‘Nervous, obviously. But not too bad, I suppose. I’m glad to be past the thirty-six-week point.’
‘Understandably.’ She looked from me to Adrian and back again. ‘Is there anything at all that you’re concerned about, either of you?’
‘Apart from the obvious,’ Adrian said, ‘no. I think we’re both feeling optimistic, aren’t we?’ He squeezed my hand. I smiled, but I knew that my optimism was as fragile as a bird’s wing.
‘Leah? Anything worrying you specifically?’
‘No, not specifically. At least, not while I can feel the baby moving around.’
‘Good. Let us know if there’s anything you’re worried about, okay?’
‘Thanks,’ Adrian said, and I could feel the appointment coming to a conclusion. I should have been getting to my feet, but I hesitated. Sod it, I know what we said, but I had to ask. ‘I was wondering whether there’s any chance of bringing it forward at all.’
‘Leah,’ Adrian said, ‘we talked to Rhona about this, and she said—’
‘I know, but I just want to check . . .’ Rhona was the mid-wife. She said they don’t like doing caesareans early unless it’s an emergency, but she wasn’t a doctor, after all. I looked hopefully at Dr Mason. ‘The waiting, you know, after last time. It’s so hard.’
‘I understand your anxiety, of course I do.’ She was looking at the notes. ‘You’re thirty-seven and a half weeks,’ she said. ‘And as I think the midwife explained when you raised the issue before, we don’t like to deliver before thirty-nine weeks, not unless there’s a sound medical reason.’ She took her glasses off and arranged her face into a sympathetic expression. ‘I know this must be a difficult time for you both, but I hope I can reassure you that there is no cause for concern with this pregnancy.’
I tried to look grateful for the reassurance, but the trouble was, there hadn’t been any cause for concern last time, either.
‘Your baby is the right size,’ she continued, ‘and in the right position, with a strong and healthy heartbeat. There’s plenty of movement still, so it’s all good. Now, your section is booked for . . .’ She put her glasses back on and peered at the notes. ‘The third of Feb, so there’s really not long to go. She smiled again. ‘Try not to worry, both of you. I know that’s easy for me to say, but we’re looking at a perfectly straightforward C-section.’
We nodded our thanks and exchanged a brief comment about the weather before heading home. It was cold today, and windy, and there was a gale blowing as we stepped out of the surgery. Adrian took my arm as we walked across the frosted tarmac to the car – my bulk made me a little unsteady. He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back, aware that he needed reassuring too. He’d coped with the miscarriage. Oh, he was upset, of course, but I don’t think he regarded it as an actual baby, whereas losing Thomas had nearly destroyed us both.
‘I’ll drive,’ I said as we reached the car.
‘No,’ he said, ‘let me. You’re far too big to be driving at this stage.’
‘It’s okay. I drove into town yesterday and it was fine. It’ll do me good to have something else to think about.’ I heard the slight catch in my voice, and so did he. We both knew I was thinking about Thomas, and if I was driving, I’d have to concentrate, whereas if he drove, I’d sit staring out of the window, wishing away the next eleven days until they could get this baby safely out of my uterus and into my arms.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure.’
We were almost home when there was a movement to my left, a tiny black thing from nowhere. I braked automatically, even though I was sure it was just a leaf or a piece of rubbish blown into the road, but I pulled over anyway.
‘What’s the matter?’ Adrian said as I unclipped my seat belt.
‘I think I hit something.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘We’d have felt it.’
‘I want to make sure. Won’t be a sec.’ The wind was so strong it took me a moment to push open the car door. I heaved myself out and walked back along the road, hair whipping around my face. At first I couldn’t see anything. Maybe it was just a twig blown down from one of the trees that were swaying and rustling above me. Then I saw the little dark lump in the road. I wondered if it was a blackbird, but it was too fluffy and its beak was black. Then I realised it was a baby crow, more fluff than feathers, beak still too big for its head. As soon as I crouched down, I could see it was dead. ‘Oh no, you poor, poor thing,’ I murmured. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I could hear another car approaching, so I picked the bird up to move it out of the way. Its soft, fragile body was still warm in my hands, and I felt my eyes fill with tears as I thought of the mother crow returning to her nest and finding her baby gone. Maybe even spotting its still body by the side of the road. I wondered if birds went looking for their babies if they couldn’t find them.
