Maria sighed. It wasn't an unusual thing to do, to pencil in ideas or suspicions on the front of a file. There were things that you needed -to know but did not want to be written in a file that might be kept indefinitely. A pencilled comment was easy to rub out.
She went to look for Tracy but there was no one new drinking tea with the other mothers. So she looked out into the corridor and there she found her new patient.
Tracy was young, with bright purple hair. She had studs in her ears, her nose, her lower lip. She was wearing a long, khaki ex-army-style coat. And she had a disgruntled expression.
'Hi, I'm your midwife, Maria Wyatt,' Maria said. 'Didn't you want a cup of tea or coffee?'
'I don't want to mix with that lot! They'll only look down their noses at me.'
'They're only mums-to-be like you,' Maria said mildly. 'But if you want to sit in my office, I'll fetch you a cup.'
'All right, then.'
So Maria fetched the black coffee with four sugars that had been asked for and then set to examine her most difficult patient so far.
Tracy was not in good shape. She was stick-thin, obviously undernourished. Maria managed to drag out of her that she lived mostly on chips and curries. 'Plenty of milk?' Maria asked. 'You need the calcium for the baby's bones and your teeth.'
'I don't like milk!'
Tracy's pulse and heartbeat were within acceptable levels—just. But her BP was slightly too high at 135 over 95. The baby was small, its heartbeat not very strong.
'Where do you live, Tracy?'
'I live with me fella. We've got this place in the flats. It's a bit of a mess—but he's all I've got.'
'Are your parents nearby?'
'Mum's dead. Last I heard of him, Dad was in prison.'
It had to be asked. 'What drugs do you do?'
Tracy shrugged. 'You know, the usual. Whatever he can get me. Coke once or twice. But mostly weed. I need some stuff to get me through life, don't I?'
'By weed, you mean cannabis?'
Tracy looked at her with a bit of a smile. 'Yes, I mean cannabis,' she said-. 'Haven't heard it called that since I went to this talk at school.'
'You know that drugs could harm the baby,' Maria said. 'I'm not saying that they will, but they could. May I refer you to a specialist clinic? They'll look after you, put you on a programme of drugs that—'
'I'm not going to any poxy specialist clinic.'
Maria sighed. But she knew that she had no powers, all she could do was try to persuade. 'I'm not very happy about both you or the baby,' she said. 'You're undernourished and the baby isn't all that strong. I think you ought to go into hospital for a few days. You both need care and attention and—'
'I'm not going to hospital. And I'm going to have this baby at home. Get it clear, I'm not going to hospital and that is certain.' And no amount of argument or persuasion by Maria could make her change her mind.
'Is this flat you share with your...fella a good place to have a baby?'
'It's the best I can hope for. And he tries to look after me. He's all I've got.'
'So how can I help you, Tracy?'
And for the first time Tracy lowered her guard. 'I just want to know what I have to do,' she said. 'I'm... scared.'
So Maria gave her the best advice she could. She talked about suitable lifestyles, suitable diets, what Tracy had to do to ensure a safe delivery of her child. And Tracy sat there and listened. But Maria could tell by her bewildered expression that she wasn't taking much of it in.
Maria sighed when her patient had left. She knew she had done all she could—but she suspected that Tracy would largely ignore her advice.
She didn't need to consult Tom. But he had said for her to drop in anytime she needed to chat about something—so she would. She poked her head round his half-open door. 'Got a couple of minutes for a casual chat about someone?' she asked. 'It doesn't matter if you haven't.'
He looked up. 'There's always time for my favourite and only midwife,' he said. 'Though I suspect it won't be casual. Do you want a cup of better-class coffee?'
'I feel as if I need one.'
He poured her a coffee, waved her to one of the comfortable chairs by the low table and came to sit opposite her. 'Business first,' he said, 'and then we can chat. Let me guess. A young lady with large quantities of ironwork in her face. I saw her talking to Molly.'
'The very same. Name Tracy McGee, age eighteen, pregnant—about thirty weeks. She's trying to be hard and yet she's scared and I feel sorry for her.'
