The Long Way Home: A moving saga of lost family

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  ‘Look, try to relax. And don’t worry, Sally. Everything will be all right, I promise. Just trust me. I’ll take care of you. Just hang on a minute while I get some help. I’ll be right back. I won’t leave you.’

  Chapter 18

  When Leah first wakened Bill and told him that Sally’s baby was on the way he blinked at her uncomprehendingly. Then suddenly he was wide awake and leaping into action. Standing in the doorway of Terry’s room he took one look at Sally and said: ‘Right. We can’t wait around for an ambulance. I’ll get the car. Bring her downstairs.’

  The journey to the hospital was tense. The roads seemed unreasonably full of traffic for Christmas Day. Leah sat on the edge of her seat, willing the car forward and chewing her nails with anxiety, whilst Sally half sat, half crouched on the back seat, rigid with pain and crying out pitifully at every bump and turn. It was with some relief that Bill drove on to the forecourt of the nearest hospital — only to find that the Accident and Emergency department was closed. As he made to get back into the car Leah put out a hand to stop him.

  ‘We can’t just go,’ she said. ‘At least it’s a hospital. There are doctors and nurses in there. We have to get her some help, Bill — and quickly.’

  They helped Sally out of the car and into the entrance hall. ‘Please, can you help us?’ Leah asked the receptionist. ‘My sister is having a baby.’

  ‘Are you booked in here?’ The girl looked at Sally suspiciously.

  Between chattering teeth she said: ‘N-no. St Mary’s, Edgware.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to go there.’ Bill stepped forward, his face grim. ‘Look, you can see the girl needs help. She’s in no state to go anywhere. It’s an emergency.’

  ‘But if she’s booked with another hospital, why didn’t she go there?’

  Bill glowered. ‘Look, I’m not going to stand here arguing with you.’ He produced his press card. ‘I’m on the Daily Globe,’ he said crisply. ‘Do you want to put this hospital on the front page? It’d look good, wouldn’t it? “Christmas mother is told: Have your baby somewhere else. Shades of ‘no room at the inn’.”’

  White with anger and muttering something about blackmail, the girl picked up the telephone. Minutes later the lift doors opened and a smiling porter appeared with a wheelchair.

  ‘Any more for the skylark then?’ he asked cheerfully.

  Sally was helped into the chair and the four of them got into the lift. On the maternity ward a sister quickly summed up the situation and took charge.

  ‘We’ve prepared that side ward.’ She directed the porter. ‘You can take her in there.’ She turned to Leah and Bill. ‘You can wait there.’ She indicated a row of chairs.

  ‘Will the baby be born soon?’ Leah asked.

  The sister gave a superior little smile. ‘Good heavens, no. Not for hours yet.’

  ‘Can I stay with her till it is?’

  The sister frowned as she looked from one to the other. ‘Are you the father?’ she asked Bill.

  ‘No, he’s just a friend who helped us,’ Leah explained. ‘I’m her sister. Her twin sister,’ she added.

  The sister looked her up and down doubtfully.

  ‘Well, it’s unusual — but all right. You’ll have to wait until the duty doctor has seen her though.’ She bustled away.

  ‘Starchy cow,’ Bill muttered as he sank onto a chair.

  Leah touched his arm. ‘Bill — thanks for all you’ve done. I don’t know what we’d have done without you down there in reception.’ He looked huge and incongruous, sitting there on the flimsy plastic chair, his large feet spread out and his shoulders hunched into the collar of his leather jacket. ‘Look, no need for you to hang around. Why don’t you go home?’

  ‘Might as well see it through now,’ he said gruffly. ‘Anyway, I’d like to get my breath back first if you don’t mind. One minute I’m sleeping off my Christmas dinner, the next I’m practically delivering a baby.’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘You’re not really going to stay with her while it’s born, are you?’

  Leah nodded. ‘I promised, I can’t let her down. She’s only got me.’

  Bill sighed and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. The more I see of life and human nature the more I marvel at it. Here you are, with a twin sister you hardly know — doing your best to have her damned baby for her.’ He looked at her with a mixture of affection and exasperation. ‘She’s in good hands, you know. I don’t suppose there’s anything you can do — except get in everyone’s bloody way. They won’t thank you for it.’

