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‘How’s the heartbeat?’ she heard someone else ask and suddenly she was consumed with fear, both for herself and her baby. She heard someone crying and it wasn’t until she saw her aunt’s anxious face that she realised it was herself.
‘Race… I want Race….’ she gasped as she tried to fight against the tide of pain; against the knowledge that Race didn’t care enough to be with her.
‘Yes… yes… he’s coming,’ her aunt soothed her, and then there was more pain and desolation until suddenly she was aware of warm fingers curling round her hand, giving her strength, tenderness in the hand that wiped the sweat from her face. She opened her eyes. Race’s grey ones, stricken with fear and anguish, looked back at her, immediately recognisable despite the mask and gown he was wearing.
‘Oh, Race….’ Strangely, his anxiety helped to calm her.
‘Come along, Mrs Williams,’ the doctor boomed heartily at her side, ‘this isn’t the time to go all moony-eyed over your husband, you’ve got work to do. That’s right, laddie,’ she heard him saying to Race, ‘just keep helping her. Come along now, Mrs Williams… push… yes, that’s it…!’
* * *
It was over, and she had done it, Heather thought beatifically. She had a son… a marvellous, perfect son, who bawled lustily until the nurse placed him against her body. Heather reached out to touch him wonderingly, amazed by the sturdy concentration of his unwinking baby gaze. Who said newborn babies couldn’t focus? For a moment the nursing staff had moved away from the bed, taking with them the noise and bustle of the birth. Heather gazed at her son in awe, shaken by the wave of love that consumed her.
‘Heather….’ She blinked absently and glanced up at Race. For a moment she had almost forgotten he was there. He reached down, touching the baby’s face, examining the small fingers. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here….’ Surely those couldn’t be tears she could see sparkling against his lashes?
Curiously she reached up, touching him, staring at the diamond drop that came away on her fingers. ‘Dear God,’ Race exhaled on a tortured breath. ‘I couldn’t even be here when you needed me the most. No, it was Neil who was there. Neil….’
‘Come along, Mr Williams,’ the nurse interrupted cheerfully, ‘we’ve got to get your wife and son tidied up now. You can come back later.’
* * *
‘Heather’s he’s gorgeous, let me cuddle him again.’
Grinning, Heather handed her son over to her aunt. ‘Umm… my first grandchild—well, we look on you as our daughter,’ she told her niece affectionately, burying her face in the small chubby neck. ‘Babies have a smell all of their own, don’t they?’
‘Yes,’ Heather agreed, laughing, ‘sick and…’
‘Now, that’s not what I meant,’ her aunt chided. ‘Heather,’ she placed Robert Paul Williams in the cradle at Heather’s side and continued seriously, ‘darling, don’t think I’m being interfering, but you know, motherhood is a wonderful and absorbing thing, sometimes so absorbing that we tend to forget that men don’t always view parenthood as we do ourselves….’
‘You mean I mustn’t neglect my husband?’
Heather frowned. How could she explain to her aunt that Race was the one who was neglecting her? He spent more and more time in London, coming home only at weekends, and this weekend he wasn’t even doing that. He had told her last Sunday, when he left, not to expect him.
‘Umm, well, I’ve said my piece,’ her aunt told her, getting up, ‘and I’ll just add this one more thing. The birth of a child, especially a first child, can be a traumatic thing for both parents. Sometimes a man, a sensitive man, finds it hard to make the first physical overtures. Giving birth is hard work,’ she added, ‘watching someone give birth can be even harder. Men often don’t realise how tough the female body actually is. What I’m trying to say,’ she concluded frankly, ‘is that Race may be staying away because he doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s probably frightened that if he stays he might…’
‘Be overcome with passion for me?’ Heather supplied, smiling lightly. If only that was the case! But she could hardly tell her aunt the truth; that she suspected Race was staying away for no better reason that that he was quite simply bored with her.
On Saturday afternoon she was just feeding Robert prior to his afternoon sleep when she heard a car drawing up outside. She had been resting herself, and it had hardly seemed necessary to change out of the fine lawn nightdress she was wearing to feed the baby. She had recovered her figure completely, her stomach flat and taut once more, and she glanced down at her son’s small head with its sprinkling of dark hair so like his father’s with tender amusement as he sucked strongly on her breast. His cry of angry frustration as she eased him away made her laugh, but her laughter turned to a frown as she went to the window and realised that the car was Race’s.
