Dear Thing (24 page)

Romily left the path and climbed over a dune, brushing through grass. Jarvis was full of shit. This was Ben and Claire’s baby, and she wasn’t going to have any trouble giving it up, because it was theirs. Theirs, together. Not hers. Not to be
used as leverage, or emotional blackmail, or something to torture herself with. She was an incubator for their child, pure and simple, and if she happened to have deeper feelings for its father than she let on, well then, that was nobody’s business but her own. Certainly not Jarvis’s.

You couldn’t give up Posie, and you didn’t even love me.

Posie was hers, though. She’d been Romily’s, and nobody else’s, right from the beginning. Although Romily never could have guessed how complex and hurtful and wonderful and exhausting that belonging could be.

A seagull hovered above her, riding the air currents, using minuscule movements to hang still in the air. Back there on the beach, her daughter and her daughter’s father dug in the sand together and laughed and forged a relationship. Whatever Romily did affected Posie, and Jarvis did have a say about that. Whether she liked it or not, Posie was not only hers any more.

And Jarvis had seen how she really felt about Ben. He was the only one in the world to see it.

What if he was right? What if she had volunteered to have Ben’s baby because somewhere, down deep, she thought it would make him love her?

The wind and sun made her squint. From here she couldn’t see the beach; the dunes were too tall. She turned to climb back over the dune towards the sea, and when she’d reached the top, a bird exploded out of the grass to her left at the same time as her foot slipped in the sand. She put out her hands but there wasn’t anything to grab hold of, only waving grass, enough to unbalance her further, and her foot caught on something, a root or a stone or a hole, and momentum pitched her forward onto her face. She slid down the dune, a high bird-cry in her ears, catching at nothing.

She came to a stop and lay there, sand in her mouth and eyes, trying to work out whether she was hurt. She could feel scratches on her face and knees, but her ankle throbbed and she felt as if she’d been punched in the belly.
My baby
, she thought, and rolled over and put both her hands on her stomach, too late to protect it.

‘Mummy!’

‘Romily!’ Jarvis came running up to her, Posie behind him. ‘Are you okay?’ He put his hands on her arms gently, his eyes probing her face.

‘Guess I can’t fly after all,’ Romily said, and tried to smile.

‘Can you sit up? Have you hurt yourself?’

‘I think I’m all right.’ She sat up, ignoring a pull of pain, spat out sand, and reached out to Posie. ‘I’m okay, Pose. Don’t worry, sweetheart.’

Posie threw herself into Romily’s arms. Romily winced, but held her.

‘What happened?’ Jarvis was kneeling next to them. ‘Did you slip?’

‘I caught my foot in a hole or something. It’s okay. I think I twisted it.’

‘We need to get you to a doctor.’

Romily saw the fear in Posie’s face. ‘No, no, I’m fine.’

They had attracted a small crowd of fellow beach-goers. One of them handed Jarvis a water bottle, which he gave to her so she could rinse out her mouth. The adrenaline had caught up with her, making her feel dizzy and sick. She bent her head and put it between her knees.

She hadn’t broken anything, by the feel of it. She’d fallen harder because of being front-heavy, and she’d have some bruises and scrapes. She might have struck a rock or a root, or something hard. But as long as the baby was fine …

Through the pain and the dizziness and the sound of the sea and the people around her talking, she felt what she hadn’t before: warm wetness between her legs. Dropping the water bottle, she put her hands to her bare inner thighs. When she lifted her hands to her face, her fingers were covered with bright blood.

JARVIS PICKED HER
up and carried her to the car, Posie hurrying after them. Romily didn’t protest. She held her belly and tried to feel a movement, prayed to feel a movement.

He didn’t say anything, laying her on the back seat, driving what she suspected was considerably over the speed limit. Posie sat quietly too, and all that Romily could hear was the sound of the engine and her heart beating.

Don’t go, Thing
, she thought as hard as she could.
Don’t go
.

She found a packet of tissues in the back-seat pocket and shoved some of them in her pants. Borrowed car. Don’t want to take it back with a stain on the seat. Her hand came out with more blood on it; she wiped it on her shirt.

Don’t go
.

It seemed to take a very long time to get to the hospital. Once they’d arrived, Jarvis said, ‘Wait here,’ and disappeared into the building. The silence in the stopped car was very large.