  ‘I don’t care. She’s just a body to them. I’m her sister.’ Her face was pale, her lips set in a determined line. He guessed rightly that she was quaking inwardly, but apart from her pallor she showed no outward sign. ‘She’s all alone,’ she said. ‘I know what that feels like. I promised to stay with her and I will.’

  ‘Okay.’ He chuckled indulgently and slipped an arm round her shoulders. ‘You’ve got guts, I’ll say that for you. Wild horses wouldn’t drag me in there. One whiff of that antiseptic pong is enough to make my stomach heave.’

  ‘Look, Bill, you heard what the sister said. It could be hours. Please go home.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ He looked at her. ‘Have you got any money for a taxi?’ He slipped a hand into his pocket and pushed a note into her hand. ‘That ought to take care of it. Well — see you later then. Good luck.’

  When the sister finally allowed Leah into the side ward where Sally lay they were preparing to transfer her to the delivery room. Leah was relieved to see that she looked more relaxed.

  ‘She’s had an injection of something to help her,’ the sister explained. ‘She was very tired and stressed. But it won’t last long. She’s got a lot of hard work in front of her.’

  ‘She will be all right, won’t she?’ Leah asked anxiously. ‘The baby isn’t due yet and …’

  ‘It’s premature and very small, but smaller ones than that have survived,’ Sister told her briskly. ‘Your sister isn’t in very good shape, though. Looks as though she hasn’t been taking proper care of herself.’ She looked accusingly at Leah. ‘Are there any other relatives you should contact — parents?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A husband or partner then?’ she added hopefully. When Leah shook her head again she gave an exasperated little shake of her head and turned her attention to her patient.

  Walking beside the trolley, holding tightly to Sally’s hand Leah began to pray.

  Please God let her be all right. Please God … She repeated the words over and over mechanically inside her head, but they failed to raise any reassurance for her. They were like a useless litany, falling impotently into a void; unheard — unanswered.

  In the sluice next door to the delivery room Leah was instructed to scrub up and given a gown and a mask to wear. As she rejoined Sally she saw that she was becoming restless again. The effects of the drug were wearing off and the pattern of her pain was undergoing a subtle change. Leah took her hand and smiled down at her.

  ‘I’m here,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, everything will be all right.’

  *

  In the hours that followed Leah had never seen anyone work so hard or suffer so much. There were times when she was terribly afraid that it was more than Sally’s frail body could stand, but the midwife and nurses were brisk and efficient. It seemed no more than routine practice to them as they instructed, encouraged and cajoled their patient. Leah tried hard not to reveal her shock and apprehension as she wiped the beads of sweat from her sister’s agonised brow. She’d had no idea that childbirth could be so cruel and terrible. As the hours dragged by and Sally grew more and more exhausted she began to protest weakly that she could not go on. She begged them to let her sleep, to give her something to make it stop, but the process of labour ground on remorselessly; taking control of her tortured body. There was no turning back.

  It was just after dawn when the tension in the delivery room suddenly reached a peak. At last the birth was i
mminent. First, to the midwife’s delight, the crown of a small round head appeared. Her words of encouragement sharpened. Then, soon after the head, the child’s body emerged, to be held up in triumph by the midwife.

  ‘All over. It’s a little boy.’

  Deftly, she cleared the child’s airway. There was a spluttering gasp and then a thin wail rose from the tiny mouth. A wave of relief in the form of a subdued flutter of laughter went round the delivery room. Leah swallowed hard at the lump in her throat and blinked at the tears that blurred her vision.

  The midwife severed the cord as the final stage of the birth was completed. She wrapped the tiny wriggling morsel in a surgical towel and laid him in Sally’s arms.

  ‘Say hello to your son,’ she said with a smile. ‘Just for a minute then he’ll have to go into the incubator. He’s very small, but at least he’s got a good voice.’

  Propped up on pillows, her hair plastered damply to her face, Sally took the child and gazed numbly down at him. Her face still glistening with sweat and creased with the ravages of pain, she looked down at the baby for a moment, then held him out to Leah.

