Текст книги "The Secrets of Midwives"

Автор книги: Sally Hepworth

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By the time Neva left home we’d fallen into what I believed was a typical pattern of noticing that it had been a while between drinks and deciding we may as well get on with it. The frequency wasn’t desperate, and I still had the odd orgasm, so when I complained to my friends, they simply rolled their eyes and said they wished they had my problems. And outside the bedroom, Robert and I still had our laughs. We cuddled at night and, occasionally, held hands in the street. We celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, and Robert always put thought into the messages he wrote on the card. I’d asked myself more times than I could count if this was enough, and I’d come to the conclusion that it was. But now that Neva was gone and my mother was happily involved with Lil, lovemaking was creeping back up my list of priorities. So, I should have been pleased that Robert was initiating sex, even average sex. Why instead did I feel like I’d been kicked in the guts?

“Shall we finish getting dinner ready?” he asked after a minute or so of obligatory cuddling.

I rolled into a sitting position, invigorated as I remembered Neva was on her way. “Yes. Neva will be here soon.”

I stood, letting my dress fall over my hips to the floor. The doorbell rang.

“Oh. Here she is!”

Robert stomped toward the door and I hurried into the kitchen. The pasta was ruined yet again, so I tossed it out and flicked on the burner again. Our third attempt. While I waited for it to boil, I checked my reflection in the microwave. A little disheveled perhaps, but no more than normal.

As I stirred the meatballs, Neva and Robert rounded the corner. She delighted me by planting a kiss on my cheek. “Hi, Grace.”

“I’m glad you could fit us into your busy schedule.”

“Sure. Can I help?”

“Just sit down and relax,” I told her, pointing at a bar stool. “I’ll take care of everything.” But Neva and Robert were already halfway to the dining room, lost in their own world of conversation. I watched them through the pass-through—Neva smiling, Robert’s arm casually strewn across her shoulders. It irritated me no end.

“Red, Robert?” I called out.

He paused, mid-conversation. “Please.”

“And you, Neva?”

She half turned, but her eyes remained locked on her father. “Juice, please. Thanks, Grace.”

As I poured their drinks, I continued to watch them. They were so relaxed, so at ease. Robert showed no signs of worry over his job and Neva, no concern for her baby’s apparent lack of a father. As they talked, they mirrored each other—scratching the same ear, crossing the same leg. It was a habit I’d always found endearing. I should have been pleased that Neva had such a kindred spirit in her father. But today, for some reason, it hurt.

When dinner was ready, I set their plates down and took a seat at the head of the table. They were talking about politics or the economy or something. But I would put a stop to that.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Enough about politics. Why don’t you tell us about work, Neva? Any interesting births today?”

Neva and Robert exchanged a look. I frowned. “What?”

“You’re not interested in hearing about the new state senator, Grace?” Robert asked. “Mr. Hang Seng?”

“Puh-lease,” I said. “No.”

“What do you think about the new minority leader, Grace?” Neva asked. “Ms. Dow Jones?”

“Dow? Frightful name.” I forked some pasta. I hoped I could turn the conversation onto baby names, and then, with any luck, the baby’s father. But when I looked up, Neva and Robert were snickering. “What? What?”

All at once, the penny dropped: They were mocking me. “You weren’t talking about politics,” I said slowly. “Were you?”

Neva and Robert were now full-on laughing. I glared at Robert and he registered it. “Sorry, Grace. I’m sorry.”

Neva’s face straightened. “Yes, sorry, Grace.”

“Yes, well,” I said. “I should think so.”

Neva and Robert bowed their heads. And the mood, which had been happy and playful was soured. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I had a talent for killing Neva’s joy, it seemed.

“I must admit I’m relieved,” I said, wanting to fill the silence and pep up the mood. “Dow Bradley is terrible name.”

