Run, Mummy, Run

by Cathy Glass

  But the weekends seemed to come and go in a hive of activity, which wasn’t surprising really, given the extent of the preparations. They decorated the nursery in pastel grey and white, and hung gaily patterned curtains, which matched the wall frieze of marching, coloured elephants. The colour scheme was carefully chosen to suit a boy or girl. And the Moses basket for the baby’s first few weeks was already on its stand, next to the changing platform, with its drawers full of first-size Babygros, disposable nappies, baby wipes and lotions. The pram and cot were on order and would be delivered after the birth, because Mark said it was unlucky to have them before the baby was born and they certainly didn’t want to tempt fate.

  ‘Once the baby’s here,’ Aisha told her parents during one of her rare phone calls, ‘I’ll be over every week. We’re going to buy a baby seat for the car so I can drive over during the day. You’ll have plenty of time to spoil your grandchild, I promise.’

  Her mother had to accept this and hid her disappointment at not being more involved now. She knew her husband Ranjith would chide her if he found her interfering and she would never go against him. Mark’s parents lived in Birmingham and seemed to accept that the infrequent visits from their son would remain few and far between. Aisha wondered if they still held Mark responsible for losing their first grandchildren and if so she hoped the new grandchild would go some way to make recompense. What she didn’t realize was that she was becoming ever more isolated.

  The suitcase for her stay in hospital was packed, closed and ready in the spare room by the time Aisha was eight months pregnant. Mark had compiled the contents from the list given to them at the antenatal classes, ticking off the items as he bought and packed them, with extras to be sure.

  ‘I don’t think they provide much nowadays,’ he said, adding another box of nappies, of which there were already twice the number suggested. ‘If you do find you’re short of something, you must phone the office and I’ll bring it up straight away.’

  ‘Yes. Or Mum can if you’re busy,’ Aisha said.

  ‘Never too busy for you, my love,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’m a lot closer to the hospital than your parents are.’

  There was absolutely nothing Mark hadn’t thought of, nothing he had overlooked, so when, two days after Aisha’s due date, the Braxton Hicks contractions grew harder and more frequent, Mark timed the intervals and monitored the result. Forty minutes. Thirty. Twenty-five. Twenty. Then the contractions began to take her breath away as the discomfort seared into pain, and she reached out to steady herself, trying to concentrate on her breathing. Mark waited, as the hospital had advised, until the contractions were coming at regular fifteen-minute intervals, then calmly fetched her suitcase, handbag and coat, and telephoned the hospital to say they were on their way.

  ‘I’ll call your parents just as soon as we’ve got you settled,’ Mark said as he eased Aisha into the car.

  Her body stiffened as another contraction gripped her. ‘Yes, please,’ she gasped. ‘I promised Mum we’d tell her as soon as I went into labour.’

  ‘I know. Now relax. And remember that deep breathing.’

  And the labour, while long, wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be, with Mark beside her, reassuring and encouraging her. The pain was manageable with him stroking her hair, repeating the midwife’s instructions and telling her when to breathe and push, and wiping her forehead with a damp flannel. So that when the cervix was fully dilated, and the full force of the baby’s head bore down and she thought she was being torn apart, she grabbed his hands, dug her nails in, and screamed into his shoulder. Yes, manageable, with him beside her knowing that very soon she would be a mother and he a father.

  ‘A proper family at last,’ Mark said, receiving the bundle into his arms. ‘Sarah, my beautiful baby girl.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Aisha sat in the chair beside the hospital bed and gazed at Sarah. She was asleep in the Perspex crib, her little face just visible above the swaddled blanket. She slept so peacefully that only the occasional twitch of her bottom lip showed she was breathing at all. Aisha looked at her miniature features and marvelled. She was truly a miracle – so perfect and complete it was difficult to imagine where she’d come from – although the stitches were an uncomfortable reminder. Aisha shifted in her chair and tried to get more comfortable, never once taking her eyes from Sarah.

