From Here to Maternity (29 page)

‘Please forgive him, Lucy. I know what he did was stupid, but he’s miserable and he really does love you and he really is sorry. Every time I call him he sounds worse. Like really, really sad.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘I know shagging another woman is really bad, but he said it happened that time when you broke up because of me – which I still feel really bad about – and he doesn’t even remember because he was so drunk and he’d never do the dirty on you again. He really means it. I know all guys are arseholes, but Donal isn’t. He’s a really good person. And you’re great together. I know I was mean to you in the beginning, but now I’ve got to know you I think you’re brilliant and I can see how happy you make him. He just sounds so lonely,’ said Annie, pausing for breath.

‘I’m lonely too, Annie,’ said Lucy. And she was, desperately. Living in a hotel out of a suitcase was miserable at the best of times, but at nine weeks pregnant it was truly grim. She loved Donal and she missed him, but he had cheated on her and she couldn’t get past that. Once a cheat always a cheat – wasn’t that the saying? Her father had cheated on her mother, who had never got over it and was still bitter. Lucy had been five and she remembered the hurt it had caused. Mind you, her father had been with Sandy for twenty years now and, as far as Lucy knew, he hadn’t cheated on her. Maybe he’d just fallen out of love with her mother. After all she was a difficult woman. But if Lucy forgave Donal now, so easily, would that make him think it was all right? Would he be tempted to stray again because he knew she was a soft touch? Did she want to bring up a child on her own? Did she want to spend the rest of her life alone because she couldn’t forgive this mistake? Donal made her feel special and he made her laugh. When she was with him she felt invincible, safe, happy. Was she throwing it all away for a principle? Her head throbbed and she felt nauseous again.

‘Lucy?’ said Annie, coming over to her. ‘Are you all right? You look like you’re going to throw up.’

‘I’m OK. It’ll pass in a minute. The mornings are always the worst.’

Annie looked at her, and then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, my God, are you pregnant?’

Lucy cursed her stupidity. She had presumed if Donal had confessed to Annie about sleeping with someone else that he would have told her about the baby.

‘Are you? How many months? When’s it due?’

‘I’m sorry, Annie. I thought Donal had told you. I’m only two months, and no one else knows.’

‘But that’s great news,’ said Annie, giving Lucy a bear-hug.

‘You’re OK with it?’ said Lucy, trying not to cry. She hadn’t had a hug in weeks. She’d been avoiding everyone.

‘I knew it’d happen sooner or later,’ said Annie, ‘and it’ll be fun to have a little baby around. I can spoil it rotten. But now you absolutely have to go back to Donal. You can’t be separated. Don’t let the baby grow up without him. He’s a brilliant father. I’d never have got through the last few years without him. You’ll be great parents and I’ll be a fab auntie. Come on, Lucy, I’m not leaving here until you promise you’ll get back with Donal. We’re a family now.’

Lucy was having trouble keeping her emotions in check. ‘Look, Annie, thanks for coming, I really appreciate it, but you need to go back to school. I promise I’ll think about it really seriously,’ she said, her voice beginning to quaver. ‘I have to go now, I’ve got a meeting.’

‘OK, but I’m going to call you every day until you agree,’ said Annie.

Lucy put her into a taxi and waved her off.

The doorbell rang. James went to answer it.

‘I’m baa-ack,’ I heard Babs shout, and she strode into the kitchen, followed by James, carrying her bag.

‘You’ve got the wrong house. I told you I’d pay for your flight but there was no room at the inn. Go home to Mum and Dad.’

‘Come on, it’s only for a few days. I’ll be fine and I’ll even babysit for you.’

‘Do you honestly think I’d leave Yuri with you?’

‘What’s the big deal? All they do is eat, sleep and shit.’

‘Mary Poppins herself couldn’t have put it more eloquently,’ said James. Turning to me, he asked, ‘Any reason why you didn’t mention your sister was moving in with us?’

‘Yes, because she isn’t. Come on, Babs, I’ll drive you home.’

‘I’m not leaving,’ she said, taking her coat off and sitting down. ‘I don’t want to get the third degree at home – you know what Mum’s like. She thinks she’s Agatha bloody Christie. I’ll be followed around for days being quizzed.’

‘Serves you right for behaving like a hooker. By the way, I thought you said you’d been roughed up? You look fine to me.’

‘Roughed up?’ said James.