I hadn’t intended to be funny, but I noticed the corner of Robert’s lip starting to twitch. Then, so did Neva’s. Before long they were chuckling, and even though I knew it was at my expense, I did too. I was powerless against laughter. Even the smallest little snicker, particularly in the most inappropriate of situations, was all it took to set me off. Now my mouth curved upward and giggles forced their way out from between my clenched lips.

I pasted on a silly grin. The night was young, and with all the laughter and good feeling, perhaps we’d find out the father of the baby yet.

“So,” I said, reaching for the serving spoon. “Who’s for more meatballs?”

9

Floss

I looked into the sea of expectant faces. It was the busiest session yet. For most instructors this was unusual in week three of a six-week course, but for me, it often happened this way. People enjoyed the course and then brought a friend, a parent, a grandparent. Not bad for the oldest instructor at the Jamestown community center. The oldest by twenty-five years.

“Welcome back, everyone. We are already in week three of Birthing Naturally. We have talked about proper prenatal care, the cycle of intervention, and techniques for managing your pain without drugs. Tonight you’re going to hear from my granddaughter, Neva Bradley, about delivering in a birthing center.”

I located Neva in the second row of the auditorium. It had been two weeks since she announced her pregnancy, and we still hadn’t had the chance to talk properly. I hoped we would tonight. Neva sat next to a wicker basket full of materials. On top I could see her plastic pelvis and baby dolls. Neva had delivered her presentation to my class several times now, and it always featured in the highlights in the course evaluation.

“But first,” I said. “I see we have some new faces in the room tonight, so let me start by introducing myself. My name is Florence Higgins, Floss for short. I am retired now, but I was a practicing midwife for over forty years, first in my native England and then right here in Rhode Island. I’ve delivered babies at home, in birthing centers, in hospitals—you name it, I’ve done it. Now, at eighty-three, I’m happy to be part of the cliché: ‘Those who are too old—teach.’”

That got a few laughs, as it always did.

“Neva is a Certified Nurse-Midwife. She currently works at St. Mary’s Birthing Center in Providence. She has delivered babies in hospitals as well as in birthing centers, so she will be well equipped to answer any questions you might have. So without further ado, I’ll hand you over to Neva.”

I took a seat at the side of the room. It was always a treat watching Neva’s class. Like her mother, when she talked about midwifery, she came to life. Today was no different. Within minutes, Neva had the class engaged, laughing, excited. People were passing the plastic doll through the pelvis. Men were wearing the baby suit, a fabric device, heavy in front, designed to allow the father of the baby to feel pregnant. By the time Neva was finished, I couldn’t help but feel enthused. And judging from the faces in the room, everyone else felt the same.

After the class, a few people remained and Neva waited around to answer questions. People seemed genuinely interested in the idea of birthing centers and had a lot of questions. While Neva answered them, I packed up the room. I was almost finished when a father-to-be, whose wife was speaking to Neva, came over to give me a hand.

“My wife and I have been debating the origin of your accent,” he said with a grin. “My money is on Surrey.”

His own accent, I noticed, was English. I smiled. “London. But I practiced as a midwife in Watford and Watford Rural.”

Neva and the man’s wife finished speaking and joined our circle.

“London!” the man said to his wife, who clicked her fingers as though she should have picked it. He grinned at me. “But you practiced in Watford Rural, you say? My grandfather lived in Abbots Langley. He was a farmer.”

“So was Gran’s husband,” Neva said. “Small world.”

“Oh, yes?” The man lit up as though he’d discovered we were long-lost relatives. “Abbots Langley?”

“Uh, no. Kings Langley.”

“Kings Langley?” He slapped his thigh. “That’s a stone’s throw from where Pa lived. I practically grew up there. He was a dairy farmer.”

“Is that right?” I yawned, hoping it would politely conclude the conversation. No such luck.

“What kind of farm was yours?” he asked.

“Oh, just … a normal farm, you know. A few cows, a few horses.”

“Not a working farm, then?”

“No.”

Neva gave me an odd look. “I thought it was a cattle farm? That’s what Mom said.”

