‘Well, it’s got to be lived; and so you get home and change and get back on the job.’
‘I’ll do that, boss, an’ thanks for all you’ve done an’ that comes from the bottom of me heart. It does that, the bottom of me heart.’
‘You and your bloody barmy Irish tongue. Go on, get yourself off…’
Bill had hardly drawn the car to a stop outside his office when Peter Honnington hurried towards him, saying, ‘Don’t get out. Someone rang from your house about ten minutes ago. Your wife’s in need of you.’
His stomach turned over; and yet, even as he turned the car around, he thought, of course Honnington wouldn’t say she’s started, or the bairn’s comin’. Oh, what odds! This was it. This was it. Damn the red lights! It was always the way, when you hit one you hit half a dozen. Come on. Come on. Come on. How long would she be in labour? A few hours? Some of them took a few days. Oh, my God! That would drive him mad. Not a few days; he’d had enough waitin’. But the time had come. The excitement lifted him off the seat for a moment and he cried at himself, ‘Well, get goin’, it’s amber!’
He hadn’t known what to expect when he arrived at the house. Perhaps Fiona would have been sitting in the hall, her cases ready. Instead, there was Nell, asking, ‘How did it go with Davey?’
‘Never mind how did it go with Davey? Where is she? Why isn’t she here? I mean, she should be on her way.’
‘Well, if she had wings she would fly, but even so she wouldn’t fly until she thought it was time. She’s in the sitting room. And don’t barge in, Bill Bailey, walk. It’ll come in its own time.’
‘Have you phoned the hospital, woman?’
‘Yes; the hospital has been informed, sir. Your wife is all ready and waiting and she is quite calm. And don’t you disturb it.’ The last was a hoarse whisper; and now he whispered back at her, ‘One of these days I’ll tell you what I think about you.’
‘That’ll be nice.’
‘Oh, hello, dear,’ said Fiona; ‘you haven’t been long.’
‘Has it started? The pains?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. Now for goodness sake, Bill, take that look off your face. Thousands of babies are born every day. I bet you there’s a hundred women in this town this very minute waiting for the next spasm.’
‘For God’s sake, Fiona, don’t take that attitude. You know how I feel.’
‘Yes, yes, I do, dear. Come and sit down.’
‘But shouldn’t you be on your way?’
‘Yes. And I’ll go in a minute; I just want to time its next effort.’
She hadn’t long to wait. The next moment she was gripping his hand, her nails digging into his flesh.
Nell came into the room dressed for the road and carrying Fiona’s coat, a fur hat and a scarf.
‘Get her into these,’ she said, handing the coat to Bill; then together they helped her up from the couch.
When she was dressed and about to leave the room, Fiona turned at the door and looked around her, and she said, ‘I like this room. I’ve always liked it.’
Bill made an impatient sound in his throat but kept his tongue quiet.
In the car, Fiona turned to say to Nell who was sitting in the back seat, ‘You did lock the front door?’
‘Yes, yes, I did.’
‘And bolted the back?’
Nell sighed and said, ‘Yes, and I bolted the back, and I put the bars up at the windows!’
‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Fiona looked at Bill now and asked, ‘How did Davey come on?’ But she didn’t quite hear his answer for she was once again seized by a grinding pain.
When it had passed she sat back gasping, and Bill said, ‘You should have got to the hospital before all this started.’
‘You don’t go to hospital before this starts. If you do they send you back.’
‘Well, there’s one thing sure,’ said Nell now; ‘it’s taken its time in coming but now it’s made up its mind it’ll be here before you know where you are.’
It appeared that Fiona’s baby was indeed galloping, but obviously not in the right direction, for it was still galloping at four o’clock in the afternoon. And it was then the decision was taken that the child must be brought out. Bill was alone in the waiting room. He had a white coat over his suit. They had made him put it on hours ago, or was it years? Was this still Tuesday? Was it only twelve o’clock when he had held her hand and talked to her? How many times since had they pressed him aside, then let him go back to her? But now she was in the theatre.
