Islands: A page turning story of love, secrets and regrets

by Gwyn GB

  Should she ever dare to try and wallow in her loss then something comes along to shame her. In October it’s the horrific images from Ethiopia, the hundreds of thousands of starving people suffering in Africa’s drought. Images of skeletal mothers with empty breasts and dying babies fill the television screen. The sunken faces of children, who have given up hope, linger in her mind. In December, Katherine buys a copy of Band Aid’s ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’, and shares in the nation’s philanthropic unity along with Bob Geldof, Bono, Sting and the others.

  When Christmas comes, for Katherine it’s just another reminder of her loss. She’d dreamed of sitting with John by their tree, stroking her stomach and talking about how this would be their last festive season as just two, that next year the focus of Christmas would be the little person she is carrying.

  The weeks slip by, one grey week after another. January arrives and John is busy with the planting of the Jersey Royals. This month she’s determined not to calendar watch, not to count down the days until her period is due, and she nearly makes it. Only in the last two or three days does she start to get excited, dare to hope that this time they might have done it. She was due a few days ago and so Katherine goes to the chemist, handing over money in return for a stick which could change her life forever.

  Now, here she is again, staring at the blue cross which tells her that her womb is no longer empty - hope has returned.

  Katherine promises herself not to get too excited this time, to be realistic, not to get attached to her unborn child until she can be sure everything is OK. But that’s so much easier said than done. Just knowing there’s a baby inside of her is enough to make her want to rejoice again. Lightning won’t strike twice, this time everything will be all right. Didn’t the doctor say that it was an unlucky break and everything will be fine next time? Only, just to be sure, she doesn’t want to tell anyone about it, only she and John will know the secret within her. It would worry her mother and she doesn’t want to face the uncertainty of people not sure whether they should congratulate her after what happened last time. This is going to be their secret until they’re absolutely one hundred percent sure, and then they’ll share their joy. John’s delight at the news is all she needs for now, and apart from a visit to the doctor to get back on the ante-natal treadmill, they will tell nobody else.

  Before the twelve-week scan she doesn’t even allow herself to pick up a book or magazine about babies. She’s determined not to consider the possibility that everything will go according to plan so she doesn’t have the plummet of disappointment again if it doesn’t. Once there in the ante-natal clinic, lying on the couch, watching the image on screen of the same little jerky, twitchy human looking well and definitely alive, she can’t help but feel attached. They leave with another grainy image of their baby which she places in her purse where the other one once sat. Katherine struggles to hold down her excitement, she stops herself from even mentioning possible names, and they wait, knowing that last time their twelve-week joy turned to sadness.

  By the time the sixteen-week check-up is due she feels like she’s been holding her breath forever. John has been treating her with kid gloves not letting her do anything, and Katherine’s followed every rule in the book to ensure a successful pregnancy. When she walks into the midwife’s room it’s like facing judge and jury as they decide whether or not to sentence her child to the death penalty. She follows the same routine: urine test, blood test, blood pressure, and then the couch to listen...She can’t believe her blood pressure tests normal. It feels like the midwife is taking forever to finish her paperwork. Find the listening monitor. Walk over to her.

  Finally, she’s on her way, six feet...three feet, a foot. ‘Now just lie back and relax whilst I have a listen.’ she says, poised above Katherine’s belly. Relax! That’s the last thing she’s able to do. Katherine closes her eyes and feels the cool monitor touch her skin. Then she hears it, the fast sloshing pump of a little heartbeat from within. The baby is alive and well.

  She would never have believed it’s possible to physically feel lighter with relief, but she does. She walks out of the midwife’s clinic a different person. Hope restored, excitement beginning to trickle through the cracks in the shell she’s built up around her heart, swelling it like parched earth in a rainstorm. Katherine drives home straight away to find John. He’s still in the yard fiddling with a tractor, although she has the suspicion he’s been finding reasons not to go out into the fields until she’s returned. The second he sees Katherine he knows, and a huge grin breaks across his face.

