Out of Step

by Maggie Makepeace

  ‘I’d like to …’ Nell hesitated.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Elly said, ‘we’ll be there between twelve thirty and two, so if you can come, do.’

  Rob was awoken in the middle of the night by Nell shaking him and turning on the light. ‘Whassermatter …?’

  ‘Your father’s shouting downstairs. Go and see what’s wrong.’

  ‘Probably… nightmare … go back… sleep.’

  ‘No! I’m sure it’s more than that. Please wake up!’

  Rob groaned and sat up, peering at the clock. It was 3.40 a.m. ‘God…’ he grumbled. ‘This had better be worth it.’ He pulled on his dressing gown and was just about to go downstairs, when he met Bert coming up. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You might at least have given me a boat to sleep in,’ Bert said, turning round to show him the back of his silk pyjamas, which were soaking wet.

  ‘Oh Christ!’ Rob elbowed him aside and rushed downstairs, thinking: All that rain… the river… high tide… Why the fuck didn’t I put out the sandbags?… Distracted by booze and talk, and bloody Bert!

  The damage was not as great as he had feared. The flood was only a few inches high across the floors of the cottage – too low to have buggered up the electric power circuit, thank God, but enough to have soaked up through Bert’s makeshift mattress and muddied the carpets and the legs of the furniture. Rob splashed through it in bare feet to the comer by the back door, where he kept the sandbags. He had no idea whether the tide was yet at its height, and he didn’t fancy trying to sweep the river out of the cottage if more were to pile in than he could get rid of. So, for the moment at least, he would wall up both doors and try to stop things getting any worse.

  He was furious with himself for not taking precautions. He knew this was likely to happen after such rain, especially during a period of spring tides.

  ‘Rob?’ Nell called from upstairs. ‘What’s happening? Can I do anything?’

  ‘No,’ he shouted back, dragging sandbags about. ‘It’s all… under … control. Stay where you are.’

  ‘Is it a flood?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not… very … bad.’

  At least, he thought, the lights still work so I can see what I’m doing, and I’ve got the wherewithal to contain the water. I’m not totally stuffed. He completed the sandbag barrier inside front and back doors and watched if tensely to see if it would do the job. He made a pencil mark on the skirting board and inspected it every few seconds to check it was still on the waterline, not below. It was. He began to breathe more easily.

  ‘Dad?’ Josh splashed across the floor towards him. ‘What’s all the shouting for, and why’s Granddad having a bath in the middle of the night?’

  ‘See for yourself.’

  ‘Is it the river or the sea?’

  ‘A bit of both, probably.’

  ‘And will we all be washed away and drowned?’ Josh hunched his shoulders anxiously.

  ‘Oh, no. Everything’s all right now. The sandbags will stop it.’

  ‘What about the windows?’

  ‘Oh, it won’t get that high.’

  ‘But why didn’t you put the sandbags out before the water came in?’

  ‘Good question.’ Rob ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘Some people have no foresight.’

  Nell was unable to sleep for the rest of the night. It was difficult enough at the best of times in her condition to get comfortable, but now they had Bert all warmed up again from his bath and snoring loudly on a heap of blankets on their bedroom floor. All right for some! she thought crossly.

  She worried about the mess there must be downstairs, and how she would ever be able to clean it all up, and how she would prevent the first floor from getting covered in mud and water as well, with everyone going up and down the stairs … Then she thought of Elly and about putting one’s foot down, and she made a decision.

  ‘The children will have to go home to Cassie,’ she said in the morning. It was the first time she had ever interfered in an arrangement made between Rob and the Mad Cow about their children.

  ‘Oh, we’ll manage,’ Rob said at once, brushing the idea aside. ‘They can help in the clearing up. Rosie’s absolutely furious that she slept through the whole drama last night!’

  ‘No, Rob, I mean it.’ This was also the first time she had asked for something important for herself, and it felt dangerously egocentric. If she hadn’t had the obvious excuse of late pregnancy, she might have found it impossible, but exhaustion spurred her on. ‘I can’t cope with them here. It’s all too much.’

  ‘Well… I’d have to see whether Cassie’s there,’ Rob said doubtfully. ‘She might well be away.’

