Blue Bedroom and Other Stories (16 page)

“Stephanie Bradley. Mrs. Gerald Bradley. She's booked in at the hospital in a month, but I think she's going to have the baby today. Now.”

“Has she timed her pains?”

“Yes. They're every five minutes.”

“You'd better bring her in.”

“I can't. I haven't got a car, and I can't drive, and my father's away from home and there's nobody but me.”

The blatant urgency of the situation finally got through.

“In that case,” said the voice, wasting no more time, “we'll send an ambulance.”

“I think,” said Emily, remembering Mrs. Wattis's Daphne, “you'd better send a nurse as well.”

“What is the address?”

“The Wheal House, Carnton. We're past the church and down the lane.”

“And who is Mrs. Bradley's doctor?”

“Dr. Meredith. But I'll ring him, if you'll get the ambulance here and a bed ready at the hospital.”

“There'll be an ambulance with you in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

She put down the receiver. Sat for a moment, biting her lip. Thought about calling the doctor, and then remembered Stephanie and went back upstairs, two at a time, urgency and responsibility and importance lending wings to her feet.

Stephanie lay with her eyes still shut. She did not appear to have moved. Emily said her name, and she opened her eyes. Emily smiled, trying to reassure her. “All right?”

“I've had another pain. That's four minutes now. Oh, Emily, I'm so frightened.”

“You mustn't be frightened. I've phoned the hospital and they're sending an ambulance and a nurse … they'll be here in about a quarter of an hour.”

“I feel so hot. I feel such a mess.”

“I could help you out of your dress. Put on a clean nightie. That would make you feel more comfortable.”

“Oh, could you? There's one in the drawer.”

She opened the drawer and found the white lawn nightdress, scented and lacy. Gently, she eased Stephanie out of the crumpled maternity dress, helped her off with her bra and pants. Naked, the huge bulge of her abdomen was revealed. Emily had never seen such a sight before, but rather to her own surprise, she did not find it horrifying. Instead, it seemed a sort of miracle; a safe, dark nest containing a living child, which already was making its presence felt and announcing to the world that it was time to make its appearance. Suddenly it was not alarming anymore but rather exciting. She slipped the nightdress over Stephanie's head, and helped her put her arms into the lacy sleeves. She fetched a hairbrush from the dressing table and a length of velvet ribbon, and Stephanie took the brush and smoothed back her tangled hair, then tied it with the ribbon and lay back once more to await the next onslaught of pain. It was not long in coming. When it was over, Emily, feeling as exhausted as Stephanie looked, checked once more on the watch. Four minutes again.

Four minutes. Emily did a few panic-stricken calculations. It looked as though there was every chance that the baby would not wait for that drive to the hospital. In which case, it would be born right here, in this house, in the blue bedroom, in the immaculate bed. Having a baby was a messy business. Emily knew that much from books she had read, to say nothing of having once watched a pet tabby cat produce a litter of striped kittens. Precautions must be taken, and Emily knew what they were. She went to the linen cupboard and found a rubber sheet, newly purchased for the baby, and a pile of thick white bathtowels.

“You're brilliant,” said Stephanie, as Emily, with some difficulty, remade the bed with her stepmother still in it. “You've thought of everything.”

“Well, your waters might break.”

Stephanie, despite everything, dissolved into weak laughter. “How do you know so much?”

“I don't know. I just do. Mummy told me all about having babies when she told me about the facts of life. She was peeling Brussels sprouts at the time, and I can remember standing by the sink and watching her, and thinking there must be an easier way to have children.” She added, “But of course there isn't.”

“No, there isn't.”

“My mother only had me, but I know other people say that once it's all over, you forget about the pain, you just think how marvellous it was. Having the baby, I mean. And then when you have another you remember the same old pain, and you think, ‘I must have been out of my mind to do it a second time,' only then, of course, it's too late. Now if you're all right, I'll go and ring the doctor.”