  ‘The baby is fine,’ she says, allowing herself to be enfolded into his big arms. It feels so good to be wrapped up in him like this.

  He kisses the top of her head tenderly. ‘Well done darling. I told you it would all be OK didn’t I?’ Katherine doesn’t reply, just sighs, not wanting to break his hug, feeling secure, loved and at last content again. ‘Margaret’s invited us round for a drink at five, says she’s got some news, so perhaps we can tell your mum and her then. Why don’t you go and have a lie down for a bit first?’ John adds.

  ‘Oh really? She looks up at his face now. ‘I wonder what she’s going to tell us. Sounds like a great plan. I’ve got the rest of the afternoon off and I’m feeling a bit tired.’

  John has already broken their embrace and started to turn to walk away. ‘You go and have a nice sleep sweetheart,’ he says. She can see his mind has already switched back into farming mode, listing all the chores he’s failed to do that morning, but must get done. She watches him climb onto his tractor, her heart and stomach buzzing at the sight of him. He fires it into life and disappears round the barn to the fields. Katherine takes herself, and baby, off for a sleep.

  ‘Kath, we’re engaged.’ Margaret simply can’t contain herself and her news bursts out the second Katherine walks into the kitchen. She’s standing next to the Rayburn holding a glass of something fizzy in one hand, and her new fiancé Robert Philips in the other. They both have the slightly flushed excitement in their cheeks of the newly pledged, warm with love and years of endless possibilities.

  ‘Oh wow. That is so fantastic. Congratulations both of you.’ Katherine rushes around the big wooden table to give Margaret a huge hug. She means it, she’s delighted to see her so happy. Their mother standing on the edge of their new life, is clearly happy for her too. Katherine gives Robert a hug and a kiss as well, she knows he’ll take good care of her sister.

  ‘Robert got down on one knee on the beach.’ Margaret tells her, eyes shining.

  ‘Thought it might be a bit softer on the sand,’ he jokes. ‘Still had my postie shorts on.’

  ‘He’s so romantic.’ Margaret brushes away his flippancy and thrusts her left hand under Katherine’s nose. A shiny, sparkly gold ring, encrusted with tiny diamonds, glitters on her wedding finger.

  ‘So any idea of a date?’ Katherine asks.

  ‘Well we haven’t properly discussed it yet...’Margaret tentatively replies, clearly not about to let that minor detail get in the way of planning her big day. ‘Well need to save up, I want to do it properly. So maybe the summer after next.’ Katherine catches her throw a glance in Robert’s direction, there’s no dissent. The talk dissolves into discussions about dates and who might come, churches and reception venues. In the excitement nobody notices that Katherine doesn’t even sip at her glass of bubbly. By the time John arrives she’s already decided now is not the time to tell them her baby news, it will take the shine away from Margaret and her announcement. They’ve already waited months to tell them, another couple of days won’t make much difference. She manages to convey that thought to John by means of a few careful facial expressions and some hasty whispers, and their evening turns into an impromptu engagement celebration.

  25

  1985, Jersey

  For the next couple of days Katherine is busy at work, and John is flat out with planting.

  Before they know it the weekend is upon them and they still ha
ven’t shared the good news with their family. Katherine has, however, allowed herself to go to the newsagents and buy a pregnancy magazine. She’s starting to relax into the idea that everything is going to be all right after all, and the baby name options start being thrown between them again. She’s even started talking to the tiny baby which lies inside of her, filling her unborn child with dreams and hopes, a life of happy families and a shared future.

  It’s Sunday evening when their dream starts to crack.

  Katherine has gone to bed early, conscious of the fact she has a busy week at work ahead of her. It’s as she’s lying still and quiet in bed, that time when your body and mind are just about to float into sleep, that she becomes aware of it: the feeling something isn’t quite right. It’s difficult to pinpoint what she notices. The baby is too small for her to feel any definite movements, it’s more subtle than that. What comes to her mind is a feeling the ship’s engine has stopped, that the chugging and throbbing from the life support machine inside of her has ceased. Fear clamps hold of her with a jolt causing her to lie still barely breathing, desperately trying to feel what her body is doing, to understand what is making her think this way.

