The Spring of Second Chances : An absolutely perfect and uplifting romantic comedy

by Tilly Tennant

  ‘It’ll be an awful day…’

  ‘No, it won’t. May will help you for now –’

  ‘Why? Where are you going?’

  ‘To find out what’s going on. Josh needs to be picked up too.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ Martha cut in briskly. ‘If I use the motorway I’ll be back before you know it.’

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ Phoebe sniffed.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be there for the ceremony and I expect your dad will too, even if I have to push him in a wheelchair wired to a drip.’ She bent to give Phoebe a kiss. ‘I won’t be long. Promise you’ll get ready and stay optimistic? We’re not beaten yet.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Phoebe said. And she would, but it was hard to be optimistic when life kept giving you reasons not to be.

  She followed her mother downstairs and they tried to explain the plan (such as it was) to May without causing too much alarm to Maria. Phoebe suspected that Maria was already alarmed and that perhaps their attempts at subtlety were a bit too late, but they did it anyway.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,’ Phoebe said at the door as Martha got ready to leave. ‘I mean, I know what I’m supposed to do but I don’t know if I can carry on like everything is normal and wait to hear. How do I do that? I can’t help thinking I ought to call Jack and tell him we need to put everything off.’

  ‘Just wait. I’ll phone the second I know anything and we can make a decision then. I can’t say any more than that, can I?

  Phoebe shook her head slowly. ‘I suppose not. It just feels so silly and pointless sitting here waiting to get married while Dad could be fighting for his life. Everything feels so unimportant compared to that.’

  ‘It would be if we knew for sure that was happening, but we don’t.’ She kissed Phoebe and stroked a hand under her chin. ‘Try not to get in a state; it won’t do you or the baby any good.’

  ‘I know. I’ll do my best. But please let me know as soon as you can about Dad.’

  ‘I will. I’ll see you in a short while, I hope, for a lovely wedding.’

  Phoebe tried to smile. She knew that her mother’s brave words hid a real fear. Martha left her with more promises and then Phoebe was alone in the hallway. As she shut the door, she let her head fall against it and closed her eyes. She had to be positive and strong, just like her mum. Things looked bad but crying wasn’t going to fix anything. But her mother was wrong about Jack. He had a right to know that everything might have to be put off and she wasn’t about to keep something this important from the man she was about to marry… although, if her dad was as ill as she feared, there was no way she would be getting married today. Her dad was her rock, her hero, her first perfect man – the one by whom the worth of all other men was measured. To walk up that aisle without him was unthinkable.

  May was wrapping a huge apron around Maria when Phoebe went back through to the kitchen. It looked as though she was attempting to give Maria a glass of milk without endangering the bridesmaid dress, but as there was significantly more dress than even Jack’s large apron, she was struggling to cover it all. She looked up at Phoebe with a silent question as Phoebe dropped into a chair at the table.

  ‘I should call Jack, let him know,’ Phoebe said.

  ‘Do you think it’s wise to worry him before you have the facts?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I think it will be a nastier shock if I call him ten minutes before we’re supposed to be at the register office to tell him it’s all off. I want to know what he thinks we should do and I want him to be ready for the worst case scenario.’

  May nodded. ‘You’re probably right. Call him now and discuss it.’

  Phoebe had half expected May to put up the same argument as her mother had done, but the lack of this convinced her that May’s reply had been the more honest of the two. May was treating Phoebe as an equal, not as a daughter she was still trying to protect from the things that she simply couldn’t protect her from anymore.

  Phoebe started to stand up. But before she had pushed the chair back she sucked in a sharp breath and dropped back again, her hand instinctively on her belly.

  May looked up. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Phoebe took a couple of deep breaths before forcing herself to speak. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I need my phone…’ She winced again, unable to move until the wave had subsided.

  May rushed around the table to her and knelt down. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  ‘I just need to…’ Phoebe let out a yelp. She tried to fill her lungs again for another steadying breath, but it was cut short by a bigger, more solid wall of pain that swept over her.