  With Sarah’s crop of jet-black hair, little turned-up nose and dimpled chin, Aisha could see the likeness her parents had spoken of. ‘A chip off the old block,’ her father had said, pleased as punch, for it had always been held that Aisha took after her father, and now without doubt Sarah took after her. Her parents had visited the previous afternoon when Sarah was barely nine hours old. Mark, as promised, had phoned them when they’d arrived at the hospital, and then again when the baby was born. ‘Eight pounds two ounces,’ he’d told them proudly. ‘She’s perfect. Fingers, toes, everything. I still can’t believe it.’ Aisha’s mother had told her Mark had nearly cried on the phone, he was so overcome with emotion.

  Her parents had arrived with flowers, fruit and containers of homemade food, enough for several weeks although Aisha was only going to be in hospital for forty-eight hours. Her mother had produced them one by one from her shopping basket, and stacked them on her bedside cabinet, pleased at last to be doing something. There were samosas, bhajis and aloo bonda – Aisha’s favourites. ‘I thought you’d be hungry,’ her mother said. ‘Hospital food is never that filling, and you need to keep up your strength if you’re breastfeeding.’

  They’d sat beside the crib as Aisha ate, and her mother had kept a watchful eye over Sarah while her father marvelled at the family likeness. ‘Like two peas in a pod,’ he said. ‘Both so beautiful. Wait till they see the pictures back home.’

  When Sarah had eventually woken for a feed, Aisha’s parents had waited until she’d settled Sarah in her lap, then said their goodbyes and left. Aisha was grateful for their sensitivity for it would have been embarrassing if they had witnessed her fumbled attempts, the last of which had left Sarah annoyed, and Aisha with most of her chest exposed.

  Mark had seen the family likeness too when he’d returned soon after her parents’ departure. Sarah was losing that newborn red scrunched-up look and her colour was darkening.

  ‘It’s like seeing a little Aisha,’ he said. ‘A miniature replica. Yours must be the dominant gene.’ He lifted Sarah from the crib and cradled her in the crook of his arm. Aisha looked at Mark with his daughter with pride and her eyes welled.

  ‘I’m so very happy,’ she said.

  ‘Me too.’

  Now Aisha sat in the chair beside the hospital bed, packed and waiting to go home. She was disappointed Mark wouldn’t be coming to collect her and Sarah from the hospital. It was one of the pictures she’d carried in her mind and had looked forward to during her stay. She’d imagined them arriving home, with Mark carrying Sarah in the Moses basket up the path to the front door, the three of them entering their home for the first time as a family. But it was unavoidable. Mark had only known himself an hour before, when Aisha had been called to the phone at the nurses’ station.

  ‘I’m so sorry, my little love,’ Mark had said. ‘I’m so sorry to let you down. It’s that Japanese client again. He’s altered his schedule and I have to fit in. I’ve tried, but there’s no way round it. If he’d told me sooner, I could have asked your parents to collect you, but there’s no time now.’

  Aisha had hidden her disappointment and told him not to worry, that she would be all right for an hour or two at home alone, and would ask a nurse to phone for a taxi.

  ‘No need to, love,’ Mark said. ‘I’ve arranged for one of the company cars to collect you, with my driver, Tony. He will take very good care of you. I’ve told him to come up to the ward at two thirty.’

  Aisha smiled to herself – even at short notice Mark was able to organize and find a solution. No wonder he was so successful at work.

  ‘Now you take c
are, my little one,’ he said. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can. I love you. Both of you. Kiss Sarah for me.’

  ‘I will.’

  It was disappointing, but unavoidable. Just one of those things, she thought as she waited for Tony. Aisha had already been formally discharged by the doctor, with an appointment for her postnatal check-up in six weeks’ time. She had packed her belongings, thrown away the last of the food her mother had brought, and fed and changed Sarah ready for the journey. The Moses basket, which Mark had fortuitously brought in the night before, was tucked out of the way under the bed. She would wait until Tony arrived before moving Sarah into it, then if Sarah did wake up and cry there would only be a few minutes before they were off the ward. Aisha felt self-conscious tending to Sarah’s needs surrounded by the nurses and the other, more competent, second-time mothers. Once they were home she knew she would be far more relaxed, and if it took all day to feed and change her, well, there was no one to see but Sarah, who fortunately didn’t know any better.

