Patience

by Victoria Scott

  ‘Stay down here, just in case,’ he said, as she tried to pull herself up. ‘Wait until the doctors and nurses come to check you over.’

  ‘OK,’ Eliza replied, writhing in agony.

  ‘What… the… hell… are… you… doing… here… anyway?’ she panted. Oh God, she had finally started panting.

  ‘I’m working as a healthcare assistant. I pick up the occasional shift here. I’m considering applying to study midwifery.’

  ‘I… didn’t… know,’ she said, before trying to take in a long, slow breath as she’d been taught.

  ‘No. I haven’t told the care home yet. They don’t know I have another job. I don’t want them to get wind that I might leave.’

  ‘Oh… I… see.’

  Then suddenly there was a crowd.

  ‘Stand back,’ a voice said, and Jimmy complied. He was replaced with a smiling woman with a stethoscope around her neck.

  ‘What hurts?’ she asked. ‘Or is that a silly question.’

  Eliza would have laughed if she wasn’t in such agony.

  ‘Just... down… there,’ she replied.

  ‘Is it worse than before?’

  Eliza thought for a moment. ‘Maybe.’

  The woman nodded to her colleagues and three of them stepped forward, took hold of Eliza under her arms, and hoisted her back onto the bed.

  Eliza’s head swam and stars appeared in front of her eyes. But even through the swirling patterns, she could see that the room had turned into a circus. There were at least six people staring at her. She could no longer see Jimmy.

  ‘Just lie back on the bed for us, Elizabeth,’ the woman said. ‘We just need to check how your baby is doing.’

  As two nurses helped Eliza into a reclining position, she realised that the monitor she’d been wearing had been ripped off.

  ‘We’re just going to attach a monitor to your baby’s head,’ the doctor said after she’d finished checking Eliza over. ‘It’s more reliable than the tummy monitor. It won’t hurt the baby.’

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ Eliza asked once more, her anxiety levels now sky-high.

  The doctor didn’t answer her.

  ‘That’s it, Elizabeth,’ she said in her best bedside manner, gesturing for Eliza to lie back on the bed. Then she put yet another latex-gloved hand where the sun didn’t shine. ‘That’s it. I’m just going to… pop… this… in… there… Good!’

  The woman removed her hand from between Eliza’s legs and looked up at the screen beside the bed. Eliza was no longer able to turn around, but she could hear that the machine had begun to beep once more. All of the medical staff stood silently, their eyes glued to the monitor and the language it was speaking, a foreign language Eliza did not understand.

  Eliza felt her face drain of colour and vomit rise up into her throat.

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said.

  One of the nurses swiftly placed a cardboard bowl beside her head. Eliza leaned over and retched into it. She brought up some liquid, but not much else; she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  ‘It’s all right, love. You’re fine. Lots of women are sick during labour. It’s all totally normal,’ the nurse said, putting her hand on Eliza’s shoulder in an attempt to reassure her.

  But Eliza felt as far from normal as it was possible to feel. She was also fixated on the faces at the foot of her bed, who were interpreting the squiggly lines behind her head. They were giving nothing away.

  Finally, the female doctor spoke.

  ‘Baby looks OK, Elizabeth, despite your tumble. We’ll leave you to labour for a bit and come back to check in half an hour. You seem to be progressing well. OK?’

  Eliza managed to find the energy to nod, just as another wave of pain and pressure began to sweep over her. She closed her eyes to block out the crowd. It didn’t seem right that they were there. This was just about the two of them. The baby and her.

  *

  When she opened her eyes, the room had cleared. The only people who remained were Natalie and Jimmy, who had reappeared by her bedside.

  ‘OK, love,’ Natalie said, ‘you’re on the monitor and you’re labouring well so I’ll just pop out to check on one of my other ladies and come back in about ten minutes to see how you’re getting on.’

  Then the door shut behind her and Eliza and Jimmy were alone.

  And then she started to cry; huge, shuddery tears.

