The Blackwell Lessons (24 page)

80

In the kitchen, Rodney waits with fresh, hot coffee.

‘There are brandy snaps in the oven,’ he tells us.

‘Thanks Rodney.’ I perch on a stool, my pregnant belly squashed against the oak breakfast bar.

‘Sophia,’ says Marc. ‘I really don’t think you should be sitting—’

‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Really. Let’s hear what Michael has to say.’

Rodney pours us all coffee.

‘This had better be good,’ says Marc. ‘I’m not happy about you using Sophia to get close to me—’

‘I didn’t use her,’ says Michael. ‘I wanted to get to know her. She’s my family too now. And she’s carrying my family—’

‘So what is it you want to say?’ says Marc.

‘I won’t see our father any more.’

Marc takes a sip of coffee. ‘Go on.’

‘I saw him last week. He’s already sold the car you gave him. And spent most of the money.’

Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘Sounds about right.’

Michael sighs. ‘He’s a selfish man. I know that. Deep down, I always knew it. I just wanted … I don’t know. All adopted kids have this romantic image of their birth parents. I suppose I wanted to cling onto the idea that our father was somehow good. But I’m better off without him. Everyone is.’

Marc watches him carefully. ‘You really mean that?’

‘I really mean it. You’ve always been a good brother. And I understand your protectiveness. Of Sophia and your child. I was wrong to think that I could have both you and our father in my life.’

‘I don’t want to force you to choose—’

‘There’s no choice. There really isn’t. I choose you and your new family.’

‘Michael, tell me the truth. If you still want to see our father—’

‘I don’t.’

As I watch Marc’s stern expression, I have the strangest feeling. Like big hands gripping my stomach and pushing tight.

Whoa.

I squirm around on the stool, but for a moment I just cannot get comfortable.

‘Marc?’ Michael asks. ‘What do you say? Do we have a deal?’

Marc’s lips go tight, and for a moment I think he’s going to refuse. Then his eyes drop to the counter. ‘Yes. Yes we do. Because I know Sophia will kill me if I say no.’

‘Come here you!’ Michael grabs Marc in a big hug, and Marc slaps his back.

‘Michael,’ says Marc. ‘Meet your sister-in-law. Sophia Blackwell.’

‘We’ve already met,’ says Michael, throwing me a wink. ‘I like her. You’ve chosen well.’

‘Don’t you go getting any ideas now, little brother,’ says Marc. ‘We look a little alike. I don’t want Sophia getting confused.’

I laugh. ‘So where do we go from here?’

‘Michael can visit,’ says Marc. ‘And he can meet his nephew.’

‘Nothing would make me happier,’ says Michael.

‘I am so relieved,’ I say. ‘About everything.’

‘I’m sorry you had to go through this,’ says Marc.

‘It’s okay. You thought you were protecting me. I understand.’

I have that strange feeling again. Like something is squeezing my stomach. Softly at first, and then harder and harder until I feel a tiny twisty sharp feeling between my legs.

I suppose I must go a little pale or something, because Marc says, ‘Sophia? Are you okay?’

The feeling passes and I nod. ‘I think so. But Marc … our baby might be coming.’

81

Marc stares at me. ‘You’re going into labour? Here. Let me help you. Come into the lounge. You need to sit somewhere more comfortable.’

As Marc leads me down the hallway, I have the feeling again. The strong tightening that creeps up my legs and goes all around my stomach. I stop for a moment, gripping Marc’s hand.

‘Are you uncomfortable?’ Marc asks.

‘Not exactly. It just feels … weird.’

‘Come sit on the sofa,’ says Marc.

‘It looks like you two need some privacy,’ says Michael. ‘Can I get you anything? Call anyone?’

Marc gives a curt shake of his head. ‘It’s fine. Rodney has been briefed. Everything is in order. Keith will drive you home. Come back when the baby is born.’

Michael grins. ‘I will. You know I will.’

I find I’m not comfortable on the sofa and have to stand up. As I’m standing, I get another tightening. Which I guess is a contraction. Although I’m not sure, because I thought contractions were supposed to really hurt.

‘Maybe the baby isn’t coming yet,’ I tell Marc, walking back and forth. ‘Remember what the doctor said? About practise contractions? That you get some that aren’t the real thing?’

‘I remember.’

‘And this is too soon, isn’t it? The due date isn’t for weeks.’

‘I have a feeling the baby is coming.’

‘I thought I was supposed to be the one who had feelings.’

‘I’ll call the doctor. And ask her to come here with the midwife.’

‘I think we should wait,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to call them out for nothing.’

‘Sophia, this isn’t nothing,’ says Marc. ‘Look at you – you can hardly sit still.’

‘It’s really not that bad,’ I insist, pacing around the living room. ‘Honestly. It could be a false alarm.’

‘And if it isn’t?’

‘Well I have to warn you that in my family, babies come quickly. I was born in three hours.’

‘I’m calling the doctor.’

Over the next few hours, the contractions get much more intense. But the doctor and midwife still haven’t arrived.

Marc makes countless phone calls and even contacts an emergency midwife. But no one comes.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask Marc, holding on to the back of the sofa. ‘Where are they?’