What was he doing here? Fear gnawed at her. Had he come for a showdown? To tell her that their marriage had been a mistake? She heard him climbing the stairs, calling her name.
‘I’m in here, Race,’ she called back, going to the door. Robert was still sleeping in the dressing room. There had seemed little point in transferring him to the nursery with Race away so much, and her face flushed as she remembered how, when she had planned the nursery, she had thought that Race would appreciate their privacy. How could his desire for her have gone so completely?
Perhaps because desire was like that, Heather reflected miserably; desire wasn’t love, and once assuaged….
‘I wasn’t expecting you this weekend.’
‘No…’
Heather flushed as she realised that Race was looking at her breasts, until an angry wail from her son reminded her that he was still probably hungry.
‘I was just feeding Robert,’ she told him, huskily, expecting him to leave. ‘I put him down when I heard the car….’
‘And he plainly resents it,’ Race said dryly, walking round to the crib and picking up his son. How tiny Robert looked when Race held him, Heather thought, watching them, and yet in reality he was a large baby and very heavy. Now, with his small face screwed up and red with rage, he reminded Heather of an angry old man. Race walked towards her, still holding him, and the moment he came near her Robert stopped crying.
‘He’s got a one-track mind,’ Race commented as the baby started to nuzzle him.
‘An instinct for survival,’ Heather told him, taking Robert in her own arms, and settling herself back in the rocker. She enjoyed these moments with her son, and after all the lectures she had received at the hospital about the benefits of breast-feeding it was strange to discover that the one thing they had not mentioned was the enormous pleasure she derived from the physical contact with her child. She looked up at Race, but he was standing with his back to her, staring out of the window, his hands in his pockets. The moment she sat down Robert started to nuzzle her greedily, his eyes closing in patent satisfaction as she gave him her nipple. As always the rapt expression on his face absorbed her, a wave of emotion engulfing her.
‘Heather….’ She looked up to discover that Race had come to stand beside her, his voice jagged and raw as he stared down at the baby at her breast. Something in the sight seemed to affect him. Heather saw the muscle clench in his jaw, a dark film of colour stealing over his skin. ‘Heather?
?.’
He stopped again as Robert released her, and then stared round-eyed up at him until Heather moved, and threatened with the removal of his lunch he started to suck with renewed hunger. Heather let him have his fill. The nurse had told her that it was impossible to over-feed a breast-fed baby, and certainly he seemed to be thriving. She heard Race move and the door close behind him. What was it about the sight of her feeding their child that had affected him so strongly? Was it because he resented her?
As she hadn’t expected him home, she hadn’t planned a large evening meal, but there was sufficient in the freezer for her not to need to worry. ‘Don’t bother with any of that,’ Race told her when he walked in and found her busy. ‘At least, not for me—I’m not hungry.’
He paced the kitchen impatiently, but didn’t say anything, and Heather wondered why he had come. She herself didn’t have much appetite, but she forced herself to eat the omelette she had prepared, watching Race quickly downing the large whisky he had poured himself. She hadn’t touched alcohol since the commencement of her pregnancy, but now she felt the need for something to bolster her courage, and accepted the glass of wine he handed to her, slightly dismayed to discover how quickly it went to her head. The evening dragged by in silence. With virtually every breath Heather expected to hear Race saying that he wanted a divorce. When nothing had happened by ten o’clock she announced that she was going to bed. To her surprise, Race announced that he too was tired.
‘I’ve decided to leave Southern earlier than I’d planned and I spent nearly all yesterday negotiating terms.’ It was news to Heather that he was leaving the television company so soon. Why? Because he wanted to break all his existing ties? How far down the list was she? she wondered bitterly.
He was in bed when she returned from feeding Robert, propped up against the pillows, reading a magazine. His hair was still damp from his shower, tiny crops of moisture blistening on his body. A surge of love and need so great that it almost robbed her of breath swept over Heather. Dear God, how she loved him! She couldn’t let him go…. But she would probably have to. But now, at this moment he was still her husband….
