by Fern Britton
Mickey shone his innocent smile at Jesse. ‘I’m so happy. I can’t believe that Loveday is actually going to marry me and that we have a baby on the way. This is the best day of my life.’
*
Outside, in the chilly anteroom, where brides could gather with their flotilla of bridesmaids and attendants, Loveday was taking deep breaths. Greer was rummaging in her bag for some Rescue Remedy.
‘Here,’ she said, holding up the small brown bottle and opening it to reveal the glass pipette. ‘Three drops under the tongue. Open wide.’
Loveday did as she was told and Greer dripped in the recommended amount, with another couple of drops for luck.
Loveday grimaced. ‘That’s bleddy brandy!’
‘It’s needed to preserve the delicate flower essences.’
‘We’re not supposed to drink, with the babies and all.’
‘This is medicinal. How are you feeling?’
‘A bit better. How do I look?’
Greer gave Loveday an inspection from head to toe and back again. The charity shop wedding dress was in good condition, but clearly bought at the height of the mania to imitate Princess Diana. Oddly enough it suited Loveday, who had the bust to fill it.
‘Have you lost weight?’ asked Greer who, in spite of being careful with what she was eating, had put on four pounds.
‘I have. I think it’s all that sickness.’
‘How much have you lost?’
‘About ten pounds.’
‘Well,’ Greer smiled thinly, ‘it suits you.’ Then, knowing that had sounded mean she added, ‘You look very nice. Very nice indeed.’
Loveday beamed. ‘Thank you. You look amazing in that dress too.’
‘Thank you. Can you see my bump? I feel huge.’ Greer stood sideways to let Loveday get a proper view.
‘No. But your bosoms are blossoming!’ Loveday gave an earthy laugh.
Greer pulled at the top of her stylish shift dress. ‘Oh God. I’m hoping they don’t droop.’
Loveday hoiked up her own breasts with gusto. ‘Mine were drooping when I was born.’
There was a knock at the door. The assistant registrar, a middle-aged man wearing glasses, popped his head round the door. ‘We are ready for the bride.’
Greer collected up her tiny clutch bag and a box of confetti and held out her hand to Loveday.
‘Are you ready to become Mrs Chandler, Miss Carter?’ she said before adding, ‘It’s not too late to say no, you know. In my capacity as best woman, it’s my duty to ask you.’
Loveday looked at her closest friend. So many people found Greer to be a bit cold, rather too pleased with herself and – to be frank – a snob, but Loveday knew Greer had a good heart and she felt such guilt that she could have betrayed her as she had. She had chosen Greer to give her away as a way of exorcising that night with Jesse and of consolidating their friendship again. She reached for Greer’s hand. ‘Bless you for taking my dad’s place and giving me away. Mum’s really chuffed too.’ This wasn’t true. Loveday’s mother had wanted to give her daughter away herself, but had deferred to Loveday’s wishes.
‘My pleasure,’ smiled Greer, swelling with importance. ‘Now pick up that bouquet and go get your man.’
*
The two women walked hand in hand down the short aisle. There were oohs and aahs from the small congregation as they pulled unruly toddlers onto laps and fished for tissues in their pockets. Loveday was well loved in Trevay and they were thrilled that she was marrying the man who adored her. This was true romance. A budget shotgun wedding with heart and a guaranteed happy ending.
Mickey gulped with emotion as he saw his bride in all her lacy finery. Loveday’s mother leant out into the aisle with a disposable camera and took two shots, winding each one on carefully, before starting to sniffle. Jesse stared straight ahead until Greer, who had delivered Loveday to Mickey’s side, slipped in next to him. She reached for his hand. He took hers as a drowning man would grasp at a life raft.
The registrar started. ‘Welcome, everybody, to the marriage of Michael and Loveday.’
Loveday took her vows and meant them. She was determined to do her best by Mickey and be the best wife to him that she could, no matter what had gone before.
*
The reception was a boozy, smoke-filled affair at the Golden Hind. As best man, Jesse had put plenty of money behind the bar as his wedding present to the couple. The buffet table was groaning under pasties and sausage rolls, and a good time was had by all.
