CLONER : a Sci-Fi Novel about Human Cloning (A Captivating Story about Reproduction Outside the Womb and Identical Humans) (6 page)

A sudden lurch in her abdomen made her gasp. Her eyes grew round as she saw the bump move under the duvet. The thick down seemed to hoist itself up. A trick of the light, perhaps. She pushed the covering off, impatiently flinging it over to Alec’s side, and looked down at her belly. Visibly expanding now, like a gigantic balloon being blown up, it was still veiled by her large, encompassing nightdress. Mouth open, she watched the fabric straining at the seams.

The feeling of something biting into her suggested to Lisa that she was merely sitting on a fold of nightdress caught underneath her. Smiling at this simple explanation, she raised herself on her left elbow, lifted her buttocks up and pulled the nightie up under her armpits with her right hand. The effort required was tremendous, and Lisa lay back to catch her breath. She felt much more comfortable with nothing to restrain her body. She lay back thankfully, wondering whether she needed to get a larger maternity nightdress.

The trickle between her legs didn’t register right away. When she finally understood what was happening she found she couldn’t move. The trickle had become a steady stream. Horrified, Lisa watched a bright yellow fluid exuding out of her. It oozed out of her body, visibly diminishing the size of her belly.

The waters must have broken. She tried to reach an arm to the phone. It was as though she were held fast. A vice-like grip kept her rigid, her body unable to move, while the contents of her womb began to stir in earnest.

Lisa stared at her belly and gulped. It was expanding sideways, elongating into a huge rugby ball. She could feel the being within her struggling, his limbs pummelling her womb, stretching it. Appalled, she tried to call out. Her throat muscles seemed to have petrified. She saw the central bump under her abdominal wall elongate, then flatten. She felt a tearing, a sort of rending. Not painful, but it worried her. She was convinced there’d been some sort of change within her. Not the feeling of bearing down she remembered when in labour with Seb. More of a sudden widening, an odd sense of the bump changing shape.

With some surprise she now saw that her navel was slightly sunk in again - for all the world as though she now had
two
bumps instead of one. But her abdomen was quite still now. Had she dreamed that it had moved? Her muscles were under her control again.

Gently she slid her hands around herself. She fingered two solid protuberances, top and bottom. It felt as though there were two heads - she could swear there were two heads! A slight tingling within herself made her bold enough to explore further. Two sets of limbs! Twins after all, she thrilled. Those doctors…

The urge to urinate was suddenly overpowering. Gingerly raising herself up to a sitting position, she levered her legs carefully off the bed, planted her feet on the carpet, and stood up. She was appalled to feel liquid still trickling down her legs. Incontinent? Surely not. Nothing like that when she’d been big with Sebastian.

Hurriedly stuffing some tissues between her legs she waddled to the lavatory. A flow of liquid, rather more than she would have expected and still that curiously deep yellow colour, dribbled steadily out of her. Buttercup yellow - that did seem odd. Something strange, something remarkable, was happening within her. Yet she didn’t feel threatened or attacked. She was convinced she about to give birth to twins, and she awaited their arrival with eager anticipation.

Her sense of certainty was short-lived. The banal truth, that all that size was simply because she’d retained extra fluid, suddenly flashed across her mind. Her body had produced the hormones necessary for the birth; that’s all it was. That’s really what she’d been feeling. Not twins, but the baby changing position, being pushed down the birth canal. Naturally all that extra fluid would be draining out.

‘Remember the second time can be very fast,’ the midwife had warned her more than once, and stressed it again at the last check-up. ‘I’d rather you called me for a false alarm than left it too late.’

‘Alec!’ Lisa cried out, standing in the corridor and walking over to the balustrade guarding the staircase. She could hear ripples of laughter interspersed with low rumbling tones. The men, no doubt, were finishing the cider, good-humoured, ripe with money and plans for investments.

She tried a few more calls. There was no response from downstairs. She lowered herself carefully down the stairs, clinging to the banisters, edging down step by step. She tried hard not to dislodge the contents of her womb in any way. Suppose she gave birth while she was walking down?

‘It’s started, Alec.’

She was standing by the open living-room door, hiding her dishabille behind it. Neither man heard her.

She opened and shut the door with a bang and tried again.

‘Alec! I think it’s started.’

‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ she heard him say. He thought she was calling him to come to bed, presumably.

