'So you're on your own for a while?' she asked Tom.
'Yes. A bachelor for a while, and it's wonderful to go out again with an attractive woman. But I'm missing James.'
'It's hard, being a single parent.'
He shrugged. 'My mother lives very close by. James dotes on his grandmother and she dotes on him. But...like you I suspect, I spend a lot of my time suggesting to people that two parents are better than one.'
'If they are the right two.' Maria picked up her glass, swirled the wine round a moment. For quite a while she'd thought about what she was now going to do. Now was the obvious time and place. But she was scared. Still... 'Tom, is it painful to talk about your wife? Talk about what she was like, what she meant to you?'
His voice was still perfectly controlled. 'Yes, it's painful. I...I think about her a lot. But I don't talk to other people about her. I don't feel the need.'
This was going to be harder than Maria had thought. But now she had started, she had to go on. Hesitantly, she said, 'When there's been a death, too often friends and family think that the best thing to do is to pretend it hasn't happened. They just don't talk about the person. That's wrong. Your wife was and is part of you. So I'd like to know about her.'
'For any particular reason?'
'I think we're getting to be friends. Isn't that enough reason? And...you got me to talk about my James. It hurt at the time but I felt a little better afterwards.'
She wondered if he was having difficulty knowing where to start. He gazed out of the window at the lights below, and his face seemed as if it was made out of the same gritstone as the inn. But then he began, in an apparently casual voice that she knew was intended to hide the emotions he was feeling.
'Her name was Jane. I know I tend to be a bit thoughtful, a bit reserved, but Jane was just the opposite. She was bubbly and outgoing. Everyone was her friend, she seemed to spread joy just by being her. The happiest years of my life where when we were married.'
'How long were you married?'
'Just four years. We had planned our baby and were so much looking forward to him—or her. All seemed to be going well with the pregnancy. It was hard being an O and G man, knowing what could go wrong, but I managed by remembering the vast number of births that went well.'
He stopped. He hadn't turned to look at her, his gaze still fixed on the darkness outside.
'And then?' she prompted gently.
'No problem at first. James was delivered. I remember how joyful we both were. Then Jane had an amniotic embolism. For some reason amniotic fluid got into her bloodstream via the placenta, and she had an allergic reaction to it. She complained of being cold, she couldn't breathe properly and she was getting increasingly anxious. By this time so was I. We had all the experts in the hospital there, but everyone knew there was nothing they could do.
'The baby was fine. But everyone there knew there was little chance of Jane surviving. She sank into a coma. I sat by her and held her hand and she died. I wanted to die with her. But I had a baby now, I had responsibilities.'
For the first time he looked at her. 'I never want to go through that hurt again.'
She could tell that he was suffering still. She wanted so much to comfort him, to reach across the table and hold him and tell him that in time the pain would pass. But, then, who was she to talk?
'Which is why you've never started another relationship?' she asked gently.
'For a long time I just didn't have time. But now it's different. I have a son to look after and I worry enough about him. I couldn't fall in love again, risk all that pain. I'm quite happy remaining detached.'
'I'm sorry I made you go through all that,' she said. 'I know how you feel.'
He shook his head thoughtfully. 'No, you were right. I suppose I spend too much time brooding to myself, never thinking about other people. Now, do I see the waiter coming our way?'
A totally different voice, a totally different expression. The time for high emotion had passed; Now they were to behave like ordinary human beings, carefully hiding their pain from themselves and the world. But she knew that she had opened a door between them. Whether it was to be a good thing or not, she didn't know.
The dinner was superb, but afterwards she couldn't remember a thing that she had eaten. Then they drove home, and he took her back to the nurses' home quite early. She was glad of that. She felt she needed time to herself, time to think.
He walked her to the door. She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him to her, quickly kissed him. 'Thank you for a lovely day. And this is a goodnight kiss, nothing more,' she said.
