Christmas-Eve Baby (15 page)

‘She should have gone to Theatre.’

‘There wasn’t one free—and there wasn’t time. So we did what we could, and we failed. And I’m sorry. But it’s not my fault. If you want someone to blame, I suggest you look a little closer to home!’

‘Just what the hell are you implying?’

‘I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you that if it was anyone’s fault she died, it was yours, because you were too busy building your empire to notice that the woman you supposedly loved was so sick she was overdosing on painkillers because she didn’t want to trouble you! And that is why she died.’

Lucy gasped, and behind Reception Hazel and Kate stood transfixed.

The door slammed back against the wall and Ben stormed out, his face taut with anger. The noise of the door seemed to free them, and Lucy sagged against the doorframe, utterly shocked at the terrible things that had been said. Kate hurried towards her. ‘Lucy—oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. Come and sit down.’

‘No. I have to talk to him. He can’t…’

She walked through her father’s door on legs of jelly, and found him throwing books out of his bookcase, searching through them and discarding them furiously.

‘Dad?’

‘I’m going to sue him. I’m sorry, I know he’s your husband now, but I can’t let him get away with that.’

‘What if he’s right?’

He froze, then glared at her, his eyes suddenly ice cold. ‘Get out,’ he said flatly. ‘If that’s what you think, get out, and go home to him. I don’t want to see you again!’

‘Nick, really, this is ridiculous—’ Kate interjected.

‘Fine, I’ll go,’ Lucy sobbed. Turning, she ran back past Kate to her consulting room and grabbed her handbag. The histology bottle was still in her hand, and she gave it to Hazel on the way out. ‘Um, could you send that for histology, please? Thank you. And—happy Christmas,’ she added, before, blinded by tears, she ran out to the car, climbed awkwardly behind the wheel and drove out.

The roads were slick with rain, and as she drove towards Tregorran House and Ben, the rain turned to sleet and then snow, swirling, blinding snow of the sort they rarely saw in Cornwall. It would be gone in a moment, but for now it was blinding her, mingling with the tears until she couldn’t see.

She felt the jolt, felt the car slide, and then judder and tilt alarmingly before coming to rest, the engine still running.

Oh, God, no, she thought. Phone. Where’s the phone? Got to call Ben. Bag. Where is it?

In the footwell. Her bag was in the passenger footwell, right over on the far side and she suddenly understood the meaning of the expression heavily pregnant. She was hanging
in her seat belt, leaning towards the passenger side, and she just couldn’t quite— Got it!

And it was wet. Very wet, and as she watched the water rose further, and the car shifted and settled lower into the ditch. She had to get out, but how?

Turn off the engine, she remembered. Turn off the engine. Creaks, hissing, bubbling—it was like something out of a horror movie. She wasn’t even sure where she was, but she couldn’t be far from home. A hundred yards? Two hundred?

She pushed the door with all her strength, and it lifted, then dropped back. Ben, she thought, and phoned him, but he was out of range.

Nine nine nine?

Or her father?

No. She wasn’t hurt, she was just stuck. She sent Ben a text, and told him where she was, then took her seat belt off, manoeuvred herself round so she was kneeling on the seat with her feet braced on the handbrake and her head by the window, and she heaved the door up and out of the way, pushing it until it held on the stay.

Would it remain there? The car was only tilted, not on its side, so it might stay there long enough for her to scramble out. Especially if she wedged it with something. Something like her handbag, always too full of things but on this occasion usefully so. She jammed it under the bottom of the door, so at least it wouldn’t slam on her, and then clambered awkwardly out into the swirling snow.

Why was it snowing? She slipped on the road surface and grabbed the door to save herself, then remembered her bag. It was squashed now, but nothing in there was important.

Except her phone.

Fingers trembling, she pulled it out and saw with horror that it was cracked. She tried to use it, but it didn’t work.

As if it could get any worse, she thought a little hysterically, and then she felt another of those annoying contractions, but it wasn’t just annoying, it was huge, painful, and very significant.

And then there was a warm, wet, rushing sensation down her legs.

‘Oh, no. Ben, please come,’ she mouthed silently. ‘I can’t do this on my own.’

