by Kim Lawrence
‘I’m not questioning your intentions, just your timing. Do you really think that it’s appropriate to be traipsing all over the country when you’re eight months pregnant?’
‘That’s something I discuss with my obstetrician, not nosy, interfering strang—’
‘If you call me a stranger, Jo, so help me I’ll. . . ’ She watched his big hands clench and unclench at his sides as he stared down at her with an expression of overwhelming frustration.
She could see how he might want to throttle her. So what if she was being deliberately provoking? She had cause—the instant she’d laid eyes on him her hard-fought-for tranquillity had crumbled like a house of cards faced with an intrusive draft of cold air. He could have no idea—she clung to that small, inadequate crumb of comfort. No idea that the longing was a live thing, clawing and pulling at her insides. Cutting him out of her life totally hadn’t been a petty act of vengeance, it had been about survival! Anger was the only thing that kept the debilitating weakness under control.
‘Did you have to come barging in?’ she asked huskily.
‘I had intended waiting outside until—’
‘You saw Justin go in with me! Typical!’ She sniffed.
Liam didn’t deny her version of events. ‘Is he proposing to hold your hand during the birth?’ he enquired stiffly. A dull red colour ran up under his olive skin.
‘Heavens, no!’ she responded without thinking.
‘That’s something, I suppose.’ She sensed the explosion of revulsion that had seemed imminent was delayed rather than cancelled by the horror in her voice. ‘You can’t carry on shutting me out of this,’ he continued in a driven voice. ‘When I saw you looking like that it brought home just how much I’ve missed.’ His eyes strayed to her swollen body. Revulsion would have been easier to deal with than the fascination and flicker of awe she saw there.
Empathy was wildly misplaced in this situation and she frowned with irritation at her own instinctive response to his gruff protest. ‘And whose fault is that?’ she asked bitterly. ‘You complicated things. If you’d left well alone and trusted me we wouldn’t be in the middle of a divorce. We’d still be friends!’
‘I hate to shock you but marriage and friendship are not mutually exclusive.’
‘They are when you find out your partner is a callous bastard who couldn’t be straight if his life depended on it. I’m not getting in there,’ she added as they reached his parked car. ‘You can’t make me,’ she told him as he opened the door of the dark Mercedes.
‘You’re not that big,’ he murmured comfortingly. ‘And it’s a very spacious car.’
‘I’m glad you find something amusing in this situation. Pardon me if I don’t fall down laughing.’
‘If you think I find it amusing that I’ve missed out on half my wife’s pregnancy. . . ’
The expression she glimpsed in his eyes as she automatically glanced at him made her feel an inexplicable surge of guilt. There had been such loss there. . . ‘Your mother knows what’s been happening with the. . . ’ Awkwardly feeling strangely self-conscious, she placed her hands over her belly. ‘I thought she’d. . . ’
‘She did,’ he said shortly. He reached inside the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘She gave me this.’ He took out a well-thumbed grainy black and white print which Jo immediately recognised.
‘The scan,’ she whispered.
‘I should have been there, Jo.’ His voice was flat and his eyes bleak.
Jo bit her lip. She’d known he’d mind but—that much? The doubts that usually afflicted her in the middle of the night suddenly came flooding in. She didn’t have to justify her decision, she told herself. It was his fault.
‘You can keep it, I don’t mind,’ she said huskily.
‘Going soft on me, Jo?’
‘Any more smart remarks and I won’t take a lift home.’ She slid into the plushly upholstered pale leather interior, busily rationalising her decision. After all, she had to get home somehow, didn’t she? And, being very ultra-sensitive to smells at the moment, she avoided public transport whenever she could.
‘Are you all right?’ As he belted himself in Liam noticed her wince.
‘Fine, I’ve just had this niggling backache all day. It’s nothing. Did you know that trains smell of burning rubber? That a lot of cabbies wear the most terrible aftershave and stale tobacco smoke lingers for ever?’
‘No.’
‘If you’d ever been pregnant you would.’
‘Are you trying to tell me I smell?’