'Nothing more,' he said slowly. He slid his hands around her waist, held her loosely. She knew she could escape his grip any time she wanted. But she didn't want to. She hadn't really wanted this, but now she wouldn't change anything.
She looked up at him. It was dark, but she could just make out his expression in the lights from the home. He looked perplexed, as if he was trying to work something out.
'You're gorgeous-looking,' he said. 'And you're clever and kind and generally fun to be with. I feel at home with you. And I get a thrill from just holding your hand, and feelings that I thought were dead are reminding me of what I've been missing.'
Then he pulled her to him and kissed her.
She knew she could escape from his arms, could stop him. Perhaps it might be the best thing to do, she felt she was being taken somewhere new, that the certainties of her life might be upset. But she didn't care.
One hand caressed the back of her neck, the other was around her waist, easing her towards him. She could feel the firmness of his body, was happy at the way her own body moulded into his. They fitted so well together! At first his lips were gentle but as he felt her response they grew bolder, touching, tasting, exploring. Around her the world disappeared. All she knew was that she was here with this man, that he was kissing her and she would like to do it for ever.
And then he stopped. She moaned softly. Why had he stopped? But a cold, cautious part of her mind suggested that it was perhaps best if they stopped before things progressed too far.
'Was this a good idea?' he asked her.
'Perhaps not. It's started something that I'm frightened of.'
'So are you sorry?'
No need to think about the answer. 'No,' she said. 'Are you?'
'Who could be sorry after that? I couldn't. But what now? How will I greet you on Monday morning after this?'
'We'll work something out,' she said, and fled.
In her room she undressed, showered, made herself a cup of cocoa. Then she sat on her bed in her dressing-gown. She ought to think, decide what to do about Tom, consider how she felt. Then she decided not to. For once in her life she'd let things fall as they would.
She'd spent too much of her life thinking and worrying. And then she smiled at a memory. Being kissed by Tom had been fantastic! She wanted it to happen again.
On Monday morning she found that one problem had been solved. No need to worry how to greet Tom— he wasn't there. 'He'll be away all week,' Molly explained. 'Apparently he's been borrowed by a hospital somewhere near Sheffield. They've had some kind of a bug that has, laid low all the O and G doctors. But he'll be back on Friday.'
'Right,' said Maria. She felt a bit let down. Saturday night had started something that she felt ought to be resolved. She wanted to know what he felt. For that matter, she wanted to know what she herself felt.
In the middle of the morning her phone rang. Casually she stretched out a hand—then caught her breath as a familiar voice asked, 'And how's my favourite midwife?'
'Your favourite midwife is missing you.' It slipped out before she could gather her wits.
She heard him sigh. 'I'm sorry. And I'm missing you. But there was nothing I could do, I'm afraid. This job just has to be done.'
'When are you coming back?'
'On Friday. Remember we're both going to that community hall meeting? I'm going to be in time for that. Se
e you there?'
'I'll be there. Tom, what happened on Saturday night. Perhaps we need to talk about it—or was it just a friendly goodnight kiss?'
'I don't think so,' he said slowly. 'Do you want to talk now?'
'Not on the phone! If I talk to you, I need to see you. It's important.'
'I agree. We have to—'
She heard the sound of a door opening near him, overheard a voice say, 'Dr Ramsey, we need you! We have a problem!'
'See you Friday,' Maria said rapidly. 'Perhaps a few days away from each other will give us both the chance to think.' Then she rang off. She had a slight feeling of relief. And a bigger one of disappointment.
Hard work had always suited Tom. And the job he was doing at the moment was harder than most. The cases seemed to pile up, the hours he had to put in mounted to a ridiculous number. But no way could he walk away from an ill mother or baby who needed his attention. So he drank the coffee that the nurses brought him, ate sandwiches sent down from the canteen and at night collapsed into bed, to sleep instantly. He had to. He knew he'd probably be woken up.
