‘Here it goes again!’ And then minutes later, ‘Something’s pushing at me – inside – like – oh God, I’ve got to go – ohh!’
The midwife felt, looked, became brisker. ‘Now then, don’t push yet, wait a while. Hold on.’
‘I can’t, I can’t help it, it’s coming.’
Frances remembered that relentless swell of the baby’s head as it surged down, pressing, moving its way towards the vagina, towards the outer world and its own life. There is nothing, she could have told the midwife, can stop that.
Kate yelled, tried to breathe, gulped gas and air and gripped Frances so hard she later found bruises on her arm. ‘I’m going to burst!’ She flung away the mask and tried to sit up farther, her face dewy with sweat. ‘It’ll never get out – I’ll burst – oh nobody said it would hurt so much.’
Then the miracle. The dark wet head appeared and Frances, who had borne two children and lost a third, witnessed how birth looks, for the first time. The midwife cradled the head, it seemed to turn a little, and from flesh and blood, from the pulpy distended opening of Kate’s vagina, came the slippery pink-blue body of the baby, following her head, the cord coming after, thick and wet, and then the midwife pushed hard on Kate’s belly – one more push, good girl, that’s it – and the great liver-like placenta slid out too, soft and whole.
Kate raised her head and Frances helped her up so that she was sitting higher and could see what was happening. The midwife, swift and careful, had cleared the baby’s airwaves and the first cry came like birdcall in the morning, welcome and sweet, thin and high.
It seemed only a moment before the baby was weighed and tagged and Kate held her, wrapped in white cloth, her hair plastered wet and sticky to her head and the dark eyes open.
‘Oh!’ Kate gasped, but could say nothing more. Nor could Frances, tears pouring down her face, hardly able to see for tears.
‘There now,’ said the midwife, ‘you’ve a fine wee girl. Isn’t she the perfect baby and a lovely easy birth as well.’ She glanced at Frances, wiping tears away. ‘It’s not so hard on the young ones, they usually have no trouble.’
Trouble enough, thought Frances, knowing how indignantly Kate had greeted the pain. But now it was over, and there they were.
‘She’s so funny looking,’ Kate said. ‘Do you think she’ll get prettier?’
Frances hugged Kate and baby in the same embrace.
‘She’s perfect. They all look funny when they’ve just been born.’
Kate leaned back gingerly holding the baby, as if afraid she might let her go by mistake. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you were here. I was really scared.’
‘Yes,’ Frances said. ‘So was I.’
It was almost eleven o’clock by the time Frances left the hospital. Back in the ward, Kate was comfortably in bed, the baby in a Perspex-sided cot beside her wearing a tiny disposable nappy and a white nightgown. Kate’s last sleepy words as Frances said goodnight, were ‘Bring me something to wear and my make-up and my clean-and-clear lotion, all the stuff I said. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
‘Oh, and where’s my mobile, I’ve got to text everybody.’
‘You can’t Kate, you won’t be allowed to use it in the hospital. When you’re up and about – ’
‘That’s no good, I’ve got to text everybody.’
‘Can I call – ’ Frances hunted in her mind for names (who was the favourite?) ‘Michelle or Amy? Then they could text everyone else?’ Kate looked mutinous then tearful. It was her news. ‘Then they can all come and visit.’
Kate gave in. ‘Ok then.’
‘See you tomorrow.’ She leaned down to kiss Kate; the thin arms came round her and, briefly, clung tight.
‘Don’t let Jack and Andy come in till I’ve washed my hair and I’m wearing my own clothes, right?’
She turned on her side awkwardly, still sore, and looked at the baby till her eyes closed.
Frances, suddenly remembering her car was still at Eden Court Theatre, was relieved to find a taxi outside to take her there.
It was dark and a crescent moon rode high over the Moray Firth as she drove across the elegant sweep of the Kessock Bridge. She was light headed, exhausted, and sure she would not sleep all night.
6
Andrew and Jack were watching a film when Frances got home.
‘What happened?’ Andrew asked.
‘You’ve got a niece.’