“Ah—so it was. My mind’s going. It’s the old age.” I smiled, playing the doddering old lady. The couple accepted it, though I wasn’t sure about Neva.

We waved off the couple and sat down on two of the folding chairs. Neva stared at the basket in front of her. The animation she’d shown during the class was gone and she seemed flat. Tired.

I reached out and touched her belly. “How are you doing, dear?”

“Not bad.” Neva continued staring at the basket. “Better than Mom, probably.”

I smiled. “That’s probably true.”

“She doesn’t want my baby to grow up like she did. Without a father.”

“Is that what she said?” I asked.

“That’s what she’s thinking,” Neva said. “That scar runs pretty deep with her, doesn’t it?”

“It does appear that way.”

“Makes me wonder what my baby will be in for.… I’ve been thinking about you a lot, actually, Gran. You went through everything I’m going through, but worse. You started single motherhood in a new country.”

“It was tough, initially,” I said. “But I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

“Weren’t your parents upset that you left?”

I looked at my hands, crossed in my lap. “They understood my reasons.”

“And my grandfather’s family? Didn’t they want to see their granddaughter?”

“Perhaps they did,” I said after a time. “But I had to make a choice. I chose the path that I thought was best for my daughter.”

“You didn’t ever think the best path would be to stay on the farm in Kings Langley?

I looked up sharply. “No. No I didn’t.”

It wasn’t like Neva, firing questions at me like this. It was more her mother’s style. I could see she was concentrating on keeping a neutral face, but the blood rose to the surface of her pale skin. She was trying to make sense of her own situation.

“I guess I just feel so alone. I can’t imagine putting myself in a situation where I’d feel more alone.”

“You’ll understand when you become a mother, dear. Once you see your baby, you’ll forget about your own needs and you’ll do what’s best for them.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand,” she said. “Why was it best for you and Mom to travel to the other side of the world, where you didn’t know a soul?”

It was the obvious question. I actually couldn’t believe that no one had asked it before. What would make a young lady leave her friends and family for a faraway place with a newborn baby in tow? Or rather, who would.

Bill’s face sprang to my mind. His eyes. His cocky half smile. That air of likability that penetrated a room like killer gas. The same man who held me close outside the church hall on his wedding day. I still remember blinking at him, waiting for him to release me with a laugh and a joke. Because it had to be a joke. Bill McGrady wouldn’t proposition me.

Eventually I managed a dry laugh. “We’d best get inside, Bill. I’ve maid of honor duties to attend to, and you need to cut the cake.”

Bill didn’t let go. His gaze was eerily piercing, like he was looking through my skin, to the bones and muscles underneath. I opened my mouth, suddenly on full alert.

“Bill!”

It wasn’t my voice that rang through the silence. It was Elizabeth’s.

“Bill? Are you out here?”

She stood at the door to the hall, cupping one hand around her mouth. Her singsong voice transformed Bill’s face, smoothing his lines and lifting his features.

“Over here, my darling.” I wriggled out of his grip and he stepped around me, into the light. “Floss and I were just packing the last of the gifts into the car.”

“Well, good,” she said. “It’s time to cut the cake.”

Bill jogged up to meet her on the stairs. At the top, he turned around. “Coming, Floss?”

The Bill standing before me looked like a normal, carefree young groom. Happy, friendly, and yes, a little drunk. I tried to conjure up his expression just a second ago—the piercing gaze, the pinch of his fingers on my waist—but it was already fading like a dream. As if it had never happened.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

I didn’t see Elizabeth for months after that. I thought she’d visit Evie and me regularly, particularly given her love for midwifery and her (rash, I think) decision to leave it when she got married. But apart from one letter, which did little more than detail the strangeness of living on a rural property, I didn’t hear from her. Not a dicky bird. Evie thought she’d be busy getting settled into married life. I expected she was right.

The world kept ticking along. Babies were born. Evie and Jack got engaged. A month passed, then another. When I still didn’t hear from Elizabeth, I began to worry. What if Bill had told Elizabeth about what happened the night of the wedding, but twisted things to make it look like I’d been the one to try it on with him? Had I been the one to try it on with him? The whole thing had been so strange. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure it happened at all.