Mrs. Meredith answered the call, and said that the doctor was out on his rounds, but she would leave a message at the surgery, as he frequently rang in to see if there were any extra calls to be made.

“It's terribly urgent,” said Emily, and explained what was happening, and Mrs. Meredith said in that case, she would try to find him herself. “You've rung the hospital, Emily?”

“Yes, and they're sending an ambulance and a nurse. It should be here in a little while.”

“Is Mrs. Wattis with you?”

“No. She's gone to Fourbourne.”

“And your father?”

“He's in Bristol. He doesn't know what's happening. There's just Stephanie and me.”

There was a little pause. “I'll find the doctor,” said Mrs. Meredith, and rang off.

*   *   *

“Now,” said Emily, “we just have to get hold of Daddy.”

“No,” said Stephanie. “Let's wait, until it's all safely over. Otherwise he'll be panic-stricken, and there's nothing he can do. We'll wait until the baby's arrived, and then we'll tell him.”

They smiled at each other, a conspiracy of two women who both loved, and wished to protect, the same man. The next instant Stephanie's eyes widened, her mouth opened in a gasp of agony. “Oh, Emily…”

“It's all right…” Emily took her hand. “It's all right. I'm here. I won't go away. I'm here. I'll stay with you…”

*   *   *

Five minutes later, the village was astounded by the blare of sirens. The ambulance, everything ringing, came thundering down the rutted lane, turned in at the gate, and shot up the drive. Emily scarcely had time to get downstairs before they were into the house, two burly men with a stretcher and a nurse with a bag. Emily met them in the hall. “I don't think there's time to take her to the hospital…”

“We'll see,” said the nurse. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs. The first door on the left. There are towels and a rubber sheet on the bed.”

“Good girl,” said the nurse briskly, and disappeared up the stairs with the ambulance men behind her. Almost at once another car appeared, hard on the heels of the ambulance, stopped with a screech of brakes on gravel, and discharged, like a bullet, the doctor.

Dr. Meredith was an old friend of Emily's. He said, “What's happening?”

She told him. “It's a month early. I think it must be the heat.” He allowed himself a small, private smile. “Is that bad, or is it going to be all right?”

“We'll see.” He headed for the stairs.

“What shall I do now?” Emily asked him.

He stopped and turned to look back at her. There was an expression on his face that Emily had never seen before. He said, “It seems to me that you've done just about everything already. Your mother would be proud of you. Why don't you take yourself off. Go out in the garden and sit in the sun. I'll let you know everything, just as soon as there's anything to tell.”

*   *   *

Your mother would be proud of you.
She went through the sitting room, the open French windows, and onto the terrace. She sat on the top step of the little flight of steps that led down to the lawn. All at once, she felt very tired. She put her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her hands.
Your mother would be proud of you.
She thought about her mother. It was funny, but it didn't make her miserable any longer. The aching need for a person no longer there had gone. She pondered on this. Perhaps you only needed people if other people didn't need you.

She was still sitting there, mulling all this over, when, half an hour later, Dr. Meredith came to find her. She heard his step on the flags as he came out through the French windows and twisted around to face him. He had taken off his jacket and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. He came, slowly, to sit beside her. He said, “You've got a little sister. Six and a half pounds and quite perfect.”

“And Stephanie?”

“A bit weary, but blooming. A copybook mother.”

Emily felt a smile creeping up into her face, and at the same time a lump grew in her throat and her eyes started to fill with tears. Dr. Meredith, with no words, handed over a large white cotton handkerchief, and Emily took off her spectacles and wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“Does Daddy know?”

“Yes. I've just been speaking to him on the phone. He's coming home right away. He'll be here by midnight. The ambulance has gone back to the hospital, but nurse is going to stay the night.”

“When can I see the baby?”

“You can see her now if you want to. Just for a moment.”

Emily stood up. “I want to,” she said.

They went back into the house. Upstairs, the nurse, bustling and competent, gave Emily a cotton mask to tie over her face. “Just in case,” she said. “She's an early baby and we don't want to take any risks.”