  Seconds later, Jimmy was sitting on the bed and putting his arms around her.

  ‘Eliza, Lize, it’s going to be OK. It will be, I promise. I’m here. You’re not on your own. I’m here.’

  Eliza collapsed into him, not caring that she was half-naked, or that she smelled of sick, or that her hair looked like an octopus catching a wave. And through the pain and the tears, she acknowledged that being held by him felt nice. Very nice. But she was still crying.

  ‘Lize, please stop crying. It’ll be OK. Just breathe.’

  ‘Everyone… keeps… telling… me… to… breathe,’ Eliza replied, ‘but… I’m… so… frightened.’

  ‘Why? You heard the doctors. Everything seems fine.’

  ‘I… don’t… deserve… fine.’

  Jimmy withdrew from their embrace and sat down on the bed, lowering his head so that he was face to face with Eliza.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course you do.’

  ‘I… don’t… I… got… rid… of… it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You’re having it. We’re both here, aren’t we? You’ll be holding your baby soon.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, speaking quickly between pants, reckoning that if she said it as quickly as she could, she wouldn’t feel the impact of what she was about to say. ‘I got rid of a baby. Years ago. When I was a teenager. A perfectly healthy baby.’

  ‘Oh, Lize.’ There was a pause, during which Jimmy passed Eliza a tissue. ‘Don’t be silly. What’s in the past is in the past. You are not some evil person. You’re human. This is a new start.’

  ‘The last time I was in pain like this was then. When I had the – the abortion. What if this baby dies, too?’

  ‘It won’t. It just won’t. You heard them – the baby is fine.’

  ‘But what if it’s like – like Patience?’

  ‘Then it will be awesome, like her,’ he replied, not missing a beat.

  There was a knock at the door. A woman Eliza didn’t recognise peered around it.

  ‘Are you Eliza?’ she said. ‘I’m Catherine and I have Patience with me. I’m sorry we took so long. Staffing problems. Can we come in?’

  *

  And so it was that Eliza went from no birth partners to three. She now had Jimmy, Patience and Catherine, a woman she had only known for a matter of minutes but who had now taken up a position at the foot of the bed next to Natalie, issuing regular updates from ‘the business end’, as she so delightfully put it. Catherine had, it transpired, birthed four children, one in the hallway of her block of flats, with only a postman for company. She was no-nonsense and Eliza warmed to her immediately.

  Patience was parked to Eliza’s right, as close to the bed as was practicable; close enough for Eliza to reach out her hand, which Patience was grasping. She had not brought her eye-gaze computer – Catherine was apparently a new member of staff and hadn’t been told to bring it – but it didn’t matter. Eliza knew her sister so well that her presence was enough. And having Patience actually hold her hand, instead of just resting it in hers, had an extraordinary power. The warmth of her hand felt like a transfer of energy. With Patience there, she felt as if she might actually be able to do this.

  Jimmy was on Eliza’s left and he was holding her other hand firmly. He had sprung away from her when Catherine and Patience had entered, like a little boy caught breaking the rules, but Eliza had decided that enough was enough. She had reached for his hand then and not let go, and Jimmy had not flinched. She hoped he didn’t mind, because she had no plans to let go of it, ever.

 
‘Just keep pushing, like you’re doing a poo,’ Natalie said. ‘There’s a good girl. That’s it. Baby’s coming.’

  ‘Is it?’ Eliza asked, breathless and exhausted.

  ‘Yes, I can just make out the top of its head. When you feel the next contraction, push with all of your might.’

  Eliza didn’t feel like she had any might left. Her face was bright red, her eyes were bloodshot and she was exhausted. She had been pushing for at least an hour now. Never mind doing a poo; it felt like she was pushing all of her innards out onto the bed. She’d be entirely inside out soon, surely, and all that would be left of her would be a steaming pile of red, purple and brown organs, slithering onto the floor.

  ‘Come on, lovey. That’s it. Biiiiigggg push,’ said Catherine.