‘It’ll be fine, Posie,’ said Romily. ‘I’m okay, we’re just a little worried about Thing.’

‘I’m scared.’

‘It’s probably nothing. Babies are tough. They survive almost everything. And it’s well-protected inside me. It’s as if I wrapped you up in a whole load of pillows.’

But she could feel the cramping now, low in her stomach and in her back. It was hard to tell how bad it was, how much was her own pain and how much of it was from the baby, but she didn’t think it was bad. Not yet.

‘I’m sorry,’ Romily said, though she wasn’t certain which of her children she was saying it to.

Jarvis reappeared and opened the back door. ‘Do you think you can get into this wheelchair?’ he asked her.

He helped her out of the car. Her muscles had stiffened up from lying in the back of the car, and her ankle protested when she put her foot on the ground. Jarvis wheeled her into A&E, where they were met by a nurse who gave Jarvis a clipboard and took Romily into a cubicle. ‘We are going to decide where to send you. You had a fall?’ She had a kind face and a brisk Eastern European accent.

‘Yes, on Great Knoll Beach, about thirty minutes ago, I think.’

‘And you are bleeding? How much?’

‘I – don’t know.’

‘Are you losing a lot of blood or is it more like a period, or is it just spotting?’

‘I’m not pooling with it. I … used a tissue.’

‘Let’s see.’

Romily didn’t want to see. She reached into her pants and pulled out the wad of tissue. It was less than she’d feared, but not by much.

‘Okay. Your life is not in danger from it. We are mostly concerned about the baby.’ She gave Romily some more tissues. ‘Did you bang your head? Are you feeling sick?’

‘No, I didn’t bang my head. I’m fine. I’m worried about the baby.’

The nurse did a quick checkover. ‘Yes. You have had a blow to your stomach. There is a bruise coming up already. How many weeks are you?’

‘Twenty-one.’

‘Over twenty weeks, you will go to the maternity ward. I will ring them to expect you. Your husband can take you in the wheelchair. There are signs to the ward. Here is a sanitary towel.’ She dropped a light box onto Romily’s lap, then adjusted the wheelchair so that her ankle was elevated and put a cold pack on the swelling before she wheeled her back out into Reception. ‘She must go to the maternity ward,’ she told Jarvis, who was waiting. He didn’t have the clipboard any more.

‘You don’t know all my details,’ she said to Jarvis.

‘Posie did.’ He immediately took the handles of the wheelchair and began wheeling her to the double doors at the back of A&E. Posie trotted along beside them, quiet.

It was out of her hands now. She was in the NHS machine. Whatever happened would happen and she would be helped as much as she could be. Romily closed her eyes and held on to the box containing a pad of cotton that would never, ever be enough to soak up everything that was inside her.

The maternity ward was much quieter than A&E. Jarvis wheeled her straight up to the desk and the receptionist said, ‘Yes, you’ve been called through and we have your details on the computer. The midwife will be with you in just a moment.’ He pointed them to a line of waiting chairs.

Jarvis parked her and sat beside her, Posie on his other side. ‘This is my fault,’ he said in a low voice.

‘It is utterly and completely my own fault. I stepped in the wrong place and I slipped. You weren’t even there.’

‘I shouldn’t have argued with you.’

‘Don’t.’

The procedure, the quiet, the silk flowers on the reception desk, were all there to take the edge off her panic, but she was still breathing quickly, her heart pounding, her fingers shaking. She wanted to run screaming down the hall demanding to be seen right now, right this minute. But that wouldn’t do any good.

‘What can I do?’ asked Jarvis.

‘We need to tell Ben and Claire.’

‘I’ll go outside and call them. What’s the number?’

She gave Ben’s mobile number to him from heart.

It wasn’t going to be the most popular move having Jarvis call him, but she didn’t dare leave this hospital, not even for a moment.

‘And can you take Posie to the café or something? I don’t know how long I’ll be.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll come back and check on you. Posie? Your mum’s going to be fine but it might be a long wait, so let’s go get some cake.’

Posie gave her a swift kiss on the cheek before they went. It was all Romily could do not to clutch her and not let her go.

The midwife strapped a monitor to her belly and the sound of the heartbeat was immediate and strong. ‘That’s a good sign,’ she said, smiling.

