by Kate Hewitt
“We’re good, Miriam,” Simon answered with an easy smile. “Of course we are.”
“Good.” She felt relieved; she realised she counted on Simon’s steady friendship, his constant kindness.
“Now I think you need to show me your ideas for the website…?” Simon continued with raised eyebrows.
“Are you sure? I didn’t know if…”
Simon frowned. “If what?”
“If you were just throwing me a bone with the whole website thing,” Miriam admitted. “You know, as a way to get me to go to the coffee morning.” When she said it out loud, it sounded rather awful, and Simon looked both surprised and a bit affronted.
“Some kind of emotional blackmail?” he surmised. “No, I definitely don’t operate that way. The website is a genuine need, and I genuinely think you’re the person to meet it. So, what do you have to show me?”
A few minutes later, armed with cups of tea, they sat down together at the table in the study Miriam used as her desk during her working hours, and fired up the church’s ancient laptop.
“I don’t have anything concrete yet,” Miriam said quickly, feeling the need to offer several disclaimers. “Just some random ideas based around photography and the views around here, really not much at all…”
“Sounds pretty good to me. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Feeling unaccountably nervous, Miriam clicked on the document with the mocked-up pages. She’d paired photographs of the local scenery with the church’s website pages, trying to match the mood of the photo with the content of the page—so for a page on small groups, she had a photo of a flock of sheep in a muddy field; for the page on Sunday sermons, she had light streaming from behind clouds, illuminating the fells in watery, crystalline sunlight. She took Simon through each page, gaining confidence as he expressed approval and admiration for her choices.
“This is really brilliant, how you’ve matched it all up. I love it, Miriam. You’ve got a fantastic eye for this sort of thing.”
“Oh, hardly…” Miriam felt compelled to murmur.
“No, I mean it. You really do.” Briefly Simon laid a hand on her arm. “Can you do it all properly on the website? I’ll give you the new content I’m writing to go with it.”
“Sure, that’s no problem. Are you sure about it, though? You might want to take some time to think…”
“I’m sure.” Simon smiled. “Honestly, it all looks fantastic.”
Miriam was still brimming over with satisfaction and a deeper happiness, brought on by Simon’s comments. It felt good, really good, to have been useful and successful. It gave her the gumption to do something she’d been putting off for far too long, and ring the hospital in Whitehaven to book a scan.
“I see from your records that you missed an appointment for a scan five weeks ago?” the receptionist said, and although Miriam didn’t hear any censure in her voice, she cringed anyway.
“Yes, that’s the one I’d like to reschedule.”
“All right, let’s see what’s available. I’ll try to get you in as soon as possible, since you’re a bit overdue.”
“Thanks.” Miriam waited, breath held, fingers crossed, until the receptionist spoke again.
“We’ve had a cancellation so there’s a spot available tomorrow if you want to come in? It’s at three.”
“Yes, please, that’s fantastic.”
“Remember you need to come with a full bladder, for the scan to be seen properly, so you might be a bit uncomfortable.”
“That’s fine.”
A moment later Miriam had rung off, feeling both satisfied and a bit scared. She was actually doing this, taking the next step. She thought of her twelve-week scan, when she’d gone with Rachel, and then burst into tears. It had just felt so overwhelmingly real, to see that little blob on the screen. What was it going to feel like this time, when the baby was far more developed, enough so, if she wanted to, she could find out if she was having a boy or girl? Did she even want that information? Could she handle it?
Miriam rested one hand on her small bump, her fingers curving to its roundness, as the baby, as if sensing her presence, kicked right into her palm.
Chapter Five
Miriam stood at the one bus stop in Thornthwaite, waiting for the bus to Whitehaven in the pouring rain. Not a good start to her trip, but she was doing her best to soldier on and stay positive. She’d been full of determined optimism this morning, feeling like she was finally accomplishing things, and she wasn’t going to give up on that feeling without a fight.
