‘Oh tremendously,’ I lied. ‘He can’t stop talking about it, and makes jokes about us having a baker’s dozen. I told him that one is quite enough, and… ooooh.’
‘Breathe it out, that’s it, well done. Baby’s heart rate is perfect,’ she observed looking at the monitor, ‘and it’s all going splendidly.’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ I asked eventually. I knew she wasn’t married because her left hand was bare.
‘Yes, but I don’t think he’s The One,’ she replied. ‘I believe you know instinctively if you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, and so far I haven’t had that feeling.’
‘I know what you mean,’ I agreed. ‘As soon as I saw my partner I lost all interest in anyone else. He captured my heart from the second I met him.’ I omitted telling Annie about Nick at that point still being married to Wife Number Two with a couple of daughters under his belt from Wife Number One, and immediately deflected any potential questions from her by asking one myself. ‘Why are you doubting your boyfriend as a lifelong partner?’
Annie wrinkled her nose. ‘Instinct. He has a job, but never seems to have any money. I mean, fair enough, some women go fifty-fifty when on a date. I appreciate it’s expensive eating out in restaurants, or taking in a movie at the local cinema. But I very often end up paying for the pair of us. I’m a midwife, not a millionaire. If he can’t fund his share of a date, he’s not a good bet as a life partner. I don’t think I could rely upon him to chip in with the bills. And what if I have children one day and give up work for a while? Who will put bread on the table? I don’t wish to sound materialistic,’ Annie said hastily, ‘I’m just being practical.’
‘Of course,’ I said, completely understanding where she was coming from. Heavens, I knew only too well what it was like to penny-pinch now I’d given up work. We were never going to starve, but I couldn’t see us ever getting on the property ladder either.
‘What’s your partner like?’ Annie asked.
‘Incredibly extravagant and generous,’ I lied, giving an apologetic smile. Annie was lovely, with a cosy manner that probably had a lot of her patients confiding in her as she distracted them from contractions, but I wasn’t about to wash all my emotional laundry in the delivery room. I didn’t want to think about Charlotte and Lucinda’s recent demands for a pony, or Amanda having a hissy fit because she’d not managed to meet her nail technician that week. I just wanted to concentrate on my own little baby for now. I felt a thrill of excitement knowing that in a few hours I would be a mummy too. I just wished Nick would hurry up and get here.
The minutes ticked by and turned into hours. Annie made no comment that Nick hadn’t shown up. I had no idea if Nick had picked up my voicemail, but was now at the stage of labour where I didn’t care. I’d moved about, paced, squatted, leant against the easy chair, slumped over the beanbag and wanted to roll up the mat and chomp down on it. Annie assured me all this was perfectly normal, and that so far this was a textbook delivery. A doctor popped in a couple of times to make sure all was well, and an anaesthetist told me that it was too late for an epidural, but thankfully the lovely Annie remained my one constant, distracting me with chatter, praising my progress and urging me on. I realised I’d not texted Melanie with the promised blow-by-blow details. But then again, what did she expect me to write?
Don’t worry about a thing, it’s a stroll in the park! xx
Hardly. If she wanted the absolute truth it was more likely to be something along the lines of:
The midwife is doing sterling service letting me crush her hand. I’m now at the ‘hard work’ stage and bellowing like King Kong. My nether regions periodically feel like they’re being blowtorched. My hair is stuck attractively to my face, which, from all the pushing, is a mottled shade of pink and white, and I’ve burst a blood vessel in my left eye. Other than that, it’s a complete doddle! xx
I clamped the gas and air mask over my face and breathed deeply. A clock on the wall showed it was coming up to seven in the morning. As I screwed my face up against another contraction, Annie gave a shout of encouragement.
‘The head is crowning… I can see your baby’s hair! Would you like me to get a mirror so you can see?’
‘Yes, please,’ I panted, as Annie obliged. ‘Short back and sides?’ I joked feebly.
She hooted with laughter. ‘You have such a wonderful sense of humour,’ she said, patting my hand. ‘I’m not meant to say things like this, but you’ve been one of my favourite patients. We’ve had such a lovely chat, and it makes such a nice change not being sworn at.’
