by Jo Bannister
Half a mile closer to Dimmock Noah said, ‘What happens if you drop an electric heater in a bath?’ and the fledgling sense of relief that had been stirring in Brodie's breast spat out its last worm and turned belly-up.
‘What’
‘There's an electric heater in the cottage. The central heating isn't very good. There's a heater on a long cord, and you take it wherever you're going to be sitting.’
‘Including, if you're sitting in the bath?’
Noah nodded. ‘I don't think you're supposed to do that, are you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘You're not.’
‘I think Mum knows that too. But…’
‘What?’
‘She tried it to see if it would reach from the nearest plug.’
‘Reach the bathroom door?’ asked Brodie faintly.
In the rearview mirror she saw Noah shake his head. ‘Reach the bath.’
Brodie stopped the car and turned round in her seat. Immediately she saw from his grave, guarded, intelligent expression that her subterfuge had been entirely wasted on him. He knew what she was thinking. He'd known what Daniel was thinking when he leapt out of the car. He'd known what his mother was thinking when she made him stuff a bag and hurry after them. He'd known, and he'd said nothing.
Brodie said softly, ‘I'm not fooling you, am I, with all this talk of shooting parties?’ The boy shook his head. ‘Sorry. I guess, in the desire to protect them, grown-ups forget that kids are as smart as them and sometimes see more. You know what I'm afraid of, don't you?’ This time Noah solemnly nodded. ‘How about you? You know her better than anyone. Are you afraid?’
Again he nodded.
Brodie decided. ‘OK. I'm going back there, and you're not. I'm going to park a hundred yards from the cottage, and you're going to stay in the car. Come what may. Do you understand?’ Another nod. She spun the wheel past the protuberance of her bump. ‘Come on then.’
‘Oh come on, Daniel,’ said Marianne, wheedling, as if it was past his bedtime and she was desperate for a vodka and tonic. ‘You're just being stubborn. Let me take you into town and get your arm seen to.’
‘Great idea,’ mumbled Daniel. ‘Let's do it.’
She squinted at him. ‘And you'll keep your mouth shut.’
Daniel gave a little scowl like a wince. ‘Damn. I knew there was a snag.’
All the time she was getting closer to hitting him. All that stopped her was the fear of making him bleed faster, bringing forward the moment when an irrevocable decision would have to be made. ‘I can't believe you're doing this,’ she hissed, impatient and mystified. ‘What business is it of yours? What gives you the right to say I'm wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ he freely acknowledged. ‘If you're sure you're right, do it. Whatever the cost.’
‘The cost is your life!’
‘The cost is both our lives, Marianne. You'd better be damn sure you're right.’
This was a woman who'd spent half her adult life fighting to save lives. She was never going to sit there and watch him bleed to death. She might have thought she was – for a moment, he might have thought she was – but she wasn't. It would have made a mockery of everything that had gone before. She'd spent her career taking risks and making sacrifices for other people: this time she was going to have to sacrifice her own needs for Daniel Hood. So today she would live. Tomorrow was another day. But today she would live.
She reached out her hand. ‘Come on, hero. You win. But if you think I'm carrying you to the car, think again.’
They had trouble getting him to his feet with both of them trying. His head swam and his legs felt like rope well-chewed by a bored donkey. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.
He knew Marianne was stronger than she looked. All he could hope now was that she was strong enough.
Marianne Selkirk had carried half the world on her back, she wasn't going to be defeated by a pocket-sized maths teacher. She crouched beside him and took his good arm over her shoulders, and – snarling at him to help, trembling with the strain – she straightened up, bringing him with her. She pinned him against the wall to stop him slumping while she got her breath back. ‘Jesus, Daniel,’ she gasped, ‘you must have rocks in your legs.’
‘Sorry,’ he said again.
Still pinning him to the wall with one hand she unlocked the front door with the other.
As she did it burst inward in a manner quite inexplicable by the normal laws of physics. Marianne recoiled, letting Daniel go in the process. He slid down the wall uncomplainingly. ‘Hi, Brodie,’ he said, unsurprised.