Finally, I decided to ride out to their property on my bike. Even if the worst turned out to be true and Bill had told untruths to Elizabeth, it couldn’t be more terrible than the torture of not knowing. On my next day off, I was wheeling my bike down the front path when I passed Evie. A wad of envelopes was tucked under her arm and she waved a sheet of cream stationery under my nose.

“Elizabeth is coming to my engagement party,” she said. “So you needn’t worry your dear head about her anymore.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s … wonderful news.”

It was wonderful news. And I was certainly relieved that she was all right. But I was confused. If Elizabeth had responded to Evie’s invitation, why hadn’t she got in touch with me? Still holding the bike, I hesitated, then returned it to the shed.

The engagement party came around before I knew it. Evie’s family was from East London, so the celebration was a good deal less formal than Elizabeth’s pre-wedding functions. Everyone was ready for a good time. The room was decorated with nothing more than balloons and streamers. The food was good and hearty, not an hors d’oeuvre in sight.

“Floss! There you are.”

Before I saw her, I was choked by a faceful of auburn hair. “Don’t hate me,” she said into my ear. “I’m a terrible pen friend. I got your letters. I’ve just been so busy, you know, getting settled and all. I’m so sorry.”

In her arms, I blinked, then softened. “Of course I don’t hate you, Elizabeth. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am,” she said. “I’m fine.”

When she pulled away, I did a visual assessment. She certainly looked fine. In a pretty white sleeveless dress with a wide, red sash and a full skirt, she looked demure and fashionable. Her lips were fiery red and her hair, which had a tendency to become flyaway, was thick and shiny. She gave me a sheepish smile. With it, I realized how much I’d missed her.

“So tell me,” I started. “—Oh, goodness!” A whirl of air went by, and suddenly I was flying. I was in Bill’s arms—I recognized his scent: booze and smokes and country air. He spun me in a little circle. “Floss, old girl. Long time no see.”

He set me back on my feet and I patted down my blouse, which had become untucked. “Hello, Bill.”

“Look at you.” He whistled. “A sight for sore eyes. Are you well?”

Bill smiled as he awaited my response. Most of the people I’d spoken to that night had the curse of the wandering eye—continually glancing over my shoulder for someone better to talk to. Not Bill. His gaze didn’t waver. I felt a surge of warmth toward him, and in an instant, my worries melted away. “Very well, thank you.”

“And there she is … the beautiful bride-to-be.”

Bill greeted Evie in the same way he’d done me, swinging her about in circles. Elizabeth raised an imaginary glass to her mouth. He’s full, she mouthed.

I chuckled. “What can you do? He’ll be embarrassed tomorrow.”

“If he remembers,” Elizabeth complained. But her smile was tolerant and she seemed every inch the happy, understanding wife. I suppose anyone would be tolerant, with a husband like Bill.

As the evening progressed, I began to enjoy myself. Everyone was happy and Elizabeth didn’t have a bad word to say about Bill or marriage. Not even a regret about leaving midwifery. It was unexpected. I’d thought an adjustment period would be normal for anyone. Not for Elizabeth. Perhaps marriage with Bill was enough to cancel out any feelings like that? I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous that I didn’t have a relationship that fulfilling.

A spoon chinking against a glass stole our attention. Bill, red cheeked and smiling, was standing on a wooden barstool. “Ladies and gents, if I can have your attention, please. I’m sorry to hijack the celebration. This is Evie and Jack’s night, but I’ve an announcement to make as well.”

I looked to Elizabeth. She was watching Bill. Her smile was wide but stiff; it seemed to be fixed in place.

“My bride and I have been blessed,” Bill said. “Just when you think life can’t get much better … we’re going to have a baby!”

The room fired with gasps and claps on backs. I drew in a breath. That explained Elizabeth’s glowing skin and thick hair. I pasted a smile to my face, but my heart felt heavy. Elizabeth smiled back guiltily. “Sorry. I was about to tell you.”