She’d spent the morning in the vicarage study, working on the website, before popping home to walk Bailey and get ready for her appointment at the hospital in Whitehaven. She hadn’t told anyone she was going, mainly because she knew her sisters, in their well-meaning way, would fuss. They always did—Esther with her acerbic comments, Rachel with her slightly manic flurry of kindness, Anna with her quiet sympathy.
Miriam was already feeling emotional about this; she was afraid adding her sisters to the equation would tip her over the edge. So she kept silent, determined to manage this by herself, which meant taking the bus to Whitehaven. She’d looked up the timetable online, and had seen it left at half past one, which would give her over half an hour to walk to the hospital.
Admittedly, a bumpy bus ride and a long walk were not best done on a full bladder, but needs must. The trouble was, it was one forty-five and the bus hadn’t arrived. Miriam was starting to feel a bit like a twit, standing here on her own, staring into space. Plus, she was getting soaked and her thin waterproof was not doing the job she’d hoped it would.
Did buses run this late? Should she give up and go home? But she needed to go to this scan; it felt important, not just for her baby, but for her. She was taking action. She was holding herself responsible.
She supposed she could call a cab, but by the time one came all the way from Keswick to fetch her, she’d be running late, and it was also expensive. She could call Esther, but Miriam resisted that instinctively. Her sister wouldn’t mean to act all holier-than-thou, have-to-bail-out-my-little-sister-again, but she would. Of course she would.
Miriam was still debating what to do when an old rattletrap of a car slowed down and the woman inside rolled down the window and peered out. Miriam recognised her, but only vaguely.
“Are you waiting for the bus?” she demanded.
“Er…yes.”
“Because it’s not coming. They changed the bus schedule back in July. Didn’t you know?”
Miriam felt her cheeks warm. “Um, no.” Obviously not.
The woman stared at her hard, taking in everything about her—her hair now in wet rat’s tails, her pathetic parka, her obvious bump. “Where are you going? Keswick?”
“No, Whitehaven. To the hospital. For…a scan.”
The woman nodded. “Get in, then. I can drive you.”
“Oh, I don’t—” Miriam didn’t finish that sentence, because she didn’t even know what she didn’t.
“Get in,” the woman said again, in a tone that brooked no disobedience. “Or you’ll be late.”
After a second’s uneasy hesitation, Miriam did as she was told. She sat in the passenger’s seat, conscious she was dripping onto the floor, and she didn’t even know who this woman was. A bubble of near-hysterical laughter rose inside her as she imagined what her mother would say. Never get in a car with a stranger! Not that this beady-eyed old lady looked like a serial killer or anything, but you never knew.
“Thank you,” she said belatedly, and the woman merely nodded, her gaze trained fixedly on the road as she drove out of Thornthwaite. They drove in silence for a few taut minutes before Miriam was able to work up the courage to say, “My name’s Miriam…”
The woman let out a short bark of laughter. “I know who you are, Miriam Holley.”
Oh, dear. Miriam couldn’t keep from shrinking back a little at that pointed statement. There was a wealth of knowledge and judgement in those seven wor
ds. “And you are…?” she asked. The woman threw her a quick, sharp look.
“Abigail Cribbs. I’ve been attending your father’s church for forty-five years.”
There was a wealth of knowledge and judgement in that statement, as well. “Oh. Right.” Miriam tried for a smile. “I haven’t been in a while.”
“I know.”
Eek. This was getting worse and worse. Miriam was starting to seriously regret accepting the offer of a lift. “Well, thank you, anyway,” she said, a bit tartly, because she just couldn’t help it.
To her surprise, Abigail Cribbs gave her an amused look. “Don’t get your back up, dearie. I didn’t mean it as a criticism. More of a fact.”
“Okay…”
“I understand why you might not be gracing the doors of your father’s church right now.”
“It’s not his church anymore,” Miriam pointed out.
“Yes, the new man is doing a fine job of it, I suppose.”
“It’s not his church, either,” Miriam retorted, feeling rebellious all of a sudden. “Surely it should be God’s.”
