When the Bough Breaks (7 page)

‘Ring? Can't I see her? Can't I wait until the operation is over? Kathie will want me. We have a daughter; we ought to see her together.'

‘I'm afraid the rules don't allow anyone here waiting. There is a list of visiting hours in the reception area, you'll see it as you go out. Wednesday and Sunday from three until four in the afternoons.' Then, with a smile intended to take that frightened look from the poor man's face, she added, ‘If we gave people access at other times we'd never be able to give our patients the care they deserve. Now you wait a few more minutes and I'll bend the rules and bring your new daughter out for you to see.'

Doctor Knight took his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat and checked the time. ‘I can wait a few more minutes,' he said, ‘then I'll drive you back to Sedgewood with me.'

Dennis' instinct was to refuse, to say that if they wouldn't let him wait on the bench in the hospital he would go to one of the shelters on the seafront. Then in the morning instead of telephoning he would call in and enquire and perhaps they'd let him have a minute or two with Kathie. But at home there were animals to be looked after; and Kathie would need clean nightdresses brought in . . . please God, please make it be like that, make her need her things, don't take her away from me. Then with something like guilt he realized that as he'd tried to hold in his mind the image of being with Kathie, the operation over and she looking fresh faced, rosy cheeked, those tell-tale dark smudges gone from under her eyes, not once in those moments had he thought of the tiny person who had just been brought into the world six weeks before her time.

Soon Sister reappeared carrying a tiny bundle, wrapped so securely that the newborn could move neither hands nor feet.

‘There she is. Isn't she a perfect treasure.'

‘So tiny,' he murmured as he gazed in awe at the wonder of what he and Kathie had produced.

‘For a seven and a half month delivery she is a bonny babe. She weighs five pounds one ounce. Another six weeks and she would have given a real problem.'

‘Not much more than two bags of sugar.'

The sister saw the way his face was working as with his teeth clamped together he held his chin steady. Poor man. What was ahead of him if he had to rear this bundle of love on his own?

‘And just as sweet, too,' she answered briskly, her tone doing more to help him over his bad moment than any sympathy. ‘Now then, off you go. Your family will be in good hands. You may telephone any time after eight in the morning; just ask for Wyndham Ward.'

To plead or argue would be useless. There was a strange comfort in the feeling of Dr Knight's hand on his elbow as they walked down the empty corridor.

That was on Monday night, a long night of anguish he would never forget.

Gradually through the years he and Kathie had taken each other for granted, content in their shared lives. Not until that afternoon had he looked,
really looked,
and realized how changed she had become, how drained and exhausted. What sort of a night would she be enduring, frightened and alone in that cheerless hospital. When she woke from the operation – please God make it have been successful – she wouldn't know where she was. Would she be able to understand that their baby had been born? The baby, a girl so tiny she might have been a child's doll, small and vulnerable and depending on them to take care of her and love her. He felt a strange unfamiliar tenderness. What would happen to them all? If Kathie didn't . . . no, don't let the thought even take shape; of course Kathie will pull through and be well again. She's always been fit and full of energy. But had that really been true? She's a fighter, she would never admit to being beaten no matter how tired she was. Had he been fair in taking it for granted that working all day and every day was all she wanted? She'd seemed happy. Often enough they'd both been too tired at the end of the day for anything more than to roll into bed with a mumbled goodnight. Yet on those other nights when he'd wanted her, she had never said she was too tired; no, plenty of times he had thought it meant more to her than it did to him. Dear Kathie, he could almost hear her urgent whisper, ‘Don't rush, Den. Make it last', right up to the last few weeks and even knowing how early they had to be up in the morning. Dear Kathie. Remember the day of their wedding, their honeymoon with the old zinc bath. Oh God, don't take her away. Everything was so good; all that was missing was a family. You can't give us a child and then take Kathie.

