By the time Rachel came back with the towels, Shelley’s lower half was naked and her knees were bent up. Tractor had taken off his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves and was kneeling on the bed at her feet.
“Christ,” she was yelling, her face contorted in pain. “I want to push. I want to push.”
“Shit, Tractor,” Rachel said, starting to feel really scared now. “I can see the head. What do we do? Why isn’t the bloody ambulance here? Are they having their bloody Christmas party or what?”
“Rachel, will you take it easy?” Tractor said evenly. “You’re no use to anybody if you start panicking. Now just give me the towels and go back to holding Shelley’s hand.”
She handed him the towels, a couple of which he slipped underneath Shelley.
“It’s going to be all right, I promise,” Rachel whispered to Shelley, kissing her on her damp forehead. “In a few minutes you’re going to have a beautiful, beautiful baby.”
“Right, when you feel the next contraction,” Tractor said, “I don’t want you to push, I want you to pant. I’m just going to check the cord’s not caught round the baby’s neck.”
The next contraction came. Shelley dug her nails into Rachel’s hand, screwed up her face and panted for all she was worth.
“OK,” Tractor announced. “It all seems to be fine. Right, next time, push. Push really hard.”
Her chin on her chest and still gripping Rachel’s hand, Shelley pushed. By now her spiky red hair was plastered to her head with sweat. Rachel picked up one of the spare towels and wiped her face.
Shelley looked at her briefly and managed a smile. The contraction passed and another took its place.
“You’re doing brilliantly,” Tractor urged. “Come on, just a couple more pushes and we’re there. You can do it, girl.”
Two gargantuan pushes later, the head emerged.
A few moments after that, Satchmo Peach slid into the world, bawling his head off.
CHAPTER 22
Mrs. Peach, a small woman with a large red patent handbag and bleached highlights the width of tagliatelle, arrived at Shelley’s hospital bedside in a flap.
“Oh love,” she panted, leaning over to kiss her, “I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to get here, but the traffic was murder. Then, you’ll never believe it, there was this terrible accident on the Southend Road. Four cars burned out. Lord knows how many fire engines. I counted six bodies. Your dad reckons there were eight. Thing is, we couldn’t pass by without getting the camcorder out, so now we’ve run the batteries right down and used up all the tape. There’s none left to film the baby.”
“Don’t worry, Mum,” Shelley said cheerfully. “I mean, a four-car inferno and charred corpses on the Southend Road is a once-in-a-lifetime video opportunity. Unlike the birth of your first grandchild.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you understand. Anyway, to make up for being late, your dad’s downstairs buying up half the hospital florist’s. So are you all right? Is the baby OK?”
“Yes,” Shelley smiled. “We’re both fine.”
“Are they positive the baby’s OK?”
“Absolutely. Seven pounds and completely healthy.”
Mrs. Peach brought her hand to her chest and let out a long sigh of relief. “Oh, thank heavens,” she said. “Your dad and I were so worried, what with it being born so suddenly and in someone’s flat like that. Whose place was it, anyway?”
Shelley explained that it was a long story, and she’d tell her another time. For the moment, the doctors wanted to keep her and the baby in hospital for a couple of days just to make certain they were both all right.
It was only then that Mrs. Peach noticed Rachel, who was sitting in a high-backed plastic armchair on the other side of Shelley’s bed.
“Rachel,” Mrs. Peach cried, “I didn’t see you sitting there. Look, thank you so much for everything you did this afternoon. Heaven only knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
“Oh, I didn’t do a lot,” Rachel said, blushing ever so slightly. “So Mrs. P, how are you?”
The instant Rachel uttered those last words, she wished she hadn’t. It was clear that Shelley, who had closed her eyes and was pressing the lids with her fingers, shared her wish.
“How am I?” Mrs. Peach said with a caustic, chesty laugh as she plonked herself down at the end of the bed and began rummaging through her handbag. “Have you got an hour or six?”
“Mum,” Shelley hissed, as her mother pulled out a box of ten Benson & Hedges. “Put them away. This is a bloody maternity ward.”
“Oh right. Sorry,” Mrs. Peach said sheepishly. “It’s all this excitement. I wasn’t thinking.”
She put the cigarettes back and snapped her bag shut. “So anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes. How am I? Well, I tell you, Rachel, everything’s got so bad now—you know—down below, that I can’t even laugh without leaking. I’ve had to completely give up watching
The Vicar of Dibley
. See, Shelley, be warned—that’s what having babies does to a woman’s body. Now then, where’s that grandson of mine?”
“Oh, I was wondering when you’d get round to asking,” Shelley said with a sarcastic smile. “He’s here.”
She pointed to the crib, which was on Rachel’s side of the bed. Mrs. Peach tiptoed round.
