Pregnant with His Royal Twins

by Louisa Heaton

  He turned to look at Jasmeen.

  ‘Has he seen any physiotherapists yet?’

  ‘They come three times a day.’

  Ilias began to scribble again.

  I don’t think I can remain King like this.

  Jamie’s stomach dropped like a stone. ‘You don’t know what the future holds.’

  Jasmeen gave a weak smile. ‘The doctors hoped that his speech would be back by now, and though the weakness on his right side has yet to improve they hope with time that it will get a little better. But they are unsure of a full recovery.’

  Jamie thought about what that meant for a moment. ‘I see.’

  ‘I have been talking to Ilias, Jameel. We have talked long and hard and taken everything into consideration. Ilias loves Majidar and its people so much—he believes it needs a strong leader. Right now he does not feel that that is him.’

  Jamie shook his head and tried to implore his brother. ‘It is you.’

  ‘He wants to abdicate.’

  Jasmeen’s words dropped into the room like a grenade.

  Abdicate? Abdicate? But if Ilias abdicated that would mean that he…

  Jamie stood up and began to pace the room, coming to a stop by the window to stare out, far and wide over the desert in the distance, on the outskirts of the city. Freya was so far away.

  ‘Nurgh…’

  Jamie’s eyes closed at the sound of his brother’s voice. He felt awful. Pathetic. Thinking only of himself when his brother was in such distress and pain! What sort of man did that make him?

  He turned to see that Ilias was holding up his writing pad. He read the words.

  It doesn’t have to be you.

  *

  It was New Year’s Eve and the snow had been falling for a few days now. Thick, heavy flakes, tumbling silently, covering the world in a white blanket of softness.

  It made everything look beautiful, but it had certainly put paid to Freya’s ideas of getting some walks in. All the heavy rain there had been before the snow meant that there was a thick layer of ice beneath it, so the pavements and roads were treacherous.

  The weather forecasters predicted more heavy snow and informed people that they should not travel unless they had to. Gritters were out, trying to line the roads, but they were fighting an endless battle.

  Freya stayed in the small house, drinking lots of tea and eating plenty of warm, buttery toast in front of the log fire, flicking from channel to channel on the television to try and find something interesting to watch.

  Today she’d found a few films and had settled in to watch those, aware that her Braxton Hicks contractions had been coming a lot more frequently just recently. This morning they had begun to start hurting, and every now and then she’d find herself having to stop and breathe, clutching onto the back of the sofa or a kitchen unit.

  She dutifully called her mum and told her she was fine.

  ‘I’m so worried about you, stuck out there with all this snow. What if you go into labour?’

  ‘Then I’ll call an ambulance, Mum. Stop worrying, I’m fine. I’ve got a few weeks left.’

  ‘Two weeks left, Freya. Two weeks. Those babies could come any time.’

  ‘Well, I am a midwife, Mum, so I’ll know what to do.’

  She managed to get her mum off the phone eventually, sighing heavily, and decided to run herself a bath.

  A soak in warm water helped soothe her troubled nerves, and she was soon settled back on the couch with a nice cup of tea.

  A sudden pain, low in her belly, had her gasping, and she had to reach under her bump to rub at her abdomen. Slowly the pain eased and she lay back again, wondering if she’d sat down awkwardly and maybe pulled a muscle?

  But the pain was gone now, and she felt confident that she’d know if she was really in labour.

  On the screen, a newsflash came up on the local news to say that most roads in the area were becoming inaccessible and it was recommended that people did not drive anywhere unless it was absolutely necessary.

  She glanced out of the window. The snow was still falling and there were drifts right up to the ledge.

  She’d never known it to snow like this before. Not down here. Not by the coast, where you’d imagine there’d be enough salt around to prevent it. But there it all was. A thick white blanket. Would it snow like this next year? Would she be able to let the twins out in it? See the wonder on their faces?

  The thought made her smile—a smile that soon faded when she got another pain.

  Oh, God. Is this it? Is this labour?

  All her bravery, all her bravado because she was a midwife, went out of the window. She suddenly realised just how alone she was here, how isolated. And if she needed to call an ambulance would it be able to get here?

  There was only a single road on and off the island, connected to the mainland by a bridge. What if that was blocked? Impassable?

  She hauled herself up and began to breathe through the panic, pacing back and forth.

  Okay…okay. This could just be early labour, and I’m a first-time mother so my labour could be hours yet. Plus, it could still die down. There’s nothing to say that these pains will continue.

  But they did. Every eight minutes she got a pain, and as the hours passed they increased to every five minutes.

  She picked up the phone, but the line was dead. She scrabbled in her handbag for her mobile and dialled 999.

  ‘Ambulance, please.’

  She was put through to Control and gave her address and situation. The guy on the phone told her that someone would be with her as quickly as they could, but because of the snowfall their ambulances were busy elsewhere. She was to try and find someone to be with her, so they could call again later if she needed to deliver at home.

  Panicking, she put down her phone and began to think. Who could she get to help her? These properties were mostly summer holiday lets, and it was New Year’s Eve!