Tom nodded. 'Give me the full story.'
So she went over Tracy's life and her fears for the future. And then asked the question that had been troubling her. 'So what can I do?'
Tom sighed and stared at the ceiling. Then he said, 'One of the hardest things a midwife or a doctor or a nurse has to do is to sit and watch while good, life-saving advice is ignored. Sometimes I think people are so stupid that they have a death wish. The answer to your question is that, yes, Tracy is endangering her health and probably the life of herself and her baby. But in the eyes of the law she is an adult. She can make her own decisions. You could inform Social Services, it would be a good idea. But if Tracy doesn't want to see a social worker, she doesn't have to. All you can do is indicate what is best and try to persuade. It's a hard lesson but it's the right one. And I know it hurts you. It has hurt me, and so it should. But...there is nothing you can do.'
'What about the baby? What chance has the poor little mite got?'
'You know the answer to that. The minute he or she is born, we can take action—but only if it's necessary.'
Now it was her time to sigh. 'I did know that,' she said. 'I guess I just needed reminding of it. Now, serious talk over. Did you enjoy the party on Saturday? I was sorry you had to go home.'
He hesitated. 'I did enjoy the party and I was sorry myself that I had to go home. I would have liked to stay.' He grinned. 'And I saw a new Maria Wyatt.'
She decided to ignore his comment. Instead, she said, 'You should get out more often.' Then she thought that that was silly, her telling someone to get out more. How often did she go out?
He looked at her shrewdly, with the small, knowing smile that she had seen before, and she wondered if she had made a mistake. 'A good idea,' he told her. 'What are you doing next Saturday? Would you like to spend it with me?'
This shocked her, she had not expected it. And she had also not expected the instant feeling of hope and excitement it gave her. She wanted to spend time with him, to get to know him. But... 'Just you?' she asked.
'Just me. James is away with his grandmother for the weekend. For a while I'm fancy-free.'
Fancy-free, she thought. She'd never met a man who was less fancy-free. 'What would we be doing?' she asked cautiously.
'I'd like it to be a surprise. It's partly work but I think you will enjoy yourself. Why not take me on trust?'
She grinned. 'Why should I trust you?'
He grinned back. 'You think too much, Maria. I've seen you doing it. You're over-cautious. Wouldn't you like to spend some time with me?'
Well, yes, she would, she thought. But things were still a bit complicated. There was James. But it was only one day... 'All right,' she said, 'since it's work, I'd like to go. Now, I've got work of my own I'd better get on with. Thanks for the coffee.' She left the room quickly.
In fact, she had no work that was really pressing, she just needed a few minutes to herself to think. She scurried to her own little treatment room, sat behind her desk, closed her eyes and tried to relax. Had she just made a big, big mistake?
Yes, she did want to go out with Tom. Not only was he one of the most handsome men she had ever met, he was also kind and thoughtful and... She had to admit it to herself. Every time they met her body responded to him. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck come erect, her breasts felt taut, she knew her face was warm, even slightly flushed. He excited her. No man before had ever made her feel this way. And he seemed to...like her?
But there was James, he was the problem. Then she felt ashamed of herself. How could she call a likeable, four-year-old boy, who had lost his mother, a problem? If there was a problem, it was with her. She would have to learn to cope with it. Perhaps Tom would help her.
CHAPTER THREE
She wore a smart trouser suit in a dark amber shade, with a heavy coat over it as it was winter. Maria had told Tom she needed to know what kind of clothes to wear. He had looked surprised at that and had told her that they were going up onto the moors, but afterwards they might have a meal. So this was the outfit she had chosen. She felt well in it.
'I'll pick you up at the nurses' home,' he had told her.
That had been a bit of a surprise. 'You know that'll be taken as a bit of a statement,' she told him. 'The two of us, off together, not on hospital business but obviously on a social trip. We'll be seen, there'll be gossip, questions asked.'
'If you can put up with it, so can I.'
