Bound by Their Babies

by Caroline Anderson

  She arranged the discharge of the gynae patient he’d talked about, went round the high-risk antenatal ward and checked that the mother with epilepsy was still stable, then checked in on the labour ward, but everyone was OK and there were no imminent problems.

  It was eerily quiet—unlike the weekend, she thought wryly, and then of course it all kicked off, and she was called to the labour ward for a woman with twins who’d insisted on a natural birth.

  ‘I’m worried,’ the midwife said, coming out into the corridor to talk to her. ‘She’s got a lot of fluid in there, and neither of the babies is head-down and engaged, so when her membranes rupture one or both cords are likely to prolapse, and I can’t talk her out of it. She just says we’re overly risk-averse and we should let her follow her instincts, but mine are screaming at me and I know more about it than she does.’

  ‘Well, I’ll happily have a go, but I’m not convinced I’ll be able to make her listen and we can’t force her to have a section.’

  ‘Unfortunately. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally pro natural birth, but my gut feeling is that this lady is going to have a very bad outcome if we don’t intervene. And we have no notes. She walked in off the street—she says she’s here on holiday but nobody in their right mind would go on holiday thirty-seven weeks pregnant with twins, so I don’t believe her and Ben Walker’s in Theatre. He’s our twin specialist but as I say, he’s busy.’

  She contemplated phoning Jake, but he was exhausted, there were the children to consider and anyway, it was her job. Except...

  ‘Let me try Ben,’ she said. ‘Stay with her, I’ll see if I can find him. What’s her chorionicity?’

  ‘Mono-chorionic, di-amniotic.’

  She nodded. ‘Well, that could be worse, at least they’re not both in the same membrane. I’ll look for Ben, you call me if there’s a problem.’

  She tracked him down as he was coming out of Theatre. ‘Can I have a word, please? It’s about a twin delivery.’

  ‘Ah. OK. Fire away.’

  She filled him in on what he knew, and he phoned his registrar, left him in charge and followed her back to the labour ward, just as Emily’s phone rang.

  ‘Right. Her membranes have ruptured, and the first twin’s a transverse lie. Luckily the cords haven’t prolapsed and the first baby’s amnion seems intact, but she wants the baby turned.’

  ‘Not a prayer,’ Ben said flatly. ‘Do you want to tell her, or would you like me to?’

  ‘I’ll do it, but I’m happy to let you explain why. She might take it better from the expert.’

  He snorted softly, but just as she’d expected, his charm and gentleness and his obvious expertise wooed the patient, and she agreed, still reluctantly, to have a section.

  ‘I so wanted a natural birth.’

  ‘I know, but there’s no way that baby’s turning, and it can’t come out sideways. There are laws of physics and that would flout most of them, but at the moment your babies are strong and well, as far as we can tell, and they’ll be fine, and there might be a way we can make it better. Have you heard of a natural or skin-to-skin Caesarean?’

  She hadn’t, but she jumped at it when he explained, and Ben turned to Emily. ‘Are you all right with me taking this or would you like to do it?’

  ‘I’d love to do it but I don’t really have time. If you do, then go for it. She’s got confidence in you. That’s all that matters. I’m not worried about my pride. I just want those babies safely delivered and I’ve got an antenatal clinic that technically started twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘Leave it with me, then. I’ll let you know how it goes.’

  She thanked him, wished the woman well and headed down to the antenatal clinic.

  Although she would have loved to be there for the twins’ delivery, she didn’t want to hand the clinic over to her registrar because Brie Owen was due in again, now thirty-one plus three weeks and hopefully still stable, and she wanted to see her, partly to be certain that everything was going well, and partly because she knew it was the first thing Jake would ask.

  * * *

  ‘How’s Brie?’

  She dropped her bag on the kitchen table, folded her arms and laughed, which confused him. He paused the sweeping, leant on the broom and frowned at her.

  ‘What? What did I say?’

  ‘Nothing. I just knew you’d ask—I nearly sent you a text, but I thought I’d wait and see how long it took for you to crack. And you stuck it out even though I’ve run really late—well done, you! And she’s fine, before you ask again.’

  She was eyeing him critically now, her head tilted slightly to one side and a tiny frown pleating her brow.

  ‘What now?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘You look exhausted. Have the children been a nightmare?’

  ‘No, they’ve been as good as gold. I’m just bushed. I didn’t sleep very well—’

  ‘What, for the whole three hours you had?

  He laughed tiredly. ‘That would be them. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving. It was all ticking along nicely, and then a visitor to the town came in off the streets in labour with twins, and she flatly refused a section, which messed up my lunch plans.’

  He frowned at her. ‘Did she need one?’

  ‘Not at first, but neither head was engaged, she was mono-chorionic, di-amniotic, and then her membranes ruptured and the first baby was a transverse lie, so I called Ben in and he talked her into it by offering her a natural Caesarean. I tell you, if I hadn’t already been late for my antenatal clinic I would have been in there like a shot, but I wanted to see Brie, and now I’m kicking myself because doing it with twins would be the icing on the cake.’

