Ben (6 page)

‘There’s another option. Have you thought about adoption?’

‘I haven’t and I won’t, Jane.’

‘There’s no shame in it, you know. No one will judge you.’

She explained how hard it would be for me as a teenage mum with no money. She knew, as she’d been in exactly the same position.

‘I know what it’s like living hand-to-mouth, not knowing if you can afford the next packet of nappies.’

I know she wasn’t being malicious. A baby for such a young couple can cause all sorts of problems. She knew that. She was just trying to protect me and Simon.

‘Jane, I’ve thought about this. I’m young, I know nothing about the world but I know I can be a good mum. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.’

Even so, her doubts resonated around the empty flat over the next few weeks as Simon worked longer and longer hours away from home. When he did return for a night or two, he was too tired to do any decorating. I was getting too big to do much either. It seemed unfair to nag him when we saw less and less of each other, but I needed him. I needed things from him for the baby. I knew now how Mum had felt waiting for Dad’s money to be sent home when he was working away.

One Friday, Simon came home from work after three nights away up north and seemed even quieter than usual. Still, we had a nice meal together, but he was still too tired to do any decorating.

Then, about six o’clock in the evening on the Sunday, Simon pulled his coat on and said, ‘I’m going out.’ He grabbed his travel bag, gave me a hug and walked out of the door.

And I knew he wasn’t coming back.

Alone. Abandoned. Afraid.

I’d been conning myself. Without looking forward to Simon coming home and being part of our own little family, I could see our flat once more for what it was: horrible. I hated the days and nights I spent there alone.

I thought about phoning my parents but I was too proud. I still thought I could make it work. Do it on my own.

Wednesday came and went with no sign of Simon, just as I had feared. Thursday, Friday, the following Wednesday all had the same story. Each night I cried. Not out of loneliness. I was scared. Scared to be seventeen, scared to be pregnant and scared to be alone.

Simon’s money ran out very, very quickly. Even if he didn’t want to be with me, he still had a duty to his unborn child, so I called Jane to see if she knew where he was. She didn’t. Nor, she said, did his brothers or his parents. I believed her. She asked if I needed any help. I said no, but I burst out crying as I did and hung up as quickly as possible.

The next day there was a knock at my door. It was Grandma. Jane had called her, asked her to check on me and here she was.
I felt the tears coming again. Hers was the first friendly face I’d seen in weeks.

I told Grandma everything was okay, and that the cot and the pushchair and Moses basket were coming in a few days.

She let me finish then said, ‘Let me call your mum and dad, Kerry. They’ll help you out.’

‘No, Grandma, I’m fine. I have to do this on my own.’

‘You don’t, you know.’

‘I do.’

That’s how we left it. Grandma went home, I made myself dinner and sobbed myself to sleep again, terrified at the mess I’d allowed myself to get into. I don’t know if it was hormones or desperation or actual love, but I never gave up hoping that Simon would walk back through that front door. Every sound in the corridor got me listening for his voice. Sometimes I went for days without hearing anyone, but the hope remained.

Then one day there was a knock. It took me a while to prise myself out of my chair and waddle to the door, allowing me time to think who it could be. Simon had a key, but perhaps he was too embarrassed to use it. I chided myself for being silly. It was probably a cold-caller. One of the other tenants must have let them into the block. I opened the door …

… and burst into tears again.

‘Kerry, love, we’ve come to take you home.’

I’d never been happier to see anyone. Annoyed as I was at Grandma for telling my parents that I was in trouble, I was more annoyed at myself for not making it work on my own. At least now I didn’t have to pretend. Mum and Dad were rescuing me, taking me home to look after me and my baby.

They loaded all my things into a van and we drove back. Mum did most of the talking, telling me their plans for me and their grandchild. I sat back and listened, smiling all the way to Chapel St Leonards.

Neither of them once said, ‘I told you so.’ I knew they never would.

I thought they’d been wonderful enough already, but then Mum took me shopping and bought me a cot, a pushchair, Moses basket and all the nappies and clothes we would need for the first few weeks. She and Dad were so generous. I put everything in my room and did the only thing left to do. Wait.

I’d been given 15 October as a due date and so obviously the night before I was very nervous. My bump felt like it was full of butterflies. But the 15th came and went with no change. In fact, a week passed, then another. I’m sure I’d doubled in size. I was like a balloon, but with these silly skinny arms and legs sticking out. I thought,
If the baby doesn’t come soon, I’ll burst!

The anticipation was crippling. I realised I’d set my heart on meeting my baby on the due date. I was really sad after that. The longer it dragged on, the more anxious I got. What sort of a mum would I be? Would I be good enough? I was seventeen and single. How would I cope emotionally? How would I know what to do? I had bottles and steamers and nappies and creams and powders and leaflets on everything from breastfeeding to sleeping, eating and winding – you name it. But what if I didn’t bond with my baby? What if I got it wrong?

The fears got worse every day that the baby didn’t come. Then, on 28 October, everything changed. It was a Saturday night. Mum and Dad had gone out to a party. It was eleven o’clock and I’d
spent the night trying to get comfortable in front of the television when things began to happen. I was going into labour.

I ran to the phone and called Mum at her friend’s house. Twenty minutes later we were all in the car heading towards Boston’s Pilgrim Hospital, about an hour away but still the closest maternity unit. Mum sat in the back with me, holding my hand, telling me not to worry, assuring me I was doing fine, that everything was all right. I wanted to believe her but the pain was incredible. No one warned me having a baby would hurt! By the time we arrived I was doubled up in agony and dreading it getting worse with the birth. I’d gone from wanting the baby out as quickly as possible to now not wanting it to come at all!