  ‘Here, take him. You hold him too. It might be the only chance you get.’

  From the end of the towel two minute, bluish pink feet emerged attached to touchingly skinny little legs that kicked feebly. Very gingerly Leah took the bundle from Sally and gazed down at the crumpled little face. Huge dark blue eyes were blinking at the glaring white light and the tiny rosebud mouth pouted pathetically. To Leah it was as though he was bewildered — wondering what he could possibly have done wrong to be so ignominiously ejected, naked from his warm, safe bed; torn from his mother and cast into a harshly bright, uncaring world. She cuddled him close, her heart overwhelmed with love and aching pity.

  ‘Oh, Sally,’ she breathed. ‘He’s so sweet and so little. You aren’t really — you can’t …?’ She turned to her sister, only to see that she had fallen into the fathomless sleep of the totally exhausted.

  *

  At Melbury Street Bill cooked Leah an early breakfast, then insisted that she got some sleep. When she awoke it was four o’clock. Daylight had come and gone and it was already dark again. Annoyed with Bill for letting her sleep so long, she dressed hurriedly and rushed back to the hospital. On the ward when she asked for Sally she was ushered into a room and asked to wait. Sitting alone in the bare little waiting room Leah grew more and more apprehensive as the minutes ticked by. What had happened? Why wouldn’t they let her see Sally?

  At last a man in a white coat came in and carefully closed the door. He was tall, with untidy dark hair, a long, thin face and wire-rimmed spectacles. He introduced himself as Doctor Gerald Freeman, the obstetrics registrar. He offered her his hand briefly and sat down. He shuffled the notes he held and jabbed at the bridge of his glasses with one forefinger. It was his first week on this ward and the first time he’d been given a job of this kind. He’d always been slightly afraid of women and didn’t know how to make it sound better than it was.

  ‘My sister …’ Leah prompted, unable to bear the suspense. ‘Is she all right?’

  He looked up at her and cleared his throat. ‘I’m — er — afraid your sister suffered a severe haemorrhage this morning.’ He looked at her gravely over the tops of his glasses.‘We tried very hard but I’m afraid …’

  ‘She’s dead?’ Leah leapt to her feet, one hand to her mouth. ‘Sally’s dead?’

  ‘Oh no, no.’ Appalled at his own clumsiness, he leapt to his feet and put out a hand to steady her. God, but he was making a hash of this. He’d known he would. ‘Please — please don’t worry. She’s very poorly but not critical. The bad news is that we had to perform an emergency hysterectomy, which means that she won’t be able to have any more children. It’s very sad in someone as young as your sister. Naturally we would have avoided it if we could, but she was so weak after the birth. She was anaemic and rather undernourished too. She simply couldn’t afford to go on losing blood like that.’

  ‘I see.’ Weak with relief, Leah sank down onto the chair again. She looked up at him. ‘And — the baby?’ Doctor Freeman’s tension relaxed a little. ‘The baby is holding his own quite well for such a little fellow. He only weighed four and three-quarter pounds, you know.’

  ‘She’s explained that he is to go for adoption?’

  He frowned. ‘I didn’t realise that. In that case he’ll have to be transferred to the hospital where your sister was to have been delivered, but he isn’t fit for that yet.’

  Leah bit her lip. ‘Good. What I mean is, I’m hoping to try and make her change her mind.’

  He frowned. ‘She really mustn’t be worried with anything so traumatic at the moment.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Later, of course, it will be up to you.’

  ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘She’s in intensive care and still drowsy from the anaesthetic at the moment. But you can slip in just for a minute or two.’

  Sally was asleep. Leah was awed and dismayed by the array of technology in the intensive care unit; the bleeping monitors and the various tubes that Sally seemed to be attached to. The pallor of her skin and the way she seemed to have shrunk and diminished in just a few hours shocked her. It occurred to her that Sally’s adoptive parents really should be notified whether she liked it or not, but she didn’t have their address. Hannah would know it. Maybe she should get in touch with her. Even though Sally didn’t want them to know it was only fair. The weight of responsibility was heavy on Leah’s shoulders as she tiptoed out of the ward. In the corridor she asked a nurse if she could see the baby.

