There’s nothing I want more than to fall into his arms, but I know I can’t. The longer I drag this out, the worse it will be for both of us. I take a step back.
‘Lewis, we need to talk,’ I say, more sharply than intended.
‘Sounds ominous?’ He cocks one eyebrow. ‘Is there something wrong? There is, isn’t there?’ he challenges when I don’t respond. ‘You’ve been . . . I can only describe it as a bit cool towards me. I got the impression when you didn’t want to stay last night that it was because you were going off me.’
‘It isn’t that,’ I say.
‘So there is something wrong.’ His voice is husky with concern. ‘What is it? You’re scaring me. Are you trying to say what I think you are? I thought everything was great between us. We’re so good together. I’ve never met anyone like you before.’ Lewis runs his hands through his hair. ‘When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have much in common—’
‘I know,’ I interrupt, but he continues, ‘I feel like you’re part of me, Zara. Please don’t tell me it’s over.’
‘I’m sorry.’ My brow is tight, my chest aching.
‘So who is it?’
‘There’s no one else, I assure you.’
‘Is it Paul?’
‘No . . . Why should this have anything to do with him?’
‘Because he’s always trying to stir up trouble between us. The last time I saw him I was with Murray at the pub. He came over, bought me a beer and started talking about how you left him because you were all screwed up about not being able to have a baby. He said you’d do the same to me.’
‘That’s a lie,’ I exclaim. ‘What did he think he was doing?’
‘Trying to break us up. He’s a devious little man who for some reason known only to himself doesn’t want you to be happy. It’s all right. I told him to f*** off. Was I right not to believe him?’
‘You certainly were. To think I’ve tried to be nice to him and keep some kind of friendship going, and all this time he’s been stabbing me in the back!’
‘So what is it?’ Lewis says, returning to the original subject.
‘I’ve been thinking and I can’t . . .’ I frown. ‘Don’t say anything. Let me speak. You told me when we first met that you wanted kids, and when I see you with Poppy and Daisy, I can see you’re going to be a fantastic dad one day. I can’t let you sacrifice the chance of having children and a family of your own for me. You’re young and you have plenty of time to find someone else.’
‘But I don’t want anybody else. I want you. I love you,’ Lewis says.
‘I know you love me,’ I say in a low voice. ‘You don’t just say it, you show it in every way, the little things you say and do; but eventually you’ll come to resent me for not being able to give you a child.’
‘This is because of Paul, isn’t it? He’s poisoned you.’ Lewis grabs my shoulders and presses his fingers into my flesh. ‘I’m not like your ex-husband. I would never come to resent you.’ He relaxes his grip and runs his hands up and down my arms. ‘I would never tire of you.’
‘Sh!’ I touch my fingertip to his lips. ‘It’s easy to say you aren’t bothered now but, trust me, I’ve seen the way childlessness can eat away at a relationship.’ It’s true: I’ve seen how it can devour love and destroy a couple.
‘We could always adopt. There are other ways of having a family.’
‘I know.’ I see it all the time. During my experience as a midwife, I’ve seen babies given up for adoption or taken into care for fostering, and I’ve met pregnant women acting as surrogates. I’ve seen couples go through the stresses of IVF as Paul and I did, and fall apart after the arrival of a much-wanted baby. ‘You see, you say you don’t mind, but you’re already thinking of the options,’ I point out. ‘You can’t put your hand on your heart and tell me honestly that you’ll never yearn to be a father.’
‘I might regret it from time to time,’ he admits, ‘but that’s only natural. It wouldn’t be the be-all and end-all to me. Zara, I wouldn’t expect you to go through any treatments or procedures if you didn’t want to. I want you, not a baby.’ He hesitates, his voice choked. ‘We can be a ready-made family – you, me and the dogs.’
‘It isn’t the same,’ I insist. I am crying. Lewis is crying. I love him, adore him, because he’s perfect, funny, warm and energetic, but I have to let him go so he can be free to move on. I steel myself. ‘It’s over. I’m sorry. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’ I tear myself away and run across the yard to my car, jump in and drive off with Lewis running alongside, banging on the window with his fist.