‘Yes, my boss’s wife comes from some dodgy part of the East End and her brother – who looked like Mr T from
The A-Team,
except he was white – pushed me around and threatened to kill me if I didn’t get out of town.’

James roared laughing. ‘So you finally met your match.’

‘I’m actually quite traumatized by the whole episode and I think you could at least have the decency to give me a bed for a few days.’

‘How is a few days going to change your situation? You’ve got no money, no job and currently no man to sponge off,’ I asked.

‘I’m sure Mary Magdalene here will have no trouble sorting that one out,’ said James, guffawing at his own joke.

Babs rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve got a plan for a new career.’

‘Do tell,’ I drawled.

‘I’m going to come to work with you tomorrow and talk to Amanda. She loved it when I got the nose job live on her show so I figure she’ll be mad keen to have me back, and I wouldn’t mind a boob job.’

‘Don’t even think about it. I like my job and I’m not having you ruining it for me. Besides, Amanda isn’t your biggest fan after you threatened to sue her on live TV when you first got your bandages off and your nose looked awful.’

‘First, that was all sorted out when the swelling went down and I went back on the show and said I was thrilled with the results. And second, judging by the size of you, I’d say you’ve only a week or two left before you pop a sprog, so you won’t even be around.’

‘I’ve got seven weeks to go, you annoying cow, and you’re not to go near the studio.’

‘Fine, whatever, I’ll think of something else. So, what’s for dinner?’

‘Your head on a plate.’

That night I woke up to find the bed sheet underneath me soaking. Crikey, I must have peed in my sleep! Then, when I tried to get up. I felt a sharp pain in my gut and a whoosh of watery fluid gushed down my legs. Oh, my God, I was in labour.

‘James!’
I shrieked. ‘I’m having the baby!’

‘What?’ he said, struggling to wake up from a deep sleep.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing to the bed with a shaking finger. ‘My waters have broken. Shit, James, it’s too early – I’m seven weeks too early,’ I said, beginning to cry. This wasn’t right. It was too soon. The baby was too small. Oh, God, please, don’t let there be anything wrong, I prayed.

James dived into action, like an army pro. Within minutes he was dressed, had helped me into my dressing-gown and brought me downstairs. He went back up, woke Babs and told her she was about to earn her keep. ‘Emma’s waters have broken and I’m taking her to hospital. Look after Yuri, and if there are any problems, call me on the mobile,’ he said, as he ran back down to me.

Babs followed him, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. ‘What’s going on? Jesus, are you OK, Emma?’ she asked, looking concerned.

Christ, I thought, I must look awful if Babs is worried. I nodded. I was afraid to speak. Pure terror was running through my veins. Was my baby going to die? Why was I in labour so early?

James bundled me into the car. Babs stuck her head in and told me not to worry. ‘I’ll hold the fort here. Don’t sweat it, you’ll be fine. Babies are always popping out early,’ she said, and squeezed my arm.

James drove like a maniac to the hospital, breaking every red light on the way. Thankfully, at two in the morning traffic was scarce. He rammed the car up outside Reception and charged in to find help.

A nurse came running out with him and helped me into a wheelchair. I was rushed in and, after a preliminary examination by a midwife, I was given something to slow down the contractions while they contacted Dr Philips.

The midwife said that the aim was to keep the baby inside for as long as possible to let the lungs mature. I was put on constant foetal monitoring to make sure the baby didn’t go into distress. Everyone looked anxious. I held my breath.

Within half an hour Dr Philips was at my bedside, and although he patted my hand and told me not to worry, he looked pretty worried himself. ‘The longer we can delay the birth, the better it is for the baby,’ he explained. ‘It’s quite small still and we’d like to give its lungs a bit longer to develop. But if you do go into full labour, don’t panic. Premature babies have a very good survival rate these days.’

Survival! He used the word ‘survival’. So it was life and death. There was a possibility that the baby wouldn’t make it. I stifled a wail.

‘What happens if the lungs aren’t developed properly?’ James asked.

‘We put the baby on a ventilator which does the breathing for them,’ said Dr Philips.

‘A ventilator?’ said James, looking as horrified as I felt.

‘Let’s not worry about things until we have to. Emma, it’s very important that you try to remain calm.;

Keep calm? How could I possibly do that? It was too early. The baby shouldn’t be coming now. I’d heard about premature babies dying. We all had. How could this be happening? I had felt fine until today. Why now? Why us?

