Текст книги "The Secrets of Midwives"

Автор книги: Sally Hepworth

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

I stumbled toward him. “No. I’m not okay.”

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s happened?”

I let out a sob. “There’s … there’s been a complaint made against me … with the Board of Nursing … by a doctor.”

Robert stepped away from me. “What?”

“It’s about the baby I delivered last night. She was born with a cleft lip and palate. We delivered her here then transferred both mother and baby to the hospital. The doctor—he went ballistic. Said he would report me.”

“What has he reported you for?”

“He says delivering a baby with a cleft palate was too high-risk to attempt at home, and also that I shouldn’t have transferred a patient with a perineal tear.”

“Did you know the baby had a cleft palate?” Robert’s expression was curiously blank. His voice was low and steady, his tone unreadable.

“Once labor had started … yes.”

“And the tear?” he asked.

“I knew about the tear, but I thought it was best for the patient and baby to—”

“Fuck, Grace!”

Robert’s outburst was so unexpected, I jumped.

“This is great, this is just … fantastic.”

“Robert, what’s wrong?”

He began to pace. “Do you have any idea how much shit I am in if I lose my job? Do you? We won’t even be able to make the next mortgage payment. That’s what we signed up for when we moved here. Every day I go into work, wondering if today’s the day I’m going to bring home my stuff in a cardboard box. I’m worrying about you and our future. Meanwhile, you’re taking unnecessary risks and putting our family at risk! For what?”

Robert stopped pacing and pressed his fingertips into his eye sockets. His cheeks were red. “We need your income, Grace. It may not be huge, but we rely on it. We can’t afford for you to take risks. Not right now.” He let out a long sigh and looked at me. The heat in his face was gone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted.”

“It’s all right,” I said automatically.

“It’s not. It’s just … a rough time right now. And I need you to be at work. I don’t have room in my head to deal with anything else.”

“Okay.”

I stood before him, shell-shocked. In our entire marriage, Robert had shouted only a handful of times. Once after I fell asleep at the wheel, driving home from a birth, and wrapped the car around a tree. (His anger was out of concern for me, rather than about the car.) Another time when Neva was nine and she ran onto the road after her Frisbee. Once when I taped The Golden Girls over the video of him skydiving in Australia. He was always apologetic afterwards, but this time I got the feeling that his anger remained. And I hadn’t even told him the full story. I lowered my gaze and whispered: “I can’t deliver any babies until after the investigation, Robert.”

Robert’s eyes bugged. “What?”

“My license is suspended. I can’t do any more deliveries. So I won’t be getting an income.”

Robert stared at me. The disbelief in his expression was much worse than the shouting. When my phone started ringing, Robert turned on his heel.

“Robert, wait.”

“I’m taking a shower,” he said, without turning around. His tone indicated this conversation was over, at least for today.

My phone was still ringing. Numbly I wandered over to it, picked it up. “Uh, hello? Grace Bradley.”

“Grace, it’s Lil. You mom is in the hospital.”

15

Floss

The hospital was quiet, apart from the usual noises. The beep and hum of lifesaving machinery. The squeak of rubber shoes. I could practically taste the disinfectant that hovered in the air. Lil was in the corner, repositioning herself every few minutes to get comfortable on the hospital chair.

Drugged up to the gills, I hovered on the brink of sleep. The edges of my mind rippled like the shallows of a pebbly stream, but in the middle, it was still and crystal clear. When I looked into it, it was Elizabeth’s reflection I was seeing. But not the smiling, rosy-cheeked Elizabeth. It was the other Elizabeth. Bill’s Elizabeth.

A month after my dinner at Bill and Elizabeth’s house, we got the call. Elizabeth was in labor.

Evie checked the delivery bag while I got the bikes from the shed. I was accustomed to getting bikes out in the dark—women tended to go into labor at night—but navigating two bikes on the cobbled lane was a little challenging, and I dropped one out the front. It fell to the ground with an almighty clatter.

“Shhh!” Evie said, appearing on the steps with the delivery bag. “Are you trying to wake up the neighborhood?”

“Sorry.” I was anxious to get there, and it showed in my shaking hands. I picked up Evie’s bike and leaned it against the fence, then straddled my own. “So tell me, what did Bill say? Was she very far along?”

“It wasn’t Bill.” Evie’s lips formed a thin, straight line as she loaded the delivery bag into the basket. “It was Elizabeth.”

“On the phone? But the nearest telephone is two miles away. She couldn’t have—”

“She biked it.” Evie mounted her own bike. “Bill’s at the pub, wetting the baby’s head.”