‘Leah? What’s up?’ Adrian appeared next to me. ‘Ah, poor thing,’ he said as he saw what I was holding. ‘Is it still alive?’
I shook my head. ‘I hit it. I knew I’d hit something.’
‘It’s very young.’ He stroked its soft feathers. ‘Probably fell out of its nest.’ He put an arm around my shoulder. ‘Come on, put it down and let’s get back to the car.’ I stroked the little bird with my finger and as I laid it gently on the kerb, I noticed a smear of blood on my nail.
‘You all right there, love?’ An elderly woman with two bulging carrier bags leaned forward to see what we were doing. ‘Bird, is it?’ She lifted her glasses and looked more closely. ‘Ah, that’s a baby crow, that is.’ She turned to me. ‘Filthy creatures, them crows.’
‘Yes, well.’ Adrian nodded at her and tried to steer me back to the car. ‘Come on, let’s go home and get some coffee.’
I didn’t move. Why hadn’t I let him drive? His reactions were quicker than mine, and if he’d been driving we probably wouldn’t have hit the poor creature. I looked up, half-expecting to see its distraught mother hovering in a tree or on a telephone wire above me, but there was just a wood pigeon clinging to a branch as it bounced in the wind.
‘Leah? Come on.’
‘I wish I could see its mother. I hate leaving it there.’
He sighed. ‘I know, poor thing. It’s sad, but there’s nothing you can do. Just one of those things.’
I felt myself fill up with tears. We both knew the few weeks leading up to the birth were likely to be emotional, but I was surprised it had hit me now and with such force.
The old lady was shaking her head. ‘Harbingers of death, them crows,’ she said. ‘Full of germs and parasites. You want to wash your hands when you get indoors, lovey.’ She moved off on her way again.
‘We’ll do that.’ Adrian nodded at her, then leaned towards me and whispered, ‘Ignore her. I’m sure she means well, but don’t take too much notice.’ He lifted my hair away from my face. ‘Leah, you’re crying! What is it?’
‘It’s . . .’ I could barely speak. ‘It’s just . . . the poor little crow.’
He squeezed my hand. ‘It wasn’t your fault, it wouldn’t have felt anything, I’m sure.’
As I allowed him to lead me to the car, I heard the old woman tut and mutter under her breath, it’s only a bloody bird.
Which was true, but I was the one who bloodied it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
NOW
I press the buzzer on the intercom and wait for the response. ‘Hi,’ I say into the silver box on the wall. ‘It’s Leah, picking up Oliver.’
The metal gates swing open and I walk across the playground to stand outside Ollie’s classroom. I’m early – I always am. I can’t bear the idea of him having to wait, and the thought of him sitting on the bench with his coat on and his little lunchbox in his hand is enough to choke me up. Cassie says he’ll be coming here full-time after Christmas, but I think it’s too soon. It’s not just that I’ll miss him on Fridays, it’s that he’s still so young. The four days a week he does now tire him out, and he won’t be starting proper school until this time next year, s
o I don’t see what the hurry is.
A few other parents arrive, and one or two of them nod and smile in recognition. When I was picking him up last week, I got talking to a mum whose child had just started. Ollie came running out while we were chatting, grinning from ear to ear and chattering away about what he’d been doing. The other woman smiled and said, ‘Your son seems happy here,’ and I felt my heart skip with pleasure. I should have corrected her, but instead I nodded and said, ‘Oh, Ollie loves it here. I’m sure your daughter will, too.’ It was such a small, harmless pleasure. Of course, she’s probably met Cassie by now.
At exactly three fifteen, the class door opens and, as always, the sight of all those innocent little faces brings a lump to my throat. Stacey, the teacher, smiles at me and turns back to the room. ‘Oliver!’ she shouts. ‘Leah’s here.’ Ollie comes trotting towards me, clutching a drawing. I crouch down to hug him. ‘Hello, sweetheart. Had a nice day?’
‘Uh-huh,’ he says. ‘I drawed a owl, look!’
‘Wow! That’s fantastic. Aren’t you clever?’
He nods, smiling.
‘Bye Ollie, see you tomorrow.’ Stacey touches him gently on the head before turning back to the queue. ‘Paris! Daddy’s here. Felix! Grandma’s here . . .’