Well, so be it. She felt that she was starting down a road and didn't know her destination. She was frightened but it was a road she intended to follow. At least, for a while.
When he picked her up he was dressed smartly, too—a dark sports jacket, shirt and tie. The darkness of his clothes contrasted with the brightness of his hair, and she gasped at the effect it had on her. And then, as he handed her into the car, two nurses from the home came down the path and smiled at them. Well, that was that. Things were in the open.
He took her out of town, up onto the moors. And after a while he said, 'I've worked with you but I want to know what the real Maria is like.'
'The real Maria is the one you work with. It's what I am. What I'm best at is being a midwife.'
'I wonder...' he said.
She decided to go on the attack. 'For that matter, I'd like to know the real Dr Ramsey. You know you've got the reputation for being a bit of a recluse. Being a recluse must be hard for a doctor.'
'Difficult,' he agreed. 'But somehow I manage.' He wasn't going to say any more.
'I told you about my son,' she said after a while, 'and it was difficult. Now I want you know something about you. It's only fair.' She swallowed, wondering how he would take what she was going to say. 'Tell me about your wife.'
He was driving, he had to look ahead. But she thought that he might at least have looked sideways, glanced at her. But there was no such movement. His face remained in profile, unsmiling and as still as stone.
Eventually he said, 'She died an hour after James was born,' he said. 'Amniotic embolism. There was nothing anyone could do.'
'I've heard about it, read about it,' Maria faltered. 'It's supposed to be very rare and very dangerous.'
'It's both those things.' He said nothing more.
Two people, she thought. They liked each other but neither was willing to let their guard down. She looked at the snow-streaked moors outside the car. 'Where are we going?' she asked.
He paused before answering and she sensed that he was choosing his words carefully. Then he said, 'There's money available for the clinic but it has to be spent at once. It's to be spent on toys and games for young children. Not your neonates, but the children we have aged between about three and eight. June Roberts should do it, she's in charge of the crèche. She can't come, she's got a family wedding. She suggested you. I've not much idea, I'm an Obs and Gynae man. But you seem to know quite a bit about children.'
'I've told you, you know why. I'm fine with babies, I love them. But anything to do with young children... they remind me, and it hurts.'
Tom remained calm. 'We'll soon be there,' he said. 'Just have one quick look, then if you don't want to look around there'll be a waiting room and I'll do the best I can. I'm sure I can get advice. Don't worry about it.'
And that was that. She looked at him suspiciously. He had given in far too easily.
They drove through a little town high on the moors. On the outskirts they found a big building that had obviously once been a mill, now it had a large sign saying St Fillan's Workshops. Maria was curious. 'Why come all this way when there are places you can buy toys in town?' she asked.
'It's my responsibility to spend the money. So I chose where I want to spend it.' He drove into the courtyard of the building, parked in one of the visitors' slots. He came round to open Maria's door and rather reluctantly she got out of the car.
A figure came towards them, short, heavily built, dressed in a brown overall. He had a great smile. 'Good morning, madam and sir. I'm Paul. I will take you to see Mr Constance.'
Tom offered his hand. So did Maria. 'Thank you, Paul,' Tom said. 'I am Dr Ramsey and this is Miss Wyatt. Is this a good place to leave our car?'
'It's a good place,' Paul said. 'It's very cold today, isn't it?'
'It's very cold,' said Maria.
Paul was about twenty, and had Down's syndrome. Maria warmed to his smile at once.
They were taken down a dark corridor and Paul knocked on an already open door. He said, 'Mr Constance, it's Dr Ramsey and.. .and a lady.' Tom and Maria were shown into a cluttered office.
Mr Constance was a big, smiling man. He shook hands with them, said he was pleased to see them, then added, 'Now I've got work to do. So I'm going to ask Paul here to take you round and introduce you to people. See you later for coffee, eh?'
'Fine,' said Tom. 'Paul, I want to look at toys for children. We'd like to buy some.' Then he turned. 'Would you like to wait for me or come around with us, Miss Wyatt?'