  ‘You can do it, my girl, you can do it,’ said Jimmy.

  My girl, Eliza thought. He said my girl.

  And then Patience squeezed her right hand, an unmistakable message from sister to sister.

  You can do this, Lize. You can do this.

  Yes! I can do this, Patience. I will do this for you.

  Eliza put her chin down onto her chest and pushed with every sinew in her body.

  ‘That’s it!’ shouted Natalie. ‘Now pant for me. Pant. Don’t push.’

  And so Eliza channelled the family Labrador once more.

  ‘That’s it. The head’s out. You’ll see baby with the next push.’

  Eliza felt the now familiar tightening of her muscles and roared.

  There was a feeling of release, of an emptying.

  Then there was a cry.

  She wasn’t sure if it was hers, but it was a joyous cry, a cry which said fuck you to fear, and fuck you to failure.

  ‘You have a perfect little girl!’ announced Natalie.

  Jimmy kissed her on her cheek and told her he was proud; Catherine cried happy tears and searched her handbag for her hankie; Patience squeezed Eliza’s hand even tighter.

  And then a red-faced, puffy and angry-looking infant was placed on her chest. Eliza looked down at her daughter’s face, at her swollen eyes opening just a crack to take in her new world, and she vowed there and then that she would never look back.

  38

  Pete

  September

  The volume in the stadium was overwhelming and indescribable. If this was a work site, Pete would be mandating protective ear defenders for everyone, but looking around him, he could see that this was not a concern for the twenty thousand people who were currently singing Take That’s ‘Could It Be Magic’ at the top of their voices.

  He had agreed to come reluctantly, but even despite the inevitable hearing loss that he anticipated tomorrow, he was glad that he had conceded. He knew all of the songs, at any rate; more than thirty years of life with Patience had seen to that, and the sheer joy on the faces of those around him was infectious. And while he wasn’t exactly dancing, his feet were tapping, unseen by anyone except Louise to his left, who leaned in just then and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  They were here to celebrate the end of a landmark year. It was one he wouldn’t like to live through again, that was certain, but it had brought unexpected blessings, too. One of those, little Orla, now two months, was at home in Kidlington with a trusted babysitter. She was tiny, blonde and fierce, a whirlwind of mess and laughter.

  Eliza seemed to have taken to motherhood with ease, and he hoped that from now on she would signal to them if she was unhappy. But he instinctively felt that things were different now. She seemed more honest; there was less front – and her confidence, which had been at an all-time low several months ago, seemed to be building. She had been talking about setting herself up as a freelance PR consultant, and his brother Steve was keen to get her to work her magic on his business. He hoped she would be OK.

  And there was another reason for her improved state of mind, of course. Pete could see that Eliza’s hand was currently resting in Jimmy’s back pocket. That partnership had been a surprise for all of them – Eliza included, he thought – but it was having an extraordinary effect on her. His eldest daughter, previously so reserved, so independent, so closed-off, was now an emotional open house, loving wildly, fiercely and without fear. The relief he felt about this was palpable.

  Sitting on the other side of Jimmy, was Patience. She had asked for a good seat this year (apparently the disabled ones she’d been allocated for the previous show had not been up to her expected standards) and he was gratified to see that she had a broad smile on her face. The counselling she was now having, combined with antidepressants, was bringing her out of the darkness. These seats were close to the front and they had a price tag to match, but Pete simply didn’t care. She had been so recently plagued by nightmares he was only just beginning to understand, and he was so grateful to be able to give her something that brought her this much joy.

  It had been an incredible shock to discover that she had been so aware for all of those years. He had experienced a cocktail of emotions when they’d discovered the truth. Mostly, he had felt ashamed. How could he call himself her father and not really know his daughter, at all? He struggled to even imagine what she had gone through in three decades of silence and the things she had witnessed, had heard. He thought of the many occasions when he and Louise had argued in front of her, about her. He was astonished that she still wanted anything to do with any of them.

