Mistakes We Make (14 page)

There was another groan.

‘Speak to me, Lex. Where are you?’

‘I’m ... in ... the ... cottage.’

Molly shoved the phone into her pocket and ran. A minute later, she was hammering on the front door of the gardener’s cottage. Damn it! Why was the thing locked? Lexie never locked it, unless she was sleeping here – a rare event these days.

‘Lexie! It’s me! Let me in!’

From somewhere inside she could hear the unearthly moaning again.

‘Lexie! Can you get to the door?’

‘Wait! C-coming.’

There was a heart-stopping pause, then the sound of dragging footsteps. The key grated in the lock and Molly was able to push the door open.

‘Thank God! Are you OK?’

Lexie’s skin was pallid against the crimson of her hair. Sweat gleamed on her face, the unhealthy, oily slick of the unwell.

‘It’s started.’

Molly put one arm around her waist and the other across her shoulders. ‘Come on. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable. Where’s Patrick?’

‘Tokyo.’

‘Shit. No point in calling him, then.’

Unexpectedly, Lexie laughed. ‘Typical man, huh? Never there when you need them.’

‘Have you called an ambulance?’

Lexie started walking up and down the corridor. She turned by the front door and strode back to the studio door, turned and came back to the front door. It was a short corridor, only a dozen feet, hardly the place for a walk. At the front door she paused for a moment, turned again, paced the length of the corridor, turned the handle of the studio door and flung it open. Light flooded in.

The cottage was tiny, just a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, but its outstanding feature was the large living room with its three floor-to-ceiling French windows leading into the mansion’s old walled garden. Autumn, Molly noticed as she followed Lexie into the bright space, was here. The tall beech tree in the far corner of the garden was turning to gold and leaves were already whipping free and swirling to the ground in the brisk morning breeze. It was secluded and pretty, but above all, it faced north and threw flat light into the room – which was why Lexie had made this space her studio. Large canvases were stacked against the wall and an easel stood near the far window, the last painting for her exhibition awaiting final touches.

Not today though. It seemed as if today was going to be the day when something – 
someone
 
–
 quite different would be clamouring for attention.

Lexie, striding determinedly round the perimeter of the room, said, ‘God, no. You can’t call an ambulance unless it’s an emergency and they don’t consider being in labour an emergency. Oh Molly!’ She came to an abrupt halt, her eyes huge and dark against the pasty white skin. ‘What if there’s something wrong? She shouldn’t be coming yet – aahh!’

She doubled up again as a contraction wracked her body.

‘Let’s not panic,’ said Molly, panicking. She was used to coping with crises. A sick chef, a hungover band, no wine – such things were the stuff of day-to-day event management emergencies. But a baby?

She watched helplessly. Patrick would be better at this than she was. He was always calm and in control. On the other hand – this was his baby too, and he was totally in love with Lexie. How would he cope with watching her suffer?

‘Right,’ she said decisively. ‘I’d better get you to hospital. This is the real thing, you reckon? Not just one of those false labour whatnots?’

Lexie gritted her teeth. ‘Molly. My waters have broken, the contractions are less than ten minutes apart. It may be unusual to go into labour so quickly with a first baby, but yes, believe me, this is the real thing.’

‘OK. I’ll get the car round.’

‘I don’t know if I can sit in it.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘I don’t know if I can sit at all.’

‘What am I meant to do then?’

‘Listen, get the car, we’ll figure it out. Hurry!’

Molly fled. All thoughts of London, of Barnaby, of having to face Adam were gone. The only thing that mattered now was Lexie, and getting the baby delivered safely. The enormity of the task hit her. This was about a new life. Please let everything be all right, she prayed, and felt like adding, childlike, if you make everything all right, I promise to be good
.
Whatever that meant.

Lexie stared at the back of the car, where Molly had thrown half a dozen towels seized from her bathroom.

‘Towels? Why towels?’

Molly shrugged. ‘I dunno. Anything you ever read about birth seems to involve boiling water and lots of towels. I managed the second bit.’

‘Well, I sincerely hope we don’t need them. How am I meant to get in?’

Molly stared at the back door of her car, which she was holding wide open.

‘It’s a Volvo, Lex, not a Mini.’

