by Julia Green
She knew that anxious look as he went out of the door. Is she going to manage this? Is she responsible enough? Has she made a terrible mistake?
The sun had moved higher in the sky; it reflected off the white walls, flooded the room with warmth. The white lilac shimmered on the windowsill. Already, some of the tiny flowers had dropped on to the sill shedding a fine dust of pollen. A trolley rattled and creaked along a corridor, voices and laughter drifted from the main desk at the nurses’ station, telephones rang.
Mia felt utterly alone. Ached with it. Why did the nurses keep insisting she put the baby back in the crib? She clambered painfully out of bed again. He was lying wide-eyed in the crib, awake but still. Little Bean. That’s what she’d called him all through her pregnancy. Can’t call you that any more. Have to find you a name.
‘Come here, little one,’ she whispered to him, feeling silly, not wanting anyone to hear. Gritting her teeth, she eased one hand under him and carefully picked him up, wrapping the blanket round him tightly, like she’d seen the nurses do. ‘There. That’s better, isn’t it?’
It had been easier that time, getting him out of the stupid crib. She wasn’t quite so scared of dropping him. And he hadn’t cried, or jerked out his arms in shock and terror.
She shuffled to the window, the baby held close in her arms. There was a world still out there, then; things happening, life carrying on. Outside, everything looked the same. It seemed surprising, somehow. She’d just had a baby, her, Mia, and no one out there knew anything about it! Men from a refuse lorry were emptying bins at the side of the hospital, joking and carrying on as normal. While up here, on the fifth floor, Princess Diana Maternity Wing, Ashton General, she was holding her newborn son in her arms.
She was overwhelmed with a longing to be outside, breathing fresh spring air, feeling the sun on her skin. It was much too hot in the ward, the air stale, as if it had been being breathed in and out by too many people. Like on a plane, Mia thought. She closed her eyes a second. Held on to the image of a sleek silver aeroplane high in a pale blue sky, sun reflecting off the wings. High up, free, going somewhere.
The baby blinked and closed his eyes in the dazzling sunlight.
She spoke to him in her head, as she had done when he was still inside her, knowing he could somehow hear her and understand. I’ll get you out of here soon. Don’t you worry, Baby.
CHAPTER THREE
‘He’s amazing, Mia! Look at his little tiny fingernails. And his ears like shells. Oh, he’s just so sweet!’ Becky stood by the crib, gazing at the sleeping baby. She’d come here straight from school. Couldn’t wait to see the baby, after Mia’s dad had phoned that morning. And her, of course.
Mia saw him again through Becky’s eyes. He did look sweet right now: his dark hair fluffed out on the white sheet, the curve of his cheek, strawberry mouth. Not the fierce, red-faced angry little thing she had been struggling with all afternoon. She was exhausted. It was ten to four.
‘Everyone else is dead envious, but your dad said just me. I’ve brought my camera –’
‘No,’ Mia interrupted her. ‘Please, no pictures. Not yet.’
Becky looked surprised. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t – it doesn’t feel right. I don’t like the flash – and – tomorrow, maybe. He’s just too new.’
‘What’s he wearing? I’ve brought him this, only I didn’t realize he’d be so small.’ Becky fished out a parcel and started unwrapping the tissue. It was a turquoise Babygro, with purple sea horses swimming between strands of green seaweed. ‘I thought it’d go with your room at home.’
‘It’s lovely, Becks. Thanks. He’s still in the hospital thing – a sort of gown, with ties at the back. It’s not very nice.’
‘Shall we change him, then? When he wakes up?’
‘Oh. I dunno. I’m not sure if he’ll like being undressed.’
She couldn’t imagine how they could possibly take his tiny arms out of the sleeves and put them into new clothes; all that messing him around. He’d shriek and go stiff, like he did with the nappy. He didn’t seem to like being unwrapped. Becky would see how badly she was doing already. For Becky, though, it was all still a wonderful game, Mia realized. She’d already redecorated Mia’s room with her – she’d redesigned it for her GCSE project. She’d probably get an A, what with all the drawings and fabric samples and the photographs step-by-step of the transformation. And it was lovely. Now she was starting on his clothes. Like he was a doll or something.
