A Sahib's Daughter (32 page)

“And this other person? Why did you break up with him? Did you stop loving him?”

“Ravi? No, that wasn’t the reason. And he broke up with me because his parents didn’t approve of our relationship. Things are complicated in India.”

“So you accepted Justin’s proposal. And what happened to your feelings for Ravi?” Pauline asked. She was annoyingly perceptive.

Samira was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess I pushed them to the back of my mind. What was I supposed to do? I knew I couldn’t have him.”

“Sammy, you can’t just turn feelings on and off. It’s never that simple. I wish it were. But you’ve agreed to marry Justin, and you’re having his child. What I can’t understand is what is he doing that’s so important he couldn’t accompany you on this trip?”

Samira tried to think what it was. “I think he just assumed he wasn’t coming. We never really discussed it. He’s been very busy helping his father with his business. That and fishing and going to the pub.” She started to sob. “This isn’t how it’s meant to be, is it?”

Pauline patted her back, not wanting to impose any further. She didn’t know Justin so couldn’t judge him. But she had grown to love Samira and didn’t want to see her hurt. It had seemed callous of him to simply put her on the train to Dublin in her condition, in a foreign country where everything was strange and new to her.

“And when he proposed, it wasn’t because of the baby, was it?” Pauline asked. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“No, we were engaged before I realized I was pregnant. And I’m not sure we would have planned all this travel if we’d known about the baby. I didn’t realize I was pregnant until a month after we arrived in Newcastle.”

“You know sometimes children help to bring people closer together. Maybe the baby will help,” Pauline said. “And it could just be a case of cold feet.”

“There’s another thing, too,” Samira said. “He asked me to give it some thought while I’m here. He’s considering taking over his father’s bakery in Newcastle. Aunt Pauline, he wants us to leave India and live here.”

“Another thing you’re not happy about?” asked Pauline.

“I’m not sure. I’m so confused. I just assumed our lives would be there. This is something we never talked about. He always told me how much he loved India.”

“And do you have a choice in the matter?”

Samira stared at her aunt, aghast. She hadn’t thought of it quite like that. Did she, she wondered, or was it something he was keeping from her?

“Well, he did ask my opinion. Or did he? Do you think he was just trying to break it to me gently?

“Now stop worrying or you’ll make yourself sick. It’s not good for the baby. I’ll go and put the kettle on and get some of that nice shortbread you love.”

Determined to show her a good time, Sean and Pauline took her to Dublin, where they walked down Grafton Street, had coffee at Bewley’s and visited Trinity College. They drove to Kilruddery House and showed her the seventeenth-century gardens and to Graystones with its view of the Sugar Loaf Mountain. Samira was charmed to discover that James Joyce had been to Bray and that a house in Martello Terrace had been the setting for a scene in his
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
.

She was sorry when it was time to take the train back to Belfast. Pauline made sure Justin was meeting her off the train.

“And don’t be late,” she warned him on the telephone, unable to shake off her disapproval of him.

“You are more than welcome to come back any time,” Sean said, giving her a hug. “We’re here for you any time you need us.”

“I can’t thank you enough for everything,” said Samira, tearfully.

“Remember to follow your heart,” said Pauline. “And don’t be pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

They waved her off and returned to their Bentley parked outside.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Pauline said. “I don’t know what it is, but I can only hope things work out for her. I wouldn’t like to be in her shoes at this time.”

Deep in thought, Samira sat in a deserted compartment as the train headed for Belfast. Her year of travelling around the United Kingdom and Europe had turned out very different from what she’d anticipated. She looked at her face reflected in the glass. It was pale and contorted. She felt ugly and ungainly in her maternity smock. Her coat didn’t quite close. It belonged to Irene, who said it wasn’t worth buying a new coat for her pregnancy.

But she needed to focus. Justin wanted answers from her. She needed to think. He wanted her to live in Newcastle and become like his mother, the wife of a baker. He wanted her to leave home, to leave her familiar, happy life and to live in their house on Tullybrannigan Road. He wanted her to leave Ranikot and move to Tullybrannigan Road. He wanted to leave her and live in Ranikot. Her head was spinning, it was all so confusing. No, that wasn’t it. He wanted her to live in Simling while he lived with the baby in the house on Tullybrannigan Road. She felt a sharp pain in her belly. Oh, my god, what had she eaten? The pain was unbearable. She bent over and clasped her stomach till the pain subsided.

Where was she? Justin wanted an answer from her. Or had it ever really been a question?

She was okay. She was on a train. She was on a train to Ravi. No, not Ravi. He didn’t love her anymore because his father told him not to. Justin didn’t love her. No, she didn’t love Justin. That was it. Ravi didn’t love her, and she didn’t love Justin. The pain overcame her again. It was the baby! But she didn’t want a baby anymore. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t want to live on Tullybrannigan Road with her baby. And Justin didn’t want her. He wanted to be like Edward and for her to be like Irene. She didn’t fit in with his plans. Suddenly, the pain receded and she wondered if she’d been imagining it.

Think, think, he wanted her to think, but it was too confusing. What was it Prava had always said? She struggled to remember. Not to think too hard about things. That it would all work out. She missed her grandmother. How could she think of leaving her? Where was her mother? It was too hard, and the pain was too sharp. What were all these people saying? She was vaguely aware of people around her as she doubled over in pain.