Evie sounded as though she had her own set of reservations about Bill—it was unexpected. In that split second, I considered telling Evie everything—my concerns about Elizabeth, about Bill, about what I’d seen on Elizabeth’s stomach. But I didn’t. If Elizabeth was in trouble, Evie would see for herself soon enough. And if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t have to betray Elizabeth’s confidence.

We cycled, fast, into the night. It was a three quarters of an hour’s ride to Elizabeth’s place, and although we weren’t in danger of missing the birth, I just wanted to get there.

The last stretch of the ride was paddocks. In the dark, it was downright creepy. The only lights were from the little headlights on our bikes and, when we got close enough, the flickering light shining from Elizabeth’s bedroom window. When we reached her front fence, I leapt off my bicycle and raced down the path, leaving Evie to follow with the delivery bag.

“Elizabeth?” I called, stepping through the front door.

“In here.”

I dashed through the kitchen, past the tiny living room into the even tinier bedroom. It took me a minute to locate Elizabeth in the dark, but I eventually did. She was bent over at the end of the bed. “There you are!”

Elizabeth unfurled into a standing position, allowing me to see her properly by the light of the fire. Large circles shadowed her eyes, her face was gaunt, and her entire body—with the exception of her stomach—was bony.

Behind me, Evie gasped. “Elizabeth, my God. What has happened to you? You look like a skeleton.”

A contraction took hold. Elizabeth breathed deeply, grasping the knobs on the chest of drawers. I stared at her, bewildered. It had only been—what?—a month since I’d last seen her? She couldn’t have eaten a thing since.

When her contraction subsided, she sank to her knees, panting slightly. “Contractions are about five minutes apart”—she didn’t look at either of us—“and my bag of water has broken.”

Elizabeth was calm and official, more like the midwife than the woman in labor. She spoke as though she’d never heard Evie’s questions—which was impossible, as we were in a room the size of a cupboard, surrounded by silence. At a loss, I looked to Evie.

“Elizabeth,” Evie said. “If something’s wrong, we need to know. It could affect your baby.”

We waited but Elizabeth just pursed her lips. Her face, I noticed, had a bluish tinge, as though she were a walking, pregnant corpse. Why had I let her avoid me? If something happened to this baby, it was my fault.

“Elizabeth, please—” Evie started again, but Elizabeth held up a hand.

“I’m not talking about this, Evie, okay? Either deliver my baby or leave, and I’ll manage somehow on my own.”

Evie and I exchanged a glance. Thank God she was here. Normally, only one midwife attended a birth; the only reason I was here at all was because Elizabeth had asked me months ago. Even if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have missed it. Perhaps it was because it was Elizabeth’s, but I already felt an attachment to this child. Or, perhaps, a responsibility to the child.

Evie exhaled. “Have it your way. For now, we’ll focus on getting this baby born. But once it’s out, you are going to tell me what is going on. Do you hear me, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth wasn’t listening. She was already half-bent with another contraction.

Evie took me to one side. “We’re going to have to assume Elizabeth is malnourished, which means breast-feeding may be difficult due to low supply. I have some evaporated milk in my delivery bag, which we can feed the baby with a syringe if necessary.”

“And the baby?” I asked. “Will it be okay?”

“I’m more worried about Elizabeth, at this point. As you know, babies are very good at taking what they need while they’re in utero. At the mother’s expense, usually.” Seeing my face, she patted my hand. “Why don’t you head into the kitchen and boil some water, Floss? And while you’re there, fix Elizabeth a snack. She’s going to need all the energy she can get.”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Good idea.”

It was just a few paces to the kitchen, but I barely made it there. My legs felt like noodles. Elizabeth was so frail, so tiny. It made no sense. Was she ill? Had they run out of money for food? I thought of the night I came for dinner, the way Elizabeth wolfed down her meal. They’d certainly had food then.

In the next room the bed rattled, sending a shudder through the entire house. It was followed by an almighty “Owwwwarggghhh.” It snapped me into action.

Once I’d got the water boiling, I began opening cupboard doors. Crockery, cutlery, pots. In the freestanding larder, the shelves were clean and lined in shiny floral paper, but they were bare apart from tea and an empty sugar bowl. In less than a minute, I’d checked every cupboard except for the bottom two, which were bolted shut with a large padlock—probably where Bill kept his rifles. Nowhere was there even a morsel of food.

I poked my head back into the bedroom. “Elizabeth, where is the pantry, love?”

“It’s … uh … Oh, God.” Her face collapsed into itself as another contraction came on. I looked at my watch. Three and a half minutes since the last one. This labor was progressing rapidly.

“Have you done an internal?” I asked Evie.

She nodded. “Eight centimeters dialated.”