He had wanted to see his child born; but an hour ago he didn’t know whether he would be able to stand it or not: as he had watched her tortured body heaving, heave after heave, he swore that never again would he put her through this. Never. Never.
And now she was down there and they would have to cut her open to take the child away. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth it. He had longed for a child, craved for a child; every day that she had been carrying it he had thought about it. When she was asleep at night he had put his hands on her stomach and counted its heart beats, the heart beats that were part of him, all of him.
When the door opened he jumped round as if he was startled. The nurse came in: her face looked quiet, and so was her voice as she said, ‘Your wife’s back, Mr Bailey. And…and you have a daughter.’
He gulped twice in his throat but still he couldn’t speak. The nurse now said, ‘Doctor…Doctor Wells would like a word with you.’
‘How…how is she? My wife?’
‘She’s all right; she’s asleep.’
‘And…and the baby?’
The nurse seemed to hesitate a moment before she said, ‘Yes, it is all right.’ Then she repeated quickly, ‘Doctor Wells would like to have a word with you. He is in his office. Would you come this way?’
There was a spring in his step as he followed her into the corridor, down it, along another one; then she was tapping on the door, and when they were bidden to enter she stepped aside and allowed Bill to pass her. Then she closed the door again.
Doctor Wells was a young man…well youngish, not yet forty, Bill would have said.
‘Sit down, Mr Bailey,’ he said.
Bill sat down and looked across the desk into the fresh-coloured face and waited for he knew not what, only that he should now be standing at Fiona’s side holding his child. He forced himself to say, ‘You…you seem to have something to tell me?’
‘Yes. Yes, I have, Mr Bailey, unfortunately.’
My God! My God! What is it? What’s he going to tell me? He burst out, ‘Fiona! She’s not?’
‘No, no, no. Your wife is quite all right. Very tired, naturally, but quite all right.’
‘The child, it’s not quite all right. Is that it?’
‘Health-wise—yes, I should say it is perfectly all right; but…well, have you heard of Down’s Syndrome, Mr Bailey?’
‘Down’s what?’
‘Down’s Syndrome?’
‘No, no; I can’t say I have.’
‘Well, I’d better put it another way. I suppose you have seen what is commonly known as a mongol child?’
His chair scraped back on the parquet floor, but he sat perfectly still for what seemed a long, long time. Then he saw his hands go out and grip the edge of the desk; he saw the knuckles whiten as if he were standing outside himself; he saw his head slowly move forward as if it were going to drop off his body the while his real self was standing apart yelling, ‘God Almighty! No! No!’ But the man sitting in the chair said, in an oddly quiet voice, ‘And my daughter is a…’ Even his outside self had to help him to press the word through his lips, ‘Mongol?’
The doctor answered, ‘It is hard to take at first, but I want you to believe it’s no fault of yours or your wife’s. This child happens in numerous families. But I can tell you this, in nine cases out of ten, they bring happiness because they exude happiness and love and laughter. Of course it is natural that the first reaction of the parent should be one of shock, even anger, perhaps shame,
particularly on the father’s side, but from my experience in such cases this turns into a feeling of protectiveness and love. I go as far as to say that these children are born with special love, some kind of gift bestowed on them by the gods.’
The anger against this placid individual, this doctor, was rising in him, threatening to choke him. A special gift from the gods. He glowered at the man, but the doctor was looking down onto the blotting pad and seemed to be tracing his finger in a sort of circle. What the hell did he know? A gift from the gods!
He was on his feet glaring down on the doctor and grinding out through his teeth, ‘Stop that bloody prattle, for God’s sake! You’ve just told me that my wife has given birth to a mongol, mentally deficient child into the bargain, and you sit there prattling about gifts of love. What d’you know?’
The doctor too was now on his feet and facing him, and his tone matched Bill’s own as he said, ‘I know, Mr Bailey, because I am the father of a five-year-old mongol child.’