‘Zara, please listen to me.’
I pull away at speed, bumping down the farm track through the puddles. When I glance back, Lewis is standing staring after me, his shoulders slumped and his face and sweater plastered in mud. Our romance is over and I’m utterly devastated. I need to talk to someone and all I can think of is my sister, but I can’t go back to the farm for fear of increasing my torment by running into Lewis again, so I pull in further down the lane and call her on my mobile, but she isn’t answering her phone and it’s Murray who pulls in alongside the car in his tractor and jumps out.
He knocks on the window. Reluctantly, I open it, blowing my nose at the same time.
‘Can I help you?’ he asks with a goofy smile. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, choking.
‘You aren’t. What on earth’s happened?’ My shoulder is clamped by Murray’s vice-like grip – his way of comforting me, I think.
‘Lewis and I are finished. It’s over.’
‘The bastard.’ Murray presses a grubby finger to his lips. ‘I didn’t have him down as one of those.’
‘He isn’t.’
‘I could thump him one for making you cry. In fact, I’m going to set him straight.’
‘No, don’t make things any worse.’
‘It might make him see sense and, if not, I’ll make sure he sees stars, at least. After all he’s said about you and what Emily and I have done for him. He’s an ungrateful sod.’
‘Really, don’t . . .’ I take a deep breath. ‘It was me. I finished with him.’
‘You did!’
‘Yes, I did,’ I say miserably. ‘I’ve made up my mind and there’s nothing anyone can do or say to change it.’
‘Why don’t you come back to the house? We’ll put the kettle on.’
‘That’s very kind, but I can’t face anyone right now.’
‘Well, what are you going to do? You can’t sit here all night.’
‘You’re right . . . I should go home.’
‘I can drive you if you like.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I sigh. ‘Thanks, Murray. Tell Emily I’ll be in touch.’
Murray reaches through and pats my hand on the wheel.
‘You know where we are if you need us. Don’t worry, I’ll see Lewis is all right. We’ll have a few beers.’
Once Murray’s gone on his way in the tractor, I head back into Talyton, my head spinning, my heart in turmoil. I don’t tell Gran and I have the briefest conversation on the phone with my sister just to let her know I’m all right. I can’t eat and I don’t sleep. Tonight, Frosty lies heavily on my feet, matching my sighs with hers. She knows I’m unhappy, and I’m not the only person around here who’s going to miss Lewis. He’s part of Frosty’s life too, or was . . . A lump catches in my throat. I stuff the corner of the duvet into my mouth to stifle my sobs. I still love him and always will.
When I wake there are three missed calls from Lewis. While I’m walking Frosty before breakfast, he calls again. This time, I answer.
‘Zara, I had the worst night ever, thinking about what you said,’ he begins. ‘You’re wrong, you know. You can’t impose your perception of how I might feel in three or four years’ time on our situation. You can’t possibly guess the future. Now, I’m a happy-go-lucky kind of person who takes one day at a time, and all I want is to go back to how we were and do that wit
h you, not worrying about what might or might not happen. I understand you feel more secure knowing you have things planned out as far as you can, but life isn’t like that. It has twists and turns, and ups and downs, and I want to go through them with you at my side. Please, meet with me later so we can talk. I miss you so much.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say softly. ‘It’s better we don’t see each other. There’s no point. It will only make things worse.’
‘So you do have feelings for me still?’ he says, sounding more optimistic. ‘The baby thing wasn’t just an excuse?’
‘Of course I have feelings for you, but that doesn’t mean there’s any chance of getting back together. Nothing’s changed.’
He sighs deeply and I feel as if I have a knife through my chest. ‘If you’re sure then.’
‘I’m sure. I’m sorry,’ I repeat.
‘I’m sorry too.’ He clears his throat before he continues. ‘As you’ve made your mind up, I’m going to go and stay with my parents. I don’t think I can bear to remain at the farm.’ His voice breaks. ‘There are too many memories . . . Goodbye, Zara.’
I cut the call, unable to speak.