  He chuckled and went over to her and gave her a hug. ‘Chin up. There’ll be another chance. Ben’s the local guru for multiple births, and we get lots through the unit. All is not lost.’

  ‘No, I’m sure it isn’t, and I probably don’t need to be practising on twins.’ She gave a tired sigh and eased away from him. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late, I had to take someone to Theatre for a tricky perineal repair after my clinic. How long have the babies been in bed?’

  ‘Half an hour? They weren’t any trouble. Tilly was shattered and went out like a light, and Zach was asleep before I got him in his cot. I haven’t had time to cook, though. I’ve been sweeping up sand all through the house.’

  ‘Sand?’

  ‘Yes, sand. Buckets of it. We spent the afternoon on the beach and they came home plastered in it. It’s been a gorgeous day.’

  She looked out of the window at the sun, slowly dropping down the sky. ‘So I see. I totally missed that. It could have been pouring all day and I wouldn’t have noticed. Do you want me to cook?’

  ‘No, I want you to pick up the phone and order a stonking great Chinese takeaway while I finish sweeping the floor. One of those set meals for two—and some sticky ribs.’

  Em rolled her eyes at him. ‘You are such a student.’

  He leant on the broom again. ‘No, I’m not, Em, I’m just tired after the weekend from hell, and the children haven’t stopped all day, and I’m starving and knackered. That’s all. We can have real food tomorrow. I’ve done an internet order. Just don’t give me grief, please, not today?’

  Her eyes softened and she hugged him, and his insides turned to mush.

  ‘Hey, it’s fine, I’m with you all the way,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t be bothered to cook, either. What’s the number?’

  ‘I’ll find it in a minute,’ he mumbled into her shoulder. ‘Just stay there and let me hold you. I could do with a hug.’

  Except he didn’t just want a hug. He wanted much, much more, and it was getting harder and harder to deny it...

  * * *

  The rest of the week was slightly more orderly, but it was the children that she found so fascinating. They’d
really gelled, and Tilly was so good with Zach now. It was touching, but what really got to her was Thursday evening. She’d just she got back from the hospital and heard them in the bath, and when she went in Jake looked up and said, ‘Zach, Mummy’s here!’

  And Tilly beamed and said, ‘Mummy!’ and her heart turned over.

  Jake looked at her, looked back at Emily and blinked.

  ‘Did I hear that right?’

  ‘She’s telling Zach,’ she said, her heart thudding. ‘She calls me Emmy.’ But even so, just to hear it brought tears to her eyes and she had to turn away.

  ‘Em?’

  ‘I’m fine. Give me a minute. I just need to change.’

  She went into her room, shut the door and leant back against it. With the children in the bath she was safe in there. There was no way he’d leave them, and it would give her time to get herself together, and remind herself that she wasn’t Matilda’s mother, and never would be.

  Not even her stepmother, as things stood. They had an informal arrangement, and she was just in loco parentis when Jake wasn’t around, as he was with Zach, but she’d been letting herself live in a little bubble of loveliness, pretending it was all going along so well when all the time she wanted more.

  Much more.

  She wanted Matilda to have the security, the confidence, the right to call her Mummy—although that should properly be reserved for Jo, but where was Jo? Had she forfeited that privilege? Could you ever forfeit the right to your child? What if she came back and took Matilda away again? It would kill Jake, she knew it would, and it would mean everything they’d done was for nothing.

  She could hear Zach shrieking with laughter. Jake was probably tickling him or blowing bubbles on his tummy or some such silliness.

  He called him Dada now, all the time.

  Her eyes flicked across the room and landed on the photos of Pete. Pete when he was well, Pete when he was dying. And those eyes, the eyes he’d given his son, stared back at her solemnly.

  What would he make of this, their odd little family formed out of necessity and mutual support?

  ‘Oh, Pete. What do I do? Where do we go from here?’

  There was no reply. Of course there was no reply.

  She took off her work clothes, threw them in the laundry bin in the corner and pulled on her jeans, then went back to join in the fun.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A LETTER FROM the solicitor came on Friday, in a big, fat envelope addressed to both of them.

  She put it on the table in the kitchen dining room, the centre, or so it seemed, of negotiations over their ‘arrangement’, and it haunted her all day.

  What did it say? She had no idea, but she didn’t feel it was right to open it without Jake. And of course, he was late.

  He was often late, and so was she, which simply underlined how critical their arrangement was, how important their give and take and mutual commitment was to keeping this whole complicated thing afloat.

  If they weren’t living together, it simply wouldn’t work, but did it need more than that? More security, more certainty, more guarantees?

  Because there were no guarantees on life itself, she knew that from bitter experience.

  She made supper, a creamy fish pie topped with root vegetable mash, with a rainbow of freshly prepped veg ready to go in the steamer, and she waited.

  The hands on the clock crawled round, and finally she heard his key in the lock and went to meet him.

  ‘Hi. You OK?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sorry, I should have rung you but I haven’t had a second. I had to go down to the ED. A pregnant woman was involved in an RTC, and she went into a coma and I had to do an emergency section. I’ve only just got away.’

  ‘Oh, Jake, that’s awful. How is she? And how about the baby? Is it alive?’