Elizabeth rolled from side to side, knotted up with the pains. It wasn’t going to be long now. Shiny instruments were lined up on a tray, and a clean towel warmed by the fire. The bassinet had been set up in the corner, and a wool blanket that Elizabeth had knitted hung over its edge. Evie stared off into the distance, her face a sheet of lines. I could tell she was wondering what kind of home this baby would be born into. It was hard to think about anything else.

“Why don’t we try walking?” I asked Elizabeth when the pains stopped. “See if we can get this baby into a nice position?”

To this, Elizabeth agreed. We paced the floor of the bedroom for an hour. Back and forth, stopping every couple of minutes to rock through the pain. Other than the pop and crackle of the fire, the silence was absolute. Usually that was how I liked it. Silence is the laboring mother’s music. But tonight it gave my mind too much room to think. And after an hour of it, I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth frowned, lifted her head.

“What is wrong with you? No more excuses. You’re to tell me. Right now.”

She sank onto the bed and started to drop her head, but I caught her chin and held it. I could feel Evie behind me, perhaps ready to tell me that this wasn’t the time, but I wasn’t going to listen. I’d already waited too long.

“Nothing,” Elizabeth said. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s my fault, really.”

“What’s your fault?”

“I’ve got fancy tastes,” she said. “You used to say that yourself, Floss, remember? And Bill, he’s not a rich man.”

Elizabeth had a contraction, and Evie and I remained silent, waiting.

“It’s hard for him,” Elizabeth said when the contraction was over, “having another mouth to feed. I can hardly expect to be fed like we were at the boardinghouse. It’s tough, country life.”

Evie leaned forward. “But he does feed you?”

“Yes.” There was a pause. “Yes, of course. It’s just that … sometimes I get greedy.”

Elizabeth wouldn’t meet my eye. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what she meant. Elizabeth wasn’t greedy. And I didn’t have a clue why she’d think she was.

“What are you saying?” I asked gently.

Elizabeth looked from me to Evie and then to her lap. “Just … when Bill’s not happy with me … he doesn’t give me food.”

The fire cracked into the silence. My mouth formed around questions that I couldn’t seem to project. Perhaps because there were so many. How could a man not give his pregnant wife food? Why would he do that? How long had he been doing this? Why didn’t I see it? And, most important, Why wouldn’t Bill be happy with you?

“Does he at least give you housekeeping money?” I asked eventually. It was the only question I felt I could speak without bursting into rage or, worse, tears.

Elizabeth looked taken aback. “Of course not. We don’t have that kind of money.”

I could hardly believe my ears.

“What kind of money do you think he’s spending at the pub, Elizabeth?” I cried, then bit back my frustration. It wasn’t Elizabeth I was angry with. When I spoke again, my voice was softer. “You don’t deserve this. Bill is controlling everything about you, who you see, what you eat.…” I trailed off when Elizabeth closed her hands around her stomach. A chill traveled down my spine. “You didn’t fall, did you?”

Elizabeth kept her head down. It was all the answer I needed.

Back in my days as a student-nurse, we’d looked at a case study of a toddler who’d been starved by his mother for not behaving. When he died, at age five, he weighed less than an average one-year-old. But there was no sign of physical beating, not even a bruise. When I’d asked the matron about it, she’d said … Abuse comes in many ways. The only universal thing about it is the perpetrators’ need to control.

I suddenly remembered the padlock on the larder doors. I whipped around and strode to the kitchen without a word.

“What are you doing, Floss?” Evie called after me.

An axe rested against a stack of wood next to the fireplace. I snapped it up. “Making Elizabeth a snack.” The axe was small but heavy. It hit the arm of the padlock on the first go, knocking it clean off the door handle.

“Floss!”

As I suspected, the cupboards were full of food. Dry biscuits, sugar, flour, butter, eggs. There wasn’t time to bake anything, so I threw a handful of crackers on a plate, slathered them in butter, and raced back to the bedroom. Elizabeth ate a couple, for my sake more than hers, I suspect. After that, I kept trying to force more on her, but she declined.

Thirty minutes later, Elizabeth felt the urge to push. At Evie’s instruction, I brought in a large pail of boiled water for hand washing. I placed it on the bureau.

“Okay, Elizabeth,” Evie started. “I want you to slide down so your bottom is at the end of the bed, then roll onto your side. Help her, Floss. Then, when you feel the next contraction, I want you to give me a big push. Understand?”

“I’m a midwife, Evie, I know—” The next contraction took her breath. Her face twisted.

“Good girl,” Evie said. “Very nice. The head is coming.”

I moved down to the end of the bed so I could see. The head was coming, and fast. The next contraction came, and the next after that, each time easing the head out a little more, and each time, pushing Elizabeth a little further than she could go. I’d seen a lot of exhausted mothers go through this stage of labor, but Elizabeth’s condition was worrying me. A couple of times between contractions, her eyes rolled back in her head.