‘The
baby
, Alec. I think he’s decided to be early!’

It was Frank who took the matter in hand. Alec had clearly had too much cider to hear, let alone take charge.

‘Best ring the midwife,’ he said at once, picking up his mobile and tapping the number in. ‘Meg did say as Susan Andrews be seeing to yer. Better’n they doctors, any time.’

Lisa forgot her nervousness about only wearing a nightdress in front of Frank and came into the room to slip down on an easy chair. The strain of standing was beginning to be too much for her.

‘No answer.’ Frank looked uncomfortably at Lisa. ‘Perhaps her be out on another case.’

The holidays, Lisa remembered now. Susan might already have left. ‘Oh, dear.’ Lisa felt panic rising. Had she made a terrible mistake, jeopardised the unborn by not ringing for help before? She forced herself into composure. ‘Susan did leave me another number,’ she told them, catching her breath as an unmistakable contraction began to shudder through her. ‘It’s on the fridge door, Alec. Under the big magnet.’

The calm exterior hid Lisa’s growing worry that she might lose the being stirring within her: the rhythmic thrusting life force which was now clearly demonstrating its intention to be born. Was she really about to give birth to twins? And had her stupid prejudices endangered their lives?

‘Right.’ Alec stood up and lurched towards the kitchen. He returned with the small card in his hand and tapped the number in.

‘Alec Wildmore here,’ she heard him say as she eased herself back into the chair. ‘I think my wife’s in labour. Can you come over right away? That’s right; Dr Gilmore’s patient. Susan Andrews left us your number. Directions? D’you know your way across the moors?’

‘Tell she to look out for me Landrover by t’Tin Bridge,’ Frank put in quickly. ‘I’ll lead she back. Don’t want she lost now.’

‘She’ll be there in twenty minutes,’ Alec told them, taking three attempts to click the phone back.

‘Us’d best let Meg know what be going on.’ Frank smiled at Lisa, tapping his phone. ‘No need ter worry none. Her’ll be round for young Seb first thing termorrer.’

‘I’ll help you up the stairs.’ Alec placed his arm behind Lisa and inched her up the wide staircase, along the corridor and to the guest room bed she’d already prepared.

‘Let me lift you up,’ Alec said anxiously as he eased her swollen body on to the mattress. Lisa lay back, feeling a deep contraction. The birth process was in full swing, there was no longer any doubt about it. She felt around her belly again. One large, round ball-shape at the top - she couldn’t mistake that. Was it really two babies, or was it that the one Parslow had seen on the scan hadn’t been lying right? A breach position, perhaps? That’s what he’d seen, and avoided telling her because it usually righted itself. Her heart began to flutter as she pulled the covering over herself.

‘Bit premature, aren’t you?’ Alec asked, concerned.

‘A little,’ Lisa found herself saying, breathing deep to sound serene and unflustered. ‘Two weeks is nothing either way. No need at all to fuss. Everything’s ready.’

The sound of the front door opening and crashing shut again alerted Lisa to the outside world. She could hear voices, then a heavy unrecognised tread climbing the stairs. Rita Connolly, presumably; the relief midwife.

‘Decided to make a start, have we?’ a raucous voice greeted her.

A large raw woman, Lisa noted with alarm. Not a bit like the bird-like Susan whose quick sure movements had always given her confidence. Rita stood stolid, panting with the exertion of climbing the stairs, looking for somewhere to put her bag. She settled for the bedside table, opened the bag wide and extracted a white overall and some surgical gloves. Lisa flinched as cold plastic-coated hands pressed roughly at her.

‘No mistaking the waters have broken; you’re in quite a state.’ Rita pushed herself upright again and regarded Lisa unsmilingly. ‘I’d better ring Doctor,’ she said, lugubrious and prim. ‘He’ll want to order the flying squad.’

The woman’s assumption that Lisa would simply do as she was told sent blood back into her brain. Something deep inside her insisted she had to stay at home to deliver. That way she’d be where she, or at least Alec, was in control. Every nerve in her body told her that.

‘From Bristol?’ she asked, panting between contractions coming at two minute intervals. ‘It’s rather far to go up there at this stage, isn’t it? What if the baby’s born?’

‘They’re very well set up to deal with that.’ Rita consulted a massive notebook which, it seemed to Lisa, must take up most of the space in her bag. ‘Little nipper’s on the early side; best to play safe.’ She rummaged in the bag and unearthed a biro. ‘Not to worry,’ she said, looking at Lisa with pursed lips. ‘Lots of older mothers have prems. You’ll be all right, I’m sure.’