As Bill stared into the man’s face he had a queer feeling that his body was shrinking, as if the fat was suddenly being stripped off it. His head was drooping on his shoulders. He knew he was going to cry and he screamed at himself, ‘Hell’s flames! Hell’s flames, not that!’ when a voice penetrated through his whirling thoughts, saying quietly, ‘Come along and see her.’
He walked out into the corridor and returned along it, and as he did so he knew he’d never again be the same man who had come down this corridor a few minutes ago.
There were only three babies in the nursery. Two had tubes attached to them; the third one was lying on its side, and a nurse was standing looking down into the cot. She moved away when the doctor approached, and he now turned to Bill and said, ‘Lift her up.’
Bill looked down onto the child. The side of its face looked rounded like any ordinary child’s face. But he couldn’t put his hands out towards it. He muttered thickly. ‘I’m…I’m not used to babies. I haven’t held one.’
The doctor now stooped over the cot and lifted the child up; then held it out to Bill, saying, ‘It’s a simple process. It just lies across your hands.’
He lifted his arms—it seemed there were weights on them—then he was looking down into his daughter’s face, seeing it for the first time. Its eyes were open, its lids were blinking, it looked like a Chinese baby might, or Japanese. The small fist opened and shut; then its arm lifted upwards as if it was trying to reach his chin. This was his daughter. This was what he had longed for, lived for over the past months. Never a day, never a night had passed but his mind had conjured up the picture of when the time would come and he would hold his child. And now the time had come and he was holding his child; and it was an idiot.
No! No! No! Not that! It wouldn’t be. No! He recalled his schooldays. There had been a boy in his class who looked like a mongol but he had been bright; and he had grown up to be a man. But this child would grow up to be a woman, who should have been as beautiful as her mother. Oh God! Poor Fiona! How would she take it? What if she didn’t take it? What if she couldn’t bear it?
‘She is perfectly made.’ The doctor was taking the child from his arms. ‘She is very like my Nanette was, very much the same.’
The nurse stepped towards the cot; and now he was following the doctor out into the corridor again and he was talking quietly, ‘Your wife is in a side ward. We’ll keep her there until she goes home. She needn’t be more than two or three days here; she’ll face up to it better at home. You have a family?’
‘What? Oh yes. Yes, four.’
‘Oh, that’s good. We have two others. One older and one younger than Nanette.’
Bill paused in his step. ‘Younger? Your wife had a child after?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. The other two are very ordinary.’
‘They…they accepted the other one?’
‘Oh, yes; they love her. And she’s quite bright. She didn’t walk until she was about three, nor really talk until then, but she’s never stopped since.’ He smiled widely now, adding, ‘You’ll be surprised at the difference she’ll make in your home.’
By God, yes! He’d be surprised all right.
He stopped abruptly and, facing the doctor again, he said, ‘About…about the mind, I mean the mentality?’
‘That differs. Here and there you might find one that is exceptionally bright in some special way; but in the main we find the mental age stays around six or seven or so. Yet ask yourself what that really means; or better still talk to a seven-year-old today: they’re thinking clearer than many so-called normal adults.’
The doctor kept talking until he pushed open the side ward door where a nurse was writing on a chart, and after she had clipped it onto the bottom of the bed she moved back as they both approached.
As Bill stood gazing down at Fiona whose face looked very red and sweating, he cried at her voicelessly, I’m sorry lass. I’m sorry, for at this moment he was feeling that he was to blame in giving her the child. She could have done without it. She had three of her own and an adopted one, but she knew how he felt and so she had given him a daughter, and her name was to be Angela. It was a farce. Oh God! It was a farce. Yet that man standing at the other side of the bed, he had experienced the same thing. But that fact didn’t help him not one jot; such pain was a private thing, it couldn’t be shared. No-one else’s antidote could act as a salve on it.
The doctor was saying, ‘She’ll sleep for some hours yet. I would go home if I were you.’