She looked around her frantically, desperately searching for anything she could recognise, and then she spotted the barn, and her heart sank. She was at least half a mile from home, and she couldn’t possibly walk that distance. She’d have to get back in the car, she thought, and wait for Ben, but then there was a creak, and a groan of tortured metal, and the car tilted further and slid down into the ditch.

So that took care of that.

It’s a good job I took the fire dogs out, she thought, and then wondered how on earth she could worry about something so trivial when she was about to give birth on the roadside in a blizzard!

Another contraction hit her, and she sagged against the car, let it pass and then straightened up. She could get to the barn. It was only a few yards away—fifty at the most. It wouldn’t be warm, but at least she’d be out of the snow and sleet, and she could sit down and wait for Ben.

Wherever he was. What if he didn’t get the message? What if he didn’t come?

She wrote, ‘IN THE BARN’ on the side of the car in the dirty snow, and hoped someone would come. Anyone.

And soon…

‘“Had crash near home. Please come. L xxxx”. Oh, my God.’ Ben felt cold all over, sick and scared and useless. He’d been shopping—shopping, of all things!—and she’d had a car accident and been unable to reach him!

He dialled her mobile number, but it went straight to voice-mail. She might be calling someone else, he reasoned, so he left a message. ‘I’m coming, sweetheart. Stay there. Don’t move, and call an ambulance if you need to.’

And then, after a second’s hesitation, he phoned the practice. Kate answered, sounding distracted and upset, and he wondered if it was a good idea, but it was better than leaving Lucy without help.

‘Kate, it’s Ben. I’ve had a text from Lucy to say she’s had a car accident on her way back to the house. Have you heard from her?’

‘No, but she was really upset. Ben, she heard the row.’

He swore, then thought for a moment. ‘Kate, I’m worried. I can’t get her. Her phone might not be working. Can you try and find her? I’m on my way but I might need help. She might have gone into labour—you’re a midwife, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. Don’t worry, we’ll come. I’ll bring a delivery pack just in case. And I’ll call the ambulance. You just get to her.’

He drove fast—probably faster than was truly sensible, but not so fast that he was likely to end up in a ditch.

‘Lucy!’ He pulled up behind her car, ran to the door and yanked it open, but the car was empty, canted over at a crazy angle and filling with water. Hell. He dropped the door and looked round, then spotted the barn. Would she have gone there?

He looked around again, then noticed something on the side of the car. Writing. IN THE BA. Barn? The barn!

He wrote it again, clearing the fresh snow from the letters, and then got back in his car and shot down the road, pulling up outside in a slither of slush and gravel. ‘Lucy!’ he yelled, and he heard an answering sob.

‘Ben! In here—I’m having the baby.’

Dear God. And he had nothing with him—no gloves, no sterile drapes, nothing to protect her from contamination. He ran into the barn and found her huddled against some straw bales, and gathered her, sobbing, into his arms. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No—but the baby’s coming, Ben. I can feel it—I can feel the head. It can’t come now, I’m only thirty-four weeks! It’s too early.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, giving her one last squeeze. ‘There’s an ambulance on the way, and I’ve called Kate, just in case. You stay there. I’m going to sort these bales out and then have a look at you.’

He stood up, shifted a few bales to make a flat, clean area of fresh straw, then stripped off his coat and laid it on them, scooped her up and set her down in the middle of it. ‘We need to get these wet trousers off you,’ he said, and peeled them down her legs, taking the tiny lacy knickers that he adored with them.

Hell. She was right. The baby’s head was crowning, and there was no time to do anything except catch it.

‘I want to push.’

‘No. Just wait—if you can. Pant. Wait for Kate, she won’t be long.’

‘Lucy?’

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘He’s your father.’

‘He didn’t want to see me again.’

‘Lucy?’ Another bellow from Nick.

‘In here,’ Ben yelled, thinking that he’d never expected to be pleased to see Nick Tremayne, but, by God, he was. And Kate—dear, sensible Kate, who elbowed them both out of the way, thrust a delivery pack in Nick’s hands and told him to unwrap it, sent Ben to hug Lucy up at the other end and took over.

‘The cord’s around its neck,’ Kate said. ‘Lucy, I’m just going to put my finger in and free it, then you can push again, darling, all right? Just hang on, just another minute, there’s a good girl.’