'I'd love to come round with you.'
Paul beamed at them both. 'This way, please,' he said.
Paul proudly took them on a tour of the working area. Most of the workers in the workshop had Down's syndrome, all were working hard. It was a happy place, Tom and Maria were greeted by smiling faces and handshakes.
Maria felt pleased that she had come in rather than staying in the waiting room. After the tour of the working area Paul took them to the showroom. The workshop was a toy wholesaler as well as a toy producer, there was a very good selection there. 'I've got a few ideas,' Tom said to her. 'Largely because I know what James likes. But I don't know what little girls like and I don't know what older boys like.'
'Just use your imagination. Remember that a toy isn't going to be just looked at and played with. It's going to be thrown, dropped, sat on, kicked and scratched. It's got to be built like a tank. And it's got to be safe.'
He had picked up a wooden fort, was inspecting it with the intent expression of boys of any age.
'That's no good at all,' she told him, cheerfully cruel. 'See, it's held together with nails—panel pins. Pull off one side and you've got half a dozen spikes for kids to cut themselves on.'
'You seem to know what you're talking about.'
'Just common sense,' she told him.
In fact, she very much enjoyed looking around. If, for a while, Tom could be a little boy with his fort, then she could be a little girl with a collection of dolls. And it was fun being with him. They played, conferred, selected, noted items on the order forms that Paul had given them. To her surprise she realised that she was enjoying herself.
Then she came to a small display cabinet. There in the centre was a wooden train, painted in black and scarlet. She recognised it at once. She stopped, her face rigid with shock. Vaguely, she was aware that Tom was speaking to her, but she had no idea what he was saying.
'Are you all right, Maria? It's warm in here. Do you want to sit down? Would you like a glass of water?'
Now she could hear him properly. He sounded concerned.
'I'm all right,' she muttered. 'Just not seen him... that for a while.'
'What? The toy train?'
'Rory, the red train,' she said. 'I bought one for James's second birthday and he loved it at once. He kept it by him always. When he was... When he was ill, he used to keep it by him in his cot.'
He took her hand in his, slipped the other arm around her waist. 'It was a shock but it'll soon be over,' he said. 'I'll take you to the
office and ask Mr Constance to—'
'No! We haven't finished buying the toys yet. Give me the list, I want to buy four of these little train sets.'
He looked at her uncertainly.
'They're a well-made toy that will last and bring children a lot of pleasure. I know that. So buy four.'
'I'll buy four,' he said.
He took his arm from her waist as they had to move on. But he kept hold of her hand. She liked that.
* * *
Buying toys in bulk was harder work than Maria had realised. They spent over three hours selecting what they wanted and then going through prices, specifications, delivery dates. Surprisingly, after getting over her shock, Maria quite enjoyed it. It was a change for her to deal with problems that were not to do with real human beings. Dates, costs, simple unchanging facts—they were easy to cope with. And eventually they were finished. They shook hands with Paul again and assured him that, yes, they'd had a good time. And when they went back into the courtyard it was already getting dark.
'You were a big help in there,' he told her. 'I picked the right person when I asked you to come with me. Now, I promised you a meal and we've both more than earned it. Nearby there's a restaurant that's been recommended to me—a pub really. I phoned them and reserved a table.'
'Sounds good. I must say I'm feeling hungry now.'
Just for a while she wanted to forget where they had been. But she had enjoyed herself. And it pleased her that she had been able to advise Tom.
'It's just ahead, on the brow of the hill. You know I chose St. Fillan's Workshops as supplier so I could have some time alone with you?'
'Of course you did. And being alone with you suits me, so long as there's a waiter and a meal as well.'
'An excellent combination,' he said.
The Saracen's Head was a gritstone building, obviously old. It stood just under the crest of a hill, and they were shown to a window table that gave them a view over miles of the Lancashire plain below. It was now fully dark, they could make out towns just by their lights.
They ordered their meal and Maria asked for a white wine to start with. And then she felt she could relax.
A Child To Call Her Own Page 4