‘It’s a girl?’
‘Seven pounds ten ounces.’ Frances smiled at their astonished faces. ‘Both well.’
‘Neat – what’s she called?’
‘Nothing yet. The tag on her wrist says ‘Baby Douglas’.
‘She was all for Natalie last week. I told her it was French and she should pick a Scots name,’ Jack said.
Frances was surprised. ‘She never mentioned names to me.’
‘She had them all written down, she kept adding new ones.’
Frances sank into an arm chair. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she admitted. ‘Watching someone have a baby is very tiring.’
‘Did she scream, like they do on TV?’ Andrew wanted to know.
‘She yelled a bit, and no wonder,’ Frances smiled. ‘It was an easy birth, though, very straightforward.’
‘What’s the baby like? Does it look like anybody in our family?’ Andrew wanted to know.
‘At an hour old it’s quite hard to tell. Dark eyes, a wee round face and quite a lot of hair for a newborn.’
‘I thought they were bald.’
‘You probably think they don’t open their eyes till they’re six weeks old,’ Jack scoffed.
‘I do not!’
Frances got to her feet. ‘How late is it? I’d better call Alec, I suppose.’
Andrew and Jack exchanged a look. ‘He phoned.’
‘Alec?’
‘Our esteemed, estranged father,’ Jack mocked.
‘Did you tell him – ’
‘I said you were at the hospital with Kate and she was having her baby,’ Andrew said.
She saw from his expression that there was more. ‘What is it?’
‘He said could we put him up for a night or two if he drove here tomorrow. I said he had to ask you. He sort of laughed and said he’d take the chance.’
‘You should have told him to sod off,’ Jack remarked, modifying his language for his mother’s sake.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Frances said, getting to her feet. ‘There’s no need for that. He’s bound to be anxious about Kate.’
She went out. Jack and Andrew looked at each other.
‘She means because her mother’s hopped it,’ Jack explained.
‘I know that, Dumbo.’
They turned back to the television. After a moment, Andrew said, ‘You don’t think he wants to move back here, do you? Come back to Mum?’
‘Mum wouldn’t have him. She only puts up with him because of Kate.’
‘You think?’
‘I know.’
‘I suppose she could turn up any time, Susan.’
Jack grinned. ‘Na. Topped herself months ago – or Alec did her in.’
‘Oh, great, our father’s a murderer.’
‘Way dysfunctional family we’ve got,’ Jack said, ‘Don’t know how I turned out so normal. Pity you didn’t.’
Andrew kicked him. ‘Shut it, I want to watch this.’
In the hall, Frances was speaking to Alec.
‘She did very well, I was so proud of her.’
‘You’d think she’d passed her A levels,’ Alec protested. ‘She’s all right then?’
‘Remarkably so, and the baby is perfect. I’m worn out, Alec, I must go. I haven’t called Mum or Gill yet and it’s late.’
He seemed reluctant to let her go and she had a pang of pity for him, alone in his house with no Susan to turn to and say ‘she’s all right – it’s a girl’. Of course, if Susan were there, Kate would not be here. And I, realised Frances, feeling the tears start, would not have had
anything to do with it. I’d be on the other end of a phone, hearing the news, disapproving, thinking how could they let her, at fifteen, go through all that. The road she had travelled this year had never seemed so long. How far I’ve come, she thought, and how glad I am Kate’s here.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Alec, softened by emotion and pity for what he had missed. ‘All this must be so difficult for you. Andrew said you’re coming to see Kate.’
‘I was packing when you called but you don’t have to put me up if you don’t want to.’
‘Of course we will. Sorry it has to be the boxroom again.’
‘The boxroom will do. Thanks, Frances, I appreciate all you’re doing. You probably don’t realise how much.’
Gill next, but Gill was out, so she left a message. She would call her mother in the morning; it was too late for them now. She wanted to tell someone else, to go on talking about what had happened. If Kenny had been at home she could have told him every detail. That was the only way to absorb the experience and seal it in memory. She had thought it was only their own birth stories women had to tell, over and over, but perhaps there were other stories which had to be made mythical and permanent in the re-telling.
