Put Out the Fires (54 page)

A little nagging pain seemed to roll through her stomach, and she remembered she’d been too excited to eat during the reception, so it was ages since she’d had food. Still, Sheila had left sandwiches and cake downstairs for their supper. As soon as Nick woke up, she’d set the table, switch the wireless on, and they would eat the meal like an ordinary married couple.

She gasped as another pain rolled through her, this one slightly sharper than the first, and she wondered if there was enough milk to make a drink.

“I hope I’m not going to be sick,” she thought. She watched Nick sleeping. His mouth twitched and she longed to kiss it. They’d scarcely had any time alone together. Perhaps she should wake him up, but then, he had that long journey back . . .

“Ouch!” Another pain, even stronger than the others.

Nick said sleepily, “Whassa matter?”

“I think the baby’s on its way.” How stupid of her not to realise that the pains were contractions!

“ WHAT!” He shot off the bed like a bullet and looked at her wild-eyed.

Eileen had been all set to panic herself, but reckoned one of them should remain clam. “Don’t get in a flap, Nick,” she said tersely. “Put the kettle on and make a cup of tea while I sort meself out.”

“Tea!” he yelled hysterically. “How can you think of tea!

Get in the car and I’ll drive you to the nursing home this instant -I take it you’ve booked?”

“Of course I’ve booked. Oh, but me suitcase with all me things in is at home.”

“Sod your suitcase and get in the car!”

“Not until I’ve had a cup of tea,” she said stubbornly.

Another contraction hit her and she gave a little scream.

“Oh, all right, forget about the tea, I’m coming!”

“Hold on, Mrs Costello, until we get you to the delivery room. It’s only at the end of the corridor. Hold on another minute.”

“It’s not Mrs Costello, it’s Mrs Stephens,” Nick said, as he virtually ran down the corridor with the wheelchair, Eileen clutching the arms precariously.

“It was Costello when she booked,” the young nurse panted as she tried to keep up. “Turn left here.” “

“Well, it’s Stephens now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eileen cried. She’d been holding on for miles, ever since Aintree Racecourse when her waters had broken. Then she’d forgotten the number of the nursing home in Merton Road, and Nick had been forced to drive slowly through the howling wind, looking for the sign outside.

“I’ve got the number all safe and sound at home,” she groaned.

“A lot of good that is!” Nick swore.

She felt herself being lifted onto a table and her clothes were removed, and despite the agony she was in, she managed to say plaintively, “Be careful with me new stockings.”

“All right, me darling. Spread your legs out, wide now.”

An Irish voice, a jolly nurse, much older than the first one, with a red face that shone like an apple.

“As if I’d want to do anything else! Oh, Jaysus!” The worst contraction yet, as if her insides were being split asunder.

“Is Matron on her way?” the nurse asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Eileen screamed.

The younger nurse replied, “She’s coming.”

A woman in a dark blue dress with a white headdress like a nun’s loomed into view. “Is she ready to push yet?” she enquired in a voice like ice.

“I’ve been ready to push for bloody hours!”

“I’m sure so, Matron.”

“Then let her.”

“Come on, now, Mrs Stephens,” the Irish nurse said, “Let’s have a real good push!”

“Just try and stop me!” She screamed again and a wave of pain engulfed her as the tiny being she’d been nurturing for nine whole months slid out into the world. Then the pain stopped and Eileen sank back onto the pillow, feeling shattered and triumphant.

It was over!

She heard a slap and there was an almighty and indignant yell from the baby. The Irish nurse said, “You have a lovely little boy, Mrs Costello, and he’s got a fine pair of lungs on him, I must say.”

“It’s not Costello,” Eileen whispered, “It’s Stephens.”

“Are they always so ugly?” Nick was looking at her in an awed way, as if she’d just done something totally unique.

It was several hours later; Eileen had needed three stitches after the birth, and poor Nick had been left to pace the corridor, nerve-racked and impatient. She’d booked a single room, so there were just the three of them, Eileen and Nick and their baby.

“He’s not ugly, he’s beautiful,” she protested, smiling.