  It’s dark, only a dim white light from the moon strains through the curtains illuminating the mirror on the dressing table and coating the room in a shadowy kind of light which creates soft, fuzzy edges around everything. From downstairs she can just hear the murmur of the television, intermittently spaced with the rattle of canned laughter. She’s no idea how long she lies there listening, frozen in the face of what she’s contemplating. Could it have happened again? Her body which should be nurturing and feeding her baby, keeping it safe, growing its tiny form, could it have let the baby down again? Is something terribly wrong? Are all their dreams, all their excitement about to be shattered? Have the last three months of hoping, waiting, being tired, feeling sick, and busting with the knowledge of their baby, all been in vain? Has her baby died again?

  Finally, she hears the Ten O’clock News titles on the TV and she knows it will be time for John to come to bed. Katherine hears every movement he makes: picking up his empty plate, placing his mug on top and carrying it out into the kitchen. The click of the light switch, the thud as he places his plate down on the work surface near the sink. A cupboard door opens and shuts, the tap runs and she guesses he’s filling a glass with water to bring to bed. There’s the click of a light switch again, his feet treading their way through the living room and up the stairs. The bathroom light suddenly appears, squeezing through the crack at the bottom of the bedroom door. More water running, toothbrush on teeth. The toilet flushing, and then the doorway grows dark again. Only the moonlight is left to show John the way to where Katherine is lying, eyes open to the possibility of heart break.

  ‘I think something’s wrong.’

  She hears John take a quick intake of breath, she’s startled him.

  ‘I didn’t know you’re awake love, I thought you’d gone to sleep ages ago. You gave me a turn.’ He clambers into bed. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I think something’s wrong with the baby.’

  ‘Why? Are you bleeding? Are you in pain?’ John fumbles for the bedside lamp and switches it on making her turn away from him and shut her eyes tight against the glare. ‘Katherine?’

  ‘No. It’s hard to explain.’ She can feel him watching her, and although her eyes could now open without any discomfort, she keeps them squeezed shut. She doesn’t want to see the disappointment or worry on his face. ‘I just know something’s wrong.’

  ‘Oh sweetheart you’re worried because of what happened last time, it’s perfectly understandable. But you had a check-up only a few days ago, you’re not bleeding or anything. It’s just a reaction to all the stress.’ Katherine feels the touch of his hand on her head. ‘Katherine turn over, everything will be fine love, don’t worry. You need to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. I expect you’ve just been lying here on your own in the dark getting yourself all wound up haven’t you?’

  She doesn’t answer. Perhaps he’s right, but she doesn’t think so.

  ‘Look if you’re concerned why don’t you pop into the hospital tomorrow morning before you go to work, put your mind at rest. I’m sure they’ll understand after what happened last time.’ John says reassuringly.

  ‘Yes, I think I will.’ Katherine replies, her voice is croaky but she opens her eyes to look into his. ‘Goodnight darling.’ She kisses him gently on the lips and rolls over onto her side, facing away from him.

  John turns out the light and settles himself into bed silently. He’s beside her, but not with her. Neither of them fall asleep quickly.

  Here they are again, both of them. John was summoned as soon as she saw the results of the scan. They’re both sitting together, his hand holding hers tightly. Katherine knows that like her he can’t believe this can be happening all over again, that all their joy has evaporated a second time. A doctor is in front of them explaining the situation in a quiet professional manner. The pale blue characterless box of a consulting room is a blur around her. She’s all but switched off, a balloon deflated and shrivelled. No tears yet, just numbness.