  But then all was calm. Phoebe panted as she tried to right her breathing again.

  ‘What’s happening?’ May asked.

  ‘I don’t know… I just… I think I’m okay now.’

  ‘Is the baby coming?’ Maria asked in a tiny voice from across the room.

  Phoebe tried to give her a reassuring smile. ‘No, it’s too soon.’ She looked up at May, whose worried expression was asking the same question. ‘I’m sure it’s just practice contractions.’

  The tone of May’s reply was astute. ‘Practice eh? That seemed a bit intense for practice. You’re sure about that? You’ve had a stressful morning and it’s probably making you ill.’

  Phoebe nodded. She felt weak and yet strangely wired all at the same time. The incident had taken more out of her than she cared to admit.

  ‘You need to rest, try to relax,’ May continued. ‘Let me get you a warm drink. Getting in a state will have your blood pressure sky high and it won’t do you or the baby any good.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Phoebe said, doing her best to pull in regular breaths, her belly feeling as though it was in a vice. Something wasn’t right, and even as she tried to convince herself she was being silly for thinking such a thing, she knew that her inner voice wouldn’t be silenced. Something was wrong with the baby; she felt it in a way that was primal and instinctive, but she was too afraid to say it.

  May stood up, eyeing Phoebe warily. ‘You look white as a sheet. I’d better get you that drink. Are you sure you don’t need me to at least phone your midwife, ask her what she thinks?’

  ‘It’s New Year’s Eve; she doesn’t want to be bothered by –’

  Once again pain ripped through her and Phoebe clutched at her middle.

  ‘That’s it!’ May cried. ‘I’m calling an ambulance!’

  ‘Jack…’ Phoebe panted, ‘I want Jack.’

  ‘You can have Jack, right after I get help.’

  Phoebe nodded, fear making her docile. She wanted help, she wanted someone to come and take all this terror away and make everything alright. What was happening to her? Today should have been that magical day, the one every couple cherishes, but now it couldn’t be more wrong.

  May hurried off to fetch her phone. Phoebe closed her eyes and tried to be calm. She felt a light touch on her hand, and opened them again to see Maria staring intently at her.

  ‘Granny May will look after you,’ Maria said. She looked so utterly convinced of the truth of her words that Phoebe almost believed it. ‘I will too,’ she added.

  ‘I know you will. You’re the best little nurse I know.’

  May came back in, concern etched into her features.

  ‘The number for the midwife is in my phone,’ Phoebe said.

  ‘No need. I’ve called for an ambulance; I’m not taking any chances.’

  Had it been anyone else, Phoebe would have said it was an unnecessary fuss. But it was May, and so Phoebe didn’t argue. ‘Don’t call Jack,’ she said. ‘I think I overreacted just then. There’s no need to get him rushing over here for a bit of a false alarm.’

  ‘Do you still want to tell him about your dad?’ May asked.

  In the same instant Phoebe was gripped by another contraction, as fierce as the ones she thought had been down to stress, and she knew now that it was no practice.

 
‘Maria, sweetheart, run to get a cushion for Phoebe to sit on, will you?’ May said, and Phoebe understood that the request was more to get Maria out of the room for a moment than because Phoebe needed a cushion.

  Maria bolted from the room and May bent down to Phoebe in her place. ‘Don’t worry; the ambulance is on its way.’

  ‘I’m not worried,’ Phoebe lied. ‘It’s just childbirth, right? Lots of women do it every day and they’re fine.’ But the spectre of Rebecca filled Phoebe’s thoughts, as it must have been filling May’s, and neither of them truly believed Phoebe’s words.

  ‘How early are you?’

  ‘About four weeks. Four weeks isn’t that bad, is it? And my dates could be out, couldn’t they? And they might be able to delay the birth, right?’

  ‘One thing’s for certain,’ May replied grimly, ‘you’re not getting married this afternoon.’

  ‘Jack! I need my phone…’ Phoebe began.

  ‘I’ll call him.’

  ‘He’s going to be so upset. It’s such a bloody mess.’

