To Have and to Hold (34 page)

She looked at Ollie and Ken. They were both sitting, staring at their boots. They had no idea how similar they looked.

‘I should phone Mum,' she said, ‘shouldn't I?'

But she didn't move. None of them dared to leave the room.

Footsteps approached. A new, taller sister appeared. Or it might have been a matron.

She looked at the two men. ‘Which of you is the father?'

There was a pause. She wouldn't have noticed it. Then Ollie stood up. ‘Yes?' he asked.

‘Mr Meadows? They're carrying out a Caesarean section.'

‘What?'

‘It's a breech presentation,' she said. ‘It's routine in these cases.'

‘I must see her,' he said.

She shook her head. ‘They're operating now.'

For the next twenty minutes none of them said a word. Ann didn't realize it at the time; she remembered it later. She would remember, too, for as long as she lived, the pale green walls, scuffed near the skirting board; the one framed picture of Great Yarmouth; the view, from the window, of a tower block against a threatening grey sky. None of them moved, for fear of startling the others. At one point the black boy was called away – his girlfriend, they had learnt, was having twins – and then the three of them were left alone, without words.

Then there was the sound of clattering heels again, and the matron or sister was in the room and addressing Ollie.

‘Mr Meadows?'

‘What's happened?'

She smiled. ‘She's fine. You've got a little boy.'

There was a pause.

‘A boy?' Ollie repeated.

She nodded. ‘You can't see your wife yet, but would you like to see your son?'

Ollie nodded. With the sister, he left the room. He didn't look back.

MONTHS BEFORE, ANN
had lain in a hospital bed, watching the lights coming on in a building opposite. Her head had been swimming and her stomach hurt. One by one the rooms had sprung into life, and the curtains had closed. Blue blurs of televisions. She had had no idea why she was lying in hospital but she knew she was going to have a baby.

Then she slept, and the next morning all those little curtains had opened and her head had cleared, but there was still a pain in her abdomen. The ward had been bright and bustling; a nurse approached her bed. It was then that she realized she had no baby, only a wound.

Viv lay there, her head resting on the pillow. She looked at the block of flats opposite. It was a tower block; a man in a harness was stuck to the side, cleaning the windows. He looked as frail as an insect, with the big grey sky all around him. She knew it was Monday morning. Somebody had removed the screens around her bed; she could hear babies crying, one of them near. Her stomach ached; when she moved there was a jabbing pain. She stayed still, her eyes closed, and drifted into sleep.

When she woke the baby was still crying and she knew she must do something, if only she could think clearly. But when she turned her head, the space beside her bed was empty. There was no baby. It was another one, beyond the woman in the next bed.

She thought she must still be dreaming, because some time later, probably only minutes – who knows? – there was a girl who uncannily resembled Tracey standing beside her in a dressing gown.

‘He's gorgeous,' Tracey was saying.

Viv looked at her. ‘What're you doing here?'

‘Don't you remember?' asked Tracey. ‘We talked last night for ages.'

Of course. Tracey was here because she had had a little girl. How stupid of her to forget; Tracey must think she was mad.

‘Just been to see him,' Tracey said again.

She meant Viv's son. Viv realized this now, idiot that she was. ‘Did you?' she asked.

‘In his incubator,' Tracey replied. ‘He's gorgeous.'

‘Is he?'

‘Bet you're glad you had a little boy,' said Tracey. Her dressing gown was covered in sprigs of flowers – roses, were they? Small and pink. She was still speaking. ‘Bet your husband's pleased.' The sleeves were edged with green lace. It had the look of a dressing gown that had been bought specially for this. ‘He's kicking away,' she said.

‘Is he?'

‘Proper little Kenny Dalglish. He'll be bullying his big sisters soon.' How could she tell? After all, she herself would never have bought a dressing gown like that anyway. ‘What're you calling him?'

Viv replied: ‘I don't know.'

‘Glad I haven't got a fella. We'd never agree on names.'

Each time Viv breathed, needles jabbed into her skin. She tried to keep her breaths shallow. ‘What are you calling her?' she asked Tracey.

‘Rebecca. After that book we did in class.'