  A knock at the door had her struggling to walk over to it. Whoever it was, she would tell them what was happening. See if they could help her or if they knew someone else who could help. There were first responders on the island, surely? Perhaps they could get to her? She knew they didn’t usually attend labouring women, but when needs must…

  She grabbed hold of the door handle, turned the key and yanked the door open.

  And there—shivering, wet, and very, very cold-looking—was Jamie. His face was red and glistening, his hair flattened by snowflakes.

  Hesitantly, he smiled. ‘I told you it would snow.’

  ‘Jamie?’

  ‘The one and only. Can I come in? Only I’ve been trudging through snow for the last couple of hours.’

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’

  But before he could answer another contraction ripped through her, and she gasped and let go of the door to bend over and put both hands on her knees to breathe through it.

  ‘Freya? Are you in labour?’

  She couldn’t answer him for a moment. The contraction had completely obliterated her ability to talk whilst it was going on. The most she could do—the only thing she could do—was remain upright and breathe.

  When it receded, and when normal thought and the real world returned, she stood straight again and looked at him with tears in her eyes. Her heart felt overwhelmed with relief and love for this man before her.

  ‘For about four hours now.’

  ‘Four hours? Why didn’t you call for an ambulance? Stranded out here like this!’

  ‘I did. They don’t know when they can get to me. Apparently they’re busy.’

  He rummaged in his pocket for his mobile. ‘I’ll get someone here.’

  He tapped at the screen and then held the phone to his ear, shouting instructions in Arabic before snapping it shut again.

  ‘I’ve got a paramedic being choppered in.’

  ‘A helicopter? In this? How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘There’s a GPS tracker on your phone.’
>
  ‘What?’

  ‘They all have them. Don’t worry—I didn’t place some secret bug in it, or anything. I’m not that kind of guy.’

  Another contraction began to build. ‘Oh, God!’

  She turned to lean against the stairs and felt Jamie’s hands hold her steady and rub the small of her back. When it was done, he guided her back to the lounge so she could sit down.

  ‘That last contraction was about a minute and they’re coming fast.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me that. I’m the one having them.’

  ‘We need to prepare. Where are your towels? I’ll put on some hot water, and we’ll need scissors I can sterilise for cutting the cord—just in case.’

  ‘Wait a minute. You can’t come sweeping in here like a white knight. You need to tell me what’s happening. How’s your brother? Are you King?’

  ‘Ilias has Von Willebrand’s disease. He’s being treated for it. The stroke has caused deficits, which hopefully will improve over time, but he has decided to abdicate, feeling that it’s in the best interests of our country to have a ruler in full health.’

  ‘He’s abdicated? Can he do that?’

  Her abdomen tightened with another vice-like contraction.

  ‘Ohhhhh…’

  She leaned forward and gripped the sofa, her eyes tightly shut as the feelings within her body overwhelmed her. Pain. Intensity. Breathing was the only thing she could manage for sure.

  She felt Jamie take her hand and she gripped his fingers tightly, squeezing the blood from his digits. ‘Oh, I think I need to push.’

  ‘I’ll need to check you first. Can I do that?’

  She nodded quickly and removed her pyjama bottoms and underwear, wincing at the dying pain in her belly.

  ‘I’ll wash my hands. Do you have any gloves?’

  Freya pointed into the kitchen. ‘Beneath the kitchen sink are some latex gloves. Mum uses them for when she has to touch raw meat.’ She tried to laugh, recalling her mother’s squeamish nature.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

  She lay back on the couch and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

  Jamie was back. But how? If Ilias had abdicated, didn’t that mean that Jamie was now King? Why had he returned? Had they allowed him some kind of compassionate leave to be with her for when the babies arrived? So he could see them and then leave? She hoped not. Because even if that was good for him, it would be doubly difficult for her.

  Having him here, holding her hand, mopping her brow, seeing the joy and love on his face as he looked at his sons and then having to wave him goodbye again… No. She couldn’t allow that. She wouldn’t survive it. The birth would be hard enough without being deserted right afterwards.

  Jamie came back into the living room wearing a pair of latex gloves. ‘Right, let’s take a look. Has the contraction gone?’

  ‘Yes. But maybe you should leave, Jamie?’

  He looked up at her, confused. ‘Leave? I just got here—and I don’t think there’s anyone more suitably qualified to help than me right now. I don’t think I’ll be fetching your elderly neighbour from next door, who needs a magnifying glass to read the evening paper.’

  Now it was her turn to frown. ‘Does he? How do you even know that?’

  ‘I have people, remember? I’m going to examine you now. Try to relax.’

  She lay back, opening her legs. ‘Why does every man say that when he has to do an internal? Perhaps if men had a vagina they’d realise exactly how hard it is to relax!’

  ‘Good point.’ He smiled up at her. ‘And good news. You’re fully dilated. You can start to push with the next contraction.’

  Freya’s eyes finally began to leak tears of relief and happiness. ‘I can?’

  ‘You can.’

  Jamie removed the gloves, pulling them inside out before discarding them in a small wastepaper bin. Then he pulled another pair from his pocket.

  ‘Now—quickly—where are the towels kept?’