  ‘He won’t be upset. He’ll only want to know that you’re safe.’

  ‘But I’m not, am I?’ Phoebe began to sob, all bravery leaving her at the thought of Jack’s fear, as real to her as her own.

  May grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you,’ she said in a fierce whisper. ‘No matter what it takes I’ll make sure you’re okay.’

  Phoebe squeezed back, so grateful for May’s quiet strength. Of all the people who could have been with Phoebe at this moment, May was the best she could ask for.

  The previous twenty-four hours had amounted to little more than a jumble of sights, sounds and smells, of shouted instructions and worried faces, of struggle and exhaustion, until the drugs had softened all the edges of her pain so that only the vaguest impression remained. Phoebe had pushed when they told her, she was sure, though she couldn’t now remember doing it.

  She recalled the feeling of Jack’s hand in hers, of his voice – sometimes strong and sometimes choked with emotion. She hadn’t been scared – perhaps it was the gas and painkillers – and in the end she hadn’t given a single thought to her dignity (as little as she had left), as doctor after doctor examined her, midwives changed shifts and examined her once again, and then the call came for theatre to be prepped and all hell seemed to break loose around her. Someone had pushed a form under her nose and a pen in her hand and told her to sign. Consent, they called it, though Phoebe had always assumed that consent had to be given by someone who wasn’t so utterly spent they no longer knew what they were doing.

  She must have somehow scrawled her name, because now she was awake and it all came flooding back. She had heard the cries, been told she’d had a girl, been given the fleeting chance to hold her baby close, and then they had taken her away again. She’d been too exhausted to weep, she was only filled with an overwhelming but curiously numb type of despair when they had told her that the baby would have to be incubated. Phoebe had somehow failed in the simple task of bringing her daughter safely into the world, and this was the only thought that her head had room for. Jack had stroked her hair and kissed her and as they’d wheeled her from theatre she watched him sob. She wanted to call out, to tell him to stop, to tell him that everything would be okay, but nothing would come out. And then, she fell into the darkest sleep.

  Someone was calling her name but her eyes wouldn’t open.

  ‘Phoebe…’

  There it was again. She had been dreaming, of doctors and the smell of freshly laundered scrubs, classical music playing somewhere in the background while her baby arrived into the world, helped along where she had failed. She began to drift back into it when her name was spoken a third time. They must really want her to wake. It sounded like…

  Phoebe squinted up. Maria was in Jack’s arms and she grinned down at her.

  ‘I wanted you to wake up!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jack cut in. ‘I would have let you sleep but you know how it is with our Maria.’

  Phoebe swallowed, her throat dry and tight, her head pounding. ‘It’s alright,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t want to sleep all day.’ She tried to move and winced. It was then that she remembered the long line of stitches across her abdomen. That memory brought everything else crashing back. She was suddenly awake. ‘The baby…’

  ‘We’ve just come back from seeing her; she’s doing fine.’ Jack’s smile was far from genuine. Phoebe could see fear behind it.

  ‘She’s in a box to keep warm,’ Maria said as Jack lowered her onto a seat. ‘And she has a teddy that granny brought too so she won’t be lonely.’

  Phoebe gave a tiny nod, even the small movement of her head draining her. ‘I want to see her. Can I see her?’

  ‘Later, the nurse said. When you’ve had a bit more rest we’ll walk you down to the unit,’ Jack said.

  Phoebe wanted to argue with this but her body wouldn’t let her. For now, she had to be content with his promise. Then something else came back to her. ‘Dad?’

  Jack’s smile was more heartfelt this time. ‘He’s fine too. The doctors say it was more of a warning shot than a proper heart attack. He’s on the ward at the hospital in Manchester, but your mum says he’s already looking better and they told her she can take him home in the next day or so. He’s got to be careful from now on, though, but your mum says she’s been telling him that for years anyway.’

  Phoebe nodded again, relief flooding through her. But it was tempered by sadness thinking about what should have been her wedding day. She had ruined it all and Jack must have been so disappointed that everything had been called off. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, a tear tracking her face and disappearing into the pillow.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I ruined the wedding.’

