by Helen Brooks
'I'm okay, this is perfectly natural.' She managed a fairly normal smile. 'You clear the drive so we can get out onto the main road; there's plenty of time.' Please, God, let there be plenty of time, she added in silent supplication.
'Sit in the car.' His voice was shaking but his face was Zac's again, and once he had established her in the front seat, draped in a blanket, she watched him clearing the drive like a man possessed as shovels of snow went in all directions.
The next contraction hit after only four minutes, and it took all Victoria's will-power to sit quietly and do her breathing exercises, rather than opening the car door and yelling for him to be quick. She was frightened and she wanted the safe, reassuring solidity of the hospital more than she would have thought possible.
Once they were on the road, the windscreen-wipers launder the inordinate volume of soft, exquisitely beautiful crystals that had suddenly become such an enemy, they travelled at a snail's pace through the choked streets of the capital, passing other intrepid Londoners who were determined to do battle with the elements. Stranded cars were everywhere, although the roads became a little better as they neared the hospital.
'A little bit of snow and England stops.' Zac was directing his fear and anxiety at the weather, scowling ferociously at the vista beyond the windscreen, and suddenly Victoria saw the funny side of it Needless to say she was between pains.
'This will be one to tell the grandchildren.' They were only a couple of streets away now and everything was all right again. 'Of course we could cap it by my giving birth here in the car. That would make a really good story, don't you think?'
'Don't.' It was weak but he managed a grin—he could see the lights of the hospital and he'd carry her from here if he had to.
Once Zac had pulled up outside the maternity wing he insisted, much to Victoria's mortification, on fetching a wheelchair and wheeling her into the warm, antiseptic surrounds with the sort of ceremony normally accorded to royalty. She felt utterly ridiculous, but then another contraction gripped her—they were coming every three minutes now—and she couldn't have cared less if she had been on a handcart.
Once the hospital machine took over it went like clockwork, and within minutes Victoria was established in a fairly innocuous delivery room, with a gowned Zac at the side of her—she was sure he was the only man in the world who could wear such a garment and still look devastating—and a plump, motherly midwife peering between her legs and beaming happily.
'You have been busy, Mrs Harding.' The soft Irish brogue was full of approval, and Victoria and Zac exchanged a weak grin. 'Not long to go now,' she added reassuringly. 'You're doing fine.'
'Not long' was relative. At the end of another three hours Victoria was ready to take a vow of celibacy, but then, just when she had decided enough was enough and with the next pain she was going to bellow like the woman next door, who had deafened them all with her trumpetings for the last hour, she knew she wanted to push. She'd never felt so glad about anything in her life.
Zac wouldn't have believed the strength in Victoria's grasp if he hadn't felt it as she gripped his hand, but in view of the pain she had gone through he felt his crushed fingers were the least he could do. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, Victoria most of all, and he was finding the deeply rooted fear and panic—hitherto barely acknowledged even by himself, but which had been with him since he was ten years old and felt his world fall apart—were swallowed up by the sheer wonder of what was unfolding in front of him.
At ten minutes past nine everything seemed to happen very quickly. Victoria gave one last enormous push, and instead of the slow sliding out Zac had expected his son shot out into the world with all the force of a true Harding. And he was huge. Big hands, big feet, and with a shock of curly black hair that made him look weeks old instead of newborn as he peered up at his father with dark eyes and a surprised expression.
'It's a boy, Tory.' There was a note in Zac's voice that caused the midwife—blasé as she was by now—to blink away the tears and swallow hard as she cut the cord and wrapped the baby in a blanket, handing him to Victoria just as he was with the smears of birth still on him, and his damp hair in tight little curls.
'Hello, Sweet-pea.' As Victoria stared down into the tiny, screwed-up face that nevertheless looked ridiculously like Zac's, the baby blinked and yawned widely, looking back at her with something approaching astonishment as though to say, How on earth did I get here and don't I know you?
And then Zac held him, reducing Victoria to tears, before a nurse weighed and checked him while the midwife saw to Victoria.
'He's a ten-pounder.' The nurse was young and sounded quite awestricken as she looked at Victoria's slight frame. 'Ten pounds, three ounces, and he's twenty-three inches long.'
'And Mum doesn't need a single stitch, not one,' the midwife said approvingly. She obviously considered that Victoria was her star pupil. 'You're made for child-bearing inside, love.'
'Am I?' Victoria was inordinately pleased.
'What are you going to call him?' the nurse asked enquiringly as she wrote a tiny label to be attached to the baby's ankle.
'James Zachary.' Victoria smiled at Zac as she spoke. James had been her father's name and one of the possibles for a boy, although they hadn't finally decided. But it seemed right now.
And then James Zachary was in Victoria's arms again and the hospital staff bustled away with promises of returning in a few minutes with two cups of tea.
'He's beautiful, Tory.' Zac was sitting on the bed with his arm cradling Victoria as his other hand stroked the tiny face. 'Thank you, my love. Thank you.'
'I love you.' Victoria smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes. 'I love you so much.' And there was no reservation left, no fear, just a love that soared into the heavens and anticipated the years ahead with pure joy. They would create their own family, she and Zac, she thought jubilantly. A family where their children would always know they were loved and wanted, precious products of their parents' deep love.
'And I love you,' Zac returned huskily, looking at the perfect picture his wife and son made and wondering if any man had ever felt as blessed as he did, and also if it was quite right for him to be feeling such consuming desire for Victoria right at that moment.
He bent his dark head and kissed her, and Victoria kissed him back passionately, their son cradled between them. They had wasted enough time with their legacies from the past, Victoria thought fleetingly. She was free from her self-doubts and fears now, and with love and understanding she would teach Zac he didn't have to try and make it on his own any more—that he could share everything with her because she was the other part of him, his soulmate. And she knew he would embrace the concept whole-heartedly; already, over the past few weeks, he had talked to her and communicated his innermost thoughts like never before. The future was theirs, theirs, and it was going to be glorious.
And when the door opened a few minutes later, and the nurse's bright voice said, 'Here's that tea to perk you up,' neither of them heard her.