Imagine an avenging angel in an advanced state of pregnancy. She filled the open doorway, her eyes burnt and electricity crackled about her. The blast of her gaze cauterised the narrow hall. Then, by degrees, the adamant of her expression softened and a puzzled little frown gathered between her eyebrows. She wasn't sure what kind of a situation she'd walked in on, but it wasn't the one she'd been expecting. ‘Daniel – what are you doing down there?’
It would take a fairly long explanation or a very short one. He settled for the short one. ‘Bleeding.’
‘What?’ Then she saw the makeshift bandage dark with his blood and fury worked on her like adrenalin. She spun on Marianne Selkirk as if she meant to deck her. ‘What have you done to him?’
Daniel shook his head wearily. ‘It wasn't Marianne. I cut myself breaking in and it won't stop bleeding.’
Brodie stared at him. ‘We have to get you to hospital.’
‘I was trying,’ Marianne said pointedly.
They took an arm each and hauled him to his feet, and walked him outside.
‘Where's your car?’ asked Marianne. And then, her tone sharpening: ‘Come to that, where's Noah?’
‘Just up the lane.’ Brodie made Marianne meet her gaze. ‘I didn't want to bring him because I didn't know what I'd find.’
Marianne dipped her head in acknowledgement. ‘Shall I take Daniel? My car's closer, and faster.’
‘OK,’ nodded Brodie. ‘Noah and I will follow you in. Oh…’ She dropped Daniel's hand and, startled, her eyes round, clutched at her belly. ‘I'm having a baby.’
Marianne looked at her bump. ‘Actually, I'd guessed.’
‘No.’ She shook her head, the dark hair dancing. ‘I mean, I'm having a baby right now.’
Daniel peered at her through the miasma of his weakness. However frail he was feeling, he could always do math. ‘It's too soon.’
‘Don't tell me,’ gritted Brodie, ‘tell The Blob.’
It was too soon – six weeks too soon. But The Blob wasn't listening. The last hour or so had been enough to persuade it that things were more interesting on the outside and it was time to join the human race. The contractions raked at her as if it was trying to claw its way out. She bent double, gasping, then dropped to her knees on the grassy path.
Unsupported, once more Daniel slid down beside her.
Marianne lifted her head in disbelief and raged at the sky: ‘And now there's two of them!’
A small figure was standing in the open gateway. ‘There's two of us too.’
You heat the steel in a fire, then you quench it in a bath. You'd think treatment like that would be enough to destroy anything. But it makes a sword strong, and it makes it sharp. Noah Selkirk was not only an intelligent boy, he was a resilient one, and he was used to dealing with crises. Daniel bleeding, and Brodie in the throes of parturition, unable to help one another, found themselves at the mercy of a suicidal woman and a twelve-year-old boy.
In the event, they could have done a great deal worse.
The boy smiled gravely. The mother smiled back. ‘So there are. You think we can do this?’
‘I think we can do anything,’ Noah said stoutly.
‘When we're on the same team.’
‘We were always on the same team,’ insisted the child.
‘I kicked some own goals,’ admitted Marianne.
‘Don't know a striker who hasn't,’ said Noah matter-offactly
.
Brodie was rolling her eyes. ‘Any more of the homespun philosophy,’ she grated, ‘and this baby's going to be born in your garden.’
She was right: there was no time for philosophy, and no time for debate. ‘We won't all get in my car,’ said Marianne. ‘Where's Mrs Farrell's?’ Noah pointed. ‘Will you stay with them while I fetch it?’ He nodded.
She hesitated only a moment longer. ‘I am so proud of you.’ Then she was running.
It wasn't born in a garden, it wasn't even born in a car. It was nearly born on a trolley in Dimmock General, about half way between A&E and Maternity. But then unaccountably it changed its mind. The contractions stopped as if it had all been a mistake, there wasn't a baby in there after all, it was a bit of wind and too much pasta.
So after a few minutes Brodie, who had been lying prone on the trolley, clutching the sides and yelling unrestrainedly at shorter and shorter intervals, sat up cautiously and looked round at the porter and demanded, ‘Now what?’
* * *
‘They're safe?’ repeated Adam Selkirk. ‘You're sure?’
