He left the room, and Margaret was wheeled out. Wendy followed until they reached the theatre doors, and then she sat in the waiting area.
It was an hour before someone arrived to take Wendy through to Margaret. She was propped up in bed, holding a pink wrapped baby.
Wendy felt confused. The nurse had explained the baby had only lived for five minutes, and yet…
Margaret lifted a hand in acknowledgement of Wendy’s presence, but couldn’t smile.
‘Natalie didn’t make it,’ she whispered. ‘So beautiful, but she wasn’t meant to be in this world.’ Margaret pulled back the edge of the shawl, and Wendy felt the tears running down her cheeks.
‘Oh Margaret, she’s lovely. Have they given any reason…?’
‘They think her lungs didn’t develop properly. I called her Natalie because it means “born on Christmas Day”, but I think the 23rd is close enough. My Christmas baby.’ The sobs began deep inside her, and Wendy placed her arms around Margaret’s heaving shoulders.
They sat for a long time holding each other, with Margaret cradling her baby, determined not to put her down until someone came to take her away.
When they did, Margaret collapsed. Sedatives were given, and Wendy left her in the compassionate care of the nurses.
Wendy’s mind was in a whirl. She was home four hours after leaving to take Margaret to the hospital, and yet so much had happened in those four hours, it actually felt like a week.
She made a massive cup of tea, and sat at the kitchen table, deeply sucked down into the darkest of thoughts. What if… no, surely it was a rare thing, the death of a baby that had almost reached full term… Wendy picked up the receiver and dialled her midwife, talking through tears and telling her the activities of the day. There was little Rosa Yelland could do to comfort Wendy, but she did keep stressing that there must be calm, she didn’t want complications because of high blood pressure.
Wendy was asleep on the sofa when Mike walked in. ‘What the…?’ he said, as he saw his wife curled up with a blanket over her. There was no food smell, and he walked through to the kitchen to see what preparations there had been. None.
He stormed back into the lounge and shook her shoulder roughly. ‘Hey, Wendy! There’s no food.’
Wendy felt drained. She struggled to remember what she should be doing, and looked at Mike.
‘What?’
‘Food! I’m hungry, and there doesn’t seem to be anything happening on that front.’
‘I’m tired, Mike,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not far off eight months pregnant, and I’m tired.’
‘I’ll have to go out then,’ he said, his voice getting ever louder. ‘And see if you can make yourself a bit more presentable before I get back.’
He left the room and she heard the front door slam, followed by the sound of his car engine starting.
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were non-happenings in Wendy’s head. She kept remembering the tiny baby who had only lived for five minutes, and the woman who had carried her and lost her. Wendy could tell no one; there was nobody to tell.
She was in bed by nine on the evening of Boxing Day, feeling grateful that the festive season was at an end. New Year’s Eve to get through and Mike would be back at work, and she could get on with life.
The crocheted shawl was almost finished, with a couple more rounds to go, and yet she had no feelings towards it. What if the baby didn’t survive? What if it happened as Margaret’s had happened? How would she cope? Wendy had managed to ring Margaret once, but it was obvious she was deeply depressed, and she promised she would drive over to visit as soon as Christmas was out of the way.
New Year’s Day, Mike hit her. The shirt he wanted to wear was creased from being hung in the wardrobe incorrectly.
She landed awkwardly on the bed, and pain shot up her back. Curling her arms around her stomach, she protected her child and stared at him. She said nothing, and he slammed out of the bedroom and down the stairs, carrying the shirt that had offended his sensibilities.
‘Get down here and get this fucking ironed,’ he called from the bottom of the stairs. She crawled off the bed and stood upright, testing each joint carefully.
Going downstairs was an effort, but she made it to the bottom without further problems, and went into the kitchen. He had taken the iron out of the pantry, but there was no sign of the ironing board. It dawned on her that he didn’t know where she kept it.
She went and got it, still without speaking, plugged in the iron and ironed the shirt. She handed it to him and he looked at her.
‘Sorry.’
She said nothing in response.
‘I said sorry.’
‘I heard you.’
He shrugged on the shirt, put on his jacket and went down the hall.
He stopped at the front door. ‘I’ll be back before midnight.’
She said nothing, so he slammed the door with a huge crash as he left the house. She knew he was going to see a woman; she didn’t yet know who, but she would. It briefly occurred to her that she no longer had the desire to confront any more of his floozies, no desire to want them dead, only him.
2 January 1980
My darling Nell,
What a welcome surprise your letter was. And yes, I am a huge hippo. I know you would laugh at me. What a lot of questions you’ve asked!
Thank you so much for everything you sent in the parcel, and I truly love my snow globe. I will look at it and think of you.
I have put your telephone number on the pad by the phone, you will know almost as soon as I do what my baby is! It may be Mike who rings you, we will see. I had to ring Directory Enquiries for the code for Andorra.
I’ve tried coming up with a name that’s a bit different for the baby, but so far nothing is standing out. I may have to revert to your choices!
So far, we haven’t picked any other godparents, because until the baby is born we won’t know whether we need two men and one woman, or two women and one man. Either way, you’re in the mix no matter what. I think Mike is considering his brother, so sorry, I can’t fulfil your dishy man request. And he’s married!
You do need to look smart, but I’m sure you’ll have something that will do. Don’t go to any expense, I’m sure our baby won’t care what you’re wearing.
Mike put his foot down when I suggested inviting the girls from the factory, so no, nobody will be there. It’s family and his friends only – oh, and you, my lovely best friend.
I haven’t asked Mike if he wants to be there at the birth. He’s so busy at work, and seems to be out such a lot in the evenings; I rarely have a full conversation with him. I think I’d rather be on my own anyway, where I can swear without getting black looks.
Mike is looking forward to seeing you, and I’m not being cagey! I tell you all sorts of things that happen in my life. Nothing much has happened over Christmas though, and the truth of it is we had a quiet one because I can’t move around so much now.
See you soon, my best friend,
Wendy hippo
13
Something wasn’t right, Nell could sense it. She’d read Wendy’s letter over and over, and it was as though some strange vibration was coming through in the words, across the miles and getting under her skin. Nell’s cosmic musings had nothing to do with spending too much time lying on beaches gazing at the stars with her hippy friends, or the joint that she’d shared with Martí earlier that evening.