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He looked into the ward sister’s eyes. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s being stabilised right now.’
‘And...the baby?’
His voice cracked again. He hadn’t expected that question to hurt so much, nor for it to mean as much as it did. When had been the critical moment that this unborn life had crept into his heart and taken residence there? The world seemed to tip on its axis as the woman’s face assumed an expression of careful calm—as if she was attempting to reassure him without raising false hopes. He guessed she must have been asked that question a million times before.
‘I’m afraid it’s too early to say.’
He could do nothing but accept her words and he nodded grimly as he was shown into a waiting room which looked onto an ugly brick wall. There was a stack of old magazines on a chipped table and—all too poignantly—a little heap of plastic bricks piled in one corner, presumably for any accompanying children to play with.
Children.
He hadn’t wanted any of his own—that had always been a given. He hadn’t wanted to risk any child of his having to go through what he had gone through. But now, suddenly, he wanted this baby so bad. He wanted to nurture the child that the baby would grow into.
I will never abandon my baby or hurt or punish him, he thought fiercely. He will know nothing but love from me—even if I have to learn how to love him from scratch.
He closed his eyes as the minutes ticked by. Someone brought him a cup of coffee in a plastic cup, but it lay untouched in front of him. And when eventually the doctor came into the waiting room with a ward sister beside him—a different one this time—he sprang to his feet and felt the true meaning of fear. His hands were clammy and cold. His heart was pounding in his chest.
‘How is she?’ he demanded.
‘She’s fine—a little shocked and a little scared, but she’s had a scan—’
‘A scan?’ For a second he felt confused. He realised that he’d been thinking in Greek instead of English and the word sounded alien to him.
‘We needed to check that the pregnancy is still viable, and I’m delighted to tell you that it is.’
‘Still viable?’ he repeated stupidly.
‘The baby is fine,’ said the medic gently as if he were speaking to a child. ‘Your wife has had a slight bleed, which is not uncommon in early pregnancy—but she’s going to have to take it easy from now on. That means no more rushing around. No horse riding.’ He smiled gently, as if to prepare him for some kind of blow. ‘And no sex, I’m afraid.’
They took him to Ellie’s room, where she lay on the narrow hospital bed, looking almost as white as the sheets. Her eyes were closed and her pale fringe was damp with sweat, so that her dark, winged eyebrows looked dramatic against her milky brow.
She didn’t stir and, mindful of the doctor’s words, he sat down noiselessly in the chair beside the bed, his hand reaching out to cover hers. He didn’t know how long he sat there for—only that the rest of the world seemed to have retreated. He measured time by the slow drip of the intravenous bag which was hooked up to her arm. And he must have been looking at that when she eventually woke up, because he turned his head to find her grey eyes fixed steadily on him. He tried to read the expression in them, but he could see nothing.
‘Hi,’ he said.
She didn’t answer, just tugged her hand away from his as she tried to sit up, reaching down to touch her belly, her gaze lifting to his in agonised question.
‘The baby?’
He nodded. ‘It’s okay. The baby’s fine.’
She made a choked kind of sob as she slumped back against the pillows, her mouth trembling in relief. ‘I didn’t dream it, then.’
‘Dream what?’
‘Someone came.’ She licked her lips and paused, as if the effort of speaking was too much. ‘They were putting something cold on my stomach. Circling it round and round. They said it was going to be okay, but I thought...’
He felt completely inadequate as her words tailed off and he thought: You have only yourself to blame. If you hadn’t pushed her away, if you hadn’t tried to impose your own stupid rules, then you would be able to comfort her now. You’d be able take her in your arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right.
But he couldn’t do that, could he? He couldn’t make guarantees he couldn’t possibly keep. Promises she’d never believe. All he could do was to make sure she had everything she needed.