  Then just as she thinks it can’t get any worse, Katherine catches the doctor’s words. He’s telling them it won’t be possible to remove the baby like last time, that she’s too far gone, that they need to induce her for labour. She can’t believe she can feel any worse, but now horror and fear are added to the trauma of loss. Now all she can think about is giving birth. Giving birth for the first time – to a dead baby. She knows it will feel like a dead baby, she doesn’t need experience to tell her that she’ll feel it slip from her lifeless. There’ll be no vibrant little being to cry and be comforted at the end of all the pain. No celebration to erase the experience.

  Katherine wants to be unconscious. She wants to be unconscious now. She wishes she could just close her eyes and wake up with everything over and done, or maybe not even have to wake up at all. She’s frightened. Scared of the process, of the pain of pointless labour, and most of all scared of the emotional aftermath. She doesn’t know if she’s going to be able to cope with this, whether she can hold it together.

  Katherine feels John with her, anchoring her, but it’s going to be her body that will have that final heart wrenching feeling of loss as the midwife calls for one last push and she feels the limp body of their baby leave hers. The little body they’d dared to hope would be their first child, imagined holding and kissing. All those hopes, all that love reduced to this. Why?

  A very nice midwife fills in all the paperwork for them. John answers most of the questions, and the midwife calls to see if there’s a bed available.

  ‘I’m sorry but the maternity unit is full at present. We’ll book you in for the morning.’ She tells Katherine.

  They nod. What else can they do? So, almost silently, they leave and drive home, shutting the door of their cottage behind them, hoping to shut out the world and its realities.

  When Katherine awakes the next morning it’s from a hellish excuse of a sleep. Dark troubled jumbles of thoughts have been spinning around her head. Images of a tiny dead baby, a large headed foetus, fully formed but lifeless, kept flashing into her mind. She forces herself to get out of bed and get ready. She’s on autopilot. Into the bag she’d bought for her maternity stay Katherine places some clean underwear and her hairbrush, some toiletries and a nightgown. All she wants is for this to be over, for the dead baby to be gone from inside of her, for the next 24 hours not to have to happen. One thing she knows for sure - she doesn’t want to see it, and certainly can’t even contemplate holding it. Katherine is detaching herself, distancing her mind from the broken dream she will soon expel.

  At the maternity unit they are ushered quickly through the wards filled with the sounds of crying infants and chattering mothers, past a closed door where a groaning woman can be heard, giving Katherine a hint of what’s to come. After more paperwork she’s
given some pills and medication, and then they wait. Wait for her body to react and for its muscles to contract and push the contents of her womb out. John makes idle chatter; she knows it’s to take her mind off things: or maybe his mind. Katherine wishes he’d stop. She doesn’t want to chatter back and she doesn’t want the television on. The sound of other people carrying on as though everything is all right, as though nothing is happening, nothing has changed, seems invasive not comforting or distracting. John resorts to reading a magazine. Katherine just waits for it to start.

  It begins with an aching in her lower belly and back like really bad period pains. The midwife gives her some strong painkillers, their existence yet more evidence to hammer home her reality: pills that would never be allowed in a normal birthing situation. No need to fear harming her baby now. Then she starts to shiver. At first Katherine thinks maybe it’s because she’s just sitting around and getting cold, so she gathers up the bedclothes around her, but the shiver takes hold shaking her body.

  ‘I’m cold, really cold,’ she tells John. He instantly jumps up to ask the midwife for more blankets.

  She comes straight away bearing an armful. ‘It’s probably a bit of shock,’ she tells her. ‘I’ll fetch you a hot water bottle.’ In its absence Katherine huddles down under the blankets trying hard to control her shaking body and the urge to just hide her head under the bedclothes and wish herself someplace else, just like she’d done as a daydreaming child.

  The contractions become more painful, more pronounced.

  She tries to concentrate on something, anything...the waffle blankets on the bed, like giant sized versions of the ones she had as a baby. Only her mind can’t help wandering and she starts thinking about how many women will have given birth in sight of them.