He did—absolutely marvellous. Naturally she didn’t share this information. ‘I was just making conversation.’
‘Anything to avoid the issue.’
‘I thought it might do you good to realise pregnancy isn’t all soft-focus pretty stuff. Lots of husbands have a pretty hellish time.’
‘What am I supposed to say? Thank you for sparing me? Do you really think I’m the sort of immature clot that only wants to be around for the nice bits? Just when I think I know how low your opinion of me is you go and say something illuminating.’
‘I’m just saying. . . ’ The depth of his anger was pretty shocking.
‘I know what you’re saying. Did it ever occur to you that I’ve been worried about you? I can see it didn’t,’ he added with a grim smile as his eyes flickered from the windscreen. ‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you either that I might like to be around to help you through the less picturesque patches of pregnancy. Damn it to hell, that’s all we need!’
Having just pulled onto the motorway, they had to come to a dead stop behind a queue of traffic. Liam’s fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel and on cue the rain began to fall, just to add the finishing touch to the situation.
‘It could be worse.’
‘Tell me how!’ Liam drawled sarcastically.
‘This backache might not be a backache.’
Liam’s mouth was open to form the cutting riposte that was on the tip of his tongue when the implication of her hoarse comment sunk in. Jaw slack, he swivelled around in his seat ‘Tell me that’s a joke in very bad taste—please.’
‘I’m not laughing,’ she pointed out shakily.
‘You can’t, it’s too early.’ He’d gone almost as pale as her.
‘Tell him that, not me,’ she suggested, nodding towards her belly.
‘Don’t panic,’ Liam said, running a slightly unsteady hand through his hair.
‘I’m not,’ she squeaked, grabbing hold of the dashboard as the wave of pain low in her abdomen gripped her once more. ‘It was worse this time,’ she gasped as she sank back in her seat.
‘It’ll be fine.’ The strained expression in his eyes didn’t quite mirror the calm certainty in his voice. ‘You are sure you’re in labour?’
‘Sure! How can I be sure? I’ve never done this before! Maybe it’s a false alarm, but if you don’t mind I’d prefer to err on the side of caution!’
‘Calm down, breathe.’ He had the definite impression breathing and childbirth were inextricably linked. Breathing and hot water—he couldn’t supply the hot water.
‘I am breathing,’ she told him, not displaying much gratitude for this guidance. ‘Get me to the hospital, Liam.’ She closed her eyes, feeling somehow confident that Liam would get her out of this situation. She wouldn’t have her baby in the middle of a motorway traffic jam—she couldn’t! She opened her eyes as the car suddenly began moving.
‘Are we supposed to drive on the hard shoulder?’ she asked as a cacophony of car horns followed their progress.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ Liam asked as, grim-faced, he sped along.
‘I think that might be a good idea.’ Liam didn’t respond; he too had seen the flashing lights of the police car in his rearview mirror.
CHAPTER NINE
LIAM rolled down the window with an expression of impatience rather than dismay.
‘Would you like to get out of the vehicle, sir?’ With an expression of world-
weary cynicism that said he’d heard all the excuses, the uniformed officer pulled on his cap.
This was just one straw too many He couldn’t have Liam—not now, she needed him.
‘No!’ Jo pleaded, her voice shrilly penetrating with panic. ‘Don’t leave me, Liam!’ She clutched his thigh in a vice-like grip as another wave of pain hit her. She didn’t hear what Liam said to the policeman, but a few moments later the passenger door was opened. Jo gave the officer a look of wild-eyed panic as her composure cracked completely.
‘Don’t you worry, we’ll get you to the hospital. We’re only fifteen minutes from the City, Miss. . . Mrs. . . ?’
‘Rafferty,’ Liam supplied, pulling Jo’s head onto his shoulder and running a comforting hand down her neck.
‘I can’t be having the baby, it’s too soon.’ Lifting her head, she felt frustration as the two men exchanged glances. ‘I haven’t packed my bag,’ she added as though this not insignificant fact clinched the argument. ‘Or written a birth plan.’ Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. ‘I’m booked into St Catherine’s for the birth not the City.’