  Jack grabbed her hand in a fierce grip. There was so much love, so much anxiety, such a burning need to protect her in the gesture that Phoebe could almost feel the emotions through his skin. ‘You didn’t ruin anything. You were brave and amazing and I never, ever want you to think you did anything wrong. I only care that you’re here now, safe, and that our baby is safe. We have all the time in the world for another wedding – as many weddings as you like.’

  ‘We should really try to keep it at one,’ Phoebe said, a smile itching at her lips.

  ‘Probably. Whenever you want this time… however long you want to take over it is fine by me. We’ll get settled as a family and you can get well again and then we’ll think about it.’

  ‘Okay.’ This was the point at which her heart should have swelled with joy and excitement, but she was too tired. Already she was fighting to keep her eyes open. ‘Is the baby really alright?’

  ‘She needs a bit of ventilation and a stay in the incubator but the doctors say that she’s going to be fine. She was just a bit impatient to come and meet her mum, that’s all.’ Jack squeezed her hand. ‘I can’t say I blame her.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Phoebe said, her voice trailing away.

  ‘I love you,’ Jack said.

  His words echoed in her thoughts as she drifted back to sleep.

  When she opened her eyes again, Phoebe was surprised to find Carol sitting next to her bed. She was reading a magazine, and Phoebe watched her quietly for a moment, waiting for her to notice that she was awake. After a few moments, with still no response, Phoebe cleared her throat.

  ‘Where’s Jack?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s taken Maria for lunch. I did offer, but he seemed to think that I might want to sit here with you instead.’

  ‘Right…’ Phoebe replied uncertainly.

  ‘I think he’s expecting us to make some sort of peace,’ Carol added after a brief silence.

  ‘Okay…’ Phoebe said, lost, again, for a response.

  Carol closed her magazine and folded it into a large, leather bag.

  ‘You don’t have to stay,’ Phoebe said. ‘I understand if you have things to do. Quite honestly, I don’t thin
k there is anything to discuss. I have no problems getting along for Jack’s sake if you don’t.’ She was still tired, emotionally spent, and the last thing she needed was a pointless heart-to-heart with Jack’s mother. What she really wanted to do, even though every part of her body ached and the slightest movement set her Caesarean wound on fire, was to go and see her baby.

  ‘Have you thought of a name?’ Carol asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  ‘A name?’

  ‘For the baby.’

  ‘I know what you meant. It was just…’ Phoebe’s sentence faded. She had given up trying to understand Carol a long time ago. They had flicked from one subject to a completely different one in a split second and Carol didn’t even seem to have noticed they’d gone off track. ‘I haven’t really had time to decide,’ Phoebe continued. ‘We thought we had a lot longer to settle on one. It seems that baby had other ideas.’

  ‘Jack took me to the incubator,’ Carol said. There was a pause. ‘She’s beautiful.’

  Phoebe couldn’t help the tired smile that lit her face. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Of course. Absolutely stunning. It would be impossible to look at her without falling in love. She’s the image of Jack.’

  Phoebe’s smile grew. If Phoebe had cloned herself and placed the result in a crib, Carol would still have insisted that it looked like Jack. Besides, looking like Jack wasn’t necessarily a bad thing and Phoebe didn’t mind what Carol thought as long as she accepted the baby. And it seemed that she was besotted already, which could only be good.

  ‘It’s strange,’ Phoebe said, ‘I can’t even remember what she looks like right now. I had the briefest cuddle and then she was whisked away.’ Tears welled in her eyes and she rubbed them clear. Stupid bloody hormones.

  Carol’s expression was one of genuine sympathy. It was the first time Phoebe could ever recall seeing such a tender look on her face. ‘Do you think you’re well enough to go to the ward?’

  ‘I don’t know… I’m a bit wobbly and I’m terrified of bursting my stitches, but I do want to, more than anything. If Jack is back soon then I’m sure he’ll help me.’