Unable to think of going to bed and suddenly ravenous, she went to make a pot of tea and toast. She was eating a toasted sandwich when the telephone rang.
Gillian had come in just after midnight. She and Paul had gone to a film then to a pub with friends. They were Paul’s friends and Gillian felt slightly out of it. She came home glad to have Paul to herself, yet feeling tetchy, wondering if she really wanted him to stay overnight.
He stood behind her as she pressed the ‘play’ button on the answerphone, nuzzling her neck, hands round her waist then rising to cup her breasts. At the sound of Frances’s voice she froze, and sensing the change he released her.
Kate’s had her baby tonight, a wee girl. They’re fine, both of them. Call me back, even if it’s late.
Gillian said, ‘Pour me a drink would you? You could open the white wine in the fridge. I have to speak to Fran.’
He went to fetch the wine and when he came in with two full glasses, Gillian was saying, ‘We’ve only just got in. Paul’s here.’
He sat down with his glass of wine, and waited. When she finally hung up, she went to sit beside him. ‘Fran says it was really straightforward. But poor Kate.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Ah. I see.’
‘Well, no you don’t. It’s complicated, my family.’
‘Is it?’
She had not told him. Now she was only too aware how little she had told him. Before she could decide what to say a great shudder went through her, so that her glass shook and wine spilt. As he took it from her she put her hands over her face and burst into tears.
‘Hey – what is it?’ He held her, rocking her gently, knowing by now she would come out of it soon enough and this was all he was required to do. Her face was pressed against his shirt, the tears soaking through soft cotton. He stroked her hair. ‘Maybe you should tell me what’s going on,’ he suggested. ‘Like this, we’re not going anywhere, are we?’
She raised her head. Eye make-up was smudged in dark crescents under her eyes and her hair was sticking up at the front. He smiled. ‘Sweet,’ he murmured, smoothing it down.
‘Where might we be going?’ she asked, moving away from him.
‘It’s kind of hard to get close to a woman who keeps having major emotional traumas and won’t tell you what the hell’s going on.’ He went on smiling, taking it lightly.
‘I told you, it’s complicated. Kate’s my other sister’s daughter and it turned out she was pregnant when she arrived at Fran’s, though nobody knew that then. And Kate’s mother, my sister Susan, right – ’
‘I’m with you so far.’
‘You know I told you’d she’d gone off for a while? Well, we still don’t know where she is, we don’t even know she’s still … all right. Kate’s had a baby and her mother doesn’t even know and we can’t tell her.’
‘That’s why you keep crying, because you’re upset about your sister?’
‘Oh, I don’t know why I keep crying … it just happens. Maybe that’s part of it.’
‘I see,’ he said, seeing at any rate that this was unlikely to be the whole truth. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but did you want a kid yourself?’
Gillian shook this off. ‘Oh for goodness sake, I’m thirty six and single – if it was home and kids I wanted, I’ve gone the wrong way about it.’
‘Thirty six is a terrific age to have a baby. Two of my sisters-in-law had babies in their thirties. Kit was nearly forty.’
‘Yes, but presumably they were married to your brothers first.’
‘One of them was.’
‘Are you making fun of me? Because, quite honestly, I could do without that right now.’
‘All I’m saying is, why not?’
‘Why not what?’
‘Why not have a baby?’
Gillian had found a clean tissue in her pocket and was dabbing at her eyes. Whatever he meant, she wasn’t able to deal with it. Not now.
‘I said I’d use some of my leave to be around for Kate when Fran has to be at school. Just for a few days when she gets home from the hospital. I know you said the Algarve has these great bargains, but – ’
‘Forget the Algarve. It’ll still be there next time you have a holiday.’ He waited while Gillian blew her nose. ‘Better?’
She bit her lip, hesitating. ‘Paul, would you – what about coming with me, to Dingwall? If your brothers have all these children you’ll know a lot more about babies than I do.’
‘I don’t even know where Dingwall is,’ he confessed, ‘but sure, why not. We could maybe do a Highland tour afterwards. I’ve never been farther north than Perth.’