The conductor saw that her ticket was for Belfast and told her they would be there in a few minutes. He helped her off the train, assisted by one of the passengers.

“My fiancé is coming to pick me up,” said Samira. “He’ll take care of me.”

There was no one on the platform, so he spoke to a guard at the station.

“I have to get back on the train. If no one shows up, send for an ambulance.”

“I’m fine. I am really. My baby isn’t due for another three weeks,” Samira said to him, embarrassed by all the attention. The pain had ebbed. She was between contractions.

“Aye, well, let me tell you that this won’t be the first time your baby won’t be cooperating with your plans,” the guard said.

Finally, Justin appeared, disheveled and looking at his watch.

“Sorry, darling. I think the train was a little early.”

“Well, your baby’s early and all,” said the guard, dryly. “You’d best be taking your missus to the hospital and quick smart. The baby’s coming any minute.”

“Sammy, are you okay? Sweet Jesus! You’re in labor!” He was panic-stricken seeing Samira bent over in agony. “Let me get you in the car and take you to the nearest hospital.”

Chapter 25

Northern Ireland, 1979

Justin fought his way through Belfast’s afternoon traffic to get to the Royal Victoria Hospital, where he had gone years ago with Lorraine and where he had been diagnosed as infertile.

“Rather ironical that my baby should end up being born here,” he thought to himself.

They rushed to the maternity ward, where the receptionist asked for Samira’s name and started to look through their files.

“We’re not registered here,” Justin explained. “My wife started to have contractions on the train from Dublin. We don’t have time to get to our hospital in Downpatrick.”

“Please wait a moment and we’ll have her admitted.”

After a long wait, Samira was led into a cubicle and examined by a doctor. The contractions seemed to have subsided. He told her to get dressed and explained that her cervix was not sufficiently dilated for her to be admitted, especially as they didn’t have her records in this hospital.

“What do you suggest we do?” asked Justin. “I can’t drive her all the way to Downpatrick in her condition.”

“I would suggest you go home and let her rest,” said the doctor.

“But we live in Newcastle. That’s just as far away!”

“I’m really sorry, but we don’t have a bed for her. With all the cutbacks, we can barely accommodate our own patients. I imagine you won’t want to wait downstairs. Go to a friend’s house or to a hotel and come back when her contractions are fifteen minutes apart.”

“When will that be?” Justin asked.

“Hard to say, but my best guess is in three to five hours.”

Justin racked his brain in panic for the best thing to do. It just didn’t make sense to check into a hotel. He had lost track of any friends or acquaintances he may have had in Belfast. The only people he could think of were Toby and Bernadette who lived not too far away. Surely, they wouldn’t mind letting Samira rest in their house for a few hours? There was an irony to the scenario that didn’t escape Justin, but he knew that Irene had told them about the baby.

“Where are we going?” gasped Samira, in the throes of a contraction now that they had left the hospital.

“I’m taking you to a friend’s house. They’ll take good care of you. They are my ex-in-laws.”

She groaned, clutching her stomach, and he didn’t know whether it was because of the pain or because of where they were going. He found the house easily enough, thinking sardonically that it was only in moments of high drama that he seemed to come here. The first time was to ask for their daughter’s hand in marriage, the last time was when he knocked on their door to break the news of her sudden death. Now, it was on the occasion of a birth, the birth of his child with another woman.

“Wait here, darling. I’ll make sure they’re here,” he said, parking the car in the street outside the house.

Thankfully, they were home watching television. He explained the situation briefly, wondering if it was a huge mistake to have come here. But Bernadette was filled with compassion and insisted that he bring Samira in and, of course, they could stay as long as they needed. Samira was exhausted, worn out from the bouts of pain, the train journey, getting in and out of the car and the ordeal of the hospital.

“The poor girl needs to rest,” Bernadette said. “Come this way, pet, and lie you down. Help her with her shoes, Justin. Now, you be sure and tell me if you need a cup of tea or anything.”

Samira collapsed on the bed, and Justin went to ask Toby if he could use the telephone to call his parents.

He told Edward what had happened. “So, I brought her to the McIlroys. Samira’s exhausted. I should never have let her travel alone, but I didn’t think the baby would come so early.”

“Keep us informed, son. We’ll be there as soon as the baby’s born. Ma sends her love.”

Justin monitored the contractions, which thankfully, were now coming with some regularity.

“First babies are usually late,” said Bernadette. “And they can take their time. She’s far better off here than in that miserable hospital. I’ve made you some tea and sandwiches. Now, make sure Samira eats something. She’s going to need her strength.”

They went to bed shortly after ten. Justin said they would leave quietly and lock the door behind them when it was time for them to leave. He couldn’t thank them enough.

“We’ll come and visit Samira in hospital,” Bernadette promised. “Be sure and tell her.”

He must have dozed off in the bed beside Samira and was woken by her shaking him.

“I think it’s time,” she said. “I can’t bear the pain any longer.”

Once again, they got into the car and sped through the now deserted streets to the Royal Victoria Hospital. This time, the porters took one look at Samira and rushed her to the maternity ward in a wheelchair. She was whisked away by the nurses, and Justin waited wearily in the corridor thinking this night would never end. Samira had already said she didn’t want him at the birth. The idea was too new and radical to her way of thinking. She preferred the anonymity of the nurses to the thought of his witnessing her pain.