Abigail let out a cackle of delighted laughter that had Miriam jumping in her seat. “Right you are! Right you are.” She chuckled again, clearly pleased. “I like that.”
“I’m glad,” Miriam murmured, more because she didn’t know what else to say. Who was this woman? She thought she vaguely remembered her from her church-going days, but not very well. Had she sat in the front pew, her arms always folded firmly? Was she the one who had given them sweets at Easter? Cream eggs, one each. But maybe that wasn’t Abigail Cribbs. It had been so long that many of her father’s parishioners had sort of blurred together into one grey-haired mass, elderly and kindly.
“So, a scan,” Abigail stated, and Miriam semi-regretted parting with that information. Why couldn’t she have just said she was going to the dentist?
“Yes.”
“You must be getting along a bit now. What are you? Four, five months?”
“A little bit over five,” Miriam admitted, and Abigail nodded slowly.
“It’s difficult, having a child, being a single mum,” she said abruptly. “Not as difficult as it once was, but still.” Miriam did not reply, because once again this woman had her at a loss for words. “In my day…” Abigail began, and then trailed off, seeming not to want to finish that thought.
“I can’t be the only single mum in Thornthwaite,” Miriam ventured. “Not in this day and age.”
“You’re the only vicar’s daughter who is one,” Abigail returned, and Miriam winced. She certainly didn’t pull her punches.
“True enough,” she said, and then turned to look out the window because quite suddenly and irritatingly, she felt as if she could cry. She was a screwup; she knew that. And even worse, she was a disappointment. No matter how delighted about having a grandchild that her parents tried to be, they’d never wanted it this way—with Miriam unmarried, no father in sight or even named. The guilt she held back every day washed over her in a scalding rush. She wondered if it would ever get better; if she gave this baby up for adoption, would that feel like some sort of atonement, a way to make it better? Or would it make it worse?
They drove in silence the rest of the way to the hospital in Whitehaven, and then to Miriam’s surprise and dismay, when they pulled into the car park, Abigail got out of the car to come into the hospital with her.
“I’ll be fine…” she began, but trailed off because she saw that her driving companion was undeterred.
“This isn’t something you should go through alone,” she said briskly. “And I don’t want it on my conscience that I just left you here.”
Miriam held her tongue although she was tempted to say she was perfectly fine having it on her conscience. She hadn’t wanted her sisters to come with her, and she didn’t want this virtual stranger, either. And yet she had to acknowledge that Abigail Cribbs was being kind. Aggressively so, but still.
With a sigh of resignation, she walked into the hospital with Abigail doggedly at her side.
“I came here a year ago for gallstones,” she told her chattily. “Dreadful. You can’t begin to imagine the pain.”
“I’m sure.”
“Of course, I can’t compare it to having a baby, because I’ve never had one. They say it’s dreadful, though. Like having your insides pulled right apart.”
Lovely. “I’m planning on getting an epidural,” Miriam said, although she hadn’t actually thought about the birth that much, if at all. She was trying not to think about the baby.
She made her way to the ultrasound department, and gave her name at the desk before sitting down with a wince, because she might have had a little too much water. Her bladder felt like an overfilled balloon, ready to pop.
Abigail sat next to her and picked up a well-worn copy of Women’s Weekly. “I’ve read this one,” she said in disappointment. “It’s from 2017, can you believe?”
Yes, Miriam could. All the magazines looked like they’d been well thumbed. She gave Abigail a distracted smile and looked away. She felt a bubble of laughter rising up in her, because this was so ridiculous.
Who could have ever imagined that she’d be attending her ultrasound with a woman from church she barely knew? She imagined telling her sisters about it, but then thought she probably wouldn’t, because they’d only be hurt that she hadn’t asked them to go with her.
“I hope you’re not thinking of staying in that flat above the pub,” Abigail said abruptly, her voice cringingly carrying. “Two floors up, and all that noise and carrying on. No place to raise a baby.”