‘Yes,’ said Deacon. ‘They're in the waiting room at Dimmock General. You can pick them up there.’
‘Both of them?’
‘Both of them. They're fine, Mr Selkirk. Nobody got hurt. Well,’ he amended in the interests of honesty, ‘Hood managed to stab himself – don't know how; must have gone off as he was cleaning it – and Mrs Farrell nearly had her baby in the middle of all this, but there's nothing for you to worry about. Your son and his mother are both unharmed.’
The lighthouse beam of Selkirk's gaze swept Deacon's office until it came to rest on DS Voss. ‘No thanks to you.’
It wasn't the first mistake Charlie Voss had made, wouldn't be the last. It might be the one that gave him most nightmares: the one that brought him closest to being responsible for an avoidable disaster. ‘I was wrong,’ he agreed in a low voice. ‘I'm sorry.’
Selkirk feigned a look of surprise. ‘That's it, is it? You accused me of abusing my twelve-year-old son. You accused me of beating him and lying about it. I'm a solicitor, Sergeant Voss. Have you any idea how much damage your mistake may have done me?’
Deacon waited for DI Hyde to say something. When she didn't, and Voss didn't, he cleared his throat and favoured Selkirk with a bleak little smile. ‘Damage? I thought lying was what you were paid for. It'd be a damn sight more damaging professionally if it got about that you couldn't tell porkies to save your life.’ And before Selkirk could object he added, ‘The other thing to remember is, if you'd told us the truth at the start we could have done a better job of protecting all three of you.’
They were old adversaries; out of court they were almost friends. Selkirk was angry but he wasn't stupid. Some of this he'd brought on himself. He could accuse Voss of harassment but he couldn't make the accusation stick, and he wasn't going to start any proceedings that were doomed to failure. But nor was he going to forget.
‘If you're waiting for me to say this was all my fault,’ he growled, ‘bring a packed lunch. On the basis of a flawed assumption – an idea you only picked up and ran with because it would have suited you down to the ground if it was true – you people have put my son in serious danger. If you think we're going to shake hands and forget that, Superintendent, you're living in cloud cuckoo land.’
‘It was an honest mistake,’ said Deacon. ‘Which could have been rectified in a minute if you'd taken us into your confidence.’
‘Maybe it was an honest mistake,’ agreed Selkirk tersely. ‘Detective Sergeant Voss is a young man, he's entitled to make the occasional honest mistake.’ He was on his way to the door. ‘And to pay for them, Superintendent Deacon. And to pay for them.’
Daniel spent four hours on a drip, replacing the blood he'd spilt standing between Marianne Selkirk and the abyss. He passed much of the time in a daze, neither sleeping nor awake, in limbo, feeling exactly what he was – drained.
And sadly disappointed. By the time his vital signs were sufficiently improved that the intravenous needle could be removed – painfully: he yelped – it was late in the evening. Hours had passed since Marianne stall-turned Brodie's car in front of Dimmock General and Noah went running for help. Almost his last clear memory was Brodie saying she was about to give birth, so he expected it was all over by now: that he'd missed the event the last months had been building up to, and he'd find the pair of them tucked up and glowing like a kind of NHS nativity. He was devastated. He doubted he'd ever have the chance now to be present at the birth of a baby.
He was wrong. When he was detached from his tubing he followed directions to her room but there was only Brodie, still lumpish and bad-tempered, sucking ice-cubes and plotting a lurid revenge on the man responsible for her condition.
‘Should I call him?’ asked Daniel. ‘I'm sure he'd come.’
‘What would I want to see him for?’ she demanded irascibly. ‘This is all his fault.’
It wasn't strictly true but Daniel knew better than to argue. ‘Have they said when…?’
‘Nope,’ grunted Brodie. ‘When it's ready. When it feels like it. Some time in the next two months. The little sod isn't even born yet, and already it's giving me the run-around.’
‘It's probably better that it stays in there a bit longer,’ said Daniel, hoping to mollify her. ‘Seven and a half months must be awfully early.’
