No Holding Back

by Amanda Holden

Chapter 19

  The Lost Boy

  That was the most secret of pregnancies. For a whole six months, we never told a soul, not even my family, but it was mainly not to tempt fate. Chris and I were anxious not to announce anything until I was past the riskiest phase, but the fear that we might lose this baby too was never far from our minds, and we were also terrified of getting too attached to my little bump. The timing workwise wasn’t ideal – I’d signed my contracts for Shrek and it had been publicly announced. It felt like an odd time to be saying I was pregnant, too. So, still, we kept the little bundle inside me as our secret – we felt like a team.

  I don’t know how I managed to keep it hidden. I felt like I was showing from the start but no one suspected. I was doing the school run every day and I went to Lexi’s nativity play at five months pregnant and still no one noticed. (Luckily it was easier to cover myself up in layers of winter clothes!) Chris and I brought our winter holiday forward because we knew I wouldn’t be able to fly soon, and we took off to the Maldives in December. I’ve looked back at our own photographs of me around the pool and I was so pregnant, I can’t believe no one guessed. We told Lexi about the baby for the first time on that holiday.

  ‘What? There’s a baby in there?’ she asked, poking my tummy.

  ‘Oi, missus! Careful!’ I told her.

  She then kissed my tummy gently and I looked up at Chris with tears in my eyes – it was such a special moment. Then, Lexi brought me straight back down to earth by announcing that she was happy about the news but not so happy as it was a sister she wanted, not a brother. ‘Boys are the best, Lexi,’ I said, trying to sell it to her as we all wandered down to the beach to make sandcastles. ‘They won’t steal your Barbies or pinch your clothes and make-up.’ She thought about it for a second, and seemed happy with it.

  I hadn’t even told my parents I was pregnant in case they got overexcited and told someone. Eventually, I phoned Mum to tell them and then the next day made an official announcement that I was six months pregnant, but I don’t think anyone believed it at first, especially the newspaper picture editors trawling back through all the recent photographs of me wondering why they hadn’t noticed.

  At this point, we explained that we’d kept it quiet for so long because I’d previously had a miscarriage. This sparked a huge debate in the papers and on TV and the radio about whether or not I should have worn Spanx and high heels when I was expecting, but I was too happy to care. The moment we announced it my tummy suddenly popped right out, which felt so good. I could tell everyone I was pregnant. I was over the moon.

  That year’s was a very different Britain’s Got Talent. Simon was away working on The X Factor in the States and Piers had just been offered a job taking over from Larry King on CNN. It was weird without my boys but I had so much else going on. At a dinner party once, in front of all his guests, Simon did offer to replace Sharon Osbourne on the American X Factor with me. I secretly hoped he would, of course, but I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it – anyway I love Sharon and I’d almost be too scared to try and fill her Jimmy Choos. It never happened – thank God I didn’t tell anybody! Instead, the new judges were Michael McIntyre and David ‘The Hoff’ Hasselhoff which – without Simon and Piers’ egos – brought a whole new dynamic to the show. Simon was due back for the live shows but in his absence it was like the king was away and all his little courtiers were playing up – we were quite naughty!

  Michael was in his element and settled in really well, loving the audience and spending his whole time trying to entertain them. We immediately bonded, and straight away he called me Mandy (only my very special friends call me after a half-mangled cat). Ever ready with the funnies, he was also sweet and kind and constantly checking that me and the bump were okay. He has two sons with his wife Kitty and was very caring – although ironically it was him who had the naps and the chocolate in the break, not me. He said it was out of sympathy!

  David is also a father, and a great one at that. He has a heart of gold, and he is so well-intentioned, even if the Britain’s Got Talent audience didn’t always get his sense of humour. Mind you, he didn’t always get ours, either. Michael would often go off on one telling a joke to the audience and all I’d be able to hear was David in my ear saying, ‘C’mon, Michael, get on with it.’ I’d be like, ‘David! He’s a comedy genius!’ (In Europe, however, David is like the Messiah. I once stood on the grid with him at the Monaco Grand Prix, and the crowds were going mental for him.)