  ‘Yes,’ Nell said, ‘you do that.’

  Bert announced that he would be leaving early too. ‘Best get out of your way,’ he said. ‘I never sleep properly on the floor anyway. I was built for luxury not utility.’ He offered to return the children to Cassie and to have a word with her at the same time. Rob was obviously torn between the possible benefits of this intervention, and the disappointment of sending his children away. Nell was worried too, but for just the opposite reason. She heard Bert on the phone to Cassie, joking and teasing her. ‘At least she is there,’ she said to him as he put the receiver down.

  ‘Oh, she’s there all right. Sounds to be in good form too.’

  ‘Lucky old her,’ Nell muttered.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Bert said, patting her on the top of her head. ‘It’s a very minor flood. You’ll get it cleared up in no time.’

  No thanks to you, Nell thought sourly.

  Elly kept an eye out for Nell and Rob as she and Sibyl sat in the Wheatsheaf having a Boxing Day drink. She had also seen the man she’d hoped would be there. He was sitting with a few of his mates, and he’d waved at once and invited them over to join the group, but she hadn’t done so. She’d chosen instead to sit in a position where she could catch his eye from time to time.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Sibyl asked, antennae fully deployed.

  ‘Old school friend,’ Elly said carelessly. ‘Nice chap. Wife’s just left him. Stupid woman!’

  ‘I see,’ Sibyl smiled.

  ‘Did I show you Paul’s card from Tenerife?’ Elly said, getting it out of her handbag.

  ‘You did,’ Sibyl said, ‘and now you can show it to Nell.’

  Elly looked round. Nell was negotiating her way towards them through the lounge bar. She looked enormous.

  ‘You made it!’ Elly cried, getting up to give her a hug. ‘I’m so glad. You look as though you’re about to pop at any moment!’

  ‘Can’t be too soon for me,’ Nell said, giving Sibyl a kiss. ‘I feel grotesque.’

  ‘No Rob?’

  ‘No. I’ve left him at home mopping up.’ Elly raised an eyebrow. ‘The river paid us a visit last night,’ Nell explained. ‘Only a little flood, thank goodness, but still very messy. I feel a bit mean actually. I should have persuaded him to take a break and come too.’

  ‘And the monsters, not to mention the luvvie?’

  ‘Gone home, thank the Lord. Bert went off of his own accord, but I had to insist that the children should go too. I felt really selfish.’

  ‘What’s with this “selfish” caper?’ Elly demanded. ‘It was an entirely reasonable request, wasn’t it, under the circumstances?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Well then!’

  ‘Have you got heat and light still?’ Sibyl asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. The woodburner’s on a plinth, so it was above the water, and so were all the electric sockets.’

  ‘Seriously, Nell,’ Elly said, ‘it’s very important to be able to ask for what you need, and to say no sometimes. Rob will take you at your own valuation of yourself, so if you hold out for the things you want, he’ll take you less for granted and be more thoughtful. And then you’ll feel a lot less resentful. It’s basic survival, honestly.’

  ‘She’s just joined a women’s group, you know,’ Sibyl said behind her ha
nd to Nell, and they laughed.

  ‘Paul’s in Tenerife,’ Elly said, handing Nell the postcard. ‘Or he was when he wrote this. He’s probably on the high seas off Africa as we speak.’

  ‘You don’t regret the divorce, do you?’ Nell asked.

  ‘God no, not at all. I couldn’t stand that macho laddishness for a moment longer.’

  ‘It’s strange,’ Sibyl said, gazing into her gin, ‘but it seems to me that people often get divorced for exactly the same reasons as they got married.’

  ‘You’re right!’ Elly said. ‘How ridiculous we all are.’ There was a shout of mirth from the table she’d been watching. She saw Nell glance across and identify the man laughing the most uproariously.

  ‘Hey!’ Nell said. ‘That’s Kipper Jarvis from school, isn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly is,’ Elly said, ‘and he’s on his own again, like me.’

  ‘Really?’ Nell gave her a knowing look. ‘And have you tested out your theory of belly laughs yet?’

  But Elly just smiled enigmatically.

