by Jenny Colgan
But life wasn’t like that at all. Things festered for years. Things that ought to be gotten over never were. Bitterness became a defining characteristic of people’s lives. And she could see it happening. It had happened to her mother. It might happen to Kerensa and that little baby. And she understood why, at the end, her father had tried to make sure that it didn’t happen to him.
She wasn’t going to go through the same thing. She and Huckle had been so happy together. Could they get it back? Could they make it right?
She turned on the radio, which was playing jaunty Christmas music intercut with ominous snow warnings and suggestions that you not travel unless it was absolutely necessary. Polly ignored these. The A road was fine, the trails of the many cars in front of her making it easy to follow. She was not looking forward to the turnoff, though. The snow hadn’t been forecast, so the gritters wouldn’t have had a chance to get out. The problem was, unless she found a hotel before the turnoff—which she didn’t have the money for—there was absolutely nothing between there and Mount Polbearne. If she did turn off, she was stuffed.
Her thoughts drifted to Huckle. What was he doing? What on earth was he thinking? Whatever else happened, she had to get home.
As the exit loomed, several things happened very quickly.
Lost in her thoughts, Polly had to indicate in a fluster. A huge truck behind her honked menacingly, which startled her, just as her telephone rang. As the van twisted toward the exit ramp, a tiny rabbit flashed out from the undergrowth and straight across her path; she caught a glimpse of the little pawprints in the fresh snow. Nan struggled to get purchase on the road, failed, lurched forward and headed straight down the hill toward the road at the bottom, which was thankfully empty, shooting straight across it and coming to rest, rocking menacingly, in the snowdrift that had already started to build on the opposite verge, just out of reach of the oncoming traffic.
Polly didn’t realize she was screaming, nor that she had somehow in her panic pressed the answer button on her phone.
“It’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right!” she heard a desperate voice saying on the other end of the line. “It’s all right! It’s going to be—”
“GAAAAA!”
“Polly! Polly! Are you there? What is it? What is it?”
Polly desperately tried to catch her breath, but it came in tearing sobs. The voice became more alarmed.
“Polly? Polly, what is it? What’s happened?”
Finally she found the breath to speak, a great ripped-out gasp.
“Hu . . . Huckle?”
“Yes. What happened? What’s the matter? It wasn’t because of me, was it? You haven’t done anything stupid? Please tell me you’re okay!”
Polly blinked and looked around. Nan the Van appeared to be slowly sinking sideways into the snowdrift.
“Nan . . . the van came off the road,” she whispered. “We’re off the road. We’re . . . I don’t know where . . .”
“Oh my God,” said Huckle. “Oh God. Are you all right? I told you to check the tires.”
“You told me to check the tires?!” exclaimed Polly. “I just nearly died in a horrible accident and you’re making sure that I know it was my own fault?”
“No, no. Sorry. I’m sorry. You gave me such a fright . . . At first I thought you’d heard the news and were just upset about it—God knows we’re all upset, so it could have been that, could have been anything . . . Jesus. Are you all right?”
“I think so,” said Polly, trying to breathe out through her nose like she’d read somewhere, even though it felt weird. “I think I might be slightly stuck.” She paused, trying to think straight. “Where are you?”
“Didn’t you get the news?”
“The news that you’re back?”
“No, the news from the hospital.”
“What news? What’s happening?”
“It’s the baby,” said Huckle.
Polly didn’t say anything.
“What?” she said finally. “What? What’s happened with the baby? You didn’t . . .”
“Of course not,” said Huckle crossly. “No. No. The doctor came and looked at the baby . . . I was just leaving, and calling to find out if you knew. Apparently there’s something wrong with it.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was as if a bell were tolling deep inside Polly’s soul. Everything else fell away; all the little petty things, all the worries and concerns and jealousies and getting-bys, they all left, immediately, to be replaced by her deepest, darkest fears.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Are you coming? It’s filthy out here.”
