Ruth slept. Inside her body the baby turned and settled.
Between two and three in the morning, she woke in a pool of wetness, a powerful vice closed on her stomach. Oh, my God! she said. Patrick, wake up, the babys coming.
He took a moment to hear her, and then he leaped from the bed, as nervous as a father in a comedy film. Now? he demanded. Are you sure? Now? Should we go to the hospital? Should we telephone? Oh, my God! Im low on petrol.
Ruth hardly heard him; she was timing her contractions.
Ill get Mother, Patrick said, and fled from the bedroom and down the corridor.
As soon as Elizabeth appeared in the doorway in her cream corduroy dressing gown she took complete charge. She sent Patrick to get dressed in the bathroom and helped Ruth change from her nightgown into a pair of trousers and a baggy top.
Everything ready in your suitcase? she confirmed.
Yes, Ruth said.
Ill phone the hospital and tell them youre on your way, Elizabeth said.
No petrol! Patrick exclaimed, coming in the door, his jumper askew and his hair unbrushed. God! Im a fool! Im low on petrol!
You can take your fathers car. Get it out of the garage and bring it round to the front door, Elizabeth said calmly. And dont speed. This is a first baby; you have plenty of time.
Patrick shot one anxious look at Ruth and dived from the room.
The suitcase, Elizabeth reminded him.
Suitcase, he repeated, grabbing it and running down the stairs.
The two women exchanged one smiling look. On impulse Elizabeth bent down and kissed Ruths hot forehead. Good luck, she said. Its not that bad, really. Dont be frightened. And theres a beautiful baby at the end of it.
She helped Ruth to her feet and down the stairs. At the front door the Rover was waiting, Patrick standing at the passenger door. Ruth checked as a pain caught her, and Elizabeth held her arm, and then guided her into the car.
Drive carefully, she said to Patrick. I mean it. You have plenty of time.
Yes, yes, he said. Ill call you.
She stepped back from the car and waved until it was out of sight. Dear little Ruth, she said lovingly. At last.
She closed the front door and went up the stairs to her bedroom. Frederick was still asleep. Nothing ever woke him. Elizabeth tapped him gently on the shoulder. Theyve gone to the hospital, she said softly, thinking that the news might penetrate his dreams. Dear little Ruth has gone to have our baby.
The childbirth course which Ruth had completed, and Patrick had attended twice, had laid great emphasis on the bonding nature of birth for the couple. There had been exercises of hand-holding and back rubbing, and little questionnaires to discover each others preferences and fears about the birth. Patrick, who was not innately a sensual man, had been embarrassed when he was asked to massage Ruths neck and shoulders in a roomful of people. His touch was light, diffident. The teacher, a willowy ex-hippy, had suggested that he grasp Ruths hand, arm, shoulder, until he could feel the bones, and massage deeply, to get in touch with the core of Ruths inner being.
As if you were making love, she urged them. Deep, sensual touching.
Patrick, horribly embarrassed, had made gentle patting gestures. Next week there was an urgent meeting at work and he missed the class altogether.
Ruth conscientiously brought home notes and diagrams, and discussed the concept of active birth. She and Patrick were sitting on the sofa while Elizabeth and Frederick watched television. Ruth kept her voice low but Elizabeth, overhearing, had laughed and remarked: I only hope he doesnt disappoint you by dropping down in a dead faint. Hes always been dreadfully squeamish.
In our day fathers were completely banned, Frederick said. He turned to Elizabeth. You wouldnt have wanted me there, would you?
Certainly not! she said. I gave birth to two children in two different countries, and never had a class in my life.
I want to have a completely natural childbirth, Ruth said firmly. I want to do it all by breathing. Thats what the classes are for. And I am counting on Patrick to help me.
Im sure it will be fine, Elizabeth reassured her. And, Patrick, you know all about it, do you?
Not a thing! Patrick said with his charming smile. But Ruth has given me a book. Ill bone up on it before the day. I just cant get on with the class, and a roomful of people watching me.
I should think not! Frederick said. Its a private business, I should have thought.