‘I would rather stay till she wakes if it’s all the same. I…I won’t be in the way?’
‘Oh, you won’t be in the way. I was just thinking, you might, well, want to tell the family. You could come back later.’
‘Aye, perhaps. But…but could I stay the night with her?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I don’t see why not. Nurse here’—he turned and smiled at the nurse—‘would provide you with an easy chair, or the night staff will see to you.’
‘How…how long will it be before she wakes? I’d like to be here when she comes to…You understand?’
‘Yes, I understand. Well now’—he looked at his watch—‘give her another two hours and a half; she should be round by then. You live in the town, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, that’s what I should do: take a run home.’
He wanted to put his hand out and touch Fiona’s brow, but he resisted and, turning abruptly from the bed, he nodded at the doctor, saying, ‘Thank you. I’ll…I’ll likely see you later.’ And with that he went out, and drove to home…
As soon as he got in the door they rushed at him like a small avalanche; and behind them stood Nell and Bert.
‘Has it come?’
‘How’s Mam?’
‘What is it?’
‘Has it really come?’
‘When will we be able to go to the hospital?’
‘Dad! Dad! Tell us.’
He waved his hand around them, then said, ‘Be quiet a minute. Let me get in.’ Then he forced himself to say, ‘The baby’s come; it’s a girl. Your mother’s all right. She had to have an operation, and now she’s asleep. Now get yourselves away for a minute; I want a bath.’
And Nell said, ‘And a meal.’
‘No; just a cup of tea, Nell; but I do need a bath. I’m going back.’
Nell stared at him; as did Bert. They watched him throw off his overcoat, scarf and hat onto a chair. Then she cried at the children, ‘Go on! Do as your dad says. He’ll tell you all about it when he has a minute to himself. Go on now, up in the playroom. That’s good kids.’
Slowly they obeyed her; that is with the exception of Mark, and he, following quickly after Bill who was moving towards the sitting room, touched his arm, saying, ‘Mam all right, Dad?’
‘Yes. Yes, she’s all right, Mark. I’ll come up in a minute and tell you all about it.’
The boy walked away, a puzzled look on his face, leaving Bill to walk slowly into the sitting room followed
by Nell and Bert. And it was Nell who asked immediately, ‘Something gone wrong?’
‘You could say that, Nell. Aye, you could say that.’
‘Fiona. She’s all right?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. She had to have a Caesarean, but she’s all right. I left her sleeping. But I’m going back in a couple of hours time, staying the night.’
‘Well, what is it? The baby?’
Bill dropped onto the couch, lay back and put his hand over his eyes before he said, ‘Yes, Nell, the baby.’
‘Oh my God! Deformed?’
‘No, not in that way, Nell, not in that way. Have you heard of Down’s Syndrome?’ He was sitting up now looking from her to Bert. And he watched them glance at each other before Nell said, ‘Yes.’ Then, ‘Oh no! No, Bill. And Fiona…how did she take it?’
‘She doesn’t know yet. She hasn’t come round.’
‘No, no: of course not.’ Nell dropped into a chair. ‘Is…is it bad?’
‘What d’you mean, is it bad?’
‘Well, they look like…’
‘Yes, it looks a bit like a Chinese, but otherwise it’s all right. As the doctor said, perfectly formed.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Bill now looked at Bert, saying, ‘So am I, Bert. So am I. But there you are. As the doctor said, it happens to all kinds of couples.’ And he added on a derisive laugh, ‘And he put it over very well, as if he was selling something, that these kind of bairns often bring happiness into a home. Anyway, he should know, he’s got one.’
‘The doctor’s got one?’
Bill nodded at Nell, saying, ‘Yes, a five-year-old; and he says she’s lovely, or words to that effect. But I would have voted for one as ugly as sin itself as long as it was normal. Oh God! How Fiona’s goin’ to take it, I don’t know; that’s if she takes it at all…Give me a large whisky there, Bert, will you?’
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