He didn't mind. Perhaps it was good for him, just for a week. He could forget what had been his calm, ordered life at home. He could forget that someone had just moved into that life, and was causing him to do more self-searching than anyone had done for years.
But from time to time he remembered. In the middle of a hectic session with an injured child, he'd remember Maria's lips, the smile that lit her entire face. And after a while he realised that she was acting as a talisman. When he was tired or angry, when things were going badly, he'd have a vision of her. And it made him calmer. It told him that there were good things to come, his life was going to get better.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, he came to the conclusion. Maria meant more to him than... All right, he'd think the unthinkable. She meant more to him than any woman had since Jane had died.
So what was he to do now? Could he risk love again? He had always thought not. But perhaps...
'Dr Ramsey, we're a bit concerned about Emily's BP.' A harassed-looking nurse had come in. 'If you could just have a look..
Work again.
Late Friday afternoon. It had been a hard week. Maria was looking forward to seeing Tom again, but feeling slightly apprehensive. She had thought about him often in the past few days but had come to no conclusion whatsoever.
She was driving through the winding roads of the Landmoss estate. It had been her last call, she'd been to make a post-natal visit to Sally Chester. Little Anna was doing fine.
The arrival of a baby had changed Sally's determination to keep her house in all ways neat and tidy. She was more relaxed, more easy to talk to. There were baby clothes drying by the fire, a tiny bath was stacked by the wall. After the examination and admiration of the baby, Maria had been served with the usual tea—but this time in a mug—and an invitation to dip into the biscuit tin.
'Anna's changed my life,' Sally said. 'I didn't know just how much I needed a baby.'
'Babies do tend to make a change,' Maria said.
And Sally had a question. 'How soon is it safe and proper to have another baby?' she asked. 'I'd like one soon. And then perhaps a third. It doesn't matter, I'll be happy with what happens, but really I'd like them all to be close together. Then we will need a bigger house. Brian says we'll be able to afford it.'
Then Sally the super-planner reappeared. 'And after three children Brian will have a vasectomy.'
'It's unusual to conceive while you're breastfeeding,' Maria said. 'But in another four or five months, when you're weaning Anna, it should be possible. But, remember, two babies is hard work.'
She paused a moment and then said, with some difficulty, 'Whether Brian should have a vasectomy is not my business. But you have to remember, things... things can go wrong. You might want, or need, to have another baby.'
'We'll just see what happens,' Sally said serenely.
At present the Landmoss Residents' Association met in a wooden hut, close to the clinic. There were plans for a brick building, but so far nothing had come of them. Maria decided to park at the clinic and walk over.
The hut looked to be well maintained. It had been freshly painted, the gardens outside well kept. But Maria noticed the wire mesh over the windows. A sign of the times.
She was early. Tom hadn't arrived yet but had sent word that he was on his way back from Sheffield. There were lots of mothers, no fathers, children running round. Maria was met by Eunice Gee, a comfortable, motherly lady who obviously enjoyed being someone of importance. She invited Maria into the committee room for the inevitable cup of tea.
And after ten minutes there was the screaming of a siren outside.
Eunice sighed and settled herself in her chair. 'That's the fire alarm,' she said. 'It's always going off. It'll be a false alarm.'
'Perhaps we ought to go out anyway. As a committee member you have to set a good example.'
'All right, then. But put on your coat, it'll be cold outside.' Eunice obviously thought that setting an example was a good idea. And when they got outside, they saw everyone milling about in the car park. And smoke was coming from two windows of the hut. 'It's a real fire!' croaked an amazed Eunice.
It wasn't Maria's business but... 'Have you got a fire drill?' she asked. 'Have you got instructions on what to do?'
'We're supposed to gather over there. Where people are standing.'
'And have you got a list of everyone who was in the building?'
Now Eunice was beginning to panic. 'This was supposed to be a meeting open to anyone. I don't know who's here, who isn't.'
'We'll go around everybody now, ask them who they came with and if they can see them. There's not too many people and most seem to know each other.'