‘In a few days? Or is that too soon for you?’
‘Are you taking it back?’
‘What?’
‘The offer to come and meet your family. That’s what it is, isn’t it?’
Gillian was silent. He could see her wondering what she was getting into, but he wouldn’t offer a way out. He was curious, if nothing else. After a moment she repeated, ‘Well, as long as you’re sure you want to come.’
Alec lay on his back on the double bed he had slept in alone for nearly nine months. He had a glass of whisky on the bedside cabinet and the bottle lay on the floor beside it. Better not drink too much, since he had a long drive ahead of him next day. He needed a drink, had to have a couple anyway. Wet the baby’s head, he told himself, wasn’t that what you were supposed to do? He was struggling to remember something, what was it, yes, Susan, why Susan hadn’t had more children. Why they hadn’t had any.
They had never been settled enough to have children, their marriage a fragile guilty thing snatched from all the choices they might have made instead. The life they’d chosen, from all the other lives. She had chosen. Damned if he could remember what he had done. Felt. Meant.
It was dark now but he had not drawn the curtains, and the street lamp sent a white glow through the window so that the furniture made bulky shadows and seemed to loom towards him. He closed his eyes but it was all still there: the wardrobe, the tallboy, the dressing table, all Susan’s and all empty of her belongings. Who had come back for her things? Had anyone? Perhaps he had dreamed it. One night when Kate was safely gone and he was too drunk to care, he had packed up a whole lot of her stuff and thrown it in the wheelie bin, smelling of rotten vegetables. That could have been any one of many nights.
He sat up abruptly, drained his whisky and poured himself another. You have to live with what happened. What she did, you did. Somewhere, she mocked him. He had no answer now, no way to call her back, make her see … see something. If only he could sort it out in his own head first. The whisky burned down, numbing. He drank it gratefully and poured another.
Grace woke in the early hours o
f the morning and rose to go to the bathroom. As she got back into bed, Jim stirred, ‘All right?’
She was wide awake. That was old age, she supposed, taking from you the deep sleep of the young and healthy. It seemed she drifted from one doze to another all through the night, never quite conscious but not lost to the world either. She thought she had been dreaming before her bladder woke her. Something about the girls, about getting them off to school? Uneasily, she turned on her side, careful of the left hip which ached all the time and worst at night.
As darkness dispersed and the first birdsong echoed tentatively from tree to tree, she went on lying awake, feeling there was something wrong, something she ought to remember.
‘Jim,’ she said, knowing by the way he breathed that he was just as wakeful. ‘I think I’ll phone Frances after breakfast.’
He turned to look at her. ‘What for?’
‘I just think I’d better.’
He could make nothing of this so turned over again, settling with a grunt. Grace waited for morning and thought of her daughters. ‘Here are the three Douglas girls,’ Barbara used to say when they went to her house for tea. ‘A credit to your parents.’
She said it when they were little, tidily turned out in matching skirts and jumpers. They went outside with glasses of lemonade and biscuits and sat on the bench in Barbara’s neat garden, bored. That was what she had dreamed, it was nothing to do with school. Susan in the middle, Susan always the first to get restless and jump up, spilling someone else’s lemonade in her haste.
Barbara wasn’t so approving when Susan was pregnant or Frances got divorced or Gillian went off to Edinburgh to get a job in an office instead of going to university. No wonder Gillian left, Grace thought, with the atmosphere at home so bad. No wonder she tried to get away from all of us. Susan had hurt them so much in the past, they were numb to it now. Well, she realised, I am numb to it. I don’t even worry that she has come to harm, she was always too good at taking care of herself. The others got damaged, not Susan.
Sometimes, looking at Frances or Gillian, she was surprised to find them grown women, responsible adults living separate lives. The children they had been, the young girls they had so briefly become, lived in her mind like teasing ghosts she sometimes longed to see and hold again. Gillian did not seem much different, and Frances always had a grave, self-contained way with her. She had not looked for comfort even as a child, even from her mother.
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