by Lizzie Lamb
‘Good idea. You stay here; I’ll send Shona in and you do the rest.’ He put the walkie-talkie down on the desk and pulled the house phone out of the waistband of his tight trews. He made as if to leave but then turned round. ‘You’re doing a great job. I can’t thank you enough.’ He laid his hand on Fliss’s upper arm and her heart swelled with emotion.
‘I’ll do my best for Shona,’ she croaked. ‘Now, go.’
She was relieved when he didn’t argue. After all, this was his house, his emergency plan - maybe she should let him take the lead and stop being so hands-on. But she was the so-called expert tonight and Ruairi obviously knew when to step back. It felt good to be working shoulder to shoulder with him and at last to show him what she was capable of.
Taking a deep breath, she positioned the bib of her apron so that it sat squarely over her breasts and covered the gap in her wrap dress. Next, she made sure that everything was just as the doctor had ordered. Everything included: two electric kettles full of hot water, a large jug of cold water, two medium bowls for washing hands, two empty bowls, a saucepan in which Cat had boiled scissors and a pair of laces donated from her new trainers. They’d also laid out disposable gloves, towels, blankets, cotton wool, sanitary towels, large bin liners and some antiseptic hand sanitiser. It was the best they could manage in the circumstances and she knew that if her dad was watching he’d be proud of his cadet daughter. That made her throat constrict, but she pushed the thought away as the door opened and Ruairi ushered Shona and Mitzi into the library.
‘Now darling, do everything Fliss says and you’ll be fine,’ Mitzi said, giving Fliss a much-needed confidence boost.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ Ruairi came over and asked her quietly, their heads almost touching as he bent forward to hear her reply. Maybe he thought that she’d been sucked into helping before she’d had time to think about what ‘helping’ might entail. Fliss nodded, forgoing this last chance to back out.
‘I want - I’d like to see this through,’ was her determined reply.
‘As long as you’re certain,’ he gave her a crooked smile. ‘Rather you than me. Although I suppose one day I’ll be in a similar situation,’ he said, evidently thinking ahead to the birth of his first child. They exchanged a significant look then Fliss turned away and it was down to business.
‘I want everyone to wash their hands, sanitise them and put on a pair of disposable gloves and a disposable apron. Ruairi if you man the phone and stand at Shona’s shoulder - that should give her a little privacy. Mitzi - between us, you and I should be able to follow the doctor’s instructions. At least until the midwife gets here. Mitzi, you’re the cheerleader for the team; keep the flannels ready.’ She gave Shona and Mitzi a confident smile. ‘Ruairi, ring the doctor, please.’
The contractions were coming thick and fast as they waited for the doctor to answer. Jack Dunbar picked up almost straight away and they heard him tell Ruairi - via speakerphone - that unless something went badly wrong the baby would be born very soon. Following his instructions, Fliss and Mitzi checked Shona discreetly before announcing that she was almost fully dilated.
Fliss looked up at Ruairi for reassurance, doing her best to appear calm and collected although her heart was racing and her hands were shaking. Mitzi was holding Shona’s hand and mopping her décolletage and the back of her neck with a wrung out flannel, recounting the birth of her two daughters to distract her between contractions. Fliss was relying heavily on the fact that between them Mitzi and Shona had given birth six times - and should have a good idea of how this went.
She started slightly as Dr Dunbar’s voice came across loud and clear.
‘I don’t need to tell you that you’re in the final stages of labour Shona. Now you’ll want to push, but don’t do that just yet. I want you to get into position: lying on your side, squatting or whatever feels most comfortable for you so that the baby can slip out easily onto the pillow which I believe Lady Urquhart is holding.’
Fliss handed Mitzi a pillow draped in an old, clean towel and they stationed themselves by Shona, kneeling in front of the fire. Shona’s expression swung between pain and anxiety and Fliss sensed that she wanted no fuss; simply to get the birth over with and ensure the baby arrived safe and well. Stubborn to the last, Shona was insistent that they didn’t ring her husband and tell him the fix she was in. Time enough for that, she said, when the baby was safely delivered and in her arms.
God willing thought Fliss as she and Ruairi exchanged a look over Shona’s head.