Ollie automatically slips his hand into mine. ‘Where’s Mummy?’
‘Mummy’s working late today, so you’re coming to my house for tea and then Mummy and Luke are going to pick you up later, okay?’
‘Yeah!’ He grins happily, making me wish I’d told him the two things separately so I could gauge which bit he’s so pleased about. Maybe it’s both. As I strap him in, it occurs to me that we really ought to buy another child seat. It’s a hassle having to keep moving this one from Cassie’s car to mine every time I drive Ollie anywhere.
‘I’m hungry,’ Ollie says, ten minutes or so after leaving half his toast and Marmite. I told Cass I could easily give him dinner, but she said not to. ‘Please can I have some crisps?’
‘I thought you were full up?’
‘I was, but now I’m hungry.’
‘Would you like some more toast?’
He shakes his head. ‘No thanks. I’m just hungry for crisps.’
At least it’s honest. Maybe I shouldn’t let him have so many treats when he’s with me, but I love the way his face lights up when I offer him crisps, biscuits, sweets or ice cream. Cassie gives him healthy meals and snacks, so a few treats now and again can’t hurt, can they? I take a packet of cheese and onion from my ‘Ollie cupboard’ and toss them gently enough for him to catch. ‘There you go.’
He looks at the packet. ‘Can I have the blue ones?’
‘I thought cheese and onion were your favourite?’
He shakes his head. ‘I used to like cheese and onion, but that was before I met salt and vinegar.’ He pronounces it ‘vigenar’.
I laugh as I go back to the cupboard. I should write down some of the funny things he says, though I’m hardly likely to forget. I spend a lot of time thinking about him, wondering what my babies would be like at this age, what cute things they’d say; what their paintings and drawings would look like stuck all over the fridge like Ollie’s are at Cassie’s house.
The doorbell rings while we’re watching Shrek on DVD. ‘That’ll be Mummy and Luke.’ I must make an effort to be nice to this Luke person, despite the wave of apprehension I feel as I see the two silhouettes through the glass.
Cassie is smiling, as is the blond man standing next to her. ‘Leah, this is Luke,’ she says. ‘Luke, Leah.’ He’s shorter than I’d imagined. For some reason, I’d pictured him as tall and broad-shouldered, but he’s neither. Nice enough face, though. I make myself smile and take the hand Luke offers. Even his hand feels small for a man, but he has a decent handshake. ‘Come in.’ I try to sound friendly. ‘It’s nice to meet you at last. It’s a cliché, but I really have heard so much about you.’
‘Likewise,’ he says. ‘Nothing wrong with clichés – if some phrases are overused, it’s probably because they’re good phrases.’
‘True.’ And that’s another bloody cliché.
‘Where’s his lordship?’ Cassie asks. ‘Watching telly?’
‘Yes. Shrek the Third – again.’
Cassie turns to Luke. ‘He must have seen that film about twenty times. He even says some of the dialogue along with the DVD.’ Then she calls Ollie to come and get his coat on.
‘Do you have to dash off? I wondered if you . . .’ I flick my eyes towards Luke. ‘I thought you might like a quick drink.’
I see Cassie look at Luke, and the almost imperceptible movement of his eyes that says no, let’s not stay – I want you to myself.
‘Thanks, Leah. We would normally, but we’re taking Ollie to Pizza Hut and we don’t want to be too late getting him back to bed. But listen, thanks ever so much for having him today. I really appreciate it.’
I swallow back my disappointment. ‘You’re welcome. I’ll have him any time, if I can, you know that.’
‘Actually, I’ve got another favour to ask.’
Thinking it’ll be more babysitting, I smile. ‘Go ahead, you know I’ll help if possible.’
‘I was wondering if I could clean on Saturday instead of tomorrow? I won’t even need to bring Ollie with me because he’s got a party to go to at the Play Place on Saturday morning and he’s having a sleepover with Max tomorrow night, so Max’s mum is going to take them. I know it’s short notice, but the thing is, Luke’s got tomorrow off, and as that’s the day Ollie’s not at preschool . . .’ She glances up at him, smiling. ‘He wants to—’
‘I thought I’d take them both out for the day,’ Luke says, pleasantly. ‘Thought we might go to the Yorkshire wildlife park or something. If it fits in with you, obviously.’ He looks around. ‘I have to say, this house doesn’t look as if needs cleaning at all to me, but then I’m just a bloke.’