The day had taken its toll on him. When he heard a sob break in his throat he didn't care, he didn't even try to fight it. Soon after that, sleep overtook him. When he woke and reached for his torch to look at the time, it was half past five. Normally he and Kathie got up just after six o'clock but on that morning he was glad to start the day. By six o'clock he had washed and shaved and was finding a clean shirt. A clean shirt to wear to phone the hospital? To go in his work things from the previous day would have felt wrong so he took what they thought of as his ‘tidy' trousers from their hanger. He would do some of Kathie's jobs early, helping the time to pass before he could make his call. So he collected the eggs, fed the chickens and replaced their bowl of water. Bertram would have to wait until later, a pigsty was no place when he was dressed like this.

Before he had married he had looked after himself quite efficiently, so it was no hardship to cook his own breakfast. At last it was ten to eight and time to drive the van to the village.

The night staff had gone off duty and the nurse who spoke to him told him, ‘Mrs Hawthorne has come round from the operation and is sleeping.' And the baby? Apparently that was another ward, so he had to wait until his call was transferred. The answer was much the same: ‘The baby is doing well.'

He drove home feeling strangely empty. All he knew was that Kathie and the baby were alive. He felt shut out from them and helpless. Once back at the cottage he took off his good trousers and clean shirt and put on yesterday's work things. The greatest therapy was hard work, something Westways could always supply.

By the time he was allowed to see Kathie on Wednesday from three o'clock until four she was truly back in the land of the living and she had been moved to the same ward as her baby. The curtains were pulled around her bed but the nurse ushered him in then left them alone. Propped against pillows Kathie was sitting in bed with the tiny baby at her breast. His eyes stung with tears.

‘Den, just look at her.'

He nodded, frightened to trust his voice then, surprising himself and thankful for the curtains, he found himself on his knees at her bedside.

‘Kathie, oh Kathie, thank God. You look fine; you look like yourself. Been so worried.'

‘Worse for you than for me, I expect, Den. Most of the time I didn't know anything about it. I wanted to have her properly, I mean like nature intended. But she's so beautiful. You'd never think she came early would you?'

‘But what about
you
?
Is your back better? What have they told you, Kathie? They say nothing on the phone, only that the operation was satisfactory.'

‘Mr Freeman, the surgeon, has been round to see me and he said it went very well and the tumour hadn't spread any further. Apparently they have to send it to be analysed or something. They want to keep me here for three weeks.' He knew from her expression that it was the cost that worried her. ‘But that's ridiculous. They can't make me stay.'

‘If
they
can't, then I can.' His voice was uncharacteristically masterful.

‘I promise I'd rest at home. If you said I couldn't work outside, then I'd stay indoors in the warm.'

‘You'll certainly do that, but not until they are happy for you to leave the hospital. Kathie, we've got a few pounds put by.'

She didn't look convinced. Every pound they had managed to save had been cause for pride and now they were expected to throw it all away when she had a perfectly good bed at home. Anyway she wanted to look after the baby herself.

‘It's silly for me to lie here doing nothing while you have to do your own cooking and washing.'

‘Remember, woman,' he said with an almost boyish grin, ‘before you swept into my life I catered for myself most efficiently and so I am again. And when you come home don't think you're going to rule the roost, you'll do as I tell you. And that means rest.'

Kathie wriggled deeper into her pillows. With her baby nuzzling at her nipple and with Den looking at her in a way she hadn't seen for years, she felt she would burst with happiness. She wouldn't let herself consider the chance that the biopsy result would be anything but perfect.

Dennis couldn't let his thoughts go beyond the point when they would have the result from the analyst. To take it for granted that the tumour had been non-malignant would be akin to tempting fate. But today was special and precious to both of them, the first time they had been together as a proper family.

‘Can I hold her?' He moved the conversation away from their meagre savings. The operation would make a huge hole in them, but none of it mattered as long as she and the baby were well. As he took the tiny form in his arms again his vision misted. ‘So little,' he muttered. ‘Oh Kathie, she's a miracle.'