  He nodded, but his eyes were strained. ‘Yes, they both are, just about, but it’s not great. I had to do it in the ED because she was crashing, so he’s in NICU now, and she’s in ITU on life support but it’s not looking good, and all because a drunk driver shot the lights. Her partner was driving and he’s absolutely distraught, but there was nothing he could have done. It’s just tragic.’

  ‘Oh, Jake.’

  She put her arms round him and hugged him, and he rested his head against hers and held her tight for a minute before dragging in a breath and dropping his arms.

  ‘Something smells good.’

  ‘Fish pie. It’s ready to go. Go and wash your hands and I’ll cook the veg.’

  * * *

  ‘So, what’s this?’

  ‘It’s from the solicitor. I haven’t opened it.’

  He slit the flap open with his finger, pulled out the stack of paper and she sat down beside him down to read through it.

  It outlined the legal position of married and unmarried cohabiting couples, and also described a ‘living together agreement’ which could apply in their case, but it seemed incredibly complicated and unwieldy and didn’t really move them a great deal further forward.

  The main things that came out of it were that they weren’t legally next of kin if they weren’t married, and although Jake had been granted parental responsibility for Matilda as soon as she was born, there was no way Emily could become Matilda’s legal guardian in the event of Jake’s death without Jo’s consent as long as she was alive, although apparently more than two people could have parental responsibility, so she could always apply, although it might not be granted. She couldn’t, however, adopt Tilly if Jake died unless Jo could be found, although he could, of course, adopt Zach if Emily agreed.

  ‘Did you follow any of that?’ he asked, and she shook her head.

  ‘Not entirely,’ she admitted, so they read it again, but it didn’t get any better once they’d fathomed the ins and outs.

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to make sure we don’t die,’ Jake said with a shaky laugh, pushing the stack of papers away.

  ‘Or we could get married.’

  Her words hung in the air, and he let the silence stretch until her nerves were at breaking point.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Absolutely. It means we don’t need a living-together agreement, which might overlook something that happened down the line that we hadn’t thought about, and it means as my spouse you’d have parental responsibility for Zach so his future would be secured, and I could apply for parental responsibility for Tilly. If we’re married, they’re more likely to consider that.’

  He closed his eyes briefly, then looked up at her again, his gaze sober and searching.

  ‘You seriously want us to get married?’

  ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘We’re already living together, sharing the house, sharing the job, sharing the childcare—why not? It needn’t change anything, it just makes it a more legally binding, formal arrangement, gives you parental responsibility for Zach and would tie us more firmly together as a family. And it’s not as if there’s anybody else in the pipeline for either of us.’

  She reached out and took his hand, gripping it firmly. ‘Jake, Matilda called me Mummy again today, and I didn’t know what to say to her, but Zach calls you Dada all the time and he needs a father, and Pete can’t be here for him—’

  Her eyes welled, and Jake freed his hand and got up and walked away.

  ‘That’s emotional blackmail, Emily.’

  She leapt to her feet and followed him, getting in front of him so he had to look at her.

  ‘No! No, it’s not, it’s the truth! Pete died, Jake! It happens. Look at your lady in ITU, with her baby in NICU and a partner in bits! It happens, it happens all the time. You can’t legislate against it, you can’t change it or avoid it, all you can do is mitigate its effect. And that’s all I want to do. It doesn’t have to change anything.’

  ‘Of course it would change things.’
r />   ‘Why? Why does it have to? It’s a legal arrangement, nothing more, and it can last as long as necessary.’

  He turned away again. ‘So—you’re suggesting we just carry on as we are?’

  Was she? It wasn’t what she wanted, but if that was what it took to secure her child’s future, then yes. ‘Why not?’ she asked again. ‘It’s working for us, isn’t it? And, more importantly, working for the children, and that’s what matters most. It would just make it better. At least think about it, Jake.’

  He propped his hands on the edge of the sink and stared out of the window, and she waited while the silence stretched on and on.

  The sky was streaked with gold, the sun all but gone, and as they stood there the colours turned from gold to purple to grey as the last of the daylight faded.

  And then he turned and looked at her, his eyes shadowed so she couldn’t read them.

  ‘OK,’ he said, and for a moment her heart leapt, but then he went on, ‘I’ll think about it. I’m not making any promises, but I will think about it.’

  * * *

  It was all he thought about for the next several days.

  All weekend, with Zach crawling all over him and kissing his face and calling him ‘Dada’, his chubby little face lighting up if Jake went into the room. Tilly calling Em alternately ‘Emmy’ or ‘Mummy’, almost as if Jo had been wiped from her memory.

  Was that a good thing? He hadn’t heard a dickybird from her in all the weeks she’d been gone, and that was worrying. He only had parental responsibility for Matilda because he’d made sure of that when she’d been born. He’d had to, because they weren’t married, and it was the first thing he did after registering her birth and making sure his name was on her birth certificate, but Emily would have no say if he died.

  She could apply to have parental responsibility, although Jo’s agreement would be hard to secure given she seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth, and obviously that application would have more weight if they were married, but was that a good enough reason to do this?

  Of course it was, he realised heavily. He owed it to Tilly to make sure she was safe, and nothing was more important to him than that.