‘Now Lady Urquhart, hold the pillow close to where the baby will emerge, ready to catch and support it.’
Mitzi did as she was told and Shona let out a guttural yell and blasphemed. ‘That’s it, darling. Let it out. Swear if you want to; no one to hear you but us. I remember when Isla was born I used language that would have made the Moderator of the Church of Scotland faint.’
Shona managed a feeble smile.
‘Ruairi, you could stand the phone over there on the table, ring out the flannel and give it to Shona - or take over from Mitzi and mop Shona’s brow for her.’
‘Can you see the baby’s head?’ Doctor Dunbar asked.
‘Yes!’ Fliss declared loudly so that the he could hear her.
‘Now, Shona - push gently with the next contraction, you don’t want tearing and stitches if you can help it.’
This time Shona only managed a nod as she gritted her teeth, held onto Ruairi’s hand and gave one last push with the contraction. Fliss’s eyes were drawn to where the miracle was taking place, trying to listen to the doctor and not obscure Mitzi’s view of the birth. By now the baby’s head had emerged and they could see thick dark hair wet with blood and mucus.
‘Now Fliss, feel round baby’s neck for the umbilical cord.’
Gingerly Fliss did so, giving thanks that massage and aromatherapy had made her hands and fingers slender and supple. Mitzi watched anxiously, pillow at the ready while Ruairi mopped Shona’s brow.
‘Found it.’
‘Lift the cord over the baby’s head and loosen it. Gently now. You’re nearly there.’
‘Can you do it, Fliss?’ Ruairi asked, straining to see whilst trying to give Shona some privacy. Fliss nodded and then realised that mime wouldn’t be much use to the doctor on the other end of the line.
‘Yes. I’ve … done it.’
The fire was burning at her back and sweat trickled down her spine and heat suffused her face. Her hair flopped forward, but she knew better than to touch it and risk cross infection. As if reading her mind, Ruairi leaned over and tucked the loose strands behind her ears and they shared an eloquent look. Although she was burning hot, Fliss shivered at his touch; then she puckered her brow in concentration and was back in business.
‘This next part is crucial, Fliss. Make space for the baby to slip through the umbilical cord on the next push …’
Fliss didn’t have time to think or reply as Shona let out one last painful scream and delivered the child. It slid out of her and onto the pillow Mitzi was holding, followed by a gush of blood-coloured water that soaked them. Fliss looked down at the little scrap that had been delivered almost into her lap and sank back on her heels.
‘Can someone please tell me what’s going on?’
‘The baby’s been born, safely I think,’ Fliss shouted at the phone. She looked towards Mitzi for confirmation but she was too choked up to reply and simply nodded.
‘Good. Now rub baby gently up and down its back until …’ The baby took several deep breaths and let out a mewing cry. ‘Good. Good. Now, if the cord’s long enough - put the baby on mother’s breast. Skin to skin. Replace the soiled towel with a clean one and cover mother and baby with a blanket to keep them warm. If the cord isn’t long enough …’ Fliss did as instructed, and then took the soiled pillow away from Mitzi who shuffled forward on her hands and knees and took over flannel duty from Ruairi. ‘Hello Ruairi. Tell me what’s happening.’
Ruairi
picked up the phone and held it closer so that Fliss could speak to Dr Dunbar. ‘The baby’s trying to suckle. Mother and baby appear to be fine. What about the cord?’ she asked anxiously, not sure if she could deal with that aspect of the birth.
‘There’s no rush to cut the cord as long as it isn’t pulled tight.’
Fliss checked that it wasn’t.
‘If you pick the cord up between your fingers you can feel the baby’s pulse. Within 10 minutes the pulse should stop. Then I’ll tell you how to cut the cord.’
Fliss, Ruairi and Mitzi glanced at the saucepan containing the scissors and the sterilised laces. Fliss tentatively felt the cord for the pulse and nodded at Ruairi.
‘Fliss’s has found the pulse, Jack.’
‘That’s good. Now clean up the room but leave mother and baby as they are. I’ll ring back in ten minutes with more instructions. But for now - have a wee dram to wet the baby’s head and stand down.’ And with that, he hung up.