Kathie nodded, knowing just how he was feeling for it had been the same for her the first time she had held the little bundle in her arms. ‘She's tiny now,' she said, ‘but she'll soon start to grow. Before I had her more than anything I worried that I wouldn't be able to feed her. I had almost no bosom – you remember. But now –' she stuck out her chest with pride – ‘if all that gets full of milk she's going to grow in no time.'

He couldn't keep the smile off his face. Bosom or no, what a child she sounded.

‘We can't keep calling her
she.
Which is it to be? Jessica or Miranda?' These were the two names they had selected if the baby turned out to be a girl. But in their hearts they had both been sure it would have been a boy, Conrad James.

Now they concentrated on the mite, still too young for them even to imagine what her features would be.

‘She doesn't look to me like a Miranda,' Kathie said. ‘She'd better be Jessica.'

‘Doesn't look much like a Jessica either at the moment. We'll just call her Jess, Jessie Hawthorne.'

It was one of life's special moments.

Kathie stayed in hospital for three more weeks, two of them after they had been told the result they had longed to hear. The tumour had been large and fast-growing but it hadn't been malignant. Now all she had to do was get strong so that she would be ready to look after Jess. That year Christmas passed them almost unnoticed and yet had there ever been one when their hearts had been so full of thankfulness? After that afternoon halfway through December when she had been taken into hospital, Dennis was constantly aware of her appearance and he marvelled how different she looked after these weeks of rest. The years they'd been together had transformed her from a girl to a woman, a radiant woman.

Once home she obeyed instructions and rested for two hours each afternoon, choosing her time according to when Jess, having slurped her way through her two o'clock feed, was asleep. That was in the beginning, but with each week as Jess grew bigger and Kathie grew stronger, gradually the routine changed. There was always help needed outside so with the pram close by, Kathie undertook the lighter jobs. At that stage, Stanley made himself responsible for Bertram.

By the time Kathie was once more keeper of the pigsty, Bertram had given place to Hector and Jess was taking her first staggering steps. If a Good Fairy had appeared and said she could hold time still for them, Kathie and Dennis were so aware of all they had that they might have been tempted, except for one thing: each day Jess learnt something new, each day she became more precious. And so with confidence they would have dismissed the Good Fairy's offer

Holding it by its two handles, Kathie picked up her basketwork container and started towards the shed. The peas had cropped well and this was her third full load that day. Glancing at her watch, she decided this must be her last. The hard work they put into Westways had ensured that it brought them a comfortable living doing what they loved best. About three years ago they had been able to afford to have electricity brought into the house and more recently a telephone too. And Kathie's natural flair had turned it into a home that radiated warmth and comfort.

‘I'm going in now,' she called to Dennis. ‘Only a few minutes and Jess will be home from school.'

‘Right-o. I'll just finish this row of broad beans and I'll get loaded up. Kathie, get us something to eat pretty soon so that it's ready when I get back from delivering, then this evening I'll get a few more hours out here. No Terriers this evening, so I want to make the most of the long day with the weather like this.'

Dennis never missed the chance of an evening with the Territorial Army (or the Terriers as they were known). He had joined when they had started recruiting in Sedgewood about a year after Jess had been born and, although more recently a lot of volunteers years his junior had enlisted – including Stanley Stone and Bert Delbridge who, by that time, had worked for him so long that they had almost become part of the family – he enjoyed the male companionship and the half hour they spent in the Stag and Beetle after their evening sessions.

‘All right, love,' Kathie answered, ‘say half an hour from now. Will that do?'

‘I reckon I'll last out that long. What have we got?'

‘A lot of eggs. They're laying so well. We'll have cheese omelettes and I've cut you a good gammon steak to go with yours.'

‘Good girl. That and a hunk of crusty bread'll do me fine.' Then he looked up from his picking, his gaze holding hers. ‘Here a minute.'