  Nell was tired when she got home from the pub, and rather guilty for having enjoyed herself so much. Rob had taken advantage of the low tide and had dragged the ruined sitting room carpet out into the garden and draped it over the back wall. He was now busy on his hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor.

  ‘Oh, well done, love,’ she said. ‘Good effort.’

  Rob looked up, smiling all over his face. ‘Easy,’ he said. ‘I’ve been buoyed up by excellent news. Bert phoned.’

  ‘Oh?’ Nell felt suddenly empty.

  ‘Yes. He says he did have a word with Cassie, but in fact she’d already made up her mind. She knows she would never have got a job in television, but was too proud at first to admit it.’

  ‘You mean …?’

  ‘Yep, she and the children are staying in Boxcombe after all! Isn’t that great?’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  At thirty-nine weeks Nell felt she couldn’t bear to wait a moment longer for her baby to be born. She could hardly walk or bend, or even eat. The pressure on her bladder was unrelenting and her back hurt almost all the time. She had stopped going swimming some time before, but had frequent warm baths instead to ease the discomfort. She, who never normally went to the doctor, was now seeing her twice a week, and was grateful for the care and attention. Rob was helpful too, simply by being there and by being calm because he had done all this before. Nell felt ambivalent about this; reassured that he would know what to do when the time came, but sad that they wouldn’t be sharing their first birth together.

  One night she dreamed that the pregnancy was all a mistake. She looked down at herself and found that her stomach was back where it used to be, and she’d zipped up a tight pair of jeans to prove it. She’d realised with joy that she had got her old life back again and then had woken up, feeling confused and guilty. ‘I want this baby,’ she said aloud to break the hold of the dream. Then she felt positive and hopeful as usual.

  A week later, when she was having another bath, she lay back watching her huge bulge and the little sticking out bump that undulated from one side to the other as the baby moved. Was it an elbow or a foot or perhaps a knee? It was certainly active. People had told her that a child’s personality was there right from the beginning. She could believe it. She thought about the little person inside her and wondered how and what it would be. Would it have hair, and what colour? Would it look like her, or Rob? Would it be all right? If it turned out to be a boy she wanted to call him William, but she hoped so much that it would be a girl. Tonight she had an extra niggly ache that came and went, and a specially heavy feeling. ‘You’re due,’ she told her bump. ‘You can come out now.’

  Getting out of the bath wasn’t easy. She heaved herself forward and got a good grip of one of the taps before easing herself up and putting one foot cautiously onto the bathmat. She dried herself slowly and then became aware that the towel was sticky. When she looked down, it was mucus streaked with blood.

  ‘Rob!’ she cried, arriving breathless downstairs in the sitting room without slippers, and with her naked stomach protruding beyond the inadequate dressing gown. ‘I think it’s begun!’

  Rob zapped the sound off on the television and inspected the towel. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s called a “show”. Good.’

  ‘So what shall I do? I’ve got my bag all ready. I just need to put in my toothbrush and my flannel… and…’

  ‘Relax,’ Rob said. ‘Remember what they taught you at antenatal. It’ll be hours. You haven’t got any contractions yet, have you?’

  ‘Well, not proper ones, no.’

  ‘It might be days even before your labour starts, and you’ll catch your death going about like that. Best thing would be to go to bed and get some sleep. You’ll get precious little once it’s born.’

  ‘Sleep?’ Nell was incredulous.

  ‘Why not? We don’t need to go to the hospital for ages yet.’

  ‘Will you come up too?’

  ‘In a while. I just want to see the end of this programme.’ He stroked her back affectionately and turned up the sound again.

  Nell went up to bed and lay there with her hands on her stomach, collecting her thoughts. She went through the breathing exercises she had been taught, and reminded herself of what she should expect to happen. An hour later she looked at the clock. She was feeling mild contractions every so often. She was sure it was beginning. She wanted Rob to be with her for reassurance, but she didn’t want to make a fuss.

  ‘If he’s born tomorrow,’ Rob said, coming to bed eventually, ‘it will be the seventh of January, which was my mother’s birthday.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Nell said. ‘It’s definitely started.’