Fliss stripped off her soiled gloves and put them in one of the two large bin bags she’d kept to one side, along with the soiled pillow and towels. She pushed her hair off her face with the back of her hands, tried to lever herself into an upright position but her legs refused to cooperate. Ruairi put the phone down and was at her side in two swift strides.
‘You okay?’ he asked. He helped her to her feet, oblivious that her blood-streaked apron was soiling his dress shirt and trubhas. She leaned against him, grateful for his strength and support. The look that passed between them recalled the moment in the rose gardens when she’d reached out to him and he’d caught her. The moment before the world had come crashing round their ears and everything changed. Fliss couldn’t find the words to express how she felt; she wanted to lay her head on his shoulder, close her eyes and sleep for a hundred years, knowing she was safe in his arms. Instead, she moved away from him and ostentatiously rubbed her thighs. .
‘Pins and needles. I’ll be OK once the circulation returns. The baby - is it a boy or a girl?’
Due to the heat of the moment and their relief afterwards, no one had thought to check. Laughing, Mitzi raised one corner of the blanket and looked under the clean towel.
‘A wee girl. A beautiful wee lassie …’ Her voice broke and she reached out tentatively to touch the baby’s dark head.
‘A girl,’ Fliss breathed. The besotted look on Shona’s face made her imagine how her own mother must have felt when she’d held her in her arms for the first time. Tears filled her eyes as she was beset by a fresh pang of loss - but there was no time for sentiment. Sanitising her hands, she slipped on another pair of disposable gloves and a fresh apron.
Her job wasn’t over. Yet. There was the cord to cut, placenta to deal with and … Unexpectedly, a wave of nausea washed over her as she thought of everything that could have gone wrong with the birth. The adrenalin that had seen her through the last hour ebbed away and she had to grab hold of the curled end of the chesterfield to steady herself.
Ruairi left the room and returned with three tots of whisky and a cup of tea for Shona and they did as the doctor had ordered and stood down. Their ten minutes of grace were barely up when the library door opened and Murdo brought in a little bird of a woman with cornflower blue eyes and thick white hair. Ruairi and Mitzi looked relieved to see her and greeted her in Gaelic. She went over to Shona and examined the baby who was already suckling.
‘The cord is still intact?’ she asked Fliss.
‘Yes, Doctor Dunbar said to wait until I couldn’t feel a pulse.’ Realising that this was telling her granny how to suck eggs she trailed off. Nurse McLeish washed her hands and put on a spare pair of surgical gloves and looked at Fliss with a twinkle in her eyes.
‘You’ve come this far, lassie. You’ll no be in the way; let’s finish the job together. How’s Mother?’ she asked Shona in that way medical people have of talking to their patients in the third person.
‘Tired but fine. Once you’ve dealt with the cord and the afterbirth I’d like to ring my husband, Archie.’
‘Of course. Now, Lady Urquhart, could we have a pack of frozen peas and fresh towels please?’ She laughed at Fliss’s expression as Mitzi left the library to do as asked. ‘Dinnae worry, lassie, I’m no making an omelette. The peas are to use as an ice pack to put on mother’s bottom to take away the sting …’
Ruairi and Murdo - clearly deciding it was time for a swift exit - headed for the hall. Fliss mouthed: chicken at them, Ruairi laughed and Fliss knew things were good between them. Fliss and Nurse McLeish rolled up their sleeves and got down to the task of dealing with the cord, expelling the placenta, putting a tiny nappy on the new-born and cleaning Shona as best they could.
Later, the family gathered round Shona in the library and watched her nursing her new daughter.
‘We’d already chosen the name for the baby,’ she explained as she sipped a cup of tea and ate a cracker spread with peanut butter while everyone else drank champagne. ‘Iona for a girl and Hamish for a boy.’
‘Hamish?’ Mitzi repeated. ‘That was my late husband’s name. How sw - sweet,’ she said, though her voice faltered. Everyone appeared to be on the verge of tears - some hormonal, some emotional and Fliss was glad that there were enough staff and volunteers to take care of the stranded travellers as her reserves of energy were spent.
Conscious that she, Mitzi and Ruairi were wearing blood stained clothing, Fliss put her champagne glass down carefully on the table and rose to take her leave. Mrs McLeish was going to spend the night with Shona and Iona. Tomorrow morning, Murdo and Ruairi would take mother, baby and midwife home safely, weather permitting.
