark. Josh was staying the night.

  Josh was rebuilding her bed.

  ‘Stop it,’ she scolded herself, and she darned near said it out loud. This man was a good Samaritan. There was no way that part of her should think... Was thinking...

  ‘No!’

  ‘We have one bolt left over,’ he told her and held it up, looking concerned.

  ‘We bought it cheap,’ she told him, struggling to haul her disordered thoughts into order. ‘Maybe they gave us extra.’

  ‘They’re flimsy bolts but they all seem to have a match.’ He heaved the mattress onto the base, sat, then cautiously bounced. ‘I’m no engineer but it seems sound enough,’ he told her. ‘I think it should hold.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Mattress on the floor, then?’

  ‘No,’ she told him. ‘Do you know how hard it is for me and my eight-month bump to get up from the floor? What’s the worst that can happen? I descend in the night? And, Josh, speaking of nights... We bought our couch second hand and it has springs where there aren’t supposed to be springs.’

  ‘Cushions on the floor for me, then,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Dudley can be my pillow.’

  ‘Josh, you can’t.’ Oh, her thoughts... Back, girl. ‘Maybe you could get a motel?’

  ‘I’m far too clutch fisted.’

  ‘I’ll pay.’

  ‘Then you should be more clutch fisted,’ he said severely. ‘Hannah, I was a Scout. I did camping and everything. I can sleep on two twigs and a reef knot.’

  ‘Really?’ She relented and chuckled. ‘Okay, cushions on floor, but only if you use some of my pillows. They’re my indulgence. I have six.’