‘Women swear at you?’ I gasped.
‘Sure,’ she nodded. ‘I’ve been punched and bitten too. But the air has always turned blue at some point.’
I didn’t reply as I was in the middle of another powerful contraction. There was absolutely no control over them. My body was doing what it was programmed to do, taking on a life of its own as it delivered the life within.
‘Fan-tas-tic, Hattie. The head is out! One superhuman push for me, and your baby will be born!’
I felt like I was coming towards the finishing line of a long race, like a marathon runner, my body urging me on, to give just a little bit more, and yet a little bit more still, with Annie standing in the wings metaphorically waving a flag as she cheered me on. I gave a final, almost animal-like bellow, my body reaching the point where pain becomes euphoria, and a tiny grey-skinned baby shot into Annie’s hands.
‘You did it!’ she cried, as I collapsed back on the bed. ‘Here,’ she said, presenting me with a teeny wizened face which was rapidly turning pink. ‘Congratulations, Hattie. You have a baby boy.’
‘Oh thank-you-thank-you-thank-you,’ I said, half laughing, half crying with joy. I cradled my tiny son as Annie gave me an injection to speed up delivery of the afterbirth.
‘Do you have a name for him?’ she asked.
‘We decided on Fin for a boy,’ I replied.
‘That’s lovely,’ she beamed. ‘Okay, Hattie, I need to take Fin back for a moment to clamp the umbilical cord and take care of a few other things, like weighing and bathing him. But I’ll make sure I do everything right by the bed, so you can see him and the bonding process isn’t interrupted.’
‘Yes, of course, thank you,’ I said, passing my precious baby back to her. ‘I’m so grateful to you, Annie. I couldn’t have done this without you.’
In that moment, something passed between us that was beautiful, profound and moving. Two women had connected on a very intimate and private level as, together, we’d welcomed this tiny miracle into the world. The moment was shattered by Nick crashing through the delivery room doors, just in time to see the midwife holding his son in her arms.
‘Oh my God!’ he said, looking both shocked and horrified.
‘Don’t worry, darling,’ I assured him, ‘in some ways I’m glad you weren’t here to witness a very undignified show on my part.’ I smiled wanly. ‘Annie here has been an absolute star.’
It was then that I realised Nick’s horrified reaction wasn’t because he’d missed the birth of his son, but was directed at the midwife, who was holding our baby and staring at Nick with her own appalled expression. There was a moment where nobody spoke, and everything was freeze-framed.
‘Is Hattie your partner?’ Annie eventually croaked, her voice barely audible.
‘I can explain everything,’ Nick muttered, raking one hand through his hair.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Annie, her tone suddenly cold.
‘Wh-What…’ I stuttered, aghast at the drama being played out in front of me. ‘Do you two know each other?’
That was when the air in the delivery room finally turned blue.
Fifty-Three
How do you get over discovering that the woman who helped bring your son into the world was also your partner’s lover? The pain was raw. As was the humiliation. The euphoria, like a punctured milk carton, instantly leaked away, curdling the joy.
‘Gi
ve me back my baby,’ I hissed, staring at Annie as if she’d just sprouted two heads and four sets of fangs.
Suddenly I sensed, rather than saw, Josh nearby. Like the umbilical cord that had attached Fin to me, I felt a tugging sensation, as if something or someone was trying to pull me away from this scenario.
Step back from this moment, Hattie, he said, speaking directly into my head.
No way, Josh, I replied, resisting the pull of energy like a spider scrabbling against the suction of a vacuum nozzle.
Hattie, you have to let go of the hatred that has entered your heart. You must return to the Halfway Lounge.
NOOOOO! I mentally screamed, and it seemed as if the very ground trembled as my protest reverberated through my head and the delivery room, rattling the hospital walls and squeezing through every pore of its brickwork. Through the window, I could see the trees beyond shaking as if caught up in a vicious gale.
Hattie, it’s vital to release the years of negative energy that you’ve stored within your mental and emotional bodies. Why don’t you want to take a break?
