‘She’d get used to it. The stress of running the shop can’t be good for her brain either. Please think about this very carefully. You’re young. You have your own life to lead. Don’t let that bloody shop tie you down.’
‘Mum!’
‘Yes, I swore. So what? I’m that serious about it. That shop is bad news. It’s always felt like a millstone around my neck.’
‘I didn’t realise you felt like that,’ I say, surprised. ‘It’s supported the family for years.’
‘At what cost? I stayed at home for longer than I needed to, delivering papers and helping behind the counter; then after I got married I was obliged to continue to work there because it was the family business. If it had been successful, Dad would never have turned to drink. As it was, he and Mother were always bumping along, close to bankruptcy. When Dad passed away, your father and I propped it up with our savings so Gran could stay there.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’ I feel guilty now. ‘I didn’t know it had been such a struggle.’
‘Your dad still has to lug boxes back from the cash-and-carry. He has a bad back and he can’t carry on with it much longer.’ Mum pauses. ‘Zara, we’re thinking of you, our daughter. We don’t want to see you throw away your career for the sake of Gran and the shop. We want you to be happy. Do you understand?’
I nod. ‘I think so.’
‘So please, will you use some of your influence with your grandmother to see if you can make her see sense.’
‘Things aren’t as bad as you’re making out. We’re managing.’
‘But you’ll speak to her?’
I bite into my slice of carrot cake. It’s one of those occasions when it’s easier to say ‘yes’ and worry about it later.
The following Tuesday, a few days after I brought Frosty home from Otter House, I’m taking her for a walk down by the river. Baby the Chihuahua from dog training is out walking in what looks like a bikini top and hula skirt with her owner, coming towards us from the direction of the Talymill Inn, on the narrow path between the river itself and a curving channel alongside that is verging on becoming an oxbow lake. My immediate thought is to turn around and walk into the field to put some space between Frosty and the other dog, but it’s too late and Baby is almost upon us. Trying to remain calm, I take a breath and give Frosty the hand signal to sit. To my amazement, she does as she’s told and sits quietly as Baby’s owner walks her hurriedly past. I notice how her eyes latch onto Frosty’s wounds as if to say: she’s got what she deserves, then.
I give Frosty not one, but three liver treats before walking on, only to have to stop again when I hear a voice behind me.
‘Is that you, Zara?’
I turn to find Wendy with five dogs mooching along with her – they seem quieter than normal, probably because of the heat.
‘That’s never Frosty?’ she says. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘I told you she was a good dog.’
‘What have you done to her? Put her on drugs?’
‘I had some help from a shepherd who has working collies.’
‘I see. He must have the magic touch.’
I try not to giggle. Lewis certainly does have a magic touch, and not just with Frosty.
‘How is Rosemary?’ she asks. ‘I popped in to pick up my dog magazines.’ She subscribes to at least five. ‘She got in a terrible muddle with my change.’
‘I expect she’s tired. She hasn’t been sleeping well.’ And neither have I, but I don’t mention that part of it, where Gran’s had me up at three almost every night for the past two weeks, all upset because she can’t find her way back to bed. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be all right.’
‘I hope so. I know we’ve had our differences over the dog training, but I don’t bear grudges and I’d like to help if you need anything. Let me know, won’t you?’
‘Thank you, but we are managing perfectly well.’ My mobile rings, rescuing me from Wendy’s rather overwhelming concern for my grandmother’s state of health. ‘I’ve got to answer this – it’s work.’
Wendy walks past me with all five dogs and Frosty sits, barely moving a muscle. I wonder if it’s the result of her being stuck at the vet’s, sitting in a cage as other dogs go by and realising that they aren’t going to hurt her. Whatever the cause of her change in behaviour, I’m one proud mum.
Frosty has her nose down a rabbit hole along the bank while I’m talking to Kelly on my mobile. One of our mums-to-be has gone into labour and she is with her.
‘How long do you think it will be before you need me? I’m free now if that helps.’