  And yet she did. In fact, she insisted that she had been quite content for all of those years. ‘I really was happy, Daddy,’ she had said to him recently, via the machine she now used. ‘And now – this is a new beginning. For all of us.’ She had smiled at him then. It had been a knowing smile.

  He could see that Patience was experiencing this concert on a different level to the rest of them, soaring high above the crowds on a high-octane thrill ride, ducking and diving with the rhythm, revelling with the angels. And he suspected she’d be even more joyous when she discovered the surprise Eliza had managed to arrange for afterwards – a long-awaited, much-postponed meet-and-greet between three of the most famous pop stars in the world and their most fabulous fan. He couldn’t wait to tell her. It would make her year. Or her life, perhaps.

  The band were now playing their reunion single, ‘Patience’. How kind of them to name one of their songs after his youngest, he thought. But it was fitting. The crowd at the O2 was now on its feet, swaying gently, mobile-phone torches raised up high. Patience’s face was shining. Music had always transformed her absolutely. And despite all of the changes in her this year, it had continued to do so. And thank goodness for that, for she was the music in all of their lives.

  She was now revealing herself to have a wicked sense of humour, and a mind thoroughly her own. She had issued them a wish list recently. She had told them that she wanted, in no particular order: a new haircut; Netflix; laser treatment on her facial hair; perfume; nicer drinks (including the occasional gin and tonic); prettier pants; a back catalogue of Robbie Williams’ albums; and a ban on daytime TV programmes in the bungalow. He suspected the carers might fight her over that last one.

  She had also told them that she wanted to leave home, permanently. ‘I want my own life,’ she had said, her eyes mirroring the defiance of the words she had chosen. ‘And I want you to have yours.’

  Louise had shed tears afterwards, but of course, they had complied. They could never refuse her wishes now. Patience had been offered a permanent place at the care home where she had always had respite, and they had taken it immediately, knowing that she felt safe and happy there.

  He had been astonished by the effect the move had had on Louise. Instead of feeling bereft, as he had anticipated, she had become energised, seeking out new challenges. And, slowly, they were learning to live together again, beginning to put the house into order at last – not to live in, but to sell. With Louise’s job and his consulting work for Steve, they had enough to get by, with a little to put away for a rainy day.

  Patience was still very much a part o
f their lives, despite her move. They visited her several times a week and she often came home for weekends, although she now engaged with them in banter at the dinner table, and commented all-too-honestly on their apparently poor choices of TV shows, music and decor. There was a lot of laughter.

  A speech therapist was now starting to work with Patience on what he suspected would be a very long project – teaching her to form her noises into words. Whether she would ever actually speak using her own voice was still an unknown, but what was certain was that she had regained at least some control of her muscles, and with it, some independence. She could now use her hands to steer an electric wheelchair, making her the menace of shoppers, walkers and joggers across Oxfordshire. She was also able to hold little Orla on her lap – with a little help – and watching the pair of them eyeing each other like this was a joy. She could also chew and swallow normally, and had recently begun to be able to pick up large food items by herself. Meals with her would never again involve a liquidiser, and he was glad of that.

  The gene therapy trial she’d taken part in had been judged to have been a success. All of the trial participants had gained something from it, although none had so far experienced the Lazarus-style resurrection that some of the families had hoped for. Phase two of the trial was being rolled out across the world, and experts reckoned that eventually, even more targeted therapies could be introduced, with the potential of even more incredible results.

  But for now, this was enough for her, he thought. Patience was content. She had found her startling, sparkling voice.

  And William. She had found William.

  39

  Patience

  September

  ‘I think it should be green.’

  There is a pause while I assemble my response on the machine.

  ‘I love you,’ the computerised version of me says, ‘but your taste is appalling.’

  William laughs raucously and trundles over in his electric wheelchair, parking himself alongside mine and taking my left hand, which nowadays is more of an independent agent than a Siamese twin.