Viv said: ‘That was
Jane Eyre
.'

‘Oh.' Tracey stopped. ‘Yeah, it was
Rebecca
I saw on the telly.'

Ann had taken the Monday afternoon off. For some reason she didn't want to visit straight from the office, nor did she want to tell anyone where she was going. She wanted to go from her own home, with Ken.

Her armpits were damp and she felt queasy with nerves. She hadn't been able to eat any lunch. She stood at the mantelpiece mirror, applying lipstick.

Ken came into the room and said: ‘He's a bit young, isn't he?'

She turned. ‘What?'

He indicated the lipstick. ‘To be impressed.'

They both smiled shakily. She picked up her handbag and pointed to the florist's package on the table. ‘You bring the flowers,' she said.

Ollie was sitting beside her. He had brought her some flowers; like all hospital visitors he didn't know what to do with them. They lay on his lap. He had had a haircut and looked younger; he looked like a new father.

‘Did you sleep?' he asked.

She nodded. ‘They gave me a pill.'

He took a
Private Eye
and
Cosmopolitan
out of the carrier-bag. ‘Bit of frivolity . . .'

She glanced at them. ‘Thanks.'

He put them on the bedside table. ‘Painful?'

She nodded. ‘A bit.'

‘The girls made you these.' He took out two large get-well cards – Rosie's careful, Daisy's only half coloured in. She had got bored doing the sky.

‘Oh dear,' said Viv. ‘Like I'm an invalid.'

‘Didn't know what they should put.'

‘No.'

She laid the cards on the table. He leant over and propped them up. ‘Is there anything you want?' he asked.

‘A cigarette.'

‘You can't.'

All down the ward, men were sitting beside the beds. The place was full of flowers. There was a faint mewling sound from one of the babies. She thought: mothers are supposed to recognize their own baby's cry, but how can they when they all sound the same? She said: ‘I want to go home.'

He took her hand. They sat there in silence.

She spoke suddenly, in a rush: ‘Tracey must be mad. She thinks it's so frightfully romantic, all this single-parent stuff. Easier, she thinks, be your own boss; up all night with it crying and screeching, wet nappies. Course, she's right. Who needs men? Nothing but a bloody nuisance. Any woman with any tiny jot of sense'd rather be on her own. Silly cow.'

She paused, breathless. Ollie stroked her forehead. ‘Darling.'

She started to weep. Each sob jabbed pins into her abdomen.

Ollie went on stroking her forehead but she stretched beyond him and grabbed her bag. Fumbling through it, she found her cigarettes and matches. He didn't stop her. In fact, he took the box of matches and lit the cigarette for her. She inhaled deeply.

‘Mrs Meadows!'

The nurse was there, holding out her hand. Viv took another drag and gave the cigarette away.

Ken parked the car in a side street near the hospital. Ann checked her face again in the vanity mirror. She despised this – what on earth did it matter how she looked? She wanted never to get out of the car. Ken must think she was mad.

They got out and walked towards the hospital. At the corner she stopped and put her hand on his arm. ‘Look.'

Ollie's car was parked on the other side of the road. He must still be visiting Viv.

Ken nodded. They turned back and walked down the side street again. Ken opened the door for her and she climbed into the car. They sat there, side by side, waiting. He reached towards the radio, but then he stopped. They sat there in silence.

‘How does he look?' asked Viv.

‘Fine.'

‘How did he look yesterday?'

Ollie replied: ‘Very angry.'

‘Did he?'

Ollie nodded. ‘I'm not surprised.'

‘You couldn't touch him or anything?'

Ollie shook his head. ‘They say he's doing very well. He should be out tomorrow.'

There was a silence. Then Viv said: ‘It wasn't like we planned.'

Ollie paused. ‘Nothing's been like we planned.'

‘Wish you'd been there.'

‘They wouldn't let me in,' he said.

‘I wanted you to rub my back.'

‘So did I.'

She smiled. ‘Remember with Rosie, you read me
The Catcher in the Rye
?'

‘That was Daisy,' he said. ‘Rosie was
Humboldt's Gift
.'

‘Gosh,' she said. ‘Weren't we intellectual then?'