She wriggled a loop of cord free, worked it over the baby’s head, felt again, and then smiled. ‘Right, my love. In your own time, when you feel the next contraction, just pant and push gently with your mouth open— That’s it, lovely, nice and steady— Well done. Ben, can I have your jumper, please?’

He peeled it off over his head and handed it to her, and with the next contraction she delivered the baby onto the jumper, lifted it and laid it on Lucy’s abdomen, tucking the warm fabric round it.

‘I need to suck it out,’ Kate said, taking the aspirator from Nick and clearing the baby’s nose and mouth of mucus while Ben held his breath and prayed.

And then there was an indignant squall, and Lucy sobbed with relief, and he closed his eyes, hugged her close and wondered if he’d ever heard anything more beautiful in all his life.

‘Well, I have to say, if you were going to have a baby in a stable at Christmas, you could have had a boy,’ Kate murmured, and Lucy gave a fractured little laugh and peered in amazement at the baby.

‘It’s a girl?’

‘Yes—yes, it’s a girl,’ Kate said gently. ‘Congratulations.’ She turned. ‘Nick, could you go and flag down the ambulance? I can hear it coming.’

He turned and went without a word, but Ben caught a glimpse of his face, taut with emotion, and wished he could unsay the words he’d said that morning. However true.

‘I love you,’ Ben said, pressing a lingering kiss to his wife’s brow, and she looked up at him, her eyes filled with wonder, and smiled.

‘I love you, too. Oh, Ben, look at her, she’s beautiful.’

She wasn’t. She was streaked with blood and mucus, covered in the creamy vernix that protected her skin
in utero
, and her face was screwed up with indignation, and he’d never seen anything so amazing in all his life.

‘Ben? Ben, can you get the door?’

Lucy was lying propped up in bed, the baby in her arms, and she didn’t know where Ben was. He’d gone downstairs to start cooking their lunch some time ago, and there wasn’t a sign of him.

‘Ben?’

‘I’ve got it,’ he yelled, and she heard the front door creak open, and then silence.

Silence?

‘Ben, who is it?’ she called, but there was no reply, and she slipped out of bed and padded to the top of the stairs, the baby in her arms.

She could hear voices, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying until she reached the end of the landing, and then she saw them. The big front door at the foot of the stairs was
closed, and Ben and her father were standing there in front of it, talking in hushed tones.

‘I’ll quite understand if you want me to go.’

‘No. No, I don’t want you to go, Nick, but I’m not going to let you upset Lucy.’

‘I won’t. I promise. But I must see her—and you. I owe you both a massive apology. You were right—I neglected Annabel, and I didn’t want to see it, so I made you the scapegoat. And I don’t know how you can ever forgive me for that. It was unforgivable—’

‘No, it wasn’t. You were blinded by grief, and you were lashing out. I don’t have that excuse. I was really hard on you—I said dreadful things, and I’m really sorry.’

‘True things. I was busy with my empire.’

‘No, you were busy setting up a vital community health centre, and you took your eye off the ball. We all do it. And really the fault, if any, was Annabel’s for downplaying it too long. It was just one of those terrible things, Nick. I’m just so sorry that I couldn’t do anything about it.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ her father said, gruffly uttering the words Lucy had given up hoping he would say, and she must have made a noise because they both lifted their heads and looked up at her.

‘Hello, Dad,’ she said, and his face twisted.

‘Hello, Lucy. Happy New Year. I’ve brought something for the baby.’

He seemed so uncertain, so uncharacteristically unsure and, tucking the baby more securely in her arm, she went carefully down the stairs and into his arms. ‘Happy New Year,’ she said softly, going up on tiptoe and kissing his cold cheek. ‘Here—say hello to your granddaughter.’

He bent and touched her little face with a blunt fingertip, and his mouth compressed. ‘She’s lovely. May I hold her?’

‘Of course. Ben, can you take Dad’s coat? Come through to the sitting room, we’ve got the fire going.’

And she led him through into the room where he’d spent so much time in his own childhood, and there, in a chair by the fire, she settled him down and laid the baby in his arms.

‘She’s beautiful,’ he said gruffly. ‘Just like you were. Does she have a name yet?’

Ben came up beside her, one arm around her shoulders, holding her close. ‘We thought—if you didn’t mind—we’d like to call her Annabel.’