Her waters broke in the corridor. A shocking sensation but one that amused her too. Nature triumphs again. She caught Craig’s eye, the glint in her own helping him relax.
‘They’ll add it to the bill,’ he hissed at her. ‘Cleaning charges.’
They wanted to wheel her to the maternity suite but she couldn’t sit in the chair and in the end they allowed her to walk, stopping every few yards to weather a contraction. Once there, she changed into a loose-fitting nightdress she had brought with her. Craig tried to help but his nervousness made him incapable of fixing the buttons.
A midwife checked her pulse, blood pressure, felt her stomach and said she needed to do an internal examination. She asked Craig to step outside.
‘I want him to stay,’ Theresa said. ‘He’s seen it all before.’
Craig raised his eyebrows. She wasn’t usually so blunt, but needs must.
The midwife didn’t press the matter.
‘Eight centimetres dilated,’ she announced. ‘That’s very good. If you just get comfy we’ll pop this round you so we can see how Baby’s doing.’
Theresa shook her head. She had read countless books on childbirth, attended classes, taken up yoga, and knew that if she put the monitor on her ability to move about would disappear. ‘I don’t want to lie down, not yet.’
‘This is just so we can make sure all is well with Baby, we can see on the screen at a glance if there’s any problem.’
Before she could argue, a contraction swept through her, robbing her of words. She pitched forward, leaning over the bed, and Craig hurried to hold her from behind.
‘We’d rather leave it for now,’ Craig said. ‘You have those listening devices, don’t you?’
The midwife nodded and went to get the sonic aid.
Theresa straightened up. ‘Oh, God, she doesn’t like it, does she?’
‘Dinna fash yerself. You thirsty?’
‘No.’
‘Hungry?’
‘No. Put that chair the other way round, I’ll try sitting on that.’
He moved it and Theresa straddled the chair. She tried to relax, to let her body rest before the next flood of pain.
Four hours later she began to push, on the bed now but not strapped up. Kneeling on one knee and holding tight to Craig and to one of the midwives. She was thinking maybe a Caesarean wasn’t such a bad idea.
‘I can see the head!’ Craig yelled. ‘Oh, Tess…’
The child slid out and Theresa was aware of the bustle of activity, and the shaking of her legs. She closed her eyes, momentarily drunk with relief. When she opened them again she looked down at the infant, red limbs performing a jerky dance, the small face mobile and alert, huge eyes. They helped her to sit back on to the bed and handed her the baby.
‘A wee girl,’ Craig said.
‘Is she all right?’ She was desperate now to know, her eyes checking ears and fingers for anything missing, anything not properly formed.
‘She’s perfect.’
‘Hello.’ She stared at the baby. ‘Craig.’ She turned to him, her face wet with tears, screwed tight with emotion. ‘Look at her.’
‘She’s beautiful.’ Craig cleared his throat.
‘No,’ she squeaked. She shook her head and tears coursed down her face.
‘What is it?’
She wept, trying to swallow enough to allow her to speak. ‘She looks like me.’ She took a shuddering breath.
‘Of course she does.’
‘No,’ she said again, her voice high and out of control. ‘You don’t understand. She looks like me. That’s never happened before. It’s the first time I’ve ever known anybody who looks like me.’ And she began to cry helplessly again.
Part Four: Searching
Megan Marjorie
Nina
Nina
‘We’ve been up half the bloody night. Your mother’s been lying up there worrying herself sick and you waltz in, half-cut and stinking like a brewery.’ As he yelled the chords in his neck stood out like ropes, his face was purple and some spit flew out.
Maybe he’d have a stroke. She was ashamed of the thought but what the hell. She was sick of him.
‘Said I’d be late.’ She tried not to mix her words up. She was going to throw up. Vodka and barley wine. Rotten mix. ‘I need the loo.’
‘I haven’t finished!’ he thundered. ‘You’re fifteen-’
‘Dad, please.’ Her mouth filled with saliva.
‘Midnight. We said midnight.’
‘Sorry,’ she managed. She lurched towards the stairs but it was too late, she retched and a stream of vomit hit the carpet.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ he cursed.
‘Toilet. Now!’ Marjorie appeared at the top of the stairs.
Pressing her hands over her mouth, Nina ran up to the bathroom, her oesophagus contracting in preparation for the next eruption.
Her mother followed her and filled the basin while Nina hung over the toilet. When she’d emptied herself she wiped the strings of saliva from her chin and flushed it all away. She washed her hands and face. Marjorie said nothing.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll clear it up.’
‘I know your idea of clearing up. It’ll need bicarb to get the smell out and Dettol I shouldn’t wonder. Go get yourself to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.’
She couldn’t resist the dig, thought Nina as she brushed her teeth. Her mother was always on about clearing up and being clean and tidy. As if being good at dusting or bloody ironing was in any way important. It was pathetic. And Stephen never had to do any of it, did he?
She drank some water. Her throat was raw and the sharp smell of sick clung to her. Shame. It’d been a good night until she’d had to come back here. They’d got into the Ritz, she and Chloe. They’d plastered loads of make-up on, it wasn’t hard to pass for eighteen, they’d even memorised false birth dates in case they got asked.
They’d got off with two blokes from Warrington way. When they left the club the blokes were planning to drive back but it was obvious that all four of them wanted something else before they left. ‘Bit of kissing and cuddling,’ Grant had said to her. They’d all sat in the car and shared a joint. It was grass and smelt like hay, which struck Nina as hilarious after a few tokes. Then Grant had taken her round the back, where there was a little alleyway. Chloe and John got to stay in the car, which was his dad’s.
They’d done it standing up against the wall. Knee trembler. He went on longer than Gary had ever managed and it was all right, but when he kissed her it was like he was hoovering.
After, on the all-night bus back, Chloe had told her that John had wanted to lick her down there. She’d said no. Nina wondered what it would feel like. She couldn’t remember much else about getting home.
In her room she threw her clothes on the chair and got her nightie on. She kept stumbling and the room kept tipping.
She pulled the sheets and blankets up and turned off the light. The room swayed and her head began to thump. She put the light back on and pushed her pillow up against the headboard so she could sit up a bit. She hadn’t really liked Grant. He’d made lots of jokes that weren’t very funny and when she said anything he’d only half-listened, his eyes roaming round the rest of the talent. She knew he was only after one thing but he didn’t pretend otherwise. Didn’t matter to her. Could have been anybody. Wham bam thank you ma’am. It made her feel good, not the sex so much but the fact that someone had picked her. Someone wanted her. The worst thing of all was to come home and you’d not copped off. That was the pits.