  At two twenty-five the doors at the far end of the ward swung open and a man appeared. Aisha watched as he stopped a nurse who pointed to her bed. He was a short, stocky man in his early forties with dark, wavy hair and pleasant, open features. He came towards her, smiling, his hand outstretched. ‘Mrs Williams? The name’s Tony. Mark sent me.’

  She shook his hand. ‘Hello Tony.’

  ‘What a beauty,’ he said, peering into the crib. ‘The wife and I wanted a girl but we’ve settled for three boys now. Congratulations. You must be very proud.’

  Aisha blushed, again feeling the surge of achievement that somehow she had produced this perfect beautiful creature. ‘We are. Thank you.’

  She bent down to retrieve the Moses basket from under the bed, but Tony intervened. ‘No, let me. You shouldn’t be bending and lifting yet.’

  She stepped back as Tony pulled out the wicker basket and then laid it on the bed. Aisha went to the crib, and with one hand supporting Sarah’s head and the other around her little body, she carefully transferred Sarah into the Moses basket. Sarah, still satiated from the feed of half an hour before, opened her eyes, yawned, then obligingly went back to sleep.

  ‘Shall I carry the basket?’ Tony asked.

  ‘No, I’d like to, thanks. But if you could take the rest of my things, I’d be very grateful.’

  Aisha looped her fingers through the wicker handles of the Moses basket and, with Tony watching ready to help if necessary, eased it off the bed. It was light, little more than the weight of Sarah, and she held it protectively to her side. ‘I’m fine, really,’ she reassured Tony.

  Tony gathered together the rest of her belongings – suitcase, coat, handbag, and the flowers Mark had brought. ‘Now, easy does it,’ Tony said, stepping round her to lead the way. ‘You’re bound to feel a bit wobbly. No running on the ward.’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t think I could yet.’

  Aisha walked slowly as the stitches pulled, and followed Tony up the ward. As she went she said goodbye to another first-time mother she’d been talking to during her stay, and then stopped at the nurses’ station to thank them.

  ‘You’ve all been so kind,’ she said. ‘Please pass on my thanks to Irene. She was so helpful with the feeding.’

  The nurses wished her well, then Tony opened the swing doors and Aisha carefully walked through making sure the sides of the Moses basket didn’t catch the door. She vaguely remembered coming through reception when she’d been in labour, but it seemed a lifetime ago now, and she’d been so involved in concentrating on her breathing, that she really hadn’t taken in her surroundings.

  ‘You’ll want your coat on,’ Tony said protectively as they came to the outer doors. He set down the suitcase and flowers and shook out her coat. ‘The first lesson of good parenting is to look after yourself.’

  Aisha smiled as Tony helped her into her coat, he was indeed taking very good care of her, just as Mark had said he would.

  Outside, she breathed in the fresh clear air; it felt good. The ward had been stiflingly hot, with the heating turned up and the double-glazed windows rarely opened for fear of the babies catching cold. An ambulance siren wailed as it drew into the hospital grounds, and Aisha looked anxiously down at Sarah, but she remained asleep, unaware of the noise or sudden change in temperature.

  ‘It’s the blue Toyota,’ Tony said, pointing to one of three cars parked at the pick-up point. ‘I’ll get you and baby settled in first, then I’ll see to the luggage.’

  He opened the rear door and Aisha passed him her precious load then eased herself into the car. The stitches pulled again and she hoped Tony hadn’t seen her grimace; she would have been embarrassed if he’d realized the cause of her pain. She fastened her belt as Tony slid the Moses basket onto the seat beside her, then looped the other seat belt around it.

  ‘Keep your hand on the basket and I’ll drive real slow,’ he said. ‘You’ll need to get a car baby seat, they’re safest.’

  ‘Mark’s ordered it,’ Aisha said defensively. And she thought that if Mark had forgotten one thing, it was that they should really have had the seat now.