Maria had never been at a fire. But she'd worked for a firm that took fire precautions with deadly seriousness. And when training she'd had a short spell in A and E, had seen some of the dreadful results of house fires.
With Eunice, she worked her way around the crowd. Then a little girl said, 'I can't see Alice May.'
'Who's Alice May, sweetheart?'
'She came with her mum. But her mum went home and said she'd be back in an hour. Alice stayed and played with us. She had a red coat on.'
Maria took the little girl's hand, led her around the group. There was no sign of Alice May in her red coat.
'When was the last time you saw Alice?'
The little girl looked sheepish. 'We were playing hiding in the storeroom but we're not supposed to go in there. Perhaps Alice has gone home.'
'And where's the storeroom?' It was important to keep her voice casual, not to upset the little girl. But inside Maria there was a growing dread.
The storeroom was at the far end of the building. Maria looked horrified. There were no flames yet, but smoke rolled out from doors and windows. And it seemed as if a child was inside.
Maria knew it was the wrong thing to do. This was a job for professionals, she should wait and let them take charge. But there were no professionals here yet, and the smoke seemed to be getting even thicker. 'Don't let anyone follow me,' she screamed at Eunice. Then she ran through the door of the hut into the thick, choking smoke.
Memories of a lecture came back to her. 'Smoke can be as big a killer as flames. But, remember, in a smoke-filled room, there is about a foot of clear air just above the floor. Get down there and breathe it.' Maria pulled her thick coat over her head, got on her hands and knees and crawled along the corridor.
Halfway along she heard a whoosh, and out of the corner of her eye saw flames licking through a doorway. She wouldn't be able to get back this way. She crawled on, scratching her legs and arms on debris in the corridor. She was coughing so hard she thought she might be sick. She negotiated the playroom and eventually found what she hoped was the storeroom door. She reached up to open it, rolled inside and slammed the door shut behind her. It wasn't as smoky as outside—but it was getting hot.
Sh
e called, 'Alice? Alice May? Are you there?'
There was silence for a minute, then a cupboard door opened, a little girl in a red coat peeped out and a tremulous voice said, 'I'm frightened.'
'Well, come here and we'll see if we can get you, out,' Maria said. 'We'll soon be in the open air.' She hoped she wasn't too optimistic.
She opened the storeroom door a little then slammed it shut instantly. No way could she lead Alice through that—the corridor was now full of flames. What other means of escape was there? She picked up a chair, slammed it against the single window and the glass tinkled onto the floor. There was a blast of cool air. Maria poked at the shards of glass still in the frame, and then felt she could weep with horror. Fastened firmly outside was the thick mesh. With the chair she battered at it, but it wouldn't move. She leaned out to push it, felt glass cut her arm.
Then, immediately opposite her outside the window, she saw a brass helmet, a friendly face, a blue uniform. A voice said, 'Move back from the window a minute, love. And we'll have you out.'
Maria stepped back, reached for Alice and pulled the little girl to her. She heard a tearing sound and the mesh was wrenched from the window. More glass was chipped away. Maria took off her coat, threw it over the window-sill. She lifted the little girl and carefully passed her through to the waiting arms outside. A fireman took her and instantly ran with her to a distant group of spectators. Then it was her own turn. She hoisted herself upwards and wriggled through the gap, to be supported as she fell downwards.
'No one else in there?' An urgent question.
'Not in the storeroom or the playroom. And I don't think anywhere else. We checked.'
She looked around. The centre of the hut was now a mass of flames. She saw a fire engine, men playing hoses onto the fire. And running towards her was Tom. 'Maria! Are you all right?' There was panic on his face, in his voice. He caught hold of her as if to make sure that all was well.
She caught her breath. For the first time she thought about what had happened and what the consequences might have been. 'I'm fine. Just the odd cut and bruise. Have you seen Alice?'
A Child To Call Her Own Page 5