Why indeed? Even though this was a life review, it was as real as the moment when I’d lived it. I needed to confront Annie. Apart from anything else, the overwhelming power of nurture and nature was pumping through my veins. I wasn’t going anywhere.
I’m not leaving my baby, I sobbed, as Annie wordlessly passed Fin back to me. I hugged him tight, hot tears splashing onto his hair, still wet from amniotic fluid.
So be it, said Josh.
Suddenly the delivery room was flooded with a swirling mist of different coloured lights. I clutched Fin to me as whirling clouds of violet, pink, gold and indigo washed over and around me. I felt like I was sitting in some sort of giant washing-up bowl with this rainbow of colour acting as a detergent, rinsing its light through me, lifting and cleaning away years of hidden grot.
‘I’m so sorry, Hattie,’ Annie was saying. I stared up at her through my brimming eyes and saw that she too was crying. ‘I had no idea, I promise you.’
And even though I knew Annie had said this to me sixteen years ago, back in that moment I’d blocked her words out. Erased them. All those years ago, it had suited me to not remember. It was so much easier to put the blame at her feet, rather than Nick’s. Yet again, I was excusing him, desperately trying to exonerate him, because I didn’t want to sully my perception of him at that point in my life. I wanted to believe that Annie had been a temptress, temporarily luring my boyfriend away from me in a very weak moment. Because if I didn’t hang on to that thought, then I would surely go insane with grief.
Listen to her, Josh urged. His was the voice of reason in this moment of madness.
‘Do you forgive me, Hattie?’ Annie was saying, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. This time there was no escaping what she was saying. No pretending. No blocking. Her words seemed to take form in the strange mist, taking on a light of their own as they rose up from her mouth into the strange atmosphere. Her question was now suspended over my head, wavering in the light, spacing itself out so that each single letter shimmered like a brightly coloured jewel, hovering a few moments longer before suddenly collapsing in on themselves and liquefying: now running through my hair, washing over my skin, trickling over every part of my body until the question she’d asked repeated itself like an echo so deeply within me that I felt as if it had touched the very spark that had ignited my own existence. Do you forgive me, Hattie… forgive me, Hattie… forgive me, Hattie?
I stared up at her pretty face, her features marred by distress, and saw the pain in her eyes. Something deep in my soul stirred and responded. Annie was innocent. She’d unwittingly got caught up in this drama, as much a victim as I was. She was just as shocked. Just as horrified. And instead of hating her, this time my heart went out to her.
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ I replied. And I meant it.
She squeezed my hand and gave me a watery smile.
‘You’re a lovely lady, Hattie,’ she whispered, her voice thick with emotion and sorrow. ‘I’m going off-duty now. Another nurse will take over.’
I nodded, tears once again pouring down my own cheeks as she stepped away from the bed. Without even bothering to look at Nick, she calmly walked out of the delivery suite and out of our lives. As the double doors swung shut behind her I looked through the strange light at Nick. He was openly weeping. He moved towards the bed and held out his arms to take Fin. Wordlessly I handed the baby over, watching the lights whirl over him, knowing that he was weeping with joy to hold his son, and weeping with shame at what he’d put me through.
Fifty-Four
The weeks ahead were challenging to say the least. I was desperate to turn to someone for moral support, but there was no one. I couldn’t tell my parents. I just couldn’t. The thought of Mum’s horrified expression before she said, ‘I told you so.’ Or Dad clenching his fists impotently, fighting down the desire to march round to the flat and bop Nick on the nose for sending his daughter into a depression which, so far, I’d blamed on postpartum blues. Nor could I tell my little group of new-mum friends at our cosy coffee mornings, as we discussed our problems. Melanie was struggling to breastfeed and fretting. Karen was bottle-feeding and beating herself up with guilt that she hadn’t put her baby to the boob in the first place. Jenny was hollow-eyed and tearful from the endless broken nights, while Carol and Sue were frazzled from baby Ben screaming the house down every evening with colic.
‘What’s little Fin doing to get you down?’ asked Melanie, clocking a moment where my internal angst had fleetingly registered on my face.