‘And this is for you, because we didn’t get very far with our list for boys, did we? And I thought it might help.’
Mia unwrapped a small book from the paper bag. The Pocket Reference Guide to Babies’ Names. A pink-cheeked baby in a pink dress smiled out from the shiny cover.
‘Thanks.’
‘Shall we look now? Together?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s too small. I mean, I don’t know who he is yet. Oh, I don’t know.’
She wouldn’t let Becky see her cry. She wouldn’t.
Becky looked disappointed about the names; she’d even brought a pen and some paper, so they could get started on a new list of names for boys. She sat down on the bed.
‘Tomorrow, maybe? Will you still be here? When can you go home?’
‘I’m not sure. They want me to stay in a couple of days.’
‘Anyway, tell me everything. Did it hurt a lot? How did you know it was happening? What was it like?’
Mia propped herself further up on the pillows. She groaned as she moved her legs.
‘Are you hurting now?’
‘Yes. A bit. When I move.’
‘Did you have to have stitches? My mum says that’s the pits, worse even than the birth.’
‘No, but it still hurts.’
‘I can imagine. Well, I can’t really, but sort of. Poor you! But look! A real baby! It’s so incredible! Go on, tell me about it.’
‘Well – it’s like – well, it does hurt, lots. I mean, look at the size of him. That’s what had to come out of me! That head. But it was quick. The midwife person said I was lucky, being young and that. There were women in the delivery room who’d been there all day and all night, but I just turned up at ten or something and he was born just after midnight. It was really messy, and the baby looked weird at first, his head was a funny shape. And I made such a noise!’
Already, Becky wasn’t really listening. She was back peering at the baby, willing him to wake up so she could see him properly and hold him. ‘I can’t believe it! A real baby! So, so cute! Wait till my mum sees him. She’ll go all gooey. She’s been buying you stuff. She’s taking a heap of it round to your place this afternoon, and after your dad phoned this morning she started cooking extra so he can put it in the freezer for you and him. He said no, but she’s doing it anyway.’
‘What kind of stuff?’
‘What?’
‘What stuff has your mum been buying?’
‘Oh, nappies and cotton wool and stuff, and these cute little vests with poppers that you do up under their bum, and a creamy blanket for that basket thing you’ve got.’
‘But I’ve got everything already.’
‘She’s trying to be helpful, Mia. Don’t go all moody on me now.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Good.’
Mia leaned back against the pillows. Everything was too bright in the room. Becky’s voice seemed too loud. She closed her eyes briefly. Dad should be back soon with stuff for her. Decent food, for one thing. She was starving. She’d never made it to breakfast, and the hospital lunch was so disgusting she’d hardly eaten anything.
Becky’s voice chattered away: ‘… so excited. They all wanted to come but I said not yet, they wouldn’t let us all in at once. Just as well, cos they nearly didn’t let me in till I said I was family.’
‘What?’
‘I said I was part of your family. It’s families only for visiting this afternoon. And after seven p.m. it’s husbands and part
ners only!’
Dust floated along the wedges of sunlight. It was much too warm in here. Made her sleepy and stupid and sad.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot, I’ve got something else for you.’ Becky pulled out a blue envelope from her school rucksack. Mia’s name was written on the front in Becky’s neat round script.
She leaned forwards to open it. Her first baby card. Congratulations! it said. Most of the Year Eleven group had signed it. Siobhan, Ali, Liam, Matt, Rob, even people she didn’t know very well. And her old tutor, Miss Blackman. There were kisses. Tasha had drawn a little heart. Where’s his name? The only one that matters? She scanned the names again, looking for Will, in case she’d missed him. But no. It wasn’t anywhere.
‘Thanks. Did you organize it?’ Her voice was bleak.
‘Yes. Everyone’s really pleased for you. Even Miss Blackman went all soft.’
‘She can bog off.’
‘Well, I know.’
‘She’s probably there in my house right now, making the most of it because I’m stuck in here.’
Becky sighed. ‘Oh, Mia. She’s not so bad. And your dad’s happy. At least it keeps him off your back.’