And its more difficult for me, Patrick said, warming to his theme. Everyone knows me, theyve all seen me on the telly. I could just see them watching me trying to massage Ruth and dying to rush home and telephone their friends and say, We saw that Patrick Cleary give his wife a massage.
Im sure they wouldnt, Ruth said. Theyre all much too interested in their own wives and babies. Thats what theyre there for, not to see you.
Dont you believe it, said Frederick. Fame has its disadvantages too.
But Ill read the book, Patrick promised. Ill know all about it by the time it happens.
But Patrick had not read the book. It was in his briefcase on a journey to and from London. But he had bought a newspaper, to look for news stories for the documentary unit, and then there were notes to make, and things to think about, and anyway the journey was quite short. The book, still unread, was in his pocket as he helped Ruth into the maternity unit of the hospital.
As soon as the nurse admitted Ruth it was apparent that something was wrong. She called the registrar and there was a rapid undertone consultation. Then he turned to them. Im afraid well have to do a section, he said. Your baby is breeched and his pulse rate is too high. Hes rather stressed. I think we want him out of there. He glanced at Ruth. Itll have to be full anaesthesia. We dont have time to wait for Pethidine to work.
The words were unfamiliar to Patrick, he did not know what was going on, but Ruths distress was unmistakable. Now wait a minute he said.
We cant really, the doctor said. We cant wait at all. Do I have your permission?
Ruths eyes filled with tears and then she drew in a sharp breath of pain. Oh, yes, she said. I suppose soOh, Patrick!
Permission for what? Patrick asked. Whats going on?
The registrar took him by the arm and explained in a quick undertone that the baby was in distress and that they wanted to do a Caesarean section at once. Patrick, out of his depth, appealed to the doctor, But theyll both be OK, wont they? Theyll both be all right?
The doctor patted him reassuringly on the back. Right as rain, he said cheerily. And no waiting about. Ill zip her down to surgery and in quarter of an hour youll have your son in your arms. OK?
Oh, fine, Patrick said, reassured. He looked back at Ruth lying on the high hospital bed. She had turned to face the wall; there were tears pouring down her cheeks. She would not look at him.
Patrick patted her back. Itll all be over in a minute.
I didnt want it to be over in a minute, Ruth said, muffled. I wanted a natural birth.
Patrick patted her back. Itll all be over in a minute.
I didnt want it to be over in a minute, Ruth said, muffled. I wanted a natural birth.
The nurse moved swiftly forward and put an injection in Ruths limp arm. Thats the pre-med, she said cheerfully. Youll feel better now, and when you wake up youll have a lovely baby. Wont that be wonderful? You go to sleep like a good girl now. You wont feel a thing.
Patrick stood back and watched Ruths dark eyelashes flutter and finally close. But I wanted to feel she said sleepily.
They took the bed and wheeled it past him. What do I do? he asked.
The nurse glanced at him briefly. Theres nothing for you to do, she said. You can watch the operation if you likeor Ill bring the baby out to you when its delivered.
Ill wait outside, Patrick said hastily. You can bring it out.
They went through the double swing doors at the end of the brightly lit corridor. Patrick suddenly felt bereft and very much alone. He felt afraid for Ruth, so little and pale in the high-wheeled bed, with her eyelids red from crying.
He had not kissed her, he suddenly remembered. He had not wished her well. If something went wronghe shied away from the thought, but then it recurred: if something went wrong then she would die without him holding her hand. She would die all on her own, and he had not even said, Good luck, as they took her away from him. He had not kissed her last night, he had not kissed her this morning, in the sudden panic of waking. Come to think of it, he could not remember the last time he had taken her in his arms and held her.
The book in his pocket nudged his hip. He hadnt gone to her antenatal classes, he hadnt even read her little book. Only two nights ago she had asked him to read a deep-breathing exercise to her when they were in bed, and he had fallen asleep by the third sentence. He had woken in the early hours of the morning with the corner of the book digging into his shoulder, and he had felt irritated with her for being so demanding, for making such absurd requests when everyone knew, when his mother assured him, that having a baby was as natural as shelling peas, that there was nothing to worry about.