  I invited Pippa, Jackie and Natalie, my three lovely midwife friends, to the London auditions and watch a show. We had a lovely reunion. They were so excited – they couldn’t believe I’d kept it quiet for so long – and desperate to feel the bump. They assured me I could get a scan at the West Middlesex any time of the day or night, which was a huge comfort.

  Our baby loved Britain’s Got Talent. He was constantly kicking throughout the auditions. He was like a joke baby, a little alien creature rolling around inside me. I thought that everyone would be able to see my tummy moving, he kicked so frequently – so much so that I spoke to my obstetrician to check that it was normal. He reassured me by telling me it was a healthy and strong baby who kicked that much. Filming went on – two days here and three days there – but I made sure I got lots of rest in between. I was determined nothing was going to go wrong with my pregnancy.

  On 31 January, our auditions were in Birmingham. Before the auditions I ate a McDonald’s Filet-of-Fish with Michael McIntyre. Travelling home from Birmingham I offered to give a lift to Roycey, our warm-up man in the show. The driver dropped him off and the car took me home to our house in Richmond, where we’d moved when Lexi was two. Even though it was part of a gated community, Chris had never wanted to move there, citing privacy and safety. I argued that we’d been free of paparazzi for years and enjoyed a normal family life without hassle. Our penthouse remained as Chris’s office but I had a feeling it would one day be home again. As I slid under the duvet, the bed was warm and cosy and Chris woke up to snuggle me. He wrapped his arm around my huge bump and said, ‘Wow, Mandy! He’s grown in the last three days!’ I drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning I lay in as Chris did the school run. I woke and decided to have a bath. It wasn’t until about an hour later that I realised I hadn’t felt the baby kicking in a while. Because he was normally so active, it was strange but I wasn’t initially panicked. I decided to watch morning telly, then Myleene Klass, who was also pregnant with her second baby, on Loose Women. I clearly remember watching the interview and thinking I should pop down to my lovely friends at the West Middlesex Hospital who I knew would do a quick ultrasound scan, put my mind at rest and then we’d grab a hot chocolate and catch-up.

  It was 1 February. I drove myself to the hospital and didn’t worry Chris at work with a call. As I got nearer the hospital, I got stuck in traffic and it was then that I started to feel anxious. I moved my hand across my swollen tummy and gave it a little shove to ‘wake up’ my son. Nothing. Don’t panic, I said to myself, he’s probably sleeping after all that kicking. I was 28 weeks’ pregnant.

  I parked the car and Jackie Nash met me in the car park. ‘Hello, love,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Let’s get this heartbeat up on screen and then we’ll have a catch-up.’ We linked arms and my heart was racing but I still couldn’t imagine what was coming.

  Jackie took me into a small private room and went to get a scanner as I lay there on my own with my hands on my tummy, staring at the ceiling. She arrived and put the gel on my bump for the ultrasound. Looking back, I realised she’d faced the screen towards her, not to me as usual, to be cautious. She felt around and moved the scanner several times before very calmly saying, ‘Sometimes this happens. I’m going to fetch someone else to have a go.’

  Jackie later told me she knew immediately that our precious little boy’s heart had stopped beating. She told me she walked out of that room, closed the door and collapsed against it in despair, not knowing what to say and
needing support from her team. As fate would have it, the leading obstetrician at the hospital was passing along the corridor and Jackie brought her into the room. She scanned me again and then said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Amanda, but the baby’s heart is not beating. He’s gone.’

  From somewhere in the hospital I could hear the most horrendous screams. I presumed it was from the labour ward until I realised I could hear the name, ‘Lexi, Lexi, Lexi!’ being shouted out animalistically. It was me. It was me wailing and making the most horrific guttural noises. ‘What can I say to Lexi? What can I say to Lexi?’ It was all I could think about. I jumped up and all I could think was how I was going to break the news to my little girl. Writing this now my heart is racing again and those moments are never far from my memory. I feel sick and frightened and long still to hold my baby boy again. Jackie held me tight as I started to thrash about and punch the bed I was now standing by

  ‘Where’s Chris?’ she asked me. ‘We need to call Chris.’

