I nod. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot.” I’m reminded suddenly of one of Michael’s old stories: Martin was one of the village bad boys my grandmother took under her wing many years ago after breaking up a fight he was in—“blood from Martin Larch’s nose dripped all over Mrs. Blackwood’s white gloves,”Michael used to tell us.
“It was such a moving service,” Pamela continues. “I had a chat with Edwin in the church afterward. Such a fine young man he is. And Danny looked well after his travels. How’s your grandmother?”
Pamela has always talked a lot, and isn’t any more discreet about her patients’ affairs than she believes she ought to be. I’m thinking this can only help my cause.
“Granny Vera’s very well, thank you,” I say, and she smiles, the skin on either side of her eyes crinkling.
“So what can I do for you today, my dear?” she asks.
“I’m after my mother’s medical notes.”
She sits back in surprise. “Whatever for?”
I lick my lips. “Her maternity notes, particularly. I’d like to know whether she had any complications with her pregnancies, and births, you know. In case it might be useful to know for my own... future.”
Her gaze flicks to my abdomen. She blinks with professionalthoughtfulness, but I can feel the force of her village-centric curiosity behind her eyes. I gesture with my hands palm up.
“Most women—they can just ask their mums, can’t they? But I’ll never be able to,” I say.
She purses her lips. “Of course, my dear. I understand. But I’m afraid it’s most unlikely your mother’s notes still exist. It was all paper in those days, and they’d have been shredded after—well, they’re destroyed after a patient dies, you see. A year or so afterward, maybe. There’s no room to store such things in the long term.”
I’m unprepared for her reaching across to pat my hand, and I flinch as she touches me. She draws back. I close my eyes, embracing the swell of disappointment that encourages a tear to spill over and roll down my cheek.
“Oh, there, there, my dear.” She scoots her chair closer to mine and passes me a tissue with a practiced flourish from a cardboard cube on her desk, not touching me this time. “Don’t get upset. What was it you wanted to know, particularly? Maybe I can help?”
I dab at my nose. “I suppose any scan records from the hospital would have been destroyed by now too?” I ask. She nods, her widened eyes fastened on mine.
“Did you know my mother well during her pregnancy with us—with me and Danny?” I ask.
She settles back in her seat with a small satisfied sigh. She’ll enjoy repeating all this to Martin tonight, I’m sure. He’s a police inspector nowadays—the village bad boy turned good. Between them, Pamela and Martin must see most of the local troubles and catastrophes firsthand.
“Ah, I did, my dear. And in her previous pregnancy too, with Edwin and Theodore. Such beautiful boys. Such a tragedy.” She sighs again, loudly. “She didn’t want to see Dr. Mottewith her second pregnancy, or anyone else. She went off doctors and hospitals for good after little Theo. They told her he might recover, you know, after he fell. Your poor parents sat by his hospital cot for a week before they turned the life support machine off. Terrible, it was.”
“I didn’t know that,” I whisper. I suspect Edwin doesn’t know that either. I wish she hadn’t told me. I dig my nails into my palms.
“So who did she see, with her second pregnancy?” I ask.
“Now, let me think. I believe she had a scan at a private hospital in London. She didn’t want community midwife visits, I know that, and she was determined to have the baby at home. Well, babies, as it turned out, of course.” She laughs, seemingly undisturbed by the hiccup of strangeness in her story. The hairs on my arms rise. I draw a deep breath in through my nose as unobtrusively as possible.
“So—she was expecting just one baby?”
“Well, yes. At least that’s what she told people. They’d have forced her to have hospital monitoring if they’d known you were twins, I suppose, and she just wanted to be left alone to have the home birth she wanted. I expect she knew the private hospital wouldn’t interfere, or wouldn’t even know what went on at this end.”
I release my breath, my shoulders relaxing.
“I promised her I’d go over and help with the delivery if she needed me, because she didn’t want strangers there.” She darts me a sharp look. “I would have gone, but I’d have called for backup, no hesitation. I wouldn’t have done anything unprofessional.”
I give her my best reassuring smile.
“Of course, you two came early in the end,” she continues. “What date was it?”
“Twenty-first of July,” I say.
“Ah yes. We weren’t expecting you until the end of August. But as it turned out, you did well for twins, getting that close to your due date, and your dear mama got the home birth she wanted.”
“And did you see us, on that day? After...”
She goes to pat my hand again, but draws back at the last moment.