‘As he’s a prem I’d rather he wasn’t born in an ambulance.’ Lisa stopped suddenly. The contractions were getting very close together.

‘This phone working?’ Without waiting for an answer Rita sat on the side of the bed. The unexpected dip slid Lisa towards the midwife, who got up rapidly. ‘Dr Witherton? Rita Connolly; I’m at Sedgemoor Court. Mrs Wildmore, the elderly prima gravida, yes. Pre-term, I’m afraid.’

Witherton! That meant Gilmore, too, had left for his holiday. These substitutes would be unlikely to take responsibility for a home confinement. Terror clutched at Lisa. The only way she could stay at home was to be quick about it, get it over with before their precious ambulance arrived. She gathered her strength together and began to push, bear down, and try to force the foetus in her birth canal to earlier delivery.

It seemed to work. No sooner had she started than her uterine muscles began to expel in earnest. She felt certain that the head must be almost about to be born.

‘How d’ye do.’

Lisa, immersed in what she was doing, looked up to see a man standing beside the midwife in the room.

‘One of Susan’s,’ the midwife trumpeted. ‘She went gallivanting off on holiday last night, so we’ll have to do the best we can without her!’ The voice suddenly dropped. ‘...Waters...deep yellow...could be...’

The doctor’s head, Lisa saw, was bent towards Rita. Surprised eyes were still on Lisa, and he parted his lips in a smile. ‘Roger Gilmore’s away till the week after next,’ he said gently to her. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Wildmore. You’re just going to have to put up with a pair of strangers, I’m afraid. I ought to just examine you.’

Examine, Lisa thought acidly, was rather a grand word. He moved her nightdress up and looked at her.

‘I won’t do an internal,’ he told her, stepping back almost instantly, ‘in case I precipitate things. But I’m not entirely satisfied. You’re rather early.’ The doctor paced gravely up and down the room.

‘Only two weeks,’ Lisa gritted through clenched teeth.

‘I really think you’ll be better off in hospital. They’ve got all mod cons in case we run up against a problem.’

A problem? What reason had
he
to think things might go wrong? Could he just tell by looking at her, or was there something in the notes? Why couldn’t he say exactly what he thought?

‘I’d much rather go ahead with a home birth,’ Lisa breathed through contractions. ‘That’s what I agreed with Dr Gilmore. I’ve got everything ready – ’

‘Prems often need expert attention,’ the doctor said.

‘It’s only two weeks – ’

‘There are some indications of foetal distress.’

Foetal distress. Is that what she’d been experiencing? A foetus desperately trying to fight his way out of her body? All Lisa’s instincts told her Witherton had got it wrong. The baby would be safer here than in some aseptic hospital. They’d pounce on any little defect there, insist on interfering.
She
wanted to be in charge, to be the judge of what to do for her own offspring.

‘I can’t take responsibility for his being born at home. I really do advise you to go to hospital. The flying squad is excellent, you know.’

‘I’ll take the risk,’ Lisa said curtly. ‘The contractions are coming very close together now.’

‘Foetal distress? I thought you wanted this baby?’ Alec had come into the room and right up to her, his flushed face near to hers.

‘The baby could be starved of oxygen. And if he dies it’s tantamount to murder,’ the doctor intoned in sepulchral tones, addressing Alec. ‘Do you want that on your conscience?’

‘We’d better do as he suggests, pet,’ Alec encouraged her. ‘I honestly think that that would be the best solution.’

‘It’s
my
body. I don’t want to go to hospital!’ Lisa cried out, clasping the sheets to her. She couldn’t think, she could only feel a terror at the thought of medical intervention.

‘He’s my son, too, Lisa. You heard what Dr Witherton said. He’s in distress. His brain might be deprived of oxygen...’

The contractions were powerful now, strong and painful. Even if she’d wanted to argue further, she hadn’t the energy.

Dr Witherton picked up his mobile. ‘You’ll be in excellent hands. They’re very well rigged out, you know. They’ll be able to cope if the baby needs special care.’

Wearily she realised there was nothing further she could do. Apart from pray, of course. Her hands around her swollen belly, Lisa caressed her bump, and folded her hands in an attitude of prayer.