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‘How long does the air ambulance take to get here?’
‘Usually not long,’ he said, then looked upwards as a thud-thud-thud noise could be heard in the distance.
Kristie’s heart started thudding in her chest. Maybe everything was actually going to be okay?
Magda let out a groan, and Kristie held her breath as she watched Rhuaridh and Miriam move to support her as she was hit by another contraction. All eyes were on the monitor, and although the heart rate went down, it didn’t go down quite as much as it had before.
Rhuaridh glanced towards the door a few times. Kristie could see him weighing up whether to ask David to go and meet the crew or whether to go himself.
After a few seconds he squeezed Magda’s hand. ‘Give me a minute.’ Then he jogged out the main door and across towards the field. Kristie couldn’t help but follow him. Gerry had positioned himself outside to capture the landing and the crew emerging from the helicopter.
They didn’t waste any time. Within a few minutes Rhuaridh and Miriam had helped keep Magda into the correct position as they assisted her onto the trolley. The CTG monitor was swapped over for another and then Magda and David disappeared inside the helicopter before it lifted off into the air.
They all stood watching the helicopter disappear into the distance, Gerry with his camera firmly on his shoulder.
Once the helicopter finally vanished from view there were a few moments of awkward silence. They all turned and looked at the open door of the house. Miriam was first to move, walking back into the house, putting her hands on her hips and taking a deep breath.
The space felt huge and empty without Magda. The birthing pool lay with only its rippling water, monitors, blood-pressure cuff, the midwife’s case and Rhuaridh’s, all alongside the normal family furnishings. Pictures of David and Magda on their wedding day. The sofa with the now squelchy cushions. A multitude of towels.
‘I guess we’d better clean up,’ said Kristie.
She wasn’t quite sure where that had come from. Cleaning up was definitely not her forte.
She bent down and lifted one of the sofa cushions, wondering if she should take it to the kitchen to try and clean it off and dry it out.
Miriam had started picking up all the midwifery equipment.
Rhuaridh appeared in front of her and grabbed the cushion. ‘Leave it. We’ll get it. You should just go.’
She blinked. Wondered what on earth she’d just done wrong. She’d just witnessed a scene that had almost made her blood run cold. Had she ever been as scared as this?
Yes. Probably. But that part of her brain was compartmentalised and knowingly put away. It was better that way. It felt safer that way. The only time she let little parts of it emerge was when she volunteered three nights a month on the helpline. It was the only time she let down her guard. Virtually no one knew about that part of her life. Louie did. He’d been there for her when she’d got the original phone call telling her to come to the hospital. Gerry had been there too.
Louie had held her hand in the waiting room. He’d put an arm around her when she’d been given the news, and he’d stood at the door as she’d had to go and identify her sister’s body.
Her beautiful, gorgeous, fun-loving sister. She almost hadn’t recognised her on the table. Her skin had been pale with an ugly purple mark on her neck. When she’d touched her sister’s hand it had been cold and stiff. The scars on her sister’s wrists and inside her elbows had taken her breath away.
Everything had been new to her. She’d had no idea about the self-harm. She’d had no idea her sister had been depressed. Jess had hidden all of this from her—to all intents from everyone. It had only been a long time afterwards when she’d been left to empty her sister’s apartment and go through her things that she’d discovered a frequently phoned number that was unfamiliar. The thing that had pricked her attention most had been the number of times that Jess had phoned—and yet had disconnected the calls in under a minute. That’s when she’d discovered the helpline.
It was situated in their city and manned by counsellors and trained mental health professionals, staffed twenty-four hours a day. One visit to the centre had made her realise she had to try and help too. She’d undergone her training, and now manned the phone lines three nights a month. The small hours of the morning were sometimes the busiest in the call centre. She’d learned when to talk, and when not to. She’d learned that sometimes people just wanted to know that someone had heard them cry. Had heard them at all.