And there were other causes for guilt. He had moved her out of the flat she loved and taken her away from Bristol and her friends and her job. He hadnt even got her little house ready for her on time. He hadnt chosen wallpaper or carpets or curtains with her. He had left it to his mother, when he knew Ruth wanted him to plan it with her. He felt deeply, miserably, guilty.
The uncomfortable feeling lasted for several minutes, and then he saw a pay phone and went over to telephone his mother.
She answered on the first ring; she had been lying awake in bed, as he knew she would. How are things? she asked quickly.
Not well, he said.
Oh! My dear!
Shes got to have a Caesarean section, shes having it now.
Shall I come down?
I dont knowIm waiting in the corridorI feel at a bit of a loose endIts all a bit bleak.
Ill come at once, Elizabeth said briskly. And dont worry, darling, shell be as right as rain.
Elizabeth leaped from her bed and pulled on her clothes. She shook Fredericks shoulder. He opened one sleepy eye. Ruths gone to have her baby. Im going down there, she said. There was no need for him to know more. Elizabeth never lied but she was often sparing with information. Ill telephone you with any news.
Whats the time?
Three in the morning. Go back to sleep, darling, theres nothing you can do. Ill call you when I know more.
He nodded and rolled over. Elizabeth sped downstairs and put the kettle on. While it came to the boil she made sandwiches with cold lamb from last nights joint, and prepared a thermos of strong coffee. She put everything in a wicker basket and left the house, closing the front door quietly behind her.
It was a wonderful warm midsummer night; the stars were very bright and close and a harvest moon broad and yellow leaning on the horizon. Elizabeth started her little car and drove down the lane to the hospital at Bath, and to her son.
His face lit up when he saw her. He was sitting on a chair outside the operating theatre, very much alone, looking awkward with his jumper askew over his shirt collar. He looked very young.
No news yet? she asked.
Theyre operating, he said. Its taking longer than they said it would. But a nurse came out just now and said it was quite routine. She said there was nothing to worry about.
I brought you some coffee, she said. And a sandwich.
I couldnt eat a thing, he said fretfully. I keep thinking about herI didnt even kiss her goodnight, she was asleep by the time I got to bed last night, and I didnt kiss her before she went in.
Elizabeth nodded and poured him a cup of coffee and added plenty of brown sugar. He took the cup and wrapped his hands around it.
I didnt go to her classes either, he said. Or read her book.
Well, they didnt do much good, Elizabeth said. As things have turned out.
He brightened at that. No, he said. All those breathing exercises and in the end its full anaesthetic.
Elizabeth nodded and offered him a sandwich. He bit into it, and she watched the colour come back into his cheeks.
I suppose shell be all right? he said. They said it was quite routine.
Of course she will be, Elizabeth said. Some women choose to have a Caesarean birth. Its much easier for the baby, and no pain at all for the mother. Shell be fine.
Patrick finished his cup of coffee and handed it back to his mother just as the theatre doors opened. A nurse in a green gown, wearing a ballooning paper hat over her hair and a white paper mask over her nose and mouth, came through the door with a small bundle in a blanket.
Mr Cleary? she asked.
Patrick got to his feet. Yes?
This is your son, she said. And your wife is fine.
She held the baby out to him and Patrick rubbed his hands on his trousers and reached out. He was awkward with the baby; she had to close his hands around the little bundle. Hold him close, she urged. He wont bite!
Patrick found himself looking into the tiny puckered face of his sleeping son. His mouth was pursed in mild surprise, his eyelids traced with blue. He had a tiny wisp of dark hair on the top of his head and tiny hands clenched into tiny bony fists.
Is he all right? Patrick asked. Quite all right?
Hes perfect, she assured him. Seven pounds three ounces. Theyre just stitching your wife up now and then you can see her in Recovery.
Elizabeth was at Patricks shoulder looking into the babys face. Hes the very image of you, she said tenderly. Oh, what a poppet.
The baby stirred and Patrick nervously tightened his grip.
May I? Elizabeth asked. Gently she took the baby and settled him against her shoulder. The damp little head nodded against her firm touch.
Shall I take you in to see your wife? the nurse asked. Shell be coming round in a little while.
You go, Patrick, Elizabeth said. Ill look after Cleary Junior here.