Shona hugged Jason. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she whispered in his ear, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Now go and look after your beautiful wife and babies.’
Jason nodded, taking hold of Greta’s hand as she was helped out to the waiting ambulance by the paramedics. He felt useless, wishing he could take away some of her pain. ‘Mum,’ he said, stopping and turning in the doorway. ‘Dad and I chatted.’ He hesitated, caught sight of the expectant look on her face. How could he tell her that Patrick had been as stubborn as ever? ‘I think everything will be OK,’ he added, feeling a pang of guilt at the sight of his mother’s smile.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Day Eleven
How do you measure time when you can’t remember what it feels like? How do you know when to sleep or eat or do stuff if you can’t see the sky? The world has gone away, and I don’t like it. I just want to go home.
I was given an Enid Blyton book on the first day here, but I’d already had it out from the school library, reading it while lounging in the hammock last summer, rubbing Goose’s wet nose with the tips of my fingers as he snoozed beneath me. I know it takes me a day to read it cover to cover, which I’ve done eleven times so far. Does that mean it’s been eleven days now? I’m starving, and my lungs burn from the stale damp air down here. There’s no hammock and no sun and the weird fizzy light dangling from the ceiling gives me a headache.
When I was brought here, I was too scared to move, but I’m not scared about that now; not worried that I’ll get told off for using the loo bucket in the corner or the sink or the bed or even putting on the clothes left here. They fit as though they were put there just for me. There’s even a pair of shoes in my size. If I wore them to school, I’d get teased about the big strap that makes them really babyish.
I run the tap for a drink of water, but it’s still sludgy brown. Then I eat some ham, but it makes me retch. It tastes like slime and smells like Goose when he’s wet and muddy. Mummy always made my food. Now I’m crying again because thinking of her makes me angry and sad.
I didn’t mean to go off alone!
I’ve yelled a million times for someone to help me, but nothing happens. It’s just the hum of the lights and the smell of bad ham. The taste is stuck to the roof of my mouth. For something to do, I stand on the chair and poke at the ceiling. White powdery stuff showers down on me. My heart skips in case this is a way out. I dig dig dig at it with the handle of my plastic fork, but it soon hits something hard. I jab again and again and dig and gouge until it’s like snow falling. I can’t help laughing.
‘It’s Christmas!’ I cry out, even though I know it can’t really be. It wasn’t that long ago that I was getting ice cream, was it? I drag down more white bobbles of polystyrene with my nails, clawing and yanking at the ceiling as it rains down on the bed, settling on the blankets. It was put up the other day because I wouldn’t stop yelling.
I look around the room. I’ve made a mess and I’ll get told off. I lie down on my bed and fall asleep, dreaming of snowmen made of sand. When I wake, the light’s gone off and it’s pitch dark. I really wish it was Christmas Eve.
‘The electricity is broken,’ says a voice through the blackness. Spanners, a hammer, pipes and a blow torch are clattered onto the table in torchlight. ‘But I’ll fix it for you. I’ll make it nice for you in here, you’ll see.’ Then comes the grin, the one that makes me feel safe yet fills my heart with terror. ‘It’s your new home now.’
Chapter Sixty-Four
As soon as the first baby was delivered, Jason went into a state of panic. He was a father. ‘Is he OK? Is he breathing?’ he said to the midwife at least a dozen times.
‘You can see quite clearly he’s breathing, Dad,’ she said, smiling. ‘He certainly has a good pair of lungs.’ The baby was wailing about his sudden entry into the world. But Jason felt a stab of worry. Why was he crying? What was wrong with him?
‘He’s beautiful and healthy,’ she said. ‘Now just let me sort him out and you can have a cuddle.’
Jason was nervous. What if he didn’t do it right? He hadn’t quite recovered from cutting the cord – the emotional aspect of severing child from mother as well as the thought that it must hurt had unsettled him. Greta was quiet and resting for the moment, having spent the last hour howling in pain. He did what he’d learnt in childbirth classes – lower back massage, keeping the gas and air handy, letting her grip his hand while breathing steadily along with her, talking to her between contractions and helping her shift into different positions – but Greta was having none of it. She’d sworn at him, hit him, thrown her iced water over him and virtually bitten off his hand. Then, between contractions, she’d pulled him close and sobbed into his shoulder, telling him that she wanted to die, that she couldn’t carry on, that she was already a useless mother.
Fifteen minutes later, the second baby was delivered, and Jason immediately saw that it was a little girl. A very quiet, very limp little girl. ‘Is she OK? Why isn’t she crying?’ He darted between Greta’s side and the see-through crib where the midwife had laid the baby. She was rubbing her vigorously with a towel, ignoring Jason’s concerns.
‘Oh God, this can’t be happening,’ Jason mumbled, his hands pushing through his hair. The assistant midwife had called for help, and within seconds a doctor and another senior midwife were there, crowding around the baby with monitors, tubes and other equipment. Jason had no idea what was going on except that his little girl was still blue and not moving or making a sound.
‘What’s going on, Jason?’ Greta said, trying to hoist herself up in bed so she could see. ‘Is she OK?’
‘I don’t know, love. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t think she’s breath—’ Jason checked himself. Their baby would be fine. There was no way he would allow her not to be. ‘They’re just checking her over, love. Cleaning out her airways.’ He’d seen the suction tubes go between her tiny blue lips.
Greta rested back on the pillow. She was exhausted. And then they heard the cry. Softer than the first baby but nonetheless a beautiful, heart-warming cry. It was the most welcome sound in the world. Satisfied with her condition, the doctor went off to another delivery room, leaving the midwife in control again.
‘She’s absolutely fine now,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It just took a moment to get her jump-started.’ Ten minutes later, Greta and Jason were holding a baby each, hardly aware that the midwife had picked up Jason’s phone and was taking photos of them.
Over the next while, Jason gazed between his son, his daughter and his wife. Where had they all come from? He felt like the luckiest man alive. For the briefest of moments, his happiness was clouded with sadness as he thought he saw a glimmer of Lenni in his daughter’s face. Her curious expression – constantly changing as she tried to make sense of the world – glimmered with Lenni’s little dimples and serious frown. Then it disappeared, and she was his daughter once again, a perfect little creature in her own right.
‘Is there any news about Rain?’ Greta whispered to Jason, as the midwife showed her how to latch the baby onto her nipple. They watched as a hungry mouth found its way to the most important place on earth. Greta winced.
‘I don’t think so.’ Jason hadn’t heard anything since he’d been in hospital, but then he’d been preoccupied. ‘I’ll check my phone,’ he said, while the midwife showed Greta how to feed two babies at once. She smiled, holding her new family with confidence, as if she’d done it all before.
Jason stared at the screen. He’d had eight missed calls and several texts. He opened a message that had just come in from Claire, reading it three times. He stood, silent for a moment, drinking in the sight of his beautiful new family, before breaking the news to his wife.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Day One