‘She’ll be wanting a baby next.’
Becky giggled. ‘And then your baby would be her baby’s uncle or something.’
‘Not uncle. Grandson or half-brother or – oh, I don’t know – it’s all ridiculous.’
A rustling, stirring sound from the crib silenced them both. Mia crawled down to the foot of her bed and pulled the crib closer. There he was again. That strawberry mouth beginning to work, opening and closing, searching for her, that sound like a kitten’s mew. She reached in and lifted him out. His body felt warm, quivering against hers.
‘Oh, look! He’s so small. Oh, my God, Mia!’ Becky’s eyes had filled with tears. She saw it too; how vulnerable and afraid and fragile he was, how much he needed. He wasn’t like a baby doll at all.
Mia cuddled him into her chest. Perhaps he didn’t need a feed. Not again. Not yet. While she was looking at his little face, he opened his eyes wide open and stared back.
Becky edged closer. She sat behind Mia on the bed, looking over her shoulder at the baby’s face.
‘He’s got blue eyes. Like Will.’ The words escaped from her mouth; too late to pull them back.
Mia’s eyes stung. ‘All white babies have blue eyes. They don’t stay like that. He’s got dark hair like me.’ Her voice was fierce. ‘I’m going to feed him now. Can you go, so he doesn’t get distracted? I can’t do it if you’re watching.’
Becky looked hurt. ‘OK. Sorry. I’ll come again tomorrow, shall I?’
Mia nodded without looking up.
Becky hesitated. ‘Mia? I’m sorry – Will – he didn’t sign the card because he wasn’t in school. I know you were looking for his name.’
‘It’s not your fault. It doesn’t matter.’
‘See you tomorrow, then?’
‘Yes. Thanks, Becks.’
Mia waited for the door to close, sighed, lifted up her T-shirt for the next feed. Start on the other side next time, the nurse had said. Make sure you use both breasts. She had to turn him round; it felt even more difficult. He struggled, and arched, and cried. Mia fixed all her attention on the baby. She wouldn’t think about Will now. She winced as the baby’s mouth moved tighter on her nipple.
CHAPTER FOUR
She’d lost all sense of time. It was evening, but if someone had told her it was the next day, or the one after that, she would have believed them. Dad walked round the small room, the baby pressed against his shoulder. The baby had stopped crying now and opened his eyes. Mia watched his dark head bobbing against Dad’s linen shirt. A pale curdy dribble of milk stiffened on the blue fabric.
‘So have you decided yet? On a name?’ Mum picked up the little book from the bedside cabinet and leafed through the pages.
It was as if they couldn’t believe in the baby till he had a name. In her head she’d started to call him Birdy. She’d whispered it in his ear, to see what he did. Nothing. He was so tiny and fragile in his body, but she saw already how he wasn’t really like that at all inside. He knew who he was. He wasn’t her, he was someone else. Separate. It was just that she couldn’t work out who yet. She was afraid of giving him the wrong name, as if the name would tie him down or make him someone else.
‘What about a family name? My dad was Jacob.’ Mum flipped through the Js and started reading aloud what it said. ‘ “From the Hebrew meaning ‘deceiver’ or ‘supplanter’.” Maybe not!’ She laughed. ‘It’s easier with girls, somehow. We just knew with you three – Laura, Kate, Mia. Laura sends her love, by the way. She’s sorry she couldn’t get away; an essay to finish or something. She’s sending a card.’
While Mum nattered on and on, Mia’s mind drifted. She’d already looked up her own name. Italian for ‘my’, and a version of Mary – from the Hebrew name Miriam, meaning ‘sea of bitterness’, or ‘O child of our wishes’, or from the Latin stella maris, meaning ‘star of the sea’.
Mum and Dad had been here together for nearly an hour. Without arguing, either. They’d arrived together, Mum smart and sexy in a black linen suit, her hair cut sleek and short, and both had hugged Mia, and then each held the baby in turn, and both cried, and then laughed about being grandparents. Mia ate the sandwiches Dad had brought with him, and Mum arranged her shop-bought bouquet of white lilies on the windowsill, and then Mia dozed off again until the baby started crying.