  I can push. They’ll be here soon. Samuel and James.

  ‘Upstairs. Second door to the left is a small airing cupboard.’

  ‘Don’t do anything exciting without me.’

  He kissed her on the cheek and raced upstairs and she watched him go, shocked by the feel of his kiss still upon her skin.

  He seemed okay. He seemed as if he was in control. Was he really? Or was this all a front?

  She still didn’t know what was happening. Still didn’t know whether he was staying. The hope that he might stay was building much too quickly, and she was struggling to fight it down, because she really wanted him to stay with her.

  But reality told her that if Ilias had abdicated then Jamie was soon to be King, and he was only here on loan. His country had claimed him. And the knowledge of that was destroying her.

  She began to cry.

  Why was he doing this to her? Why had he come back and made her think there was hope? Made her think there was a chance for them still? It wasn’t fair. Did he not know how hard it had been for her after he’d left the first time? If he did know then he wouldn’t have done this.

  She heard him come running back down the stairs and he appeared at her side with a huge pile of towels.

  ‘You need to go.’

  He frowned. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going anywhere. What kind of man would I be to leave you in this state in the middle of a white-out?’

  ‘A man with principles. I can’t have you here, Jamie. Not like this! Not knowing you’re going to leave me again!’

  Another contraction hit and she heard nothing as his words faded beyond the pain she could feel surround her whole body. She sucked in a breath and, remembering all the advice she gave to labouring mothers, tucked her chin into her chest, curled around her baby and pushed down into her bottom.

  It felt good to push! Excellent, in fact. There was almost relief there, because now she wasn’t a passive observer of her pain, letting it roll over her in waves. Now she could do something about it!

  She pushed against it, shoved back, using the pain of the contraction to start moving and birthing her babies.

  ‘That’s it, Freya! You’re doing really well! Keep pushing right there. That’s it!’

  She let out a breath, then immediately sucked in another and began again. She managed two more huge breaths and two more pushes before the contraction died down and she could breathe properly again.

  ‘Freya…’ He took her hand and made her look him in the eyes. ‘I’m not going to leave you. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.’

  Not ever?

  ‘But—’

  Another contraction began. God, they’re coming thick and fast now! But she knew that was good. This was what was meant to happen.

  ‘I can see a head, Freya! You’re doing this! You’re really doing this!’

  When it was over, she reached down to touch the head of her first son and gasped when she felt it. ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘With the next contraction his head will be born. Okay?’

  She nodded, sucked in a breath, and began pushing again as the next contraction built.

  ‘Keep pushing! Keep pushing! That’s it—just like that. Now, stop! Pant it out!’

  She panted, huffing away like an old-fashioned steam train, and then Jamie was telling her to give one last push.

  She felt her son slither from her body and into Jamie’s safe, waiting hands. He lifted Samuel up onto her belly. ‘Here he is!’

  ‘Oh, Jamie!’ She grasped her son, her darling Samuel, ignoring all the stuff he was covered in—the white vernix, the smears of blood—and cried again out loud when her son opened up his lungs for the first time, letting out a long, strangled cry. ‘Oh, he’s so beautiful!’

  He was. He was a good size—between six and seven pounds, she estimated—and with a thick, full head of dark hair like his father.

  Jamie draped a couple of towels over his son, so he wouldn’t get cold, then tied off the cord with string
and cut it with the scissors he’d sterilised in a bowl of steaming hot water.

  Then he looked at them. With such pride. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  Freya beamed at him as she cradled her son. ‘I can’t believe he’s here.’

  ‘Safe and sound.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’

  She smiled and reached for him, so that he would lean forward and place a kiss upon her lips. A soft, gentle, reaffirming kiss. And then he stooped over his son’s head and laid a kiss on his son’s head, too.

  ‘Oh, my! I can’t believe this has happened so quickly!’ She looked at him. ‘And you’re here! And you can stay?’

  He nodded, smiling. ‘I can stay.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Ilias told me that I didn’t have to take the throne. That my sister Zahra wants to do it. She’s a good, strong woman. She’s always wanted to get more involved with the running of things and she’s a good choice. The people will look up to her.’

  ‘But I thought you had to do it?’

  ‘So did I. But what kind of King would I be? With my people knowing that I had deserted my own two sons to sit on the throne? Knowing that I had left behind the woman I loved? Above all, my people would want me to be happy—as my brother Ilias wanted me to be happy by letting me come to England in the first place. He knows my life is here now, as do my people. They will understand. And Zahra is much loved. She will make a fine monarch. A brilliant one.’

  He could stay? For good? With her and Samuel and James and without any possibility of his desertion hanging over them?

  Another contraction began to make itself known. ‘It’s starting again…’

  ‘Do you want me to take Samuel?’

  ‘Please. I don’t want to squash him.’

  She passed her firstborn safely over to Jamie and began to breathe through the contraction. Jamie would need to check her first, before she began pushing again. To make sure James was in a good position.

  He checked her and smiled. ‘He’s head down. He’s right there, Freya.’

  ‘Okay. I can do this again, right?’

  He smiled back at her. ‘You can do anything!’