For two hours I sat in the bed and lurched from hope to despair. ‘What if the baby dies?’ I asked James.

‘Stop it, Emma. Our child is going to be fine,’ he said, as though chasing away negative thoughts.

‘But what if?’

‘Emma, it’s going to be all right. We’ve paid our dues on the baby front. It took us three years to have Yuri and we deserve a break. This baby is going to be fine. It has to be. It will be,’ he said, clenching his fists and pacing up and down.

‘I really wanted Yuri to have a brother or sister. I don’t want him to be an only child.’

‘He won’t be.’

‘At least we have Yuri. Thank God we have him. He’s given us the gift of parenthood. Whatever happens, we still have our son,’ I sobbed.

‘Emma, you have to stop thinking the worst. Of course we’re lucky to have Yuri but we’re going to have another baby too. Come on, start thinking positively.’

‘You’re right.’ I sat back and closed my eyes. ‘You will survive,’ I whispered, to my swollen stomach. ‘Come on, stay with us.’

‘That’s the spirit. Another few hours and, hopefully, the contractions will have stopped and we’ll be back on track,’ said my eternal optimist.

Ten minutes later, I started to bleed. I screamed at James to get Dr Philips.

He came running and performed an ultrasound. ‘Emma, this is showing us that clots have formed in the placenta, which is now breaking away from the uterine wall. We’re going to have to perform an emergency Caesarian.’

‘Is the baby OK?’ I sobbed.

‘Yes, but it needs to come out now before it gets into distress. The anaesthetist is on her way. I’m going to get scrubbed up. I’ll see you in theatre.’

I began to hyperventilate. James held my hand and stroked my forehead. He was trying to be stoic, but I could see the cracks. He was terrified too.

Chapter 33

Dr Philips smiled as he held up our baby. ‘It’s a girl,’ he announced.

James and I stared at our tiny daughter. Her body was curled up and her eyes were closed. She didn’t cry. I put out my arms to hold her but the midwife whisked her away immediately to the neonatal intensive care unit.

‘What are you doing? Is she all right?’ I sobbed.

‘She’s very small and she needs to be put on a ventilator straight away. Don’t worry, she’ll get the best care in NICU,’ said Dr Philips.

‘But she didn’t cry,’ I croaked.

‘It’s all right, Emma. She’s alive – she just needs help breathing,’ he said, as he started sewing me back together.

‘I want to see her. I want to see my little girl, please.’

‘You’ll be taken to her as soon as possible, I promise.’

James, who hadn’t uttered a word since the birth, was squeezing my hand so tightly that I thought my fingers would break. His face was ashen. Suddenly his grip loosened and he passed out.

When he came to, he was lying on a bed beside me in a little room down the corridor from the NICU.

‘What happened?’

‘You fainted.’

‘Is the baby all right?’

‘I don’t know, they won’t take me down to see her yet,’ I said, crying.

James got up and came over to hug me. ‘I’ll go and find out.’

He came back with a nurse from Intensive Care who told us that our little angel weighed just three pounds and would need careful monitoring for the next few days. She explained that the baby was on a ventilator and had tubes all over her body to help her feed and breathe.

‘It looks a lot worse than it is, so don’t be shocked when you see her. I’ll talk you through it.’

‘But is she all right?’ asked James.

‘So far she’s doing well, but the next twenty-four hours are critical,’ said the nurse.

James helped her lift me into a wheelchair and they pushed me down to the NICU where we entered another world. The room was crowded with premature babies in incubators. Alarms were going off and parents, sick with worry, were sitting beside their tiny tube-covered infants. Our little girl was huddled in an incubator with tubes all over her body, up her nose and in her mouth. Her eyes were open and, as we leant over to look at her, James’s chin began to shake. He was fighting desperately to be strong.

The nurse patiently explained what each tube and monitor was for. Among them there was a feeding tube and a heart-rate monitor, and the big tube taped to her mouth was connected to the ventilator. ‘Premature infants tend to have apnoea. It means there are times when they stop breathing. It can happen once a day or more frequently. The good news is that, as the baby matures, she outgrows it.’

‘How will you know if she stops breathing? What if I fall asleep and you’re looking after another baby and you don’t notice?’ I asked, panicking at the thought that she might be overlooked. It was pretty crowded in there and I wanted my baby to get the best treatment possible.