“Ooh, who’s a little darling, then?” she squealed, stroking Satchmo’s tiny bald head. “Who is? Come on, tell Nana—who’s a little darling, then? Oh, Shelley, he’s gorgeous.”
She reached out and took her daughter’s hand.
“Yeah, he is, isn’t he?” Shelley beamed proudly. “I can hardly believe I’ve got him.”
“Oh, you will,” Mrs. Peach said, “the first time he’s up screaming all night.”
She turned back to the crib. “Aren’t you bootiful? Oh, yes you are. Ooh, come to Nana, little man. Come to Nana.”
Moving her handbag along her arm, Mrs. Peach gently picked the sleeping infant out of the crib and sat cradling him on the edge of the bed.
“Satchmo,” she said, smiling at Shelley. “That’s what they called Louis Armstrong, wasn’t it? Of course ‘What a Wonderful World’ is one of my favorites, but I didn’t know you were a fan.”
“I’m not. I just like the name.”
“It’s certainly unusual. I’ll give you that. Have you thought about a second name? It might be an idea to make that something a bit more conventional. Then if he doesn’t like Satchmo, he can use his second name instead.”
“Mum, please don’t start. I really like Satchmo. I think it’s kinda bohemian.”
“Do you, dear? Oh well, it’s your choice. I’m sure we’ll get used to it, anyway. What do you think, Rachel? Do you think Satchmo’s bohemian?”
“Oh definitely,” Rachel lied. Privately, she was with Mrs. Peach on this one. In her opinion the poor little mite was going to get teased mercilessly when he started school, but she wouldn’t have dreamed of hurting Shelley by saying so.
Mrs. Peach gave a good-natured shrug. “Your father and I were hoping you’d go for something a bit traditional. In fact, just between you, me and the gatepost, he was secretly hoping you’d name him after your paternal grandfather.”
“Yeah, right. Like I was going to call a child of mine Enoch.”
Just then Satchmo began howling.
“Oh, has my little man got the windy pops then?” Mrs. Peach cooed. Carefully, she put Satchmo over her shoulder and began rubbing his back. “Come on,” she said, standing up. “Your mummy needs to rest. I’ll take you for a little walk. Why don’t we go and look at the pretty Christmas tree?” With that Mrs. Peach pootled off up the ward.
“You know, Rache,” Shelley said, taking her hand, “I am so glad you and Matt finally got it together. You are just so right for each other. You’re going to have such a wonderful life together. I just know it.”
Rachel felt a lump in her throat. “Yeah, I think so too. Look, I’d better get going. Matt said he’d come round later. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sam’s spending Christmas at Joe’s and he and Greg have invited me over for lunch. I’ll pop in and see you on my way there. OK?”
“Yeah. Great,” Shelley said sleepily. “And, Rache, thanks again for everything.”
“Come on—I didn’t do anything really, other than panic. It was all down to Tractor.” She walked to the end of the bed and picked up her jacket.
“Rache,” Shelley said, a slight hesitation in her voice.
Rachel looked up.
“I know you haven’t got much time for Tractor, but after what he did today, you have to admit he’s pretty special.”
Rachel was forced to admit he probably was.
* * * * *
The moment she got back to the car, her mobile phone rang. It was Sam.
“Oh hi, darling,” she said cheerily. “I was just about to phone you. How you doing?”
“I’m fine. Mum—I’m really, really sorry about what happened last night. I reckon that woman should go to prison for what she did.”
“Yeah, too bloomin’ right,” Rachel agreed.
“Dad said he’d stick a red-hot poker up her bum if he got hold of her.”
“Did he really? Oh, that’s so sweet. Tell him I appreciate it, will you?”
They carried on chatting for a couple of minutes. She asked him what he’d been up to and he told her he’d spent the afternoon watching a video of
Beaches
with Greg.
“That’s nice,” was all she said. “Oh, by the way, Shelley had her baby.”
“Cool.”
“Little boy—called Satchmo.”
“Satchmo? That’s nasty.”
She told him off for being rude, but only halfheartedly.
* * * * *
On the drive home, she decided she couldn’t put off telling Matt about Adam any longer. Once again it occurred to her he might be angry with her for not being honest with him. But surely, she thought, once she had reassured him how much she loved him and made it absolutely clear it was over between her and Adam—even though she hadn’t actually told Adam yet—he would come round. Nevertheless, as she pulled up outside her flat, she was aware that the ferrets that she usually felt only before a gig were performing back flips in her stomach.
* * * * *
She’d just opened a bottle of wine when Matt arrived.
“Perfect timing,” she declared, brandishing the bottle. She kissed him, took his jacket and hung it up.
“Rache,” Matt said, looking at her and frowning, “you seem tense. You OK?”
“Yeah, fine,” she twittered, realizing she wasn’t as good at hiding her nerves as she thought.