Jesse’s speech was well judged, if short, and everyone agreed the day couldn’t have gone more smoothly. At least that was until the time for the reading of the telegrams.
Jesse had had a couple of pints and was relaxing. His best friend was married. Loveday was expecting her husband’s baby, and Greer was expecting his. The sky was not going to fall in, after all.
There were four telegrams. One from Mickey’s godmother, who now lived in New Zealand, and two from old friends of Loveday’s mother. It was the final one that struck like a sniper’s bullet. He started reading it before he’d checked who it was from. It was from his brother, Grant. 42 Commando had been deployed to Northern Iraq to ensure the security of Kurdish refugees. Somehow, Grant had managed to get a telegram out. It said: CONGRATULATIONS STOP HOPE THE BABY DOESN’T LOOK LIKE HIS DADDY STOP DRINKS WHEN I GET HOME STOP REGARDS BIG G STOP
Jesse couldn’t help flicking his eyes towards Loveday, who looked as if she might faint. Did Grant know what they had done? Why had he put that?
Mickey was on his – unsteady – feet now and was clapping Jesse on the back. ‘Typical of your fucking brother. What a wind-up merchant.’ Mickey was laughing and so was the rest of the pub. Jesse laughed nervously and again looked over at Loveday, who had been collared by a tipsy auntie. Jesse did the only thing he could think of and hauled Mickey to the bar to get smashed.
18
The following months were kind to Mickey and Loveday. Her mum welcomed the newlyweds into her tiny cottage and Mickey got a pay rise on the boat. He’d also started an apprenticeship to be the ship’s mechanic and was away at sea a lot, but the fishing was good and now that the Behenna and Clovelly Fish Company was established, the prices at market were steady.
Loveday worked shifts at the bakery where she’d been a Saturday girl since she was at school. She liked the work and the banter between her colleagues and customers. She also liked the fact that her pregnancy had driven her hunger for pasties and sausage rolls right out of the door. Her weight was dropping and her midwife was pleased.
‘Good girl. That’s another two pounds off.’ Loveday was worried.
‘Will the baby be OK?’
‘Baby is fine. Growing well. Don’t worry, just keep listening to your body and eating healthily.’
Loveday stepped back into her shoes. ‘It’s funny ’cos before I was pregnant I craved chips and chocolate; now I crave salad and fish.’
The midwife was writing in her records book and laughed. ‘You’ll make my other ladies jealous. Just promise me you’re not going on any fad diets.’
‘Oh, I promise. My mum and Mickey would never let me. Mickey worries more than I do.’
The midwife handed Loveday her records card and said, ‘I wish all dads were the same. See you in four weeks.’
*
If everything was going well for Loveday, things were not as easy for Greer. Her first three months were marred by extreme exhaustion and a chest infection. The second three months by heartburn and headaches. Also, she was putting weight on; she’d noticed her wedding ring feeling tighter on her finger.
During a routine visit to the antenatal clinic, in her twenty-seventh week, the midwife looked concerned. ‘Greer, your blood pressure is a bit too high for my liking. You need to rest more. In fact, I am telling you to get as much rest as you can.’
Greer shifted her bulk on the uncomfortable plastic chair and felt tears burning her eyes. ‘I’m so huge. I need to take exercise
, don’t I?’
‘It depends what sort of exercise.’
‘A little walk.’
‘How little is little?’
‘I go up the hill to The Pavilions and along the cliffs to Shellsand Bay.’
‘Absolutely not. That’s a good forty-minute round trip!’
‘But I’m getting so fat.’
‘Let’s weigh you.’
The scales registered a considerable weight gain since the last visit.
The midwife smiled a poker-face smile. ‘Let’s get a urine sample done and I’ll get Mr Cunningham in to see you. You’re lucky he’s got his clinic here this morning.’
Greer went to the Ladies and duly peed into the small plastic tube. Her arm was only just long enough to get round her bump and to the required position. Naturally the first try splashed on her hand and onto the outside of the pot. ‘Oh shit shit shit,’ she said to the cubicle walls. ‘Just what I bloody well needed.’ Eventually the pot was filled and the lid screwed down. She just about managed to get her knickers up with her one dry hand and then washed the pot and her hands under hot water with lots of soap.