There was a silence. One of the babies started crying in earnest.

She asked: ‘What did you do afterwards?'

‘Phoned parents. Sat in the pub.'

‘Alone?'

He nodded. ‘Ann and Ken invited me, but . . .'

‘No.' She paused. ‘Suzi had the girls?'

He nodded. ‘For the night.'

Down the ward there was a burst of laughter. Viv looked out of the window. The sky was blue; it had turned out to be a lovely afternoon. She said: ‘I didn't think he'd be a boy.'

Ollie picked a stray petal off his knee. ‘Nor did I.'

‘Funny, isn't it?' she said.

He nodded. One of the cards had fallen over; he propped it up again.

She said: ‘They keep asking about names.'

‘Who do?'

‘Women here.'

‘It's no business of theirs.'

She said quickly: ‘I've always liked Thomas, haven't you?'

He frowned, gazing at his knee. ‘Yes.'

She tried it out. ‘Thomas.'

‘Tom.' He nodded. ‘Nice.'

‘Straightforward,' she said. ‘No-nonsense.'

‘Viv –'

‘Sturdy and sort of stumping up and down the stairs –'

‘Viv –' he began again.

She said: ‘You've always wanted a boy, haven't you?'

He didn't reply. He looked down at his damp knees. The flower stems were wet.

‘Haven't you?' she said.

He said: ‘He's not my son.'

‘No.'

There was another silence. Then he asked: ‘What are you going to do?'

She turned away and hid her face in the pillow. ‘I want to go home.'

Viv wouldn't see Ann and Ken. When Ollie had left they went into the hospital and up to the ward, but she turned away and asked them to go.

A nurse ushered them out. They stood in the corridor. Ann was trembling; she felt as if she had been smacked across the face. She wanted to sit next to Viv and say that it was her, Viv, she was worried about. Never mind the baby. (Never mind? She would say that; she would mean it.) She had never seen Viv look so terrible – closed and pale.

‘She's been a bit low,' said the nurse. ‘It's quite normal.' She took the flowers. ‘Aren't they lovely! What a lot. I'll put them in a vase for her.'

‘What shall we do?' asked Ann.

‘It's what we call the baby blues. You her sister?'

Ann nodded.

‘You've got a gorgeous little nephew. Want to see him?'

Ann gazed at the ground and nodded dumbly. She dared not look at Ken.

‘Come on,' said the nurse. ‘You can see him through the glass.'

She crossed the corridor and stood beside a large window, waiting for them. Ann moved towards it, but Ken hung back. She turned to him.

He said: ‘She hasn't even seen him yet.' His face was blank.

‘Come on,' said Ann, holding out her hand. ‘Nor have you.'

The nurse frowned at them. Ann blushed. Ken moved forward and stood beside her.

There were three babies in incubators; the nurse pointed him out.

All Ann could think to say was: ‘He's very small.'

The nurse said: ‘He's very new.'

The swimming pool was empty, except for one dogged old man in goggles. Ken swam twenty lengths and then lost count as he went on; he didn't want to stop.

When he finally climbed out, dripping, his legs bendy with fatigue, the lifeguard looked at him with a half-smile and raised his eyebrows.

‘Here's to the happy father,' said Irene, raising her glass. It was later that evening, and she had brought round a bottle of champagne. ‘Cheer up, you two. Thought of a name?'

Ann said: ‘We thought Mark.'

Irene grinned. ‘Well, if he takes after the Mark I knew, he'll do all right.' She turned to Ken. ‘Does he look like you?'

‘He's only tiny,' Ann said hastily.

Her mother said: ‘I could tell, when you were born. The image of your father.'

There was an awkward silence. Ken was standing beside the aquarium. He rubbed the glass with his finger; then he looked up and said: ‘She wouldn't see us. I don't know what she's going to do.'

‘She's confused,' said Ann.

‘I told you,' said Irene. ‘Once it's born –'

‘Don't,' said Ann.

‘I wouldn't trust her,' said Irene. ‘I've never trusted her, and she's my daughter.'

Ken said suddenly: ‘I don't trust her.'

There was a pause. Then Irene said: ‘Well you wouldn't, would you?'