The midwives at Boston were brilliant. They got me into a bed and put me on gas and air. When that didn’t work I was given a shot of pethidine in my leg. Then, to speed things up, they broke my waters. I felt like a spectator in my own show.

Mum stayed at my side the whole time, comforting and encouraging me. I was sweating and scared, but she was calm and looked at me with such love in her eyes. Even when I was screaming in agony she was a rock. The only time she looked away was at six o’clock the following morning as her grandchild made an appearance.

‘It’s a boy!’

A boy! Those two words were the greatest painkiller of all and I couldn’t wait to hold him. I watched patiently as the nurse did her checks then saw her wrap him in a towel and pass him to Mum. Mum couldn’t resist giving him a cuddle and a kiss, then she lowered the little pink bundle down onto my chest and we both cried. It was wonderful, and I just kept repeating the same thing: ‘It’s like a miracle. A little miracle.’ Because it was. I
couldn’t get over how this tiny little person had grown and grown in my tummy. I’d made him. This little bundle with his shock of black hair, little button nose, really cute lips and lovely blue eyes had come from me. It was so much to take in.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He weighed 6lb 6oz, which wasn’t large considering how overdue he’d been, and his skin was as smooth as silk. The nurse had said late babies usually came out wrinkly. I think she was trying to prepare me for the shock in case I thought I’d given birth to an alien, but there wasn’t a line on him. I remember thinking how soft he felt, how warm. Even a couple of little birthmarks – a strawberry one on the nape of his neck and a darker patch above the right knee – just made him seem all the more perfect.

It was only once I had cuddled him that I realised how tired I was. By that time I’d been up for twenty-four hours, the last third of those in unimaginable discomfort. But it had been worth it. I’d done it. I had my baby boy. Now I could relax – and sleep.

First, though, I had to ask Mum something.

‘What do you think of “Ben”, then?’

‘Ben? Is that what you’re calling him?’

‘Yes. Not Benjamin or Benny – just Ben. Ben Stephen Needham.’

‘I think that’s lovely.’

I don’t know where the name had come from. I hadn’t planned any in advance because I didn’t even know what sex I was expecting. But he was definitely a Ben, and ‘Stephen’ had a decent ring to it. It wasn’t intended as a tribute to my brother but I knew he would never believe that!

All I wanted to do was close my eyes but the nurses had other ideas: ‘You can sleep when Ben does.’

I spent a lot of that day being shown how to breastfeed, but I panicked in case I did it wrong and the more I flustered, the more impossible it seemed. I think my fears passed down to Ben because he wouldn’t take to it, which only got me more and more worked up. Eventually, a nurse showed me how to mix formula instead. Even getting Ben to suck on a bottle was traumatic but we did it. Watching his little mouth draw the milk from the teat was magical. So tiny, so young and he was feeding himself.

By contrast, learning how to wind him seemed a bizarre ritual, almost barbaric. Like everything else, once you get the hang of it and understand why it’s so important, it becomes second nature. At first, though, even raising a finger to my precious little bean seemed so wrong.

There seemed so much to take in, it was like being back in school. There were lessons in nappies, bathing, sleeping – you name it.

‘Don’t worry,’ Mum said, ‘I’ll always be there to help.’

I honestly don’t know what I would have done without her there. Mum was only thirty-six and we both felt that Ben had come into the world blessed with two mothers. Just entertaining that idea, however, brought its own cloud. Yes, Ben was lucky to have so many people who loved him from his first breath; Dad, Danny, Stephen, Grandma and Granddad all visited as soon as they were allowed. But the one person who should have been there was missing.

Then, on my second day in hospital – the second day of Ben’s life – a nurse came to say there was a phone call for me. I gave Ben to Mum and went out to the ward’s public phone. Just walking took its toll. I remember thinking,
This had better be important.

I picked up the receiver and said, ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Kerry.’

‘Simon? Is that you?’

‘Yes. I hear you’ve had our baby.’

I went from shock to outright annoyance in seconds. It
had
been our baby. Then Simon had left and it had become
my
baby. All the frustrations of the last few weeks were on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to put him straight, to tell him where to go. Then I thought of the little pink creature in the cot next to my bed and I relented. It wasn’t the time.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve had the baby. He’s healthy, he’s beautiful and I’ve called him Ben.’

Then I placed the receiver back in the cradle and walked gingerly back to my bed, head buzzing with anger, resentment and something else.

After three days I was allowed to leave. The doctors were happy with Ben’s progress and the nurses seemed convinced that I could look after my child. I wished I shared their confidence. The second I stepped out of the hospital and I felt Ben wince as his first taste of fresh air buffeted his tiny little face, I froze. Was he dressed appropriately? Had I put enough clothes on him? Was I holding him correctly? All my insecurities came flooding back.

Mum saw instinctively what was going on and put her arm around me. ‘Come on, Kerry, love. You’re doing just fine.’

Back at Sandy Lodge, I just wanted to be with Ben but the doorbell wouldn’t stop ringing. Word had got around the village and relatives and friends traipsed in and out for several days. A lot of my old school mates popped by. They were really pleased
for me, although after the obligatory baby chat, they couldn’t help mentioning they’d be shopping and clubbing later that week. Obviously I wouldn’t be joining them. For one second I felt a pang of jealousy. I was a mum now. I couldn’t see myself ever going out again.

After the first rush of guests had been and gone I had another pair of visitors. Or rather Ben did. It was his paternal grandparents, Cliff and Audrey Ward. They’d rung first and we’d agreed it was fine for them to come over. I didn’t have any beef with them – in fact, they were both really nice. Initially, at least, it was quite awkward. Then I saw how much they were already in love with their grandson and any doubts were washed away.