‘Don't blame me,’ she snapped. ‘I wasn't trying to evict it – it said it was coming. It said it was coming right there and then, and never mind how inconvenient and downright undignified it was going to be. It was urgent, it was imminent, and everyone had to drop everything to get it safely delivered.
‘Only then,’ she went on, her voice thick with fury and frustration, ‘it got distracted. Called away. More important things to do. Just remind me: whose child is this?’
Daniel risked a careful smile. ‘Yours. That's why it's doing things its own way and making the rest of us fall into step.’
Brodie snorted a little laugh, and a stab of pain caught her. Not a contraction: just a pain.
Daniel saw her wince. ‘Do you want me to leave?’
She shook her head fiercely, and he pulled up a chair with his good hand and sat down. ‘Then I'll stay.’
‘So now I'm stuck here overnight while it decides what it wants to do,’ said Brodie. ‘You're right – it'll be better if it goes to term. It may have been a false alarm. If the contractions haven't started up again by morning they're going to send me home.’
It had been a hard day for Daniel too. After ten minutes Brodie noticed him drooping. Her first instinct was to shake him, make him keep her company. But his body craved rest, and actually there was nothing he could do for her awake that he couldn't also do asleep. He was there if she needed him. She'd have no compunction about rousing him if the contractions started again, and if they didn't she'd be fine on her own. When she saw his head tipping forward she pulled out one of her pillows and padded her knee for him; and like that, in a casual intimacy that was a cypher for their entire relationship, they both slept.
At ten to six in the morning Brodie woke with a gasp and the sensation of a vice clasping her innards, and drew herself up in the bed so convulsively Daniel almost fell off his chair.
He hadn't taken his glasses off before he slept so they were skew-whiff over one ear. His pale eyes were foggy and alarmed. ‘Is it…?’
‘Yes,’ said Brodie tightly.
Stupidly, he asked, ‘You're sure?’
‘Yes!’ insisted Brodie.
‘What should I…?’
‘GET HELP!’ yelled Brodie.
She was in labour for thirteen hours: long enough to go through all the possible outcomes, especially the bad ones. The baby was coming too soon – it would be stillborn. It would live just long enough for her to hold it. It wasn't a baby at all: it was twins, or triplets – they'd heard the ultrasound coming and carefully lined themselves up like soldiers. All sorts of improbable scena
rios racked her through the long, unproductive hours.
Daniel stayed with her. Twice more he offered to call Deacon: both times Brodie refused. At four in the afternoon the midwife ushered Daniel out of the delivery room and he thought they were on the last lap. But it was another two hours before the baby was born, time in which he paced the waiting room and spun every time a door opened, for all the world as if the child was his.
Finally, at five past six, a doctor came. He was new to Dimmock General or he wouldn't have said what he said. ‘Congratulations, Mr Farrell. Your wife's had the baby and she's recovering well.’
Daniel felt a curious urge to hand out cigars. But the truth mattered. ‘She isn't my wife.’
‘Oh.’ That was hardly unusual these days. ‘Sorry. Your partner. Give her a minute to get her breath and then you can see her. And your son.’
The air caught in Daniel's throat. But… ‘It – he – isn't my child either.’
This was slightly more unusual. ‘Ah. Er…’
Brodie always said, when Daniel smiled it was like the sun coming out, it dispelled anxieties for fifty metres all round. ‘We're friends. And of course I want to see them.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Good. But there's something I need to explain first.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Two middle-aged men sitting on a park bench, so wrapped up against the cold their own mothers wouldn't have recognised them. Nor, and this was important, would anyone else.
One of them said, ‘With the image of a brass monkey coming irresistibly to mind, I do hope you've got a good reason for this, Johnny.’
‘Don't call me that,’ growled the other. ‘Nobody calls me that.’
‘Det…’
‘Don't call me that, either!’ snarled the second. ‘Jesus, why don't you make a video on your phone and send it to Division?’
The first smiled into his muffler. ‘When did you get so paranoid? Keep looking over your shoulder like that and folk'll think you've got a guilty conscience.’
The second and larger man shrugged himself deeper into his overcoat, fighting the urge to look round again. There was nobody close enough to hear, and nobody further off was paying them any heed. T need you to tell me something.’