‘I’ll take all the good signs I can get.’

Waiting for the obstetrician, she lay on the table and looked at the poster on the wall, a cross-section of a pregnant
woman. It wasn’t unlike the animal specimens Romily had dissected herself.

The doctor bustled in, slender in a lab coat. ‘Dr Summer,’ she said, glancing at the computer screen. ‘Throwing yourself off a sand dune, I hear?’

‘It wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made.’

She checked Romily over. ‘Still bleeding steadily. Any cramping or contractions?’

‘I can feel some cramps. Though it’s hard to make out what’s cramp and what’s the result of hitting the ground with my belly.’

‘This isn’t your first baby?’

‘Second.’

She nodded and snapped off her gloves. ‘It’s difficult to tell at this stage what’s going on. I’ll send you for a scan immediately and that will give us more of an idea. There are a number of things that could be causing the bleed, which may or may not be related to the trauma. If you are actually miscarrying, there’s very little we can do, of course, and as you know, sadly we can’t resuscitate before twenty-four weeks.’

‘I … no, I didn’t know that.’

The obstetrician gave her a swift look. ‘You’re not a medical doctor?’

‘An entomologist.’

‘Oh.’ She opened her mouth, and then closed it. ‘Oh. I see. In any case, we’ll send you for that scan, then. Good thing you did this during office hours, eh? Otherwise you’d have to wait till tomorrow. I’ll get someone in here to help you.’

She left Romily with the cut-open pregnant woman.

The baby had grown since the last scan when both Ben and Claire had been with her. Romily wouldn’t have thought
she’d have noticed; she hadn’t thought she’d looked that closely. But she did notice. She stared at the screen that was filled with the mystery inside her. She saw a head, a hand, two closed eyes and a nose and a mouth.

‘It’s sucking its thumb,’ said the technician.

This is my baby. This is my baby with the only man I have ever loved.

‘Is it going to be all right?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t diagnose anything. The doctor will have a look at the scans.’

Two curled-up legs, crossed feet at the ankles. The cord attaching its body to hers, through which she was feeding it, giving it life.

‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ she asked. Ben and Claire wanted it to be a surprise. But if it were never born, how could Romily grieve if she knew it only as a thing?

‘It’s a little boy,’ said the technician. ‘Do you want a photograph?’

She clutched it in her hand all the way back to the maternity unit, as if holding on to it would keep her baby inside her. She traced it with her finger. Caressed her baby’s cheek. Her little boy.

‘Well,’ said the obstetrician, her lab coat buttoned up this time, ‘there’s no placental abruption that I can see. Everything looks fine. Any contractions yet?’

‘No.’

‘Let’s check the bleeding.’

Romily turned her head and looked at her photograph while the doctor pulled on another set of gloves.
Please
, she thought.

‘It’s old blood now.’ The doctor chucked her gloves in the bin. ‘Sometimes these things just happen. But we’ll admit you
to keep an eye on you, and keep you for twenty-four hours after the last bleed.’ She turned to go.

‘Is my baby going to be all right?’ Romily wanted to scream the words, but they came out as a choked whisper.

The doctor paused. ‘My best guess is yes. Shaken up, but fine.’

Romily burst into tears.

THE FIRST THING
that Claire heard was the sound of a baby crying. It was a shared ward, with four beds on either side of the room, separated by curtains on rails; in the bed nearest the door, a woman nestled a downy head to her breast.

Ben rushed to the far bed where Romily lay. He flung himself onto his knees and put his ear to her stomach. ‘The baby’s all right, isn’t it?’ He laid his hand on Romily’s stomach.

They’d had a call on the journey down to Poole to say so. But Romily looked slight and pale in the hospital bed, in a patterned white hospital nightgown. There was a scrape on the side of her face.

‘They think it’s going to be fine,’ she said. Her voice was hoarse.

‘Claire!’ said Posie, running up to her and throwing her arms around her waist. Claire hugged her back.

‘Come on, Thing,’ said Ben to Romily’s stomach. ‘Kick your daddy. Show me you’re all right.’

‘It was going crazy a few minutes ago,’ Romily told him.

‘Have you stopped bleeding?’ Claire asked over Posie’s head.

‘Pretty much. They have to keep me in for twenty-four hours, but then I should be okay to go.’