The urge to unburden was huge. I’d actually got as far as opening my mouth, on the threshold of letting the whole sorry saga spill out, only to snap it shut again after mentally picturing the scenario: ‘Oh it’s nothing to do with Fin. He’s a poppet. Doesn’t give me a moment’s trouble. No, it’s his father who’s the cause of my misery. I found out Nick was playing doctors and nurses with the midwife, and now I want to join in and castrate him without anaesthetic.’
They’d be horrified, although admittedly they’d thank their lucky stars that all they had to bleat about was sore nipples or the price of Aptamil. Bizarrely, the one person I wanted to reach out to was Annie. Once I’d even telephoned the hospital, only to discover she’d transferred to another, but because of the Data Protection Act I wasn’t allowed to know which one.
At home my moods fluctuated wildly.
‘It was just sex,’ Nick had protested, ducking out of the way as I’d hurled one of Fin’s teddies at him. It had bounced off his head and landed on the laminate flooring, issuing soft growls from the sound gadget sewn within its stuffing. In that moment I’d wished the bear was real so that it could rip Nick to pieces. Instead my outbursts of anger were doing a fine job of attacking him.
‘It was just a release,’ Nick said on another occasion. ‘You were out of service. It meant nothing!’
‘Well it meant something to me,’ I’d hissed back. After being a disinterested boyfriend all through my pregnancy, suddenly he’d turned into the model partner. He loved Fin to pieces and didn’t mind sharing the broken nights. He was also trying to claw his way back into my heart by availing himself of anything that needed doing. Never had the flat been so thoroughly vacuumed, and never had I drunk so many cups of tea made by him. Nor did his attention end there. Suddenly Nick had abandoned fulfilling Charlotte and Lucinda’s wish to have a pony, and cash was available to spoil me with bouquets of flowers, scent and jewellery, all of which were meant to prove his love and devotion. Hardly a weekend went by without Nick whisking me off for candlelit dinners, while my besotted parents babysat their little grandson.
Eight weeks after Fin’s birth, Nick was keen to resume our sex life. We’d spent the last two weeks tentatively kissing each other. However, before it could lead anywhere I’d always ended up angrily pushing him away. The start of intimacy seemed to set off a mental string of pornographic images in my head of N
ick with Annie. I knew that things couldn’t carry on like this and, one day, got as far as picking up the phone to make an appointment with a relationship counsellor. When the flat’s intercom buzzed I’d jumped guiltily, hastily putting down the handset as I’d wondered who was outside. Nick had been at work and not due home for another hour. Answering the internal phone, I’d been surprised to hear Tod’s voice.
‘Hey, Hattie. I was just passing and thought I’d pop in and see my handsome nephew.’
‘Sure,’ I said, genuinely pleased. I liked Nick’s brother enormously, although my feelings remained unchanged towards Tod’s wife, Jackie. She was still, to put it bluntly, a two-faced bitch.
‘Hey,’ said Tod, sweeping into the flat’s narrow hallway a minute later. He gave me a bear hug. ‘Great to see you.’ He thrust some flowers at me.
‘Lovely,’ I said, wondering if I had any vases left to accommodate yet more flowers. ‘Have you got the day off work?’
‘Yeah, something like that,’ said Tod, raking one hand through his hair just like Nick often did.
I mentally raised an eyebrow at Tod’s subdued tone, but made no comment. If he wanted to tell me what was wrong, it would come out at some point.
‘Fin’s in his cot, napping. But you can tiptoe quietly into the nursery and have a peek at him. I’ll put the kettle on.’
I walked through to the kitchen-lounge and rifled through the cupboards. Damn. No spare vase. I put the flowers in the sink and filled it with cold water. I’d have to trim them right down and make them fit into a large mug. I busied myself with the tea. I had just set the cups on the occasional table when Tod returned.
‘Your son is gorgeous,’ he said, removing a basket of laundered baby-grows from the sofa. He flopped down with a heavy sigh. ‘Seeing the little chap makes me quite broody.’
I smiled as I sat down at the other end of the sofa. ‘Are you thinking of adding to your family?’ I teased. ‘I’m sure Jackie might be swayed.’
The Man You Meet in Heaven: An absolutely feel-good romantic comedy Page 24