The snow was falling more heavily than ever.
“Of course.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know. I think Kerensa was trying to get you. She sounded hysterical.”
Polly blinked. Oh God.
“Are you really stuck?” said Huckle.
“Yes,” said Polly. “And there’s nobody on the road. Nobody on the road at all.”
“Well, you’ll need me then, won’t you? To pull you out.”
“Can the motorbike do that?” said Polly sceptically.
“EXCUSE ME,” said Huckle. “Don’t diss the bike when you’re upside down in a ditch.”
Polly turned up the heating, but it didn’t make a lot of difference.
“Hurry up,” she said, meaning it. “Hurry up. I need you, Huckle.”
Over an hour later, Polly was still sitting stock still, too scared to try and get out of the van, even as she could feel the snow piling up around her; too petrified with fear. She had tried to call Kerensa but couldn’t get through, and Reuben’s number just went to voicemail.
But the baby had been perfect. Utterly perfect. She’d seen him; held him. Everything had been fine.
She thought again. Babies could have fits; or the doctors could have done all those tests and come back with something awful. Cystic fibrosis or spina bifida or any of those terrible, terrible things that haunted parents’ worst nightmares.
She was trapped in a cycle of desperate fear, huddling deeper and deeper into her coat, wondering where on earth Huckle was—it shouldn’t be taking him this long. There was only one exit to Mount Polbearne. Had he tried to get that bloody motorbike over the causeway? Had he just skidded off into the water, lost to the sea, like so many boats around the ragged Cornish coastline, so many men beneath the waves in high winds and weather?
A fragment of an old song about a shipwreck came to her, “And many was the fine feather beds floating on the foam/And many was the little lords’ sons who never did come home.”
Where was he? Where was she? The road was quiet: the occasional passing lights of a traveler trundled on through the darkening afternoon and the whirling flakes, but they didn’t stop.
She huddled deeper in her seat. Perhaps everything was over now, everything was done, and there was nothing to do but stay here. Everything had gone wrong and she’d lost the only thing she’d ever wanted and . . .
TAP TAP TAP!
Polly realized she was sinking into a stupor; that she was half asleep. She didn’t know where the noise was coming from.
TAP TAP TAP!
She glanced around blearily. Something or someone was tapping on the window. Was it a tree? Where was she?
She leaned over and wound down the window. There, hovering outside, beating his little wings frantically, was Neil. He eeped furiously at her.
“Neil!” said Polly, feeling a stupid smile spread across her face. Why did she feel so weird?
“Polly!” came a voice, and charging up behind Neil was a headlamp, and behind that was Huckle’s face. Polly stared at him woozily.
“I thought you were dead,” she said, smiling at him in a funny way.
Huckle wrenched open the van door and pulled her out, shoving her unceremoniously on to the ground. The shock of the cold air felt like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her head. She coughed and
choked on the freezing snow bank.
“Oh my God!” Huckle was saying. “The stink in there! There’s some gas feeding back; you must have bumped something when you came to rest. Oh my God, Polly! You could have poisoned yourself! You can’t . . . I can’t believe . . . It’s a deathtrap, that van! Everyone’s been telling you that!”
Polly shook her head.
“Didn’t you feel weird? Woozy?”
“Yes,” said Polly, frowning. “It felt nice.”
“Oh God,” said Huckle, pulling her to him, then letting her go again as she suddenly had to turn away and vomit into the snow. He handed her some water.
“Jesus, Polly.” He was almost as white as she was. “JESUS. Shit. When did everything go so wrong?”
Polly shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said tearfully. “I don’t know. I wish I did so I could go back and fix it.”
“You didn’t do anything,” said Huckle, holding her. “It’s not your fault, my darling. It’s not your fault. Oh my God, you’re shivering.”