‘I can’t sit down.’

‘Then kneel. Whatever, I dunno, but unless you want to have this baby on the grass, you’re going to have to do something.’

Lexie clambered in. ‘These towels might be useful after all,’ she muttered, arranging them around her as she half lay, half knelt along the back seat.

‘Ready?’

‘Just go!’

Molly shot into reverse. Pebbles sprayed left and right as she threw the car into a turn and headed for the drive.

‘Jeez!’

‘OK in the back?’ Molly called anxiously over her shoulder.

‘If this baby doesn’t finish me off, your driving will.’

‘I thought you wanted to get to the hospital.’

‘Alive.’

Molly, glancing in the rear-view mirror, saw Lexie fling out an arm to brace herself against the back seat as she braked at the bottom of the drive.

‘Fast? Or safe? Which?’ she demanded irritably.

For answer there was only another moan. She sped up. It was three miles to the main road, but at least the hospital was on the right side of Edinburgh. All she had to do was hit the city bypass and it would be plain sailing.

‘Damn!’

She stopped.

‘What? What is it?’ came a voice from the back.

‘Nothing. There’s a queue at the roundabout.’

‘Shit.’

‘Won’t take long,’ Molly said, much more confidently than she felt.

For a few minutes there was silence. Then Lexie said, ‘Soon I’ll be a mother.’

‘Have you only just realised that?’

‘It’s becoming more concrete. It’s been more about being pregnant till now. Soon the baby will be real. I wonder what it will be like.’

‘What? The birth? The baby? Or being a mother?’

‘Being a mother.’

‘Endless,’ Molly said dryly. The queue began to inch forwards. She could see the roundabout half a mile away.

Lexie went on as though she hadn’t heard. ‘No more quick weekends away. No more peaceful nights. No more special time just with Patrick.’

‘It’s what you wanted.’

‘It was Patrick who wanted it. He had such a shitty time with his own father back in Ireland, I think he’s got the urge to prove he could do better.’

‘He’ll be a great dad.’ Molly rolled forward again. With luck, she might make the next change of lights.

‘Aargh!’

‘You all right?’ Molly asked anxiously, wondering whether there was any way she could nose the Volvo between the lines of traffic. It wouldn’t make her popular.

Behind her, Lexie had started panting heavily. ‘Fine,’ came through gritted teeth. ‘I could run a marathon. What do you think?’

‘I think we’re off,’ Molly answered thankfully, whisking through the lights at the roundabout just as they turned red. A car, fast off the mark from her right, beeped furiously. She ignored the angry face of the young male driver. He’d change that expression fast enough if he had to stop and help deliver a baby. ‘Five minutes. Can you hang on?’

‘Sure. I’ll just tell baby not to be impatient.’

Molly grinned.

Seven minutes later, she pulled up outside the maternity wing of the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. The back door swung open and Lexie tumbled out, staggered the few yards to the large glass doors, and sank onto her hands and knees.

‘I’ll have to park the car,’ Molly called. ‘You OK for a minute?’

Already the doors were swinging open and Molly could see a porter wheeling a chair across to where Lexie was kneeling. She was in the hands of professionals.

Thank goodness.

But for all the strength of the early contractions, the baby wasn’t keen on emerging. The hospital wanted to send Lexie home, but her blood pressure was rising. Molly had never imagined that giving birth could be such an extended process. Lexie was determined to have a natural birth, but as she grew tired, her fears grew.

‘What if something’s not right?’ she cried, squeezing Molly’s hand until it hurt. ‘What if there’s something wrong with her?’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Molly said, trying not to wince at the pressure on her fingers. If she could help Lexie through childbirth, a sore hand was a small price to pay. Still, watching her friend sweat and cry out only to fall back onto her pillows in a state of utter exhaustion confirmed one thing absolutely: she was never going to put herself through this.

‘What if she isn’t though?’

‘Then you and Patrick will deal with it,’ Molly said quietly, smiling steadily at Lexie.

‘Patrick! Oh my God, I haven’t told him! Have you called?’

Molly said soothingly, ‘I’ve left a message. I’m sure he’ll call back as soon as he can.’

But Patrick’s phone had been switched off and she had no idea whether he’d pick up the message.

