‘Oh God!’ She couldn’t bite back her cry of pain. Surely it was going to happen any moment.
She could see the bed, its posts and draperies illumined suddenly in a lightning flash; it seemed an insubstantial thing, a wavering oasis with its crewel work embroidery hangings, flowers of fantastic mossy green and dull reds and ochres entwined with tortured stems and tendrils climbing the bedposts in sinuous undulating spirals. The curtains were moving, fading, swelling, one moment diaphanous, as transparent as mist, the next growing heavy and thick, the ribs of woollen stitching as thick and corded as a man’s wrist. Joss let out a sob. It was too far away. She couldn’t move. In the intense darkness which followed every flash the great black bulk of the bed had moved away. It was out of reach, beyond some invisible barrier which she couldn’t penetrate. Luke. Where was Luke? Dear God, help me, please.
Then he was there – a hand on her arm, a pressure at her shoulder, comforting, guiding, pushing her gently across the room. Another flash of lightning; she could see nothing now but the imprint of the window mullions, thick scarlet brands on her retina.
Groping, she reached for the bed, dragging off the heavy counterpane with its thick stitching, and throwing it to the floor.
‘Luke – find something to put under me.’
She could see a flickering light appearing in the passage now. Luke was there, the candlestick in his hand. ‘It’s all right, love. I’ve thought of that. I’ve got something.’ His voice came from the doorway. The spare waterproof sheet from Tom’s chest of drawers, then some towels, then he was helping her up into the cool soft sheets. ‘Hang on, sweetheart.’ His hand on her forehead was hot, nervous, unlike the other hand, the cool hand which had guided her to the bed. Her eyes flew open. Luke had put the candle down beside her. He had only just come into the room …
She turned on her side with a groan as the pain hit her again, curling herself around it, conscious with some distant part of her mind that she could smell roses in the air.
‘Luke!’
‘I’m here, darling. Pant. Remember, they told you to pant.’ He was pulling the sheet over her.
‘You’re going to have to deliver it.’
‘I’d already worked that out for myself.’ She could hear the wry tone in his voice.
‘Tom!’
‘Tom’s asleep. He was completely worn out. Once you’d gone he was settled in seconds, the poor little mite.’ He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly. ‘So, tell me what to do.’
‘Boil some water to sterilise some thread and scissors. Then find the baby clothes. They’re stored in the bottom of Tom’s chest. The blankets are there too. Don’t wake him.’ She groaned, clutching his hand. ‘You were there when Tom was born. You saw what went on. I was up the other end, remember?’ She managed a laugh, which ended as a sob.
‘I remember.’ Luke scowled. ‘There was a doctor and two midwives and I closed my eyes at the crucial moment.’
‘Go. Luke. Get the water going.’ She was drifting away from him again, into a sea of pain.
She had no idea how long he was gone. It seemed like a month of agony, a few seconds respite – then he was there again with the saucepan and more towels, a pile of shawls and tiny white garments. She turned her head towards the window. It was growing less dark. There hadn’t been a rumble of thunder for a while now and the flashes of lightning were growing less intense, just flickering faintly on the horizon out to sea.
The smell of the roses was stronger now as Luke moved round the bed to rub her back. She lay still, staring up into the darkness of the shadowy tester, her body relaxed, pain free for a few blessed seconds.
And then it began to build again. She didn’t remember screaming in the hospital, but then they had given her an epidural.
The pain, the fear, the awful voice in her head.
Katherine!
He was there in the shadows, in his usual place near the window, the tall man with the sad eyes. She hadn’t seen him before. Not so clearly. Not for sure. She reached out her hand to him and smiled. ‘I’ll be all right.’ She mouthed the words, but no sound came out. Not until she screamed again.
‘Joss!’ Luke’s voice was suddenly excited, full of awe. ‘I can see its head.’
It was a boy. Holding him, dried and warmly wrapped, in her arms, Joss looked down at the small head and nestled him against her chin. She looked up at Luke and smiled. ‘Congratulations, doc.’
He grinned. ‘He looks OK, doesn’t he?’
‘He’s fine.’ The baby was making small contented snuffling noises, his face very red against the white of the blankets. Outside it was full daylight now, the garden cool and cleansed by the rain, lying silent beneath a pall of white mist. Exhausted Joss lay back and closed her eyes. The silence was total. Luke had checked that Tom was all right and found the little boy sleeping peacefully, his thumb in his mouth. With the lights and phone still disconnected he had tiptoed off through the shadows of the early morning house to put the kettle on again – this time for tea.
The slight pressure on the blanket was so gentle that she hardly noticed it. Smiling as she drifted off to sleep she eased her aching body into a more comfortable angle round the crooked elbow which held her new son and pushed her head deeper into the pillow.
She was jerked awake by the baby’s sudden squeal.
‘What is it? Little one?’ Sitting up she peered down at the tiny face, screwed up now into screams of unhappiness. ‘Oh sweetheart, quiet.’ She stared round the room. The cold had come back. The terrible, all-encompassing cold which was the cold of the tomb. ‘Luke?’ Her voice was lost in the ceiling beams, panic-stricken. ‘Luke?’
He was there. Somewhere.
Desperately she held the baby to her. ‘Luke!’