Her job here was done. ‘I’m going back to the Wee Hoose to get cleaned up, if no one minds?’
‘Mind? Who could refuse you anything tonight, Fliss darling?’ Mitzi looked round the family circle - the drama of the birth even having roused Isla and brought her downstairs. ‘The Urquharts are in your debt. You’ve been a brick.’ She sent Ruairi a sharp look through her tears as though expecting him to disagree. ‘An absolute brick.’
Even Isla regarded Fliss with new respect.
Ruairi shook his head as if to assure her that she had no worries on that score and raised his glass: ‘To Fliss. Kinloch Mara’s new midwife.’
That was the final straw. Fliss took in a shuddering breath, and when she released it, promptly burst into racking sobs, which she struggled to get under control. Mitzi and Cat began to fuss over her, but there was only one pair of arms she wanted to hold and comfort her.
‘I - I’m fine; really. I’m just dog-tired and my dress is beyond the help of Bold 3 in 1.’ She made light of her emotional outburst not wanting to reveal that the unexpected kindness Ruairi had shown her this evening was the real reason for her tears. She dashed them away with the back of her hand and smiled at Shona. ‘Little Iona has arrived safely and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’
‘We’ll get you another dress, if that’s what you want,’ Ruairi promised, putting his glass down on the table and moving over to her. The room went suddenly quiet and the atmosphere seemed to thicken and grow heavier. Fliss realised that Nurse McLeish was staring at her and Ruairi unblinkingly, with her far-sighted blue eyes.
‘There will be another wee one.’ She touched Iona’s dark head and then added something low and lilting in Gaelic. ‘Within the year.’ Everyone else was staring at the taibhsear as though what she said should be taken seriously. Then she gave a little shudder as though a ghost had stepped over her grave. ‘Ach, babies; it’s the best o’ times when the wee ones are born.’ And - just like that, the heavy atmosphere lifted, like the sun coming out after a thunderstorm.
‘I’ll get my coat and take Fliss home,’ Murdo said.
But Ruairi forestalled him. ‘Thanks, Murdo - I’ll see Fliss back to the Wee Hoose.’
He walked into the hall and the family exchanged a telling look. He returned moments later with the ancient Burberry and unflattering sou’wester Fliss ha
d worn earlier. Removing his Akubra from the deer’s antlers, he shrugged on his waxed coat and helped Fliss into hers. Her arms were so heavy she could barely raise them high enough to slip into the sleeves of the riding mac.
Then they were out in the storm. Fliss was so tired that her vision blurred and the strong wind funnelling down the loch rocked her on her feet. Ruairi put his arm round her shoulders and drew her protectively into his side, shielding her from the wind that threatened to bowl her over. It took every ounce of Fliss’s willpower not to turn her head, bury her face in his neck and pretend that it was the wind which had pushed her there.
She wanted the journey to the Wee Hoose to last forever but soon they were standing in the canopied porch under the security light, looking and feeling suddenly self-conscious in its unforgiving glare. Ruairi bent his head to say something - but the wind carried his words away and Fliss shook her head to signify that she couldn’t hear him. Removing his hat, he bent his dark head towards her and whispered in her ear.
‘I’ve been wrong about you, Fliss. And I’m sorry.’
As he withdrew from her, his lips grazed her cheek. The wind gathered strength, pressing him forward and forcing him to hold onto the porch’s wooden buttresses to prevent him from knocking her over. There was a confusion of limbs and flapping coats as long strands of Fliss’s auburn hair whipped across their faces and the storm battered on around them. In spite of their best efforts, they found themselves standing so close together that it was an effort to focus on each other’s flushed faces without their vision blurring.
Sensing it was what they both wanted, Fliss closed her eyes, raised her face and mutely, brazenly demanded to be kissed. She felt Ruairi take a step away from her and her heart sank at his rejection. But when she opened her eyes, she saw the flame burning within him - the uneven rise and fall of his chest and his hands balled into fists at his sides - and she realised how conflicted he was. She felt a sense of victory - she hadn’t misread him; he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to be kissed. But like her, he was afraid of where the kiss might lead.