‘Under the circumstances I don’t think they’ll turn you away,’ Liam assured her drily.
The policeman straightened up, his radio in his hand. He spoke briefly before his head reappeared. ‘I’ll follow you, sir. A motorcycle will lead the way. Don’t you worry, my dear, this happens every day.’
‘Not to me!’
Their escort didn’t desert them when they left the motorway but continued on through the urban sprawl to the hospital. Later Jo would only recall the hazy impression of flashing lights reflected against the wet windscreen and the moan of sirens—her senses were concentrated on what was happening inside her.
Liam kept up a casual flow of soothing comments as he drove along, but his knuckles stood out white against the steering wheel. His career had taken him into some hazardous situations and dangerous places, it had even got him thrown in jail once in an unfriendly country. Give me war zones and inhospitable natives any day, he decided as the feeble attempt he made to make her smile fell flat—and no wonder, I sound like an imbecilic game show host!
‘Sorry.’ He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
‘No, don’t stop, it helps.’
‘It does?’
‘I’m scared, Liam. What if. . . ?’ The fears she didn’t want to acknowledge darkened her eyes; she couldn’t push them back any longer. One part of her saw the hospital lights with relief, another part was terrified by the inevitability of it all. Nine months—or in her case almost eight months—should be long enough to prepare herself, only it wasn’t.
‘It’ll be fine, Jo, and tomorrow all this part will be a bad memory.’
The confidence in his deep voice helped her regain control. ‘I guess it’s too late to change my mind now.’ Her pale lips formed a feeble smile.
The room which had been full of people for the last half-hour had suddenly emptied and she was left, clad in a white hospital gown with only the steady drip of the intravenous infusion to keep her company. The door was open and she could hear what the doctor was saying to Liam as they paused outside.
It occurred to her as she listened to Liam ask another question that he knew an awful lot about the nitty-gritty of childbirth. She hadn’t thought to ask half so many questions. Part of her had just been relieved to hand the responsibility over to someone else. Even when they had explained something she’d found it hard to concentrate on what they’d been telling her.
‘So labour has stopped?’
‘Temporarily.’
‘How temporarily?’
‘We can’t leave it too long. There’s a danger of infection once the membranes are broken. . . ’
‘Danger. . . Jo’s m danger?’
‘Mr Rafferty, your wife is fine, and the likelihood is she’ll go into labour spontaneously very soon. A few hours can make a big difference to a neonate’s lung maturity. Six weeks premature is not unusual and although the baby is quite small for dates. . . ’ The doctor’s voice faded as they moved away.
A few minutes later Liam reappeared at her bedside. ‘Did you hear all that?’
‘Most.’ She flushed, oversensitive to what she suspected was a reference to her recent habit of listening at doors. A few times over the past weeks she’d wished she’d never heard those fatal words—words that had changed everything. She despised herself for craving ignorance in her weaker moments.
‘You should sleep. Do you mind if I stay?’
He wanted to stay; for the moment she didn’t want to delve any deeper into this satisfying discovery. Knowing he wanted to was enough to light a warm glow inside. His body was tensed against rejection—she knew him well enough to see how much her reply meant to him. She didn’t have to weigh the pros and cons of her response, it was instinctual.
‘If you try to get out of that door I’m likely to throw an earth-shattering tantrum,’ she told him gravely, doubting if he would realise this claim wasn’t much of an exaggeration. ‘I need someone in my corner,’ she admitted distractedly, not noticing the flare of emotion in his blue eyes. ‘Every time someone in a white coat talks to me I find myself nodding my head like an idiot. At the moment I could well agree to a brain transplant. Don’t say it. . . ’ she warned huskily.
The tension drained out of him almost visibly. ‘I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.’ He took a seat without taking his eyes off her pale, drawn features.
‘I didn’t plan it this way, Liam.’ The memory of how things had been meant to happen were fast fading. She could live without a tape of her favourite classical music and subdued lights so long as the baby was all right. Please let him be all right!