  In the special care baby unit he lay in his incubator, naked except for a nappy that looked too large for him and something that looked like a doll’s bonnet on his head. From time to time he made a little convulsive movement as though he were dreaming. As she looked down at him, he opened his enormous blue eyes and seemed to look straight up at her. One tiny fist waved like a sea anemone. It seemed to Leah as she stood there looking down at Sally’s son that the tiny clenched fist challenged the world, announced his determination to survive — to hang on to his identity.

  ‘The hospital chaplain would christen him,’ said the nurse. ‘Do you think your sister would like that?’ Suddenly it was desperately important to Leah that this was done. Sally’s little son must have a name, an identity.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she would,’ she said decisively. ‘His name is to be James — Jamie.’

  ‘Good. I’ll make a note of it. The chaplain will be round later.’ The nurse walked off and Leah leaned over the incubator. ‘Hear that?’ she whispered. ‘Your name is Jamie. I hope you like it.’

  In the hospital cafeteria on the ground floor she bought herself a cup of tea and searched her handbag for Hannah’s number. Later, under the perspex hood of the public telephone, she listened to Hannah’s recorded voice on the answering machine as it relayed its disembodied message. As she listened she caught sight of balloons and coloured paperchains decorating the hospital entrance hall and remembered suddenly that it was still Christmas. Hannah would be away somewhere, celebrating with friends. As she spoke the inadequate, unemotional words she wondered how long it would be before Hannah heard them. Certainly too late to be of any help now. She replaced the receiver and stood there chewing her thumb nail — until an idea that had hung shadow-like in the back of her mind all day, began to develop into a full-blown intention.

  She was fairly sure that the envelope in which Marie Evans had enclosed her letter had borne a Dorset postmark. Branksome — that was it. And she remembered that Hannah had mentioned that Marie ran a hotel. If she were to look up all the Evanses in that area residing in hotels … She frowned and bit her lip. It could be that only the name of the hotel was listed. And the libraries were closed today anyway, so where would she find the appropriate directory? Then she remembered: Bill had them all. As a journalist he frequently needed them. She’d seen them, stacked on the bookshelf in t
he room he used as a study.

  Outside it was raining. Icy needles whipped her cheeks as she waited impatiently outside the hospital for the bus.

  As she let herself in at the area door, a murmur of voices came from the kitchen. Damn! Bill had a visitor. Still, she was sure he wouldn’t mind if she slipped into his study and used his directories. Miraculously she found it almost at once. Evans, The Ocean Hotel, Branksome. The initial was ‘D’, but there was only one so it was worth taking a chance. She replaced the directory carefully and slipped downstairs again. In the hall she paused. Rather than risk interruption it would be better to ring from the kiosk on the corner. Thrusting her arms into the sleeves of her jacket she slipped quietly out of the house again.

  ‘Ocean Hotel. Can I help you?’ The voice was brisk and business-like. Leah swallowed hard, hoping she’d got the right number.

  ‘I — er — can I speak to Mrs Evans, please? Mrs Marie Evans.’

  ‘Who shall I say is calling?’

  She was right then. In a few minutes she’d be speaking to her mother. ‘Miss Dobson. Tell her, Leah Dobson.’ Leah held her breath, listening to the drumming of her own heart as she waited.

  ‘You’re through,’ the receptionist announced. Then a soft voice said hesitantly:

  ‘Hello — Leah? I’m so sorry to have missed meeting you. I wish I could explain to you …’

  ‘Look, I’m going to have to hurry. I’m in a call box and I don’t have any more change. There’s something I think you should know.’

  ‘Please tell me,’ Marie said.

  Leah licked her dry lips. ‘My sister, Sally — Sarah, I mean — is very ill. She had an emergency operation this morning. I haven’t time to explain everything now, but I thought you might want to come and see her.’ She paused for breath. At the other end she thought she heard Marie trying to say something, but she couldn’t be sure. In any case she had to press on before the money ran out.