The next morning, although it’s the last thing I want to do, I crawl out of bed, shower and dress and, having made sure Gran has a cup of tea and breakfast, I drive to the hospital to visit Tessa. I find her on the neonatal unit with Jack and the baby, who is still in an incubator and surrounded by wires and monitors. It’s good news, though. Although he’s having oxygen through a tube in his nose, I can see that he’s breathing for himself.
Jack notices me first. ‘Zara. It’s great to see you.’
Tessa looks up from where she’s sitting in a chair in a white robe. There’s a blue teddy bear in her lap.
‘I brought you these from me and Frosty,’ I say, handing her a box of Maltesers. ‘You’re looking well,’ I go on after she thanks me. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s doing much better now. In fact, the doctors think that they can delay surgery on his heart until he’s bigger and stronger. He will need to have an operation, but there will be less risk of complications.’
‘Have you been able to hold him?’ I ask.
‘Show Zara the pictures,’ Tessa says, and Jack hands me his phone.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ I say, a lump in my throat as I study the look on Jack’s face as he looks down at his wife and their baby son.
‘I’m sorry. Jack took hundreds. He’s so excited, he’s told everyone.’ Tessa smiles. ‘We’re so lucky.’
‘It could have been very different,’ Jack says quietly, ‘and there’s a long way to go.’
‘I know.’ Tessa touches her husband’s hand. ‘We’ll get there, though. We will.’
‘What have you called him?’ I ask.
‘Oliver Jack Steven Wilde,’ Tessa says.
‘I won’t lie and say that it suits him because I can’t tell. You can hardly see him under that hat,’ I say, amused. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘No, thank you. Jack can go and get something to eat from the shop later. You get on. I’m sure you have plenty of other things to do.’
‘I’ll catch up with you all soon,’ I say. ‘All the best.’ I leave the new family to continue to bond, knowing that they have many challenges ahead. I have challenges of my own today, not least coping with the aftermath of my break-up with Lewis, as well as Gran and the shop, and my everyday work with my mums and their babies.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Fun of the Fair
Exercise is supposed to make you feel better when you’re feeling down, and it’s true, because when I return from delivering the papers with Frosty on a cool October morning as the sun is beginning to warm through the mist, revealing a hint of blue sky and a bright day to come, I feel more positive than I have done for a while.
I push the shop door open and let Frosty off the lead just inside. She trots away leaving damp paw-prints across the floor as she heads towards the counter where Gran and Mrs Dyer are talking.
‘How much did you say that comes to, Rosemary?’ Mrs Dyer asks. ‘There’s a magazine, a bar of milk chocolate and a witch’s hat for Hallowe’en— I like to dress up when the children come trick or treating.’
‘That’ll be five shillings and six.’ Gran frowns as she stares into the till. ‘I’ve rim out of half-crowns.’
‘Here, let me sort it out,’ Mrs Dyer says gently.
‘It’s all right. I’ll do it,’ I say, moving behind the counter to join Gran. ‘Let’s start again.’ I ring up the prices, which add up to a sensible total in decimal, before taking Mrs Dyer’s money and giving her the change.
‘Well I never,’ Gran mumbles. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
‘I think you must have had a flashback,’ I tell her. ‘You were working it out in old money – it all changed in the 1970s way before I was born. Gran, can I ask you a favour? Would you mind giving Frosty her breakfast?’ With tears in my eyes, I glance towards Mrs Dyer. ‘I think she’s having one of those days.’
‘I have them all the time,’ she says, trying to make light of the issue. ‘Zara, is everything okay? Only Rosemary wasn’t having a very good day the last time I came in. She gave me the wrong change. I gave it back, of course, but there may be people who aren’t so honest.’
‘Actually, she’s becoming a little forgetful,’ I admit.
‘I know what that’s like. My old mum, bless her heart, went the same way.’
‘I’m going to have to call in sick. I’m supposed to be at work.’
Mrs Dyer takes off her coat. ‘I can help out for the morning.’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—’
‘You go. We’re neighbours, part of the community, and we help each other out. Rosemary and I can have a nice chat about the old days.’