  Oh my God. My poor darling husband was somewhere in London in ignorant bliss. I hadn’t contacted him so as not to worry him, and now I was about to destroy his world. Ironically, he hadn’t been my first thought but I now needed him with every fibre of my being. But I was also terrified. Suddenly, stupidly, I thought he would blame me. It was my fault. It was the McDonald’s. It was the sip of champagne. It was the buzzers from Britain’s Got Talent. It was me. I hadn’t rested. The list was endless but it had to be my fault, right? Everything came tumbling down.

  We rang him and I said as calmly as I could, ‘Darling, you have to come to the hospital. I am so, so sorry but the baby’s heart has stopped beating.’ It was like a scene from a TV drama and I suddenly felt so calm, as if a director was going to say, ‘Okay, cut! That’s a wrap!’ I almost looked around for the cameras, even though I knew this was real. It’s amazing, the ridiculous thoughts you have. My mind tried to persuade me then that I was actually dreaming.

  The weirdest thing in all this was that somewhere inside me I had known I wasn’t going to meet my baby. I was walking upstairs to his nursery only a few weeks before when I suddenly heard a voice deep within me say, ‘You’re not going to meet your baby.’ Of course, I’d ignored it. Most mothers have that thought. Carrying a living, breathing thing in your tummy still doesn’t feel real until it’s actually in your arms and even then it’s hard to accept. No amount of time or preparation can truly prepare you. I also felt a stab of guilt that we had practically ignored him for six months. We had done it for all the right reasons, but now it felt like we had somehow known.

  Chris told me later he thought the telephone call was a sick joke. God knows who has that sense of humour. He arrived at the hospital ashen-faced and chilled from the wind. He took me in his arms as my legs went from beneath me. We all sat and stared blankly at each other, trying to let the worst possible news sink in.

  Chris started asking questions about why it had happened or what could have caused it. Neither Jackie nor Pippa, who had arrived almost immediately, had answers for us and, all too soon, the obstetrician came into the room to bring us back to the gruesome world of reality.

  ‘Amanda, you have to think how you want baby to be delivered,’ she said. ‘I am advising you that a natural delivery is best.’ With all that had happened I hadn’t considered giving birth. Ridiculous, I know, but I wasn’t thinking I had to see my baby or get him out. The thought must have been inconceivable to me. The obstetrician was still talking. ‘We would give you medication to induce labour overnight and sometime tomorrow you would have him.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I cannot have him tomorrow. I do not want to feel and go through the agony of a labour to give birth to a dead baby.’ I was as blunt and as matter of fact as that.

  ‘If you have a C-section you will have a longer recovery time,’ she continued softly. ‘I cannot recommend highly enough that induced labour and natural delivery is the way forward.’ I was terrified now and I was angry – angry with my baby for dying and putting me through this pain. Angry with her for trying to coerce me into a natural labour and angry at God, or whoever else it is you blame in these moments.

  ‘I’m not doing that!’ I yelled. Then, more quietly, I told her I wanted a C-section as I had had with Lexi. Chris was on my side. There was no way we could do this naturally. It was horrific and I could not contemplate it. I wanted to be put under completely and not know anything about it.

  The obstetrician left the room as Jackie tried to calm me down. Pippa promised to help perform the C-section as Chris and I sat side by side in total disbelief. Then, ever so gently, the girls persuaded me to stay awake for the ‘birth’. ‘You might want to hold your baby,’ Pippa said.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said. I was agonised at the thought of holding a baby that was not breathing. A lifeless and limp baby was frightening. I felt angry with my baby and with myself.

  I was dressed in a gown and wheeled into the theatre. They gave me an epidural and the process began. Chris stayed with me all the way through. We’d agreed that he could leave the room just before the baby was delivered as he couldn’t face seeing him.

  I studied Pippa’s face as she helped the obstetrician. She stayed neutral throughout as she told me how well I was doing and how it would soon be over. They rummaged and pulled at the little body inside me, and Pippa later told me that my baby was very difficult to get out; she really had to pull hard. I took comfort in that. I felt he didn’t want to leave me. I lost more blood and then I heard the suck and gush when they finally released him.