Dad seemed to be able to settle him so much more easily than her.
A nurse put her head round the door. ‘End of visiting time ten minutes ago! New mums need lots of rest!’ She hovered, waiting till she saw them gathering up their things to leave before she went to shoo other errant visitors off the premises.
Mum grimaced. ‘Oh dear. Such awful places, hospitals, aren’t they? We’d better do what we’re told. But it’s not long now and you can come home, love.’
For a second Mia imagined what it would be like, to ‘come home’ to both Mum and Dad in the old house in Whitecross. But it was just a slip of the tongue; Mum’s home was in Bristol, with Bryan, miles away. Dad would be there, though. She could probably go home tomorrow, the nurse said, all being well.
They both hugged her goodbye. She was awkward, felt her own body go stiff, just like Birdy’s did. She stood at the doorway to watch them walk down the corridor; they turned and waved once. She felt more lonely than ever when they’d gone. She stayed there, watching the other late visitors leaving the ward. The fathers. Husbands and partners. Finally, when the corridors were empty again, she went back into her room and stood at the window.
Dark outside. Headlights from cars manoeuvring in the car park below. Blue flashing lights, siren, as an ambulance raced in. A flurry of activity. Someone was carried in on a stretcher. An aeroplane, lights winking. From the tree outside her window, a sudden squawking and twittering of hundreds of roosting starlings. The night settled down.
Squeaky shoes, rattling trolley. Doors slammed. Voices.
‘Hot drink, dear?’ A broad woman squeezed into a checked uniform smiled from the open doorway.
Mia shook her head.
‘Sure? It’ll help you sleep, my darling.’
‘No thanks.’ Mia was worn out from so much politeness. Longed to be anywhere but here.
At nine thirty the nurse pushed round the medicine trolley, offering painkillers and sleeping tablets. ‘Shall we take baby to the nursery tonight? You look tired out.’
‘No. I want him with me.’
‘Well, you can always change your mind. Give the night staff something to do!’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I’m off duty now. Should have gone half an hour ago but the agency nurses don’t know where anything is. See you tomorrow.’
The baby still slept.
Mia went back to her seat at the window.
Most of the lights had gone from the car park. The sky looked vast and black. No stars. Her eye caught a movement from
near the tree; someone was walking along the footpath at the base of the new block. The figure stopped. She stared.
The dark shape of someone looking up at the windows. Could it be? She looked again. It was a young man, but she couldn’t see his face properly in the shadow. Perhaps it was. Perhaps he couldn’t keep away after all. Very gently, she picked up the sleeping baby, still wrapped in his blanket, and carried him back with her to the window, held him up against her shoulder like Dad had done earlier. Anyone looking up would see them there, together, wouldn’t they? Framed in the light at the window. Anyone who wanted to. When she looked down again she couldn’t see him any more. Perhaps there hadn’t been anyone there after all.
She laid the baby back in the crib without him waking.
Ten o’clock. Almost the end of the day.
The longest day ever.
CHAPTER FIVE
He woke every two hours. Dizzy with exhaustion, Mia took him into the bed with her at four in the morning, and he settled at last into a deeper sort of sleep and she half dozed, her arms round him, terrified that he would roll out of the too-high bed on to the hard floor. At six one of the agency nurses in a dark blue uniform came tutting into the room, furious with Mia for breaking the rules. Her loud voice woke the baby.
‘He could have rolled out on to the floor and cracked his skull from that height!’
Mia winced, then stiffened with anger as the nurse went on and on about insurance and not allowed and that’s what the crib is for.
‘Can’t you see that poor baby’s desperate for some sleep, instead of being cuddled all night? No wonder he’s crying.’
How dare she! It was she who’d woken him up, made him cry in the first place. ‘Piss off!’ Mia muttered.
‘I beg your pardon?’
She’d heard all right. Mia had gone too far this time. The baby’s shrieks radiated out from the small room into the corridor as far as the nurses’ station, bringing another nurse – the young one who’d been on duty yesterday – barging into her room. They’d been expecting trouble. They knew she wouldn’t be able to do it, not at her age. Mia could imagine the gossip.
