Stephen took Kate’s hand as she felt her way through the gate of the park. ‘Come and sit down,’ he said gently.
They had sat there together before in very different circumstances. ‘I’m well Stephen,’ she said. ‘There’s no need to worry about me.’
‘And the baby?’
Kate was a long time answering. Her baby, their baby, had been born two weeks ago, a small, weakly boy.
‘Kate?’
‘He’s not very well.’
‘I must come to see him.’
‘But Eddie.’
‘Damn Eddie!’ He gripped her hand tightly. ‘I’m the father, Kate, I have a right to see my little son.’
Kate hung her head. He was right of course and Eddie should understand, being a father himself. ‘All right.’
‘Come on, I’ll take you in the car.’ Stephen put a hand under her elbow and urged her to her feet.
‘We’ll walk,’ Kate said firmly, ‘the last thing I want is the neighbours talking about your big posh car stopping outside our house.’
It was a fine autumn day and Hilda had just hung sheets on the line in the back garden. Kate could hear the snap of the sheets in the wind. ‘Adam has been sick again,’ she said.
Kate’s heart sank. The baby, born three weeks too early, had been sickly from the start. ‘I hoped he was growing out of that by now.’ Kate was weary, there was so much to think about, to worry about, and now Stephen was making demands, complicating matters even more for her.
‘Can I pick him up?’ Kate heard him move the covers from Adam’s crib.
‘Carefully then,’ she said, ‘we don’t want him to be sick again, do we?’ The chair creaked and Kate knew that Stephen had seated himself with the little baby in his arms. Suddenly Kate felt very ill. She leaned back against her chair and tried not to think.
The door opened and she could smell the scent of her husband. She heard the pause as Eddie took in the scene.
‘Eddie.’ She tried to stand but then she was falling, falling into a deep well and, thankfully, she let herself fall.
She was in bed, in hospital. She recognized the sounds from when she’d been in before. The rustle of starched aprons, the slap, slap of soft-soled shoes on the floor and the all-pervading, unmistakable smell of cleaning fluid.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ Her voice was thin, weak.
‘It’s all right, dear.’ A cool hand touched her forehead. ‘You’ve had an operation, that’s all. You’re going to be just fine.’
‘An operation—what sort of operation?’
‘You’ve had a hysterectomy. Your abdomen had split open, scars broken down—there were complications—but you’ve come through it very well, you’ll be fit again in a few weeks.’ The hand was removed, the sound of feet dying away, and Kate struggled to come to terms with what she’d been told.
There had been a danger all along that her old scars would open when the baby was born but that hadn’t happened. Why now?
She heard footsteps approaching once more. Her arm was lifted and a sharp prick of a needle pierced her arm.
‘There, rest now, have a good sleep and when you wake your loved ones will be here to see you.’
‘Loved ones… am I going to die then?’
‘There was no answer, the nurse had gone away and Kate was left alone to wonder if she would live to rear her firstborn and her poor, sickly Adam.