I can feel the smile falling off my face. ‘Of course!’ I try my best to sound cheerful. ‘Not a problem.’ I suppose it’s inevitable that they’ll have other stuff to do occasionally, but I so look forward to having the two of them here every week that the thought of them not coming is hard to take. I look down to pick at an imaginary thread on the hem of my t-shirt. ‘You don’t need to come on Saturday, though, Cass, not unless you really want to. It’s not that bad, so it can wait until next week.’
‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind skipping this week, if that’s really okay?’
‘No, it’s fine.’ I could get Cass to come on her own, but there doesn’t seem much point, especially as it’s clear she’s keen to spend some time with this new man of hers.
‘Thanks, Leah. You’re a star.’ Cassie slips her hand into Luke’s. ‘Oliver,’ she calls. ‘Come on.’
When Ollie comes out into the hall, his face breaks into a grin when he sees Luke.
‘Hello, champ,’ Luke ruffles his hair. I try to ignore the flash of irritation that stabs at me.
I can’t sleep. I turn over to look at the clock – almost two. Luke seems nice enough, if I’m honest, but I don’t like the way he talks to Ollie as if they’re old mates. And I wish Ollie didn’t seem to like him so much. I suppose I’d be more worried if he didn’t like him, and anyway, maybe the fact that he’s taking them to the wildlife park might have something to do with it. I’m not stupid; I know that one of the reasons Ollie loves coming here is the treats I keep for him, and the surprises I try to come up with every few weeks so he doesn’t get bored. He’s still besotted with Spider, but that could change. That cat is amazingly tolerant. The other day he let Ollie dress him up in a Spiderman cape, and waited a good minute before wriggling himself free, then he washed himself furiously before ambling away as if he wasn’t really bothered. I’m becoming attached to Spider, despite the dead birds he keeps bringing into the kitchen. But there’s every chance Ollie will lose interest in favour of something more entertaining. He talks a lot about Max, his new best friend at preschool – Max has ‘a
wesome stuff’, apparently – remote-control cars, and a truck that lights up and beeps and says ‘reversing’ when you push it backwards. I lean over and turn on the bedside lamp, then I swing my legs out of bed, wincing as my back twinges. I head downstairs to make some hot chocolate, but instead of taking it back to bed, I somehow find myself wandering along the landing and into the study, where I switch on the computer. I sit looking at the screen for a moment before opening up Google and typing into the search bar electric train sets.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NOW
I hum to myself as I move around the supermarket aisles stocking up on crisps, chocolate buttons, Smarties and jelly snakes. It’s the first time I’ve had him overnight, and I want to make sure he has a brilliant time, especially as I’ll have him all day tomorrow as well. It was Luke’s idea. He wanted to do something special for Cassie’s birthday, he told me when they collected Ollie the other day. Dinner at a nice hotel on Saturday night, then a spa day on the Sunday – would I be able to babysit from Saturday afternoon until Sunday teatime?
I put sausages, frozen chips and a tin of spaghetti hoops in my basket for tonight, but what will he want for breakfast? There’s plenty of bread, and I have Marmite, honey and peanut butter, but the only cereal in the cupboard is muesli, so I go for one of those breakfast selection packs my dad used to buy as a treat when I was little. I add a couple of pots of instant porridge, and my hand hovers over the Pop-Tarts – I bet Cass never lets him have these. I drop two packs into my basket, one strawberry, one chocolate. We’ll need lunch as well. He definitely likes pizza, but which type? Pepperoni? Ham and pineapple? I put one of each in my basket, then take them out again. We’ll go out for pizza; that’ll be more exciting. As I’m walking towards the checkouts, it occurs to me that he might prefer a cooked breakfast. I have eggs and baked beans in the cupboard, but I’d better grab some bacon, just in case. If he’s anything like his dad . . . I stop moving, shocked by a sudden upsurge of grief. It doesn’t hit me every day now, and I’m not angry with Adrian any more, because if he hadn’t slept with Cass, I wouldn’t have Ollie. Somewhere, way back in the recesses of my brain, I know that I don’t have Ollie; all I have is a tiny share in his affections.
The Flight of Cornelia Blackwood Page 15