Huckle flagged down a car, finally, and a very kind lady called Maggie let Polly sit in it whilst he rigged up the motorbike to pull Nan the Van out of the snowdrift. He parked her up carefully by the side of the road, with all the windows open, then thanked the woman.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“We have to get to the hospital in Plymouth,” Huckle explained.
“In that thing?” she said, indicating the motorbike. She was a teacher, of the very nicest sort, and had a way of telling you what to do without beating around the bush. “Don’t be ridiculous. Get in the car. I’ll take you.”
“It’s a Mini,” said Huckle. “I’m not sure it’ll do much better than—”
“Get in,” she said.
Neil flew in and sat on Polly’s lap. Maggie stared at him for a bit.
“Ah,” said Huckle.
“Is he going to poo in the car?” she asked, as they took to the cleared, gritted A road.
“Can’t promise he won’t,” said Huckle, grinning apologetically, and luckily, it turned out that Maggie had a soft spot for smiling young men.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Polly wanted to run straight to the private wing, but Huckle stopped and made her drink a strong coffee from the vending machine. Then he looked into her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Apart from the nine weird things that have happened today,” said Polly. She gave herself a quick internal check. “I think I am,” she said. She looked up at him. “Oh my, I must be the most bedraggled mess.”
“If you’re thinking that, you must be on the mend,” said Huckle.
“That’s obviously a yes, then,” said Polly, feeling her damp hair in dismay.
Huckle took her in his arms.
“Oh Polly Waterford,” he said. “You are lovely to me in every way.”
“I just threw up,” said Polly.
“Yeah, okay, forget about that bit,” said Huckle. “Because I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m trying to say to you.”
“That you aren’t going to leave me any more because of not telling you about Kerensa?”
Huckle shook his head.
“I wasn’t ever going to leave you,” he said. “It’s just . . . you know. I’ve been cheated on in the past, and it was so hard. It hurt so much. And I thought I knew you so well, and I panicked. But you can’t . . . you can’t ever know another person. Not through and through. People have their reasons for things. And you can choose to love them for who they are, and, well, that’s the deal. That’s how it is. I understand why you did what you did. I’d rather you hadn’t . . . No. I wish the entire thing hadn’t happened.”
Polly nodded.
“But I can live with it. I can.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and let out an enormous juddering sigh.
“I love you so much,” she said.
“We’re going to have to love each other,” said Huckle soberly. “Because we have to be there for Reuben and Kerensa. When they need us. Which I think starts now.”
Holding hands, and dreading what they were about to discover, they moved toward the lift, both of them trying not to dwell on the worst. That beautiful, innocent little baby. That something could be wrong with him, that something could have happened . . . it was horrifying. So unfair. So wrong, that a baby could be born to pain.
The lift took forever to arrive. Up in the private wing, the great displays of winter flowers in the corridors seemed to mock them, as did the balloons and gift baskets outside Kerensa’s door.
Polly and Huckle glanced at one another, squeezed hands tightly, and knocked.
Inside the room, things were eerily quiet. In fact, given that the room contained Reuben, Kerensa, Jackie, Merv, Rhonda and a brand-new baby, things were utterly, bizarrely quiet.
“Hey,” whispered Polly. “We came as soon as we could.”
“Any trouble getting here?” asked Merv, who was staring out at the heavy snowfall still coming down over the garden.
“Neh,” said Polly, deciding that now was not the time to explain. She turned toward the bed. The baby was lying peacefully asleep in his bassinet. Kerensa, white-faced, didn’t meet her eyes.
Reuben was pacing up and down.
“Well,” he said to Polly and Huckle. “Now you know.”
Polly went cold.
“Yup, now it’s out. Now I’m going to be a laughingstock all over the world. Oh good. People laughing at Reuben Finkel. It doesn’t matter how much money I have or how well I do, I just can’t get away from it, can I, Pa?”
He spat the last part bitterly.
“C’mon now, Reuben,” said Merv, but Reuben shook him off.
“It’s your fault,” he said.
