Authors: Cath Staincliffe
He nodded and Vinia took him out. Fiona put her bag down and Cheryl came in.
‘How are you?’ Fiona asked.
‘Okay.’
‘Any show?’
‘Yes. And the pains are getting closer.’
‘Okay,’ said Fiona. ‘You pop on the bed and I’ll do your temp and BP, then if that’s all right with you I’ll do an exam, see where you’re up to.’
‘Thanks. Ooh!’ Cheryl’s face changed, shutting down as she focused on a fresh contraction.
Fiona placed her hand on the top of Cheryl’s bump and timed the contraction. Cheryl grasped her other hand, squeezing it tight. The girl was breathing well, steadily, moaning softly.
‘That’s it,’ said Fiona, ‘that’s good. Eighty seconds.’ Substantial. ‘How long since the last one?’
‘Not long. Three minutes?’ Cheryl said.
Fiona handed her a thermometer and asked her to place it under her arm, then she checked her blood pressure. Both were fine.
‘We’ll have a listen to the baby.’ She got out her sonic aid and placed it low on Cheryl’s abdomen. The baby had been fully engaged for the last three weeks so Fiona was pretty sure where she’d find the heartbeat. The whooshing of the womb and the galloping sound of the heartbeat echoed in the room.
Cheryl smiled. ‘So fast,’ she said.
Fiona nodded. ‘Your waters haven’t gone?’
‘No.’
‘Great. Can you lie back for me?’ Fiona put on her apron and snapped on the thin gloves. She used some gel to lubricate her fingers then bent to examine Cheryl. With a little spike of surprise she realized that the rim of the cervix was thin, almost fully effaced, and as she gently spread her fingers she estimated it was about nine centimetres dilated. It wouldn’t be long till second stage. ‘Nine centimetres,’ she told Cheryl. ‘We should take you in straight away. Is Vinia staying here with Milo?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Jeri?’
‘He should be here any time, he got the train.’
‘You might want to tell him to go straight to St Mary’s.’
‘Ooh!’ Cheryl bent over, another contraction sweeping through her, her fist balled on her knees, face contorted.
‘Breathe through it, that’s good.’
When the pain left Cheryl said she needed to wee again and Fiona gave her a stick to use so she could check her urine. Fiona texted Owen telling him she would be late home and asking him to make sure Ziggy got a walk.
She was about to ring Despatch for the ambulance car when Cheryl called out from the bathroom. Fiona went to her. Cheryl was standing clinging to the wash basin, the spatter of liquid pooling at her feet. ‘It’s my waters,’ she said. ‘I think the baby’s coming. Aah!’ She gasped and her legs trembled.
‘Okay, darling,’ Fiona said, ‘just breathe, that’s lovely. You’re doing really well. I’m just going to have a look.’
Fiona got to her knees and lifted Cheryl’s nightdress: what she saw confirmed every instinct. ‘Okay, the baby’s in a hurry so we’ll stay here. I’ve some things in the car, I’ll bring those. We’ll be fine.’
Vinia came out on to the landing. ‘Cheryl?’
‘Can you find some spare sheets and towels, the older the better,’ Fiona asked her.
‘She having the baby here?’ Vinia looked appalled.
‘Yep. Just wait with her while I fetch my things.’
Fiona called one of the other midwives on the rota and asked her to come, then set about preparing for the delivery. Vinia helped her cover the floor and the bed with plastic sheeting then old sheets and covers. She checked the room temperature and Vinia organized the baby things, pulling them out of the bag Cheryl had packed for the hospital.
Cheryl stood swaying, holding on to the footboard of the bed. ‘I want to push,’ she said. She began to moan: long, deep sounds.
‘Just let it come, Cheryl, try and open up, try and relax, good girl.’
Fiona turned to Vinia. ‘Rub her back, low down.’
Three more contractions and the head was crowning. Cheryl was crying, tears dripping down her face. ‘Good girl,’ Fiona reassured her, ‘you’re doing brilliantly, really good. Won’t be long now and the baby’ll be here. Have you got any names?’