“It’s crowning. Just hold on. Breathe!” Evie urged. “Come on, Elizabeth, breathe. Floss, I need you down here. Grab the towel and bring it here, then wash your hands.” Evie had one hand on Elizabeth’s knee and the other on the baby’s head. “Good girl. Now put the towel down in front of me.”

I grabbed the towel, then washed my hands in the hot water. I dried my hands on another towel and knelt at the end of the bed next to Evie. Elizabeth whimpered.

“You’re nearly there,” Evie said. “Floss, get the instruments ready—the clamp and the scalpel, please. Elizabeth, pant. You know how it’s done.”

I collected the clamp and the scalpel, keeping my eyes on the baby. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Even though I could see only the top of its little head, something magical was happening. Gently, the head eased out, revealing a tuft of bloody, matted hair.

“The head is out!” I exclaimed.

Evie’s forehead remained lined, but her lips loosened into a slight upturn. “You are so close, Elizabeth. Your baby will be born in just a minute.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and nodded, psyching herself up. Her eyes remained closed for several minutes, long enough for me to wonder if she’d fallen asleep—or passed out. I was just rising to check her when her eyes sprang open and she moaned.

“This is it. Push,” Evie encouraged. “Come on, love. That’s wonderful. Here it comes.”

I watched in silence as the baby turned and a little face appeared. “Oh, Elizabeth. I can see the face.”

Elizabeth’s face unfolded, and for a heartbeat, she looked young and healthy, the Elizabeth I knew and loved. “Really? You can see the face?”

“I can. It’s a beautiful face.”

Elizabeth’s face crumpled again. She was struggling. Her red face shimmered with sweat. Evie appeared unflustered, going about her business, focused completely on the baby being born. I watched as she slipped her fingers around the baby’s neck and guided the shoulders out, rotating as she went. The rest of the baby quickly followed, landing in the warm towel that I had laid out. Evie held the vernix-covered baby upside down by the feet. There was a tiny cry. My insides collapsed.

“Congratulations,” I said as Evie passed the baby to Elizabeth. “You have a daughter.”

*   *   *

A chorus of familiar, hushed voices roused me from sleep. “Thanks so much for calling us, Lil. How is she doing?”

It was Neva’s voice I could hear, and then Lil’s, reciting the prognosis from the doctor. A minor myocardial infarction. Too weary to open my eyes, I just let their words wash over me.

“What have they given her?” Grace spoke now—I recognized her bossy, professional tone. Clearly the news of my heart attack had frightened her, and she wanted to feel back in control. I heard my chart being lifted off the foot of the bed. “Aspirin, beta-blockers, nitroglycerin—”

Lil cut in. “What is nitroglycerin?”

“It’s a common medicine.” The male voice was unfamiliar. “It widens and opens your blood vessels, and allows blood and oxygen to reach your heart more easily. Very effective.”

“Are you a doctor?” Lil asked.

“Yes, though I’m not an expert in this area. My patients are a little short in the tooth for heart attacks.”

The papers ruffled again. “That’s weird,” Grace said. “Mom’s blood type is AB positive. I didn’t know she was AB positive.”

My eyes flew open. Grace, Lil, and a man whom I now presumed to be Neva’s pediatrician friend stood at the foot of my bed, studying my chart. Neva was by my side. Her face lit up.

“Gran,” she said. “You’re awake.”

Grace dropped my chart back on the rail and came to my other side. “Mom. How are you feeling?”

“Absolutely fine. I told Lil not to worry you. I knew you’d just come down here.”

“You had a heart attack, Gran!” Neva said. “As if we’d be anywhere else.”

“You need to let us help you more, Mom,” Grace said. “We can do your grocery shopping, errands, whatever you need.”

“Stop your fussing,” I told them. “I’m fine.”

Lil watched the pediatrician intently. “Could those things—shopping, errands—have caused her heart attack?”

“I’m not her doctor, but generally speaking, light activity should reduce the risk of heart attack. It’s more likely to be brought on by high cholesterol or poor diet. Sometimes it’s just genetics or age. Sometimes stress.”

Lil’s ears pricked up. Stress.

“Sorry, Gran,” Neva said. “You haven’t been introduced to Patrick. He’s my—”

“Boyfriend.” The man sent Neva a sideways wink. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Higgins. Sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

I smiled. I liked his spunk. “It’s nice to meet you too, Patrick. Call me Floss.”

My gaze floated back to Grace. She was holding my chart again, frowning at it. Lil’s expression gave away her own worries. Both of them, I knew, had questions for me. So, probably, did Neva. I’d managed to evade them this time. But next time?

It was all starting to close in on me. And I got the feeling it was only a matter of time before my secret came out.