‘I shouldn’t hurry, if I were you,’ Kelly sighs. ‘She told me she was ready to push so I dropped everything and came straight out,’ She lowers her voice. ‘She’s only three centimetres dilated. Everything’s looking fine, but I have a weird feeling she’s going to end up in hospital.’
‘Keep me in the loop then. Give me a call in an hour or so and let me know how she’s getting on.’
‘Will do. See you later.’
I continue walking along the path where the July sunshine is turning the grass yellow. Kelly’s weird feelings, as she calls them, tend to turn out to be accurate, not so much premonitions as a result of her years of experience, so I contact Lewis to warn him that I might have to cancel our date tonight. It’s fine because he knows I’m on call.
‘What are you up to now?’ he asks.
‘Guess . . .’
‘Walking the dog. What’s new?’ He chuckles. ‘You’re obsessed.’
‘It’s good for me,’ I say, smiling. I feel so much better since I’ve been back to walking the dog every day. Frosty’s looking so much better, too, where the hair on her neck and chest is beginning to hide the scars from her scrap with Miley. ‘I’ll see you . . . when I see you.’
‘And when will you let me know when that will be?’
‘I’ll let you know –’ I chuckle – ‘when I know.’
‘Catch you later.’
Grinning, I cut the call. I love that we’re a couple. Although I learned to be happy being single, I actually feel normal again. ‘Come on.’ I give a gentle tug on Frosty’s lead to remove her from another rabbit hole. ‘Let’s walk.’
There’s hardly anyone about, apart from Uncle Nobby, who is snoozing under an umbrella on the far side of the river, partially hidden by the reeds, with his fishing rod set up to make a catch, and a couple of teenage boys skulking under the hedge by the old railway line with a bag for life clanking with cans.
As we make our way around the curve of the river, I catch sight of a familiar figure striding towards me in waders and carrying a swan hook.
‘Hi, Jack,’ I say, shading my eyes from the sun.
‘Oh, hello. I couldn’t catch it,’ he says in some kind of muttered explanation. ‘There’s a pair of swans nesting down here and I’ve had a report that one has a broken wing, but I can’t get near either of them to check it out. I’ll have to come back later and try again.’
‘Better luck next time.’ It occurs to me that I haven’t seen Jack since before he and Tessa received the worrying news about their unborn baby. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks.’ He looks as if he could do with a shave and a haircut.
‘And Tessa?’
‘Okay.’ He shrugs. ‘Oh, I don’t know. The baby has what the doctors are calling a serious developmental abnormality, a hole in the heart. Of course Tessa isn’t okay.’ He stares towards the hills in the distance as if he’s trying to collect himself. ‘Neither of us is,’ he goes on, his voice breaking. ‘In fact, things aren’t good between us at the moment.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear any of this,’ he says gruffly.
‘I’m here, as a friend and Tessa’s midwife, and I promise you, no one else will know anything about it. Anything you say is completely confidential.’
We sit down, perching side by side at the top of the river bank. F
rosty insists on sitting between my legs, even though she’s already panting with the heat. I dig around in my pocket, finding sweets and liver treats. I offer Jack a strawberry lace and watch the water flow clean and clear over the stones and the bright green, almost fluorescent weed on the riverbed. I send Frosty away, afraid she’s going to succumb to heatstroke, and she trots down the bank and into the water, drinking and snapping at the flies at the same time.
Eventually, Jack speaks. ‘We both want kids. We knew we’d have a family one day, and Tessa was ecstatic when she found out she was pregnant . . . It was exciting at first. I let my imagination rim ahead, thinking about what the baby would be like and where we’d take him.’ His voice trails off. ‘Then the doubts set in. To be honest, they set in before this —’ he swears, ‘scan.’
I wait for him to carry on.
‘I was scared at the thought of suddenly being responsible for a child, another human being, and knowing everything would be different, that me and Tessa would never be the same again.’
‘That’s rather dramatic.’ But then, what do I know what effect a child has on a marriage? I’ve not had a baby. I know the theory and I’ve seen what happens in practice, but I have no personal experience of my own.