  Testing the belt, and satisfied that he had done his best for his little passenger, Tony closed the rear door and then loaded the boot. He climbed in, and starting the engine, reversed out, and slowly pulled away. Aisha laid her right arm along the length of the basket to steady it.

  ‘OK?’ Tony called over his shoulder as they left the hospital grounds and gathered speed.

  ‘Yes, fine. She’s still asleep.’

  He smiled at Aisha in the rear-view mirror. ‘Long may it continue. It will give you a chance to rest.’

  With fifteen minutes to home, Aisha settled back into her seat and glanced between Sarah and the scenery passing outside her window. Everything seemed fresh and vibrant outside after the blandness of the ward. She would have been happy to have sat quietly and taken it all in, but Tony wanted to chat.

  ‘I expect you’re looking forward to getting home,’ he said. ‘My missus was, with all of ours.’

  Aisha nodded. ‘I just hope I know what to do. There seems so much to learn and remember. It’s all a bit overwhelming.’

  ‘Do what comes naturally,’ he said good-humouredly. ‘Throw away all those books and pamphlets they give you. They’re written by psychologists who’ve studied kids but never had them. You’re Mum, you know best.’

  Aisha smiled to herself as she thought of Mark and all his books, the most recent of which was Practical Parentcraft, which had come with a DVD.

  Tony continued chatting, reminiscences about his own children, the youngest of whom was now eleven. Parenthood seemed to encourage these shared confidences, Aisha thought; it had been the same on the ward. Other mothers, nurses, and even her neighbour’s visitor, had shared anecdotes and pieces of advice about child-rearing. It seemed to Aisha that, in having a baby, she had crossed a threshold, completed a rite of passage and she was now accepted into a new and exclusive club.

  ‘He’s a good chap, your Mark,’ Tony said, suddenly changing the subject. ‘He’s caring. You don’t always find that in management. I hear a lot being a driver, but I’ve never heard a bad word said against him. That’s not to say he’s a soft touch. Far from it.

  He works like a trooper and expects others to do the same. But he’s thoughtful with it.’

  Aisha met his eyes in the rear-view mirror, and nodded. ‘Yes, I know. I’m very lucky.’

  ‘Now, you take my wife,’ he continued. ‘She had a big operation a while back. You know, women’s stuff. Mark sent her a smashing bouquet of flowers with a card wishing her a speedy recovery. She’s never forgotten it, neither have I.’

  Aisha thought that that was exactly the type of thing Mark would do, the little touches that didn’t take much but brought a smile to a person’s face. ‘I expect you’ve known each other quite a while,’ she said. ‘You do all his driving, don’t you?’

  ‘Since he joined the company, y
es. Must be coming up for four years now.’

  Aisha glanced at Sarah whose little fist had appeared over the blanket and was now resting on her chin. ‘I think you’ll find it’s longer than that,’ Aisha said. ‘Mark’s been with the company for over eight years.’

  Tony hesitated as the car in front slowed and then suddenly pulled into the kerb without indicating. He tutted as he drew past. ‘No, I’m sure. It was just before my wife’s op and that’s three and a half years ago. Mark had only known me for a few months, which was why the flowers were such a nice touch. Not many would do that for someone they hardly knew.’

  Aisha didn’t argue the point. Time flew, and Tony wouldn’t be the first to miscalculate the passing years. She turned to the side window; they were in the High Street now and the area was typical of many Greater London streets with shops topped with flats. It was a melting pot of wares and cultures, where kebab houses and Indian takeaways rubbed shoulders with electrical stores and twenty-four hour pop-ins. She liked the cosmopolitan feel, it was similar to the area in which she had grown up. And since she’d been in hospital the High Street seemed to have been given a polish so the slightly rundown, dusty façades now seemed brighter. It’s motherhood, she thought, for as her mother had said – a new baby makes you see life completely differently. New and afresh.

  Tony drew into the kerb outside her house and Aisha noticed that the daffodils in their small front garden, which had been no more than green shoots before she’d gone into hospital, had now burst into flower. The garden was a mass of bright yellow blooms swaying in the breeze.

  ‘Stay put,’ Tony said, getting out. ‘I’ll see to the luggage first.’