She forgot entirely she had wanted a girl. “In fact, he’s the image of you!”

Nick looked alarmed. “Is he?”

“The spitting image. He’s got your hair, see?” She stroked the tight dark curls. “And your mouth and your nose.”

The baby was curled up, wide awake, like a white ball in her arms. As they watched, he yawned crookedly and waved his fists. Nick laughed. “He’s got no manners. Why is he wearing a dress?”

“It’s a nightgown, silly. Babies always wear them.”

“I’ve got a son!” Nick said incredulously. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course you can. Put your hand under his neck.”

Nick took the baby gingerly. “God! This feels peculiar.

My son!” He touched the tiny nose, the mouth, the hands, with his finger. “He’s perfect!” He smiled at Eileen. “We’ve got a child! We’re a proper family.”

“I know, luv.”

Their eyes met and Eileen knew he was about to say the words she’d been dreading. “I have to go,” he sighed.

“It’s long past midnight and I’m already late. I shall have to put my foot down the whole way.”

She wasn’t sure if she could bear it. “Be careful, promise?” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact and sensible.

“I will. Here, take him back, our son, and look after him for me, won’t you?” Eileen nodded wordlessly as she took the baby in her arms.

“He is beautiful.” She could tell Nick was doing his damnedest not to cry.

“Like you,” she said.

“Well, I’ll be off now.” He bent and kissed her fiercely on the lips. “Goodbye, my darling girl. Goodbye, son.”

He stroked the curly head briefly.

“Goodbye, Nick.”

He stood at the doorway for several seconds, staring intently, as if he was trying to take in the picture of his wife and son and impress it permanently on his brain.

“We’ll meet again, eh?”

He left, and Eileen lay there listening to the sound of his footsteps as they became fainter and fainter. She heard him go down the stairs, and a few seconds later, the front door closed. A car engine started up . . .

“Nick!”

Somehow, she managed to struggle out of bed, though she could hardly walk, the stitches hurt so much. She staggered to the window, clutching the baby, and pulled the curtains back.

The wind was still howling and the full yellow moon was veiled by dark clouds, so she could scarcely see the car as it crawled out of the drive into the road. Then the car stopped, and she knew that Nick had seen her at the window and was waving.

She waved back frantically. “Goodbye, darling,” she cried. “Goodbye, my darling Nick. I love you, I love you.”

She held their son up to the window and shook his tiny hand in Nick’s direction. “Wave to your dad, there’s a good boy.”

The car started up again. Within seconds, it had gone. Eileen pressed her face against the cold glass and felt a searing pain rip through her entire body, a pain far worse, far greater than anything she’d felt throughout the birth.

She cried out loud, a cry of despair and loneliness and longing, a cry of terror. How could she get through the rest of her life without him?

The door opened and the matron came in. “I thought I heard a noise . . . ” She stopped, shocked to the core, when she saw Eileen at the window. “Get back into bed this minute,” she snapped. “You’re not allowed on your feet for seven days. And look at these curtains! You’ll have the warden after us.”

“He’s gone!” Eileen said hopelessly. “He’s gone forever.”

The woman’s face softened slightly as she closed the curtains. “You’ll feel better about things in the morning,” she said awkwardly, as if she wasn’t used to being kind.

She clapped her hands together briskly. “Come on now, Mrs Costello, back into bed. I’ll put baby down in the nursery.”

“It’s Mrs Stephens.”

“But I thought

“I know, it was Costello, now it’s Stephens.” Eileen winced as she tried to hoist her legs onto the bed. Matron tut-tutted, grabbed hold of her feet and swung them under the covers none too gently.

“That’ll teach you not to get out of bed again!” she said tartly. “Let me have baby and I’ll tuck you in.”

Eileen handed her son to the woman with unconcealed reluctance.

Matron’s expression changed completely when she looked down at the baby in her arms. “He’s a lovely little boy.” She was actually smiling. “What are you going to call him?”

“Nick.”

“Well, Nick Stephens, it’s about time you went to bed.”

She switched the light off. “Goodnight, Mrs Stephens. I hope you sleep well.”

The door closed, and Eileen was left alone in the darkness.