‘It’s true, though. Tessa wants to keep the baby and I don’t, and she hates me for it.’ He holds up one hand. ‘Before you go telling me, like everyone else does – my in-laws included – to give it time, nothing will change the way I feel. I love Tess more than anything, but I think we’ll end up divorcing over it. She has faith that everything will turn out for the best while I’m always looking on the dark side.
‘How will she cope? Can you imagine going out every day to the supermarket, or the beach, having to protect your kid from other people’s stares and comments if it ends up brain-damaged and in a wheelchair? She says she can deal with it, but I’m not so sure. She says she’ll give up working at the Sanctuary, if that’s what it takes.’
What can I say? ‘This baby could be born perfectly healthy, or at least able to live a happy and fulfilling life.’
‘Or it could die in the womb . . . or be born to suffer. It might need surgery immediately after the birth or later in life. It might require a heart transplant. Oh, we’ve been told so much stuff by the doctors, I don’t know what to believe. Basically, nobody knows, and I don’t see why we should take the risk. There’s no doubt that something’s wrong.’ Jack’s nose drips.
I hunt for a tissue, but all I can find is a poo bag.
‘I’ve told Tess where I stand,’ he goes on. ‘She says I’m selfish for admitting I don’t want to be tied down for the rest of my life, twenty-four/seven, looking after another human being who can’t walk or talk or feed themselves, but I’m not. I’m thinking about her and the sacrifices she would make for that baby, and most of all I’m thinking of that child, the frustration of not being able to communicate, the suffering of another human being who’s in chronic pain. What kind of a life is that?
‘Maybe I’m being really non-PC when there are people out there trying to tell me that all life is precious, but how can they really know?’
‘They can’t, I suppose,’ I say, but he doesn’t appear to be listening to me. He’s in his own world, in pain and suffering for himself, his wife and his unborn child. His face crumples and his shoulders quiver, his body and soul racked with grief. Even though I’ve seen it so many times, it doesn’t get any easier.
‘Oh, Jack . . .’ I reach out and hold his hand. ‘You can speak to one of the doctors at the practice if you need more support. There are organisations that can help you, too. You only have to ask.’ My mobile rings just at the wrong moment. ‘I’m sorry, I have to take this.’ It’s Kelly, asking me to join her.
‘I’m really not sure about this,’ she says. ‘I think two midwives will be better than one.’
‘It’s work. I have to go,’ I say, letting go of Jack’s hand.
‘I should be getting on my way too,’ he says quietly.
Back on my feet, I wind Frosty in from where she’s wallowing about in the river on the lead, and we walk back to the Green where the Animal Welfare van is parked. Jack hesitates as we reach the maypole that stands in the centre of the sweep of grass.
‘Thank you, Zara.’
‘That’s okay. If you want to talk, anytime, you know where I am.’
He takes me by surprise, stepping forwards to give me a big bear hug.
‘You don’t realise how much it’s helped, just having someone to talk to . . .’
‘Any time.’ I pause. ‘I hope you catch that swan.’
‘I’ll get it in the end,’ he says with a small smile, as he steps away and unlocks the van. ‘Cheers.’
As Frosty and I walk onto the Centurion Bridge to cross the river on the way back into town, he drives past, and I can only hope that he and Tessa, and their baby, will become one happy family.
Back at the shop, I make Gran a late lunch because there’s no sign of her having eaten anything since breakfast, and leave Frosty with one of her chews, before I join Kelly at the cottage between Talymouth and Talyton St George where Tori and Rob live. This is Tori’s third labour, her fourth baby. The twins are seven and their sister is four, and they are staying with their grandparents for a couple of days. Rob is a craftsman, a thatcher, and Tori looks after their smallholding, rearing chickens and ducks and growing vegetables. Being what I’d call an ‘earth’ mother, with a garland tattoo around her ankle and loose brown hair halfway down her back, I’d have expected her to know her body and what it’s telling her.
Rob is fifteen years Tori’s senior, a jovial man who seems too rotund to be climbing up and down ladders. He makes tea while I examine his wife in the playroom among the children’s toys. She’s very uncomfortable, but she says she doesn’t want any pain relief.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Kelly asks me.