Miriam saw a few people near them give them curious and rather repressive looks. The waiting room was cloaked in a hushed silence, save for Abigail.
“Actually, I’m not staying there,” Miriam said, pitching her voice as low as she could. “I’m moving to a cottage.”
“Oh? Which one?”
She hesitated, and then decided she might as well get it over with. Everyone in Thornthwaite would know soon enough. “The annexe behind Dan Taylor’s place.”
“Dan Taylor!” Abigail leaned back in her seat, her eyes bright as two black buttons with curiosity. “Now isn’t that a turnup for the books.”
“It really isn’t.”
“He’s the one that got away, isn’t he? Although of course, really, Rachel got away. She’s with that West fellow, from the pub?”
“Er, yes.” Thornthwaite was so very small, and Miriam felt that acutely now.
“And you’ll be living with Dan?”
“I’m not living with him,” Miriam objected. She could feel her face heating and no doubt turning scarlet. “I’m renting his annexe.” She looked away, hoping to put an end to the conversation.
“Hmm.” Abigail crossed her arms. “Well, you know what they say. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. “There’s not even a wisp of either,” Miriam said tartly. “Trust me. He’s my landlord, nothing more.” And her boss and something of a friend, but she was not going to get into that now. The gossips had enough to chew over.
“Oh, I know, dear,” Abigail said, patting her knee in a friendly way. “Of course I know that. It’s just what others will say. But you know everyone means well, don’t you? Well, almost everyone.”
“Yes, I’ve been told,” Miriam answered. The trouble was, she didn’t actually believe it.
A few minutes later, her name was called, and Miriam was glad to leave Abigail Cribbs behind. Thankfully she did not attempt to accompany her into the ultrasound room.
Still, as Miriam hoisted herself on the table, adjusting paper crinkling underneath her, she half wished Abigail had come with her. All right, maybe not half, but a little bit, at least. It was hard to do this alone, and yet Miriam knew she’d be doing a lot of stuff alone…if she kept this baby, and even if she didn’t.
“You’re well?” the technician asked brightly as she settled herself in front of the ultrasound
machine. “Baby well?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“So you’re twenty-three weeks and five days,” she said, looking at her chart. “Due at the end of January.”
“Yes.”
“All right, let’s see what we can see.” With a smile the technician indicated that Miriam should pull up her shirt, which she did, still semi-surprised by the bump of baby revealed.
“This will be cold,” the technician warned, and then squirted clear gel over Miriam’s bump that was indeed quite chilly. A few seconds later she started prodding Miriam’s bump, forcefully enough to make her wince, especially with her overfull bladder. Hopefully she wouldn’t wet herself.
Then a black-and-white image appeared on the screen—an image that looked, funnily enough, like a baby. A lot more like a baby than last time, when the picture had been nothing more than a little blobby bean. This looked like one of those real-life dolls—arms, legs, head, everything. But unlike a doll, this baby was moving. Miriam watched in amazement as the baby inside her squirmed and kicked and even sucked its thumb.
“Can you feel that?” the technician asked.
“Yes, I think so.” Miriam had got used to the fluttery kicks she felt fairly often, but in her mind—and in her heart—she hadn’t attributed them to the actual squirming and kicking she now saw on the screen. Of course, she had on a purely intellectual level, but this felt different. Really different.
“So let’s take some measurements,” the technician murmured, and then fell silent as she began to measure lengths of limbs and organs. Miriam waited, her breath held, her gaze transfixed by the image of the baby. Her baby. How weird.
“So, everything looks like it’s developing nicely,” the technician said at last. “Baby is measuring well for the gestation—nearly twelve inches, and 1.3 pounds.”
Twelve inches. A foot. That seemed ridiculously long. And over a pound…practically big enough to hold. Miriam felt shaken. That was a serious baby, which was a silly thought, because of course it had been a baby before. It had been a baby all along. But it now felt far more real than it ever had before, and Miriam didn’t know how to process that information, or begin to deal with it.