Cheryl sniffed. ‘Dora for a girl, after my nana. I think it’s a girl.’ Then she wailed again. ‘It’s coming,’ she screamed. ‘It hurts!’
Fiona stroked her shoulders; let her settle instinctively on all fours on the floor. It was a great position for delivery but awkward for the midwife who had to hunker down behind and monitor what was going on. The room was cramped with the three of them there but she’d just have to deal with it.
‘That’s it, push now, Cheryl, long and steady, keep going, keep going, that’s great, that’s lovely.’ Fiona could see the cap of dark hair, the ball of the baby’s skull, see it straining to emerge. She asked Cheryl to wait, telling her to pant. This would allow the perineum to stretch and she’d be less likely to tear. When the next contraction came she let her push again, urging her on, and saw, with pleasure and relief, the head crown.
‘The head’s out, Cheryl. Well done.’ Fiona watched the head rotate, the natural preparation for the birth of the shoulders.
The door bell rang, it would be the second midwife, and Vinia went to let her in. It was customary to have two of them at the birth. If there were any problems one could tend to the mother and the other to the child.
Cheryl began to groan again and Fiona instructed her, ‘Push nice and steady, that’s good. You’re doing really well. Keep going.’
Cheryl yelled and bore down. She felt the pressure between her legs, the shocking sensation of the baby, bone and muscle, forcing her way out. The tearing pain that made her scream and then Jeri was there, coming in with Vinia, his face wide with apprehension and fear flashing his eyes.
‘Aw, Cheryl baby.’ He knelt before her.
‘She’s coming,’ Cheryl panted. ‘Oh, Nana, help me.’
‘Aw, man,’ said Jeri.
Cheryl rocked back slightly, grunting, and put her arms around Jeri’s neck. ‘It hurts,’ she cried.
‘Okay, babe,’ he whispered to her, ‘it’s cool, all cool. You’re good.’
Cheryl yelped. Another rippling pain.
‘Push this time,’ Fiona said, ‘good and strong, hard as you can.’
Cheryl locked her arms tight round Jeri’s neck and burrowed her face into his shoulder, strained and keened, the solid weight of the baby splitting her open. She would tear apart, she would die from this.
‘Good girl, keep going, baby’s coming, keep pushing, good girl,’ Fiona said.
Then with a shocking rush the baby came, slithered out in a stream of fluid and blood and mucus.
‘Baby’s here, well done, good girl.’ Fiona helped Cheryl turn, undid the buttons on her nightdress and placed the baby on her chest. Covered the baby with a thick towel.
Cheryl looked down at the fine sweet face, the damp, black hair, looked into the dark eyes, pools of ink, shining bright. ‘Hello, my little one, hiya. Hiya.’ She kissed the baby’s head and each eye, its nose, breathed in the strange smell: like toast and brine.
Cheryl lifted the towel and looked at the baby, tiny limbs, the knees still bent up, and between them a penis, a little spiralled shell. ‘A boy,’ she said to Jeri.
Jeri’s eyes were soft, tears on his lashes. ‘He’s perfect,’ he said. He grabbed Cheryl’s hand and kissed it. ‘Oh, baby. Oh, man. Blow me away.’
‘Would you like to cut the cord in a minute?’ Fiona asked him.
He nodded.
Vinia was sitting in the bed now, shaking her head. ‘Man, I am not ever going there. I’m going to tie my knees together. You tell me I so much as look at a man.’
Cheryl laughed.
Jeri used the special scissors to cut through the twisting rope then Fiona attached the clip.
‘I brought this.’ Jeri held up a silver fifty pence piece. ‘My mum said I have to give the baby silver, keep it safe.’
‘Go on then,’ Cheryl told him. He placed the coin in the little fist and the baby waved its hand.
‘He’s holding it, look at that,’ Jeri crowed.
‘There are lots of traditions with silver,’ Fiona told them. ‘And some of the Jamaican families used to bury the placenta or the cord and plant a tree.’