‘Yes, I agree with you.’ I turn to Tori. ‘I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but we’re both of the opinion you should be in hospital for the birth.’
‘I’m having a home birth,’ she says quickly, and I realise she might be going to be difficult about the idea of a transfer. ‘That’s what I’ve planned for.’
‘And when you wrote out your birth plan, you were aware that even the best-laid plans can change,’ Kelly joins in.
‘I don’t want any medical interventions. It isn’t right to interfere with nature.’
‘Sometimes nature needs a helping hand,’ Kelly says, and I begin to wonder if she’s a little afraid of Tori. It’s time to stop pussyfooting around though, I think. Like the principle of good cop, bad cop, I take on the role of ‘bad’ midwife.
‘You feel as if you want to push, yet your cervix is only seven centimetres dilated. Because you’ve been pushing against it, it’s developed a lip, which could be what is preventing it dilating further. At the moment, there’s no way this baby is coming out through the route nature intended.’
‘You mean, I’m going to have to have a section?’
‘It will be up to the doctor.’ I pause briefly. ‘Have you got your bag packed?’
She shakes her head.
‘I’ll arrange the transfer and ask Rob to put some things together for you,’ Kelly says.
‘No, I’ll do that,’ Tori says. ‘He hasn’t a clue. When I wanted camomile ointment after Opal was born, he came back with camomile tea.’
Kelly and I have a quick discussion in private in the garden outside.
‘I’ll go with her,’ she offers.
‘Are you sure?’ I say.
‘I’m in no hurry to go home – the kids can have fish and chips from Mr Rock’s tonight. The other half can babysit for a change. And you’ll be free to spend time with the lovely Lewis or your gran.’
‘Thanks, Kelly. I owe you one.’
It’s a shame Tori didn’t get her home birth, I think, when on my way back to Talyton, but at least she’s in the right place to ensure
her baby’s delivered as safely as possible.
Arriving back at the shop, I find a police car parked. outside with its wheels on the pavement.
‘Gran?’ I push the door open to discover her sitting on the chair we keep behind the counter with a cup of tea, and Kevin taking notes on some electronic device. ‘Are you okay?’
‘There’s been a burglary.’ Gran’s cup rattles against the saucer.
‘Mrs Witheridge alleges that some money has gone missing,’ Kevin says. ‘Hello, Zara. How are you?’
‘Great, thanks. How about you?’
‘I’m really looking forward to the wedding now.’
‘I think it’s sweet that a man is so enthusiastic about getting married,’ I observe.
‘When I say looking forward to the wedding, I really mean, to when it’s over and done with. Claire’s talked so much about it, I reckon I could set myself up as a wedding planner.’
‘Maybe you’ll have to, young man, if you don’t catch my burglar,’ Gran interrupts. ‘All this talking isn’t getting us anywhere . . .’
‘I apologise,’ Kevin says, blushing.
‘I should think so too. Whoever it was will be miles away by now.’
‘How much money’s gone missing?’ I ask.
‘Twenty-five pounds from the till,’ Gran says. ‘They must have taken it while my back was turned. It’s those grockles, not one of my regulars.’
‘I don’t see how that’s possible when you always keep the till shut. Was anything else taken?’
‘The china teapot, the one in the window has gone.’ She turns to Kevin. ‘Why aren’t you checking for fingerprints?’
‘The teapot’s in the storeroom,’ I point out. ‘The lid broke when you were rearranging the display the other day. Don’t you remember?’
She frowns and shakes her head. ‘That can’t be right. I reckon my granddaughter’s making that up, Police Constable.’
‘Why would I want to do that? No one would want to steal that thing anyway,’ I say lightly. ‘It’s hideous.’
‘So it’s just the money, twenty-five pounds in five-pound notes?’ Kevin says.
‘Just a minute, Gran. Did you remember to take off the twenty-five pounds you paid James when you cashed up today?.’
Follow Me Home Page 23