  ‘I can’t see him,’ I said. ‘I just can’t.’ Then I broke down in tears. Pippa held me as I wept all over her and, silently, they began to stitch me up.

  Jackie discreetly wrapped the baby and took him out of the room. She told me on the way out that he was perfect and beautiful. It was then that my mother instinct just took over. I desperately wanted to smell his hair and kiss him, just as if he had been alive. ‘Please, please, give me my baby,’ I begged Jackie.

  They brought my baby to me and laid him in my arms as my tears flowed over him. His little face and body were perfect. He was nearly 3 lb in weight (which is totally viable, and bigger than most premature babies) and felt like a young cat in my arms. I rubbed noses with him and smelled his face and his neck and I just cried and cried. I cried for his life, for the hope and joy and expectation that had been taken from us. I felt so much anger that he wasn’t going to come and live with us after all. For some reason I put my finger to his mouth to feel his slack jaw, and then I traced my fingers across his perfect eyebrows. He looked like Lexi as well as Chris, and that only made it more heartbreaking. I held his tiny fingers and kissed them all over.

  It all felt so inadequate. I felt so inadequate. I wanted to do so much more. I wanted to give him my life so he could breathe again. It was a pain so searing, so deep, so hard to explain. It is still very hard to put into words the grief and torment I felt and still do feel whenever I let myself think of him. Then there was Lexi . . . it was her little brother that wasn’t coming home and that thought broke my heart.

  I gave him back to Jackie as they dosed me up on morphine to take away the pain. They made imprints of his little feet and gave me a photo of him snuggled in a blanket. I have kept them and occasionally get them out to look at the tiny images. (We have shared this with no one except Jane. I wanted her to see how perfect he was and almost to prove he had been born with nothing wrong with him . . .)

  I was taken to a small private room and Chris and I just held on to each other. We were checked on every now and then by staff, but mostly we were left in our dark empty world. The nurses gave me morphine to help my pain and anguish. A warm feeling of numbness flooded through me and for the next few hours I slept.

  There was another tiny room in my private room. There were small windows that had been discreetly covered by curtains. It was a cold room like a small morgue into which they had placed our boy in case we wanted to see him again. It
was too much to bear for Chris, but on his way to the bathroom he happened to glance into the smaller room and through an accidental gap in the curtain he saw our precious angel’s tiny foot poking out of his blanket. It is an image he cannot shake off, and thinks of often.

  Chapter 20

  Neverland

  The days that followed are still painfully clear to me. The obstetrician came to talk things through the following morning. It is a meeting I will never forget as she sat there and told me that I would be going home empty-handed, like a game-show contestant. She also suggested that I should wait eighteen months before I tried again for another baby. Eighteen months? That would put me at forty-one years old. Time was of the essence.

  I had already begged Chris to let us try again, just minutes after our baby was stillborn. As shocking as my request may sound, most mothers feel the same. It is part of the survival instinct. I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with this if I didn’t have the hope of knowing we could try again.

  Chris was in shock and grieving too and he was adamant about taking things slowly. Then the doctor’s dire warning about not trying again for at least eighteen months echoed around the room and Chris agreed with her. I was seething.

  I knew I could never wait eighteen months. Grief would take over and I wouldn’t be able to function as a woman, let alone as a mother and wife. I knew that for the sake of my marriage, and for me to survive this tragedy, I had to have another baby. She may have been saying what she thought was right medically but for me it was utterly wrong. At that moment I think I would have happily killed her. It was all I could think of until Chris took me home.

  While I was in hospital the nursery we’d so lovingly prepared was quietly packed away. We had carefully re-erected the cot that once held Lexi as a baby and put it in pride of place. Now it was dismantled, I often wonder when that was done and whether Lexi witnessed it. The baby clothes Lexi and I had spent hours choosing together were wrapped in tissue and hidden away in a box. We’d taken Lexi to Harrods, where she’d chosen two blue ‘Nyah Nyah’ comforters, one for her new brother and a spare.