In the mirror above the sink she hardly recognised the pale and bloated face staring back at her.
The midwife took the pot and said nothing about the damp label. ‘Mr Cunningham will pop in in a moment. Would you like a cup of tea?’
Greer was grateful for the kindness and accepted the tea without any sense that she should have warning bells ringing.
She was quietly enjoying her hot drink when there was a sharp knock on the door.
‘Hello, Mrs Behenna.’ A tall handsome man of about fifty entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him. Mr Cunningham was a consultant gynaecologist of extreme experience and fame among the women of the area. He had a suntanned face and wore a well-tailored navy-blue suit, both of which said, ‘I’m a professional. You are in good hands.’ Greer felt safe. ‘Hello, Mr Cunningham. I wasn’t expecting to see you until nearer the delivery.’
‘Ah, yes, but Midwife Yvonne is rather worried about you.’ He pulled a chair out and sat opposite her, taking her hands into his. He carefully pressed her finger joints and gave a gentle tug of her wedding ring. ‘Have you noticed your wedding band getting a little tight?’
‘Yes. I’m getting so fat.’
He let go of her hands and asked to see her ankles. ‘They look a bit swollen too.’
‘Horrible, aren’t they?’ She felt deeply unattractive.
The midwife entered with the results of the urine test and handed them to Mr Cunningham. ‘Thank you, Yvonne. Now let me see … Protein is present. Tell me, Mrs Behenna, how are you feeling generally? A bit grotty?’
‘A bit. I’m just tired, I think.’
Mr Cunningham thought for a moment then said, ‘Yvonne, help Mrs Behenna up onto the couch. I just want to check on baby.’
Mr Cunningham examined her thoroughly. He listened to the baby’s heartbeat and measured the size of her bump. When he had finished, he offered a strong arm to help her sit up and step off the couch. ‘Come and sit down and I’ll explain what I think is going on.’
*
Greer was advised not to walk home, but to phone her mother to come and collect her. Elizabeth had arrived looking distraught; her car was left parked rather messily in a disabled bay.
She listened intently to what the midwife had to say and together they got a frightened-looking Greer to the car. An elderly man was pacing angrily, waiting for them.
‘Are you entitled to park in a disabled bay?’ He jabbed his finger at Elizabeth, who ignored him. He came closer and stuck his face into Elizabeth’s, flecks of spittle flying through his dentures and onto her cheek. ‘Are you deaf? Do you have a blue badge?’
Midwife Yvonne put an arm out to fend him off. ‘Please. This lady is a patient of mine. She can’t walk too far. Just a couple of minutes and you can have this space.’
‘So she doesn’t have a badge.’ The man was triumphant. ‘I’m taking your registration number and using it as evidence. You have parked unlawfully.’
The pugnacious little man had found a pen and a tatty envelope and was scribbling down the number plate. ‘I want your name,’ he snarled at Elizabeth as she walked round the car to get into the driver’s seat. Still she ignored him.
‘I said, I want your name,’ he shrieked.
Elizabeth got into the driving seat and turned on the ignition. Putting the car into reverse she backed out of the space. From within the car she could see the man in the rear-view mirror; she reversed a little further until he was forced to step aside. He was still ranting. As he ran to the front of the car to check her tax disc, Elizabeth calmly opened her electric window and said, in her most polite voice: ‘Piss off, you odious little berk.’
*
Greer was settled in their bed by the time Jesse got home. Elizabeth had phoned him as soon as they’d arrived, thanking God that he wasn’t away at sea.
‘Darlin’,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘What the ’ell’s going on?’
Greer looked pale and puffy but comfortable on the pillows that her mother had so lovingly arranged. Her swollen feet were raised on more cushions. ‘I’m fine. It’s all going to be fine. I just need to rest. They’re worried I’ve got pre-eclampsia.’
‘What the ’ell’s that?’
‘Something to do with my blood pressure being high and I’ve got protein in my wee, whatever that means. I just need to rest and get this puffiness down.’
‘Is the baby all right?’