The desperation in her eyes made Liam bite back his instinctive response that he wasn’t in a position to know what she’d planned, he had been excluded. ‘You’re a spontaneous sort of lady—our baby obviously takes after you.’
Our baby. The words brought weak tears to her eyes. One little word and suddenly the burden of worry and responsibility was shared.
‘Are you in pain?’ he asked sharply.
‘No.’ She reached out to stop him pressing the emergency buzzer. ‘I just feel pretty tired. Actually I can hardly keep my eyes open.’
‘Why bother?’ he said softly. He adjusted the overhead light so the glare didn’t shine in her eyes.
Jo took his point. ‘It will be all right, won’t it?’ she asked sleepily. Even though she knew he wasn’t in a position to guarantee anything, the warm confidence in his smile eased her fears.
‘Definitely. Just go to sleep while you can.’
As it happened that wasn’t very long. Jo was awoken several hours later by the pain. ‘Something’s happening.’
When Liam’s fingers tightened around hers she realised she’d fallen asleep holding his hand. ‘Shall I get someone?’ Liam’s body, greyhound lean, was almost quivering under the rush of adrenaline that surged through his body.
Despite the ungainly bulk of her body, her physical frailty had never been more apparent. It made him feel physically sick to know what sort of ordeal she was going to go through and he was helpless to prevent it. He couldn’t understand why reasonably sane people did this sort of thing more than once!
Jo was fully awake now. ‘I think you better had.’ She felt suddenly calm and this new serenity was reflected in her voice.
There wasn’t much time to worry; things moved too fast from that moment onwards. Liam had been right—all the worry and pain became a memory the instant the midwife laid the warm body of her baby on her chest. She’d never forget the warmth and softness of the tiny body she traced with trembling hands. The wondrous moment was all too brief; they wrapped him in a foil blanket and whisked him away.
‘He’s fine,’ the midwife said in reply to her anxious enquiry, ‘just a little small. We want to keep him warm.’
Inexplicably Liam was reluctant to go. Jo was baffled and frustrated by his attitud
e. ‘Please, one of us should be with him. I can’t bear the idea of him being alone.’ Her voice was sharp with anxiety. For a man who had gone to extraordinary lengths to be a part of his son’s life, he’d shown only fleeting interest in him since he’d put in his appearance.
A possible explanation for his attitude presented itself. ‘Are you disappointed? Did you want a girl?’ Things like that mattered to some people, or so she’d heard.
‘Disappointed?’ Liam collapsed onto the chair beside her bed and gave a strange laugh. ‘You’ve had too much of this stuff.’ He flicked the mask which had supplied a miraculous mixture of gas and air during the height of her contractions. ‘I’m. . . ’ He rolled his eyes heavenwards whilst searching appropriate words to describe how he felt. ‘Elated doesn’t do this feeling justice,’ he admitted huskily.
Their eyes locked in a moment of complete understanding. ‘I know what you mean.’ Her throat ached with emotion as she stored away this precious golden moment of complete harmony.
‘You’re crying, Jo.’ He blotted a stray tear from her cheek with the tip of his finger.
‘If like every other male on the planet you hadn’t been practising not to since you were five years old I expect you would be too.’ She sniffed. The expression in his eyes had told her that he was as emotionally overwhelmed by the birth of their child as she was. ‘Will you go and see him and tell me how he is. . . pleeease, Liam?’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll look after her for you,’ the midwife informed him kindly when he still displayed some reluctance to leave her. ‘I don’t think he trusts us, dear,’ she added with a smile in Jo’s direction.
Liam didn’t dispute this claim. ‘You can’t get rid of me so easily. I’ll be back!’
‘I’m sure he will,’ the midwife murmured with an unprofessional sigh. ‘Some girls have all the luck!’ she observed with a tinge of envy. ‘It’s lovely to see a couple who are so close.’
Who am I to dispel her romantic fantasy? Jo thought, smiling weakly. In her overtired brain Liam’s straightforward words had taken on a sinister significance: he was staking a claim—a claim that, thanks to her gullibility, he could back up legally. Giving birth was going to look easy once they sat down and sorted out the details of their future.