‘Thank you so much. I’ll find someone to cover the afternoon. I’ll be back at lunchtime.’ I run, upstairs, change without showering and grab my keys.
I call Emily, but she isn’t well. She’s been throwing up for a couple of days and doesn’t feel up to doing anything, so I brace myself and phone my parents. It’s Mum who answers.
‘I hate to do this, but could you look after the shop this afternoon? Gran’s in a bit of a pickle and I can’t ask James because he’s on holiday. It’s half-term. Please, I’m desperate.’
‘I’ll be straight over,’ she says after a pause.
‘I won’t be here. Mrs Dyer’s holding the fort. You’ve saved my life.’
As I cut the call, my mobile rings. It’s Claire at the surgery and she’s in a flap.
‘I don’t know where you are this morning, or if you can help, but we have a baby emergency here. It’s Rosie. She’s in labour. I’ve called for an ambulance, but I think it’ll be too late.’
‘I’ll be right there.’ I run faster than I’ve ever run before, reaching the surgery in a record two minutes. Janet opens the door for me.
‘She’s in there.’ She points to the nurse’s room. ‘Ben—’
I don’t stop to hear any more, rushing straight through to find Claire’s sanctuary rather overcrowded, with Rosie lying on the trolley and Ben, Claire and Adam surrounding her. Ben looks up from where he’s examining the mum-to-be, maintaining her modesty with a judiciously placed sheet.
‘Am I glad to see you?’ he says, moving over to speak to me. ‘I haven’t delivered a baby for years, and mum is very anxious. I think this is your department, but I’ll be right back if you need me. Mum is fully dilated and ready to push.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, as Rosie utters a scream.
‘That hurts sooooo much!’
Adam, his face pale and his teeth gritted, stands holding her hand.
‘All right,’ I say as the contraction passes. ‘There isn’t time to get you to hospital. You’re going to deliver your baby very soon.’ Rosie’s crying and shaking. ‘I need you to calm down and focus now.’ I glance towards Claire and give her a list of the basic kit that we ne
ed, such as towels, clamps and scissors.
‘I’m onto it,’ she says.
‘Rosie, with this next contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can into your bottom.’
Claire hands Adam a piece of damp paper towel. He wipes his face.
‘That was for Rosie, but never mind,’ she smiles. ‘Hang on in there, Adam,’ she adds. ‘It won’t be long.’
‘Push,’ I say. ‘Keep pushing. That’s great. I can see the baby’s head. Now, pant – that’s it. With the next contraction, your baby will be born. Ready?’
‘Noooo,’ she bellows as the next pain builds.
‘That’s good. Now push!’ It doesn’t take much effort. The baby’s shoulders pop out like a cork from a champagne bottle. I catch it under the arms and lift it onto the towel that Claire spreads across Rosie’s chest, at which the baby cries and kicks its legs.
‘This one is a feisty little thing,’ I comment.
‘What is it?’ Adam asks.
‘It’s a girl,’ I say, checking. ‘Congratulations.’ I clamp the cord in two places and let Adam cut it while Rosie gazes at her baby daughter.
‘She’s amazing,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t believe it.’
I look towards Claire, who has tears streaming down her face.
‘Don’t – you’ll set me off.’ I smile. ‘Well done, team.’
‘OMG, I’m so emotional,’ Claire says as the room starts to flash with blue light.
‘The ambulance is here,’ Adam says.
‘Too late,’ Rosie says.
‘Has baby got a name?’ I ask.
‘We’re going to call her Isla,’ Adam says. ‘Isla Jamelia.’
‘That’s beautiful,’ I say, having been slightly concerned they were going to choose something much more way out, as my last teenage parents did, naming their daughter Porsche and son Aston. They were also the couple who couldn’t comprehend how they could be having twins when they’d allegedly had sex only once.
‘Thank you, Zara, and Claire,’ Adam begins. ‘I’m sorry we barged in on you like this, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else we could go, and I really didn’t want our baby to be born in the butcher’s or the baker’s.’
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