Greer looked at Jesse’s face, full of concern for her and their child, and was overwhelmed with compassion and love for him. ‘Yes. The baby’s fine. As long as I rest and take things easy. The gynaecologist said that he’ll keep an eye on me and as long as I don’t get worse, everything will be fine.’
‘And if it does get worse?’
Elizabeth elbowed the door open, carrying in a tray of tea with tiny cucumber sandwiches on a plate. She answered for Greer. ‘She’ll have to have the baby a bit earlier than planned, that’s all.’
Jesse looked panicked. ‘Have the baby early? That’s not good, is it?’
Greer reached up and touched his cheek. ‘Darling, it just means I’ll have a Caesarean and the baby will be fine and I will be fine.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
Jesse watched as Greer sipped her cup of tea and nibbled a cucumber sandwich. Was this his fault? His punishment? He would rather die himself than let anything happen to the baby or Greer. In a sudden guilt-ridden moment he knew that he loved her. The sudden realisation of what he had to lose if anyone found out about how despicable he had been, the lie he was keeping, hit him like a sledgehammer. Oh God, he said to himself, if you exist, please please let everything be all right. I promise I’ll be true to Greer for the rest of my living days.
*
Loveday was bouncing with energy and good health. The fat from her hips and arms had melted away and her tummy stood round and proud in front of her. Most days, after her shift at the bakery finished, she’d walk up to Pencil Cottage with a little posy of sweet peas or an individual apple crumble or a small but interesting piece of gossip to entertain her housebound friend.
Greer was always pleased to see her. ‘Mummy is driving me mad! I can’t have five minutes’ peace without her checking on me. I managed to dig out my sketchbook and pencils without her noticing. I wanted to do work on some design ideas for the nursery, but in she came and took them away from me. Said I had to sleep. It’s like being a toddler again. Can you root about downstairs and see if you can find where she put them?’
Loveday laughed. ‘’Tis only because she loves you. She’s worried for you and the baby. Not long now,’ she consoled her.
*
By the third week of September, Loveday was feeling ready to pop. At the antenatal clinic she was asked if she had got her dates wrong. The baby looked to be full term.
‘I’m sure I’m rig
ht. End of January this one got started.’ The midwife gave her an old-fashioned look and a card with the maternity ward’s phone number on it in case the baby came sooner than she expected.
It was the morning of 3 October at 7.45 when Loveday’s waters broke. Mickey had been given some shore leave so that he could be on hand if anything happened.
‘Mickey,’ called Loveday urgently from the bathroom. ‘Mickey, help.’
Mickey had been dreaming of his old scooter and how he missed it, but the anguish in Loveday’s voice soon roused him. Seeing she wasn’t next to him, he leapt out of bed calling, ‘Loveday, where are you?’
‘I’m in bathroom, you div. I think the baby’s coming.’
He ran to the bathroom to find her on all fours with a large puddle around her.
‘Oh my good God. What do I do?’
‘Call the maternity unit and tell them we’re coming in. Pick up my bag – it’s packed and under my dressing table – and get me to the bloody hospital.’
*
In twenty minutes she was sitting in a warm birthing pool and feeling a ton less scared than she had been on the floor of the bathroom – or, for that matter, in the front seat of Mickey’s crappy Austin Allegro, whose suspension had clearly collapsed.
Two hours later, both mother and father were besotted with their wailing, nine-and-half-pound son, who they named Hal.
19
Mickey sat in the softly lit gloom of Loveday’s curtained bay on the maternity ward, holding his son and watching with fascination the dear and oddly familiar face. Phantom dreams twitched Baby Hal’s lips and wrinkled his nose. Mickey lifted the swaddled body to his face and nuzzled the soft red hair, sitting like a halo on the fragile head. Hal looked like Loveday but he smelled of his own unique perfume. Warm, new and precious.
He whispered in his son’s ear: ‘I love you, Hal. I’ll always be here for you. You can come to me for anything, ’cos I’m your dad.’
Hal wriggled and stretched, a beatific smile spreading over his face. His eyelids fluttered and opened a little. Man and boy stared at each other. ‘Hello. I’m your daddy,’ said Mickey.