Emily, not minding, obediently tied it on. She went with Dr. Meredith into the blue bedroom. And there, in the beautiful bed, propped up with pillows, lay Stephanie. And in her arms, cocooned in a shawl, its little head downed with hair the same colour as Stephanie's, lay the new baby. A person. A sister.

She stooped and laid her face against Stephanie's. She couldn't kiss her, because of the mask, but Stephanie kissed Emily. All constraint between them had melted away. They were no longer shy of each other, and Emily knew that they would never be shy again. She looked down into the baby's face. She said, wonderingly, “She's beautiful.”

“We had her together,” Stephanie told her, sleepily. “I feel she's yours as much as mine.”

“A rare little nurse you'd make, Emily,” the nurse chipped in. “I couldn't have coped with things better myself.”

Stephanie said, “We're a family now.”

“Is that what you wanted?” asked Emily.

“It's all I ever wanted.”

*   *   *

A family. Everything had changed, everything was different, but that didn't mean that it couldn't be good. When she had seen the doctor off, and watched his car disappear around the curve of the drive, Emily did not immediately return indoors. It was growing dark now, the garden dusky and sweet-scented after the long, hot day. The first of the stars shone from a sapphire-coloured sky. A beautiful evening. Just the right sort of evening for a person to start living. Just the right sort of evening for a person to start growing up.

She was very tired. She took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. She looked at the spectacles thoughtfully. Perhaps contact lenses wouldn't be so bad. If Stephanie could bear having a baby, then surely Emily could learn to wear contact lenses.

She would try. Just as soon as she was old enough, she would try.

Gilbert

Awaking; aware, without opening his eyes, of sunlight and a band of warmth lying across the bed, Bill Rawlings was pervaded with a sense of marvellous contentment and well-being. A number of pleasant thoughts crossed his mind. That it was a Sunday so he didn't have to go to work. That it was going to be a fine day. That the warm, soft body of his wife lay close to him, her head pillowed in the curve of his arm. That he was, in all probability, one of the most fortunate men in the world.

The bed was huge and downy. An old aunt of Bill's had given it to them as a wedding present when he had married Clodagh two months ago. It had been her marriage bed, his aunt had informed him with certain relish, and to make the gift more acceptable, had thrown in a beautiful new mattress and six pairs of heirloom linen sheets.

It was about the only thing in the house, apart from his desk and his clothes, that actually belonged to Bill. Marrying a widow had posed certain complications, but where they were to live was not one of them, because there could have been no question of Clodagh and her two small girls moving into Bill's two-roomed bachelor flat, and there seemed little point going to all the hassle and expense of buying themselves a new house when hers was already so perfect. His flat had been in the middle of the town, within walking distance of the office, but this house lay a mile or so out into the country, and had as well the advantage of a large and rambling garden. Besides, Clodagh pointed out, it was the children's home. Here were their secret hideouts, the swing in the sycamore tree, the playroom in the attic.

Bill needed no persuasion. It was the right and obvious thing to do.

“You're going to live in Clodagh's house?” his friends exclaimed, looking astonished.

“Why not?”

“A bit tricky, surely. After all, that's where she lived with her first husband.”

“Very happily, too,” Bill pointed out. “And I hope she'll be just as happy with me.”

Clodagh's husband, and the father of her two little girls, had been killed in a tragic car smash three years ago. Bill, although he had worked and lived in the district for some years, did not meet her until two years later, when he was asked, as a suitable man to make up numbers, to a dinner party, and there found himself sitting next to a tall and slender girl, whose thick blonde hair was wound up into a knot at the back of her elegant head.

Her finely boned face he instantly found beautiful, and yet, at the same time, sad. Her eyes were grave, her mouth hesitant. It was this very sadness that caught at his tough and experienced heart. Her fragile neck, exposed by the old-fashioned hairstyle, seemed to him vulnerable as a child's, and when at last he made her laugh, and her smile came into its own, he fell, like any young man, head over heels in love.