  ‘So we should certainly call it Lesley; ending in ie if it’s a boy, or ey if it’s a girl.’

  Dreadful name! Nell thought. ‘Tell you what,’ she compromised, ‘if it’s a boy he can be Leslie – maybe William Leslie – but if it’s a girl she’ll be Lottie. Yes?’

  ‘If you like,’ Rob said, yawning. ‘We’ll wait until the contractions are about ten minutes apart and regular, right? Then we’ll nip into Boxcombe, no sweat. Don’t worry about a thing.’ He yawned again, kissed her cheek, turned over and went to sleep.

  Nell lay beside him wide awake, unsure whether to feel reassured or cheated. She was far too keyed up to sleep. After another couple of hours her pains were becoming more businesslike. This is going to hurt like hell, she thought, but I shall just have to bear it. She waited for an age, dozing a little between contractions and watching the clock, until they were coming about every quarter of an hour, and then she felt a sudden urge and had to rush to the lavatory. Sitting there, she began to feel anxious. What if she had more diarrhoea when she was actually producing the baby? What if she was late in getting to hospital? What if the roads were icy? What if they were blocked by roadworks or a crash? What if the Land Rover wouldn’t start? What if she couldn’t wake Rob up? Silly!

  She wrapped herself in a tartan rug and crept downstairs as silently as possible. Then she made herself a cup of Horlicks and ate a Mars bar. Sitting in the cold kitchen with the dark January night outside, and swathed in prickly Dress Stuart, she looked about her and thought: This is the last time I shall be alone and absolutely free…

  She timed the pains again. They were coming every ten minutes. She gathered herself mentally and physically and climbed the stairs again.

  ‘Rob!’ she shook him awake. ‘It’s time to go.’

  Rob found himself comparing this birth with his two previous ones. Cassie had had to be induced, and had forceps deliveries and an episiotomy both times, which required large amounts of stitches. And, as he remembered it, she had played it for all it was worth and made sure of the sympathy vote. The whole procedure had been far too messy for her; bodily fluids everywhere. She was unnecessarily fastidious, overdependent upon painkillers, and just plain terrified.

  Nell will be different, he though
t fondly, standing beside the head of the delivery table and wiping the sweat off her forehead with a cool damp flannel, as she gritted her teeth and didn’t yell. He remembered that Cassie had shrieked from the outset and demanded pethidine. Nell had good wide hips, had declined the offer of an epidural and was determined to have a drugfree birth. He felt inordinately proud of her.

  They had come into hospital far too early, of course, and had waited around for hours and hours, but he had understood Nell’s sense of urgency. He felt comfortable, having done all this before, and glad he was so well equipped to reassure her. He’d had plenty of time to slip home again for a flask of coffee, some sandwiches and the newspaper, and as an afterthought had brought along Nell’s hand-mirror for use later on. He considered bringing his camera as well, but there would be plenty of time for photographs later. He didn’t want to be distracted from his main purpose – that of looking after her.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was now seven o’clock in the morning, but still dark outside. Nell’s blood pressure was good. Her contractions were being recorded on the monitor (along with the baby’s heart rate) and they were coming about every minute, some double-peaked and clearly excruciating.

  The midwife did an examination. ‘You’re four fingers dilated and going into transition,’ she reported encouragingly. ‘You’re doing fine. Not long now. I think it’s time we broke your waters.’

  ‘All right?’ Rob asked Nell, as they gushed out.

  ‘No, it’s bloody agony,’ Nell muttered through clenched teeth. ‘I’m not sure I can…’ But she declined the offered pethidine.

  ‘Breathe in time with me,’ Rob said, reminding her. ‘OK?’

  ‘I’ve got to PUSH!’ Nell cried, gripping both of his hands painfully hard. ‘I can’t help it!’

  ‘Not yet dear,’ the midwife cautioned. ‘Have some gas and air.’

  ‘Breathe,’ Rob said, ‘and slow, and breathe.’ He had never felt more needed, or more capable of helping her. She was responding to him like someone drowning. ‘You can do it,’ he told her.

  Then after what seemed a long time, ‘Push!’ instructed the midwife. Three more contractions. ‘The head’s coming. One more nice big push.’