“So how are Shelley and the baby?” he asked as they walked into the living room.
“Great,” she said. “Tractor’s popping in to see her later.”
Matt sat down on the sofa. “I think he’s really fallen for Shelley, you know,” he said.
Kneeling down by the coffee table, she picked up a wineglass and began filling it. “Matt,” she said, handing him the glass, “there’s something important I need to tell you.”
“Oh my God,” he said with a theatrical gasp, “don’t tell me you found Pitsy, did her in with a meat cleaver and packed her dismembered body into half a dozen black bin liners, which you’re hoping I might dispose of in Epping Forest.”
“Nice thought,” she laughed. “But, no.” She took a large gulp of wine. “It’s just that I haven’t been completely honest with you.” She was looking directly into his eyes now. Her pulse rate had rocketed.
“The thing is . . .” She swallowed hard and decided to just come out with it. “All the time I’ve been seeing you, I’ve been sort of engaged to somebody else.”
“What?” he said, screwing up his face in shocked confusion, more than anger. He put his wineglass down on the coffee table and waited for her to continue.
As she told him about Adam, he sat rubbing his hand over his chin.
“But you have to understand it’s over,” she said finally, getting up and coming to sit next to him on the sofa. “Matt, I have never loved anybody like I love you.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Look, I know I haven’t been straight with you, but it was really hard for me. When I first started seeing you, even when we started sleeping together, I was still trying to convince myself I was in love with Adam. It took me ages to sort my head out and realize what I was feeling. Ask Shelley. She’ll tell you what a state I was in.”
Grim-faced, he stood up and walked over to the window. “Rachel,” he said, keeping his back to her, “what sort of a future do we have if we can’t be honest with each other?”
“Matt, I’m sorry. It was wrong. But I was just so confused. I promise I will never, ever keep anything from you again.”
He turned to look at her.
She could tell from his tight-lipped expression that he was furious with her. She’d never seen him angry before and she couldn’t help thinking how sexy she found it.
“How do I know it’s really over between you and this Adam?”
“Because I say it is. Plus I’m pretty sure he’s been seeing somebody else in South Africa.”
“And how do I know you’re not going out with me just to get back at him?”
She felt barely able to dignify his question with an answer. “You know that’s not true,” she said in what was little more than a whisper.
She watched his face soften. He came back to the sofa and sat down next to her.
“Rachel.” His tone was kinder suddenly, more gentle. “You were planning to marry the bloke. You’ve said yourself how confused you’ve been. Maybe you’re kidding yourself when you think you have no feelings left for him. You might not find it as easy to walk away as you think.”
“But I’ve already walked away . . . in my mind at least.”
“You haven’t actually told him it’s over, have you?”
“No, but that’s because he’s in South Africa and I want to tell him face-to-face. Even though I think he’s cheating on me, I feel I owe him that.”
“Or maybe it’s because you still love him and you can’t bring yourself to tell him it’s finished.”
“Matt, that’s just not how it is,” she said, desperately trying to stop herself from crying.
He arched his eyebrows.
“OK, I admit finishing with him will be painful, but there’s no way I’m about to back out.”
“Look,” he said, taking her hand, “I think I should give you some space to sort out your feelings.”
“But my feelings
are
sorted.” Her eyes were starting to sting with tears.
“So you keep saying, but I need to be certain you’re certain.” He paused. “Tell you what, why don’t you take Christmas to think things over one last time? Then maybe you should speak to Adam. Phone me in the new year.”
He leaned over, kissed her briefly and stood up. Then without so much as a “Merry Christmas,” he was gone, leaving Rachel bewildered, but at the same time wanting to kick herself.
She ran her fingers through her hair. The moment she’d started to have feelings for Matt she should have taken stock of her relationship with Adam, faced up to the fact it wasn’t working and finished it. That way Matt wouldn’t have been hurt, he wouldn’t be furious with her for being dishonest, and by now everything would have been sorted out.
She had no choice, she decided, but to call Adam immediately and find out when he was coming home. If it was within a few days she would wait and tell him it was over face-to-face, as she’d always intended. If he was planning to stay any longer she would just have to end it on the phone.
She imagined Matt’s reaction once she’d told him she’d done the deed. He would wrap her in his arms, tell her she was forgiven and how sorry he was for doubting her. Then they’d have spectacular makeup sex and be back on track again.
Not that finishing with Adam was going to be remotely easy—or anything but sad.
Two glasses of wine inside her for Dutch courage (in case it turned out he was staying on in South Africa and she had to finish with him now), she went into the hall and dialed his hotel.
“Ah’m sorry,” the chap on reception said. “Mr. Landsberg and his friends have all gone to a Christmas Eve wildebeest roast. Ah’m not sure when he’ll be back.”