As the day drew on and the soft grey of evening melted into the blackness of night, Molly wondered whether it would ever end. At some point Lexie’s mother, Martha, appeared and Molly was able to sneak away to the canteen for some refreshment, although it was hard to concentrate on eating.

It was almost six in the morning when Lexie finally gave birth. Molly had been sitting in the hard chair by the side of the rumpled bed for more hours than she could count.

‘I can’t go on,’ Lexie said, flopping back tiredly against the pillows. ‘I can’t do this any more.’

She looked weary to the bone. Her scarlet hair, usually a jaunty crown atop her head, was flattened and plastered down with sweat. Her chocolate brown eyes were dull with fatigue and she had pale blue smudges in the hollows underneath them.

Molly hadn’t dared look in a mirror to check her own appearance. She longed to sleep. She’d already cajoled Lexie through several crises, and was beginning to lack the stamina to talk her through another when the midwife said suddenly, ‘Give me your hand.’

‘What?’

‘Your hand.’

The midwife looked excited. When Lexie reluctantly extended one arm, she took hold of Lexie’s hand and guided it down between her legs. ‘Feel it?’

The transformation on Lexie’s face was astonishing. Molly, almost too tired to follow what was happening, sat up.

‘What? What is it?’ she cried.

‘It’s the head,’ Lexie whispered, awed. ‘Oh Molly, it’s the baby’s head. She’s coming!’

‘When I tell you to push, push,’ said the midwife.

This time Lexie didn’t say, ‘I can’t,’ or whimper exhaustedly. She was like a new woman. She leaned forward, and pushed.

The door of the birthing room swung open.

‘I’m not too late, am I?’

‘Patrick!’

Patrick Mulgrew, more dishevelled than Molly had ever seen him, strode to the bed. Lexie took one look at him and gave one last magnificent heave. The baby slithered out, red and protesting, her head covered in fine black down. Lexie started laughing and crying at the same time. Molly, slipping out of Patrick’s way, stood at the foot of the bed and took in this newly minted family. Lexie was soon cradling the baby and looking up at Patrick, who had encircled his lover and his child in a protective embrace.

Molly watched as Patrick extended tentative fingers towards the slippery skin of his newborn child. He could have held her in just one of his strong hands.

Tears welled up in Molly’s eyes.

I didn’t think I’d feel like this.

It had taken seventeen long hours and she had not known she was on a journey, but in these last few seconds, her universe had spun and everything she thought she wanted had been tossed into the air and landed in a jumbled mess around her feet.

A baby. So perfect, so tiny, so wanted.

A loving family.

Molly fished in her pocket and found a tissue. Turning away, she blew her nose surreptitiously.

She had turned her back on her chances, and now she might never find this kind of happiness.

––––––––

O
n her tenth birthday Molly’s mother gave her a heavy glass paperweight. The top of the glass was clear, with a few perfectly round little bubbles trapped inside. A flower grew up from the bottom, surrounded by fresh green leaves, its petals a pretty pink. One bubble, a little larger than the rest, nestled on the surface of one of these like a drop of rain after a shower.

The paperweight fascinated Molly. She loved to stroke its smooth roundness and look at the patterns on her carpet as the sun’s rays hit the convex surface of the ball. If you looked through the glass at the garden, suddenly the grass was in the sky and the sky had plummeted to the ground. Everything was upside down.

A few years later, in science lessons, she learned the reason this happened. It took some of the mystery away, but not the fascination. As she stepped inside the front door of her old home in Trinity, this same disorientation engulfed her. Carpet became ceiling, walls swivelled. She stuck out a hand to steady herself.

She had walked into a topsy-turvy world.

‘Are you all right?’ Molly shrank back from Adam’s steadying hand. If he touched her ...

Molly saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes and cursed herself for her reaction. It wasn’t that she found him unattractive, quite the opposite, although she couldn’t tell him that. And anyway, why should he care if she found him repugnant these days? He had Sunita Ghosh to love him.

‘Yes. I’m fine.’

She looked around. He hadn’t done anything to the place. The hallway was the same traditional shade of heritage paint as it had been the day she’d left. Adam turned and started walking towards the kitchen, always the hub of the home. It had been the room she had found hardest to leave and still missed most.