My eyes drifted over her, looking for any other sign of pregnancy that I might have missed. But she was thin as a whippet, even thinner than usual, and as flat-chested as ever.

Bill beckoned her. “Come up here, darling.”

The crowd parted and Elizabeth made her way to where Bill stood.

“Here she is,” he said. He reached for her, pulling her up onto the stool. I watched uncertainly. The chair, inadequate even for one person, wobbled, but Bill didn’t seem to notice. He was grinning like a fool. “Now. I’ve only been married a few short months, but already I’m a changed man. And when this one comes along”—he patted Elizabeth’s flat stomach—“life will be perfect. And so I’d like to make a toast to my wife. Now, where has my drink got to?”

Bill reached behind him in search of his beer, and the stool rolled with him, going up on two legs. Elizabeth started to fall. A gasp rippled through the room. Men stepped forward, arms extended. I stepped forward too. Somehow, Bill managed to tighten his grasp on Elizabeth’s waist with one hand and, with the other, steady them against the bar. Collectively, the room exhaled.

“That was close,” Bill said with a laugh. “You all right, darling?”

Elizabeth nodded. She started to get down from the chair, but Bill held her tight. “I’ve got you,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Elizabeth looked nervous. “I really think I should—”

Bill shook his head almost imperceptibly. I had no idea what it meant. I did know, however, that Elizabeth immediately stopped protesting.

“Let. Her. Down.”

The room hushed and people looked to where Evie’s father, a tall man with a ruddy face and a no-nonsense attitude, stood. His tone was affable but firm. Given his height and stature, I wouldn’t have wanted to argue.

“She shouldn’t be standing on chairs in her condition, and you’re in no condition to hold her up, young man.” He nodded at one of his sons, a man who shared his father’s stature, who lifted Elizabeth to the ground. “All right,” Elizabeth’s father said to Bill. “Continue your toast, if you must.”

The room stilled, apart from a few snickers at the back of the room. Elizabeth also stilled. Bill locked eyes with Evie’s father. He looked as though he were carefully contemplating his next move. I was overcome by an urge to leave, to flee the room, but another part of me couldn’t look away. What was going on? What was he thinking?

Finally Bill’s lips curved up—the signature half smile. “You’re right, we can’t be too careful.” His face brightened, as if a switch had been flicked. “As I was saying, I’d like to raise a toast to my new bride. I’m going to need at least four boys to help me run the farm, and Elizabeth has done a great job of getting things started. To Elizabeth.”

“To Elizabeth,” chorused the room.

Everyone was grinning and swilling. Everyone but me. Was I the only one who’d felt that? Evidently, I was. Conversations had resumed and from what I could hear, they weren’t talking about Bill. Even Evie’s dad was making small talk with Bill, and it appeared to be amicable. And why not? Nothing had happened other than a man being a little careless with his wife after a few too many drinks. Many men were guilty of worse. But the feeling in my stomach said it was something more.

*   *   *

“Gran?”

“Yes?”

Neva was watching me with an expression that made me nervous. “Why would you travel across the other side of the world with a brand-new baby?”

Silence engulfed us. I realized my misstep. Like Grace, Neva saw the parallels between our situations. But Neva’s secret gave her insight Grace didn’t have. She was right, of course. It didn’t make any sense for me to cross the ocean with a new baby in tow.

Unless I had something to hide.

“What aren’t you saying, Gran?”

I shrugged a little. “Perhaps it was a strange thing to do, but hindsight has a way of making things clear. In the moment, things are muddier, less obvious.”

Neva nodded, but her face was still wary. It worried me. She wasn’t like Grace. She wouldn’t press me on an issue I didn’t want to discuss. But she also wouldn’t forget about it the way her mother would. Her unresolved questions would sit, just under the surface, a palpable but invisible wall between us.

This wouldn’t be the end of it. My granddaughter was on to me.