‘Nana told me that when I had Milo,’ Cheryl said. ‘I didn’t fancy nothing like that in the garden but we took some of his hair and put that in one of the tubs.’
Fiona asked Jeri to hold the baby while she helped Cheryl deliver the placenta.
‘There’s more!’ Vinia groaned. ‘Lord have mercy.’ Then the bell went and she escaped downstairs. This time it was the other midwife.
The contractions for the placenta hurt just as bad as the ones for the baby but Cheryl knew getting it out would be easier. When she was done and cleaned up, no stitches even, Jeri handed the baby back and Cheryl put him to her nipple. The baby latched on and sucked.
‘Been here before,’ Fiona smiled. ‘So, if it’s not Dora what will you call him?’
They’d not agreed any boy’s names; she’d been so sure she was having a girl. She looked at the baby, its eyes steady on her face as it suckled. ‘Daniel,’ she said. Jeri looked at her, head tilted, questioning. It was right, she knew. It just felt so right. ‘Daniel,’ she said again. Then to Jeri, ‘You can pick a middle name.’
Jeri nodded, moved closer, stroked the baby’s head with his fingers.
‘That’s a lovely name,’ Fiona said.
It was dark when Fiona finally left. She was shattered, her eyes gritty and sore, her back stiff. She’d shared sandwiches and tea with them and they’d christened Daniel with a tot of rum. Now she needed her bed.
There was a full fat moon silvering the roofs and the parked cars and the trees at the end of the street. Fiona put all her bags in the boot and started the car. She drove to the recreation ground and parked there. She got out and stood by the car. There was barely any traffic across on the main road. The night was cool but not cold. It was almost May. She looked across the grass and thought of the boy who had died there, of delivering the twins, Danny and Nadine, so many years ago, and of tonight’s birth. The tiny infant who shared his name. She closed her eyes and remembered:
his large boy’s hands, the smell of
spearmint on his breath, his gaze, the brown eyes,
tawny, reflecting her silhouette and the blue sky
beyond her. A rim of gold edged each iris. The bloom
of love. The sky in his eyes
.
She looked up at the moon, caught the flash of a silhouette. Thought for a moment they were bats. Then saw: the spinning, swooping dives, the scissoring of wings, arcing across the moon. Her heart soared, a pinwheel of joy. The swifts were back.
(1) There are four different points of view in
Witness
. Were these easy to follow? Were the voices distinct enough from each other?
(2) Which characters did you enjoy reading about most and why?
(3) Witnessing the crime and then testifying affected the characters in a number of ways. Did you find their reactions believable?
(4) Vicky argues that Mike’s first and overriding responsibility is to protect his family rather than perform his civic duty. Do you agree?
(5) Fiona fears for her son Owen in the wake of the murder. Is this a realistic fear?
(6) What made Cheryl change her mind and contact the police?
(7) Who had most to lose in coming forward?
(8) Why does Zak lose his temper when he is being cross-examined? Why does Zak imagine a happy future with his mother? Why does he return to Manchester?
(9) There are different family structures in the book. Both Fiona and Cheryl are lone parents. The breakdown of the traditional family is sometimes cited as a cause of increasing social disorder and crime. What are your views?
(10) Were there any scenes in the book that you found especially moving or effective?
(11) Did anything surprise you about the procedures involved in appearing as a witness?
(12) At Danny’s funeral the community leader talks of ‘the need for hope and vision, the need to take the guns from the hands of the boys who were lost and brutalized and deadly and give them work, hope, life’. Is this an effective way of tackling gang crime?
(13)
Witness
depicts different communities, cultures and lifestyles in the city of Manchester. Were any of these new or unfamiliar to you? Do you enjoy reading about people with very different lives from yours or do you prefer stories about characters whose lives are similar to yours?
The Kindest Thing
Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters
162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com
First published in the UK by Constable, an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2011
Copyright Cath Staincliffe 2011
The right of Cath Staincliffe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978–1–84901–777–0