“It’s nobody’s fault,” said Merv. “Seriously, son.”
Polly was frozen to the spot. This wasn’t going to be nice.
“All I wanted was for my son to be perfect. Is that too much to ask?”
Polly stared desperately at Kerensa. This couldn’t be all about Reuben, surely. He couldn’t just go on and on like this. There was a baby to think of. A mother to think of.
And then Kerensa did the most surprising thing.
She winked at Polly.
At first Polly thought—she was still feeling a little bleary—that she might have imagined it. But no. It was definitely there.
And was that a little color stealing back into Kerensa’s face?
Huckle grasped the nettle.
“Reuben, what’s up? What’s wrong with little Herschel?”
“Um,” said Kerensa. “Actually I think you’ll find that’s not his name.”
Huckle ignored her and stepped forward. “What is it, bro?”
Reuben looked up at him.
“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Seriously, dude. I can’t believe it.”
“What?”
A nurse bustled in.
“Oh look at you all,” she said. “Listen, there’s lots that can be done, okay?”
“Can you . . . show them?” said Reuben.
“Reuben,” said Merv. “Is this necessary?”
“Yeah,” said Reuben. “Yeah, it is.”
Polly’s teeth were chattering. Actually chattering out loud.
The nurse shrugged and picked up the baby like he was a little football. To Polly’s eyes she handled him quite roughly, but then she herself was hardly versed in picking up brand-new infants. She’d have to assume the woman knew what she was doing.
She unwrapped his swaddling, then his fresh organic cotton babygro. The baby didn’t like that at all and started bawling lustily. His hair really was very dark.
His nappy looked ridiculously large on the tiny form. Polly had never seen such a new baby naked; she hadn’t realized they were like tadpoles really, all head, with kind of little flippery arms and legs.
“Okay,” said the nurse. “Well, here it is.”
Polly was gripping Huckle’s
hand so hard it was going white. They peered over.
Right across the baby’s tiny bottom was a bright streak of red; a huge strawberry mark that made him look as if he’d been spanked.
Polly’s hand shot to her mouth, and for just a second she was unutterably terrified that she might laugh.
“A birthmark?” said Huckle, astonished. “You called us out here because you’re worried about a birthmark?”
“Yeah,” said Reuben. “Not just any old birthmark, though. A huge, ass-obliterating satellite of a birthmark! Just like I had and my dad has. Thanks, Pa!”
“You should have told Kerensa!” said Merv, his hand drifting behind his back. “I told Rhonda!”
“No, Ma found it!” said Reuben. “They couldn’t get rid of them in those days.” He turned to Kerensa, whose hand was also over her mouth. “Aw, honey, I’m so sorry. I had mine lasered off when I got my legal emancipation. So I’m not a fricking lizard skin like Pops. You’ve been awesome about this,” he added tenderly.
Kerensa couldn’t do anything except wave her free hand about. She was half smiling, half crying, as was Polly.
“It’s nothing!” scolded the nurse. “You have to stop getting your knickers in a twist about it. He’s a lovely healthy baby.”
“Why didn’t it show up on the scan?” asked Huckle, probably more crossly than he intended.
“Well it wouldn’t. Plus he’s a very wriggly baby,” said the nurse. “I wonder who he gets that from.”
Reuben stopped fidgeting with his phone long enough to look up.
“Huh?” he said. “Yeah, whatever.”
The nurse expertly rebuttoned the baby into his babygro and swaddled him so tightly he couldn’t move. Polly thought he would hate it, but in fact the little body relaxed and turned into a parcel, and the nurse handed him straight back to Kerensa, who took him cheerfully and snuggled him right up the front of her nightie, as if she was a kangaroo and he her joey.
They didn’t say anything in the lift. They didn’t say anything to each other in the long hallway, quiet now with as many beds as possible empty so people could be with their families for Christmas; plus it was late, after the normal visiting hours that applied to the rest of the hospital. This was just them.