‘There’s a protest in central London,’ says Marc. ‘Nothing’s getting through. And an accident on the South Bank means the medical helicopters are tied up. My own helicopter is on the other side of London. I’m trying to get a private one, but they’re all being used by millionaires avoiding the traffic.’

‘Aren’t you one of those millionaires?’ I say, taking deep breaths in and out.

‘No Sophia. I told you before. I’m a billionaire.’

I feel another contraction coming and lean into the sofa, swaying back and forth.

Marc holds my hand.

I can tell this is hard for him. He can’t help me and it is killing him.

‘Christ – someone needs to get here
now
,’ Marc barks, running a hand through his hair.

I try to focus on my breathing, but it’s getting harder and harder.

Suddenly everything feels boiling hot, inside and out.

‘I need to take my clothes off,’ I say.

‘I’ll help you.’ Marc pulls my jumper over my head and helps me out of my maternity jeans. ‘If the midwife turns up, I’ll dress you again before she comes in.’

‘I don’t care,’ I say, my eyes closed. ‘I really don’t care. Marc, can you do something? Please? I really can’t stand this.’

‘You and me both,’ says Marc. ‘Here.’ He squeezes my hips between his palms, and weirdly it helps.

‘How did you know to do that?’ I groan.

‘Research.’

I manage a laugh, but it’s quickly followed by a moan. ‘Oh no. Here comes another one. How can they hurt so much?’

Through the discomfort, I dimly hear a knock at the door.

‘Marc!’ I shout. ‘It’s them.’

‘I can’t leave you—’

‘Leave me! Go get them! They’ll have painkillers. Please Marc!’ I let out another moan and grip the back of the sofa, swaying back and forth on my bare feet.

I hear female voices, and then a nice, soft blonde lady wearing cowboy boots and a red shawl comes gliding into the room with Dr Christian.

‘Sophia?’ she says. ‘I’m Alice. Your midwife. How are you doing?’

‘How do you think she’s doing?’ Marc snaps.

Alice laughs. ‘It’s okay Mr Blackwell. Her body is just doing what millions of other women’s bodies do. Nothing to worry about.’

‘She’s in excruciating pain,’ says Marc. ‘How can I not be worried?’

‘It’s just mother nature,’ says Alice. ‘Now Sophia. I need to examine you. Would that be okay?’

I grit my teeth and nod.

‘It’s good you’re already undressed,’ says Alice, kneeling down. ‘Makes it a bit easier to have a look.’

I grip the sofa as she examines me, letting out a moan of pain.

‘Is this strictly necessary?’ Marc barks. ‘Can’t you see she’s hurting enough already?’

Alice doesn’t reply for a moment. I glance down and see she’s gone pale.

‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.

Alice gives a little cough. ‘How long have you been in labour Sophia?’

I shake my head at the sofa. ‘I don’t know. Ask Marc.’

‘Four hours,’ says Marc. ‘The pains started four hours ago.’

‘You mean she’s been in pain for four hours?’ Alice asks.

‘They … weren’t so bad at first,’ I stammer.

Alice blinks. ‘You weren’t feeling anything at all four hours ago? No tightenings?’

I shake my head. ‘No.’

‘And this is your first baby?’

‘My first.’

‘Well.’ Alice glances at Dr Christian. ‘This labour is progressing extremely quickly. I can’t quite believe this, but the baby is nearly here.’

‘But it can’t be.’ I say. ‘My waters haven’t broken or anything. Oh my god!’ I grab the sofa again, feeling another wave of fire wash over my insides. I want to be sick, it hurts so much.

When the wave passes, Marc puts an arm around my shoulder. ‘Sophia. The baby is coming. Did you hear what the midwife said?’

‘You mean I’m going to give birth here?’ I say, a note of panic in my voice.

‘It’s going to be difficult to get you to the hospital at this stage,’ says Alice. ‘The roads are still rammed. You don’t want to give birth in the back of an ambulance. It would be much better for you and the baby to do so at home.’

‘She can’t give birth here,’ Marc snaps. ‘She needs proper medical care.’

‘Women have given birth at home for generations,’ says the midwife. ‘And Sophia looks fine to me. No cause for panic. The baby’s heart beat is fine too.’

‘I don’t want to give birth here,’ I say, aware I’m sort of shouting.

‘Sweetheart,’ says Alice. ‘I’m not sure you’re going to have much choice—’

‘I want to go into the garden!’ I say, pushing myself to my feet and staggering out of the living room.

‘Sophia,’ Marc shouts. ‘You should be indoors—’

‘No Marc. I have to be outside. With you. Just the two of us.’

The midwife nods. ‘Whatever helps you cope. We’ll give you a few minutes. Shout if you need us.’

Marc takes my arm. ‘Let me help you.’

Somehow, I manage to get through the French windows and into the garden.

I sink onto the beautiful, cool lawn. As my knees touch the grass, my waters break.

‘Oh my god!’

I feel my insides go berserk and I’m hot with pain.

Marc squeezes my hand as I kneel on the grass.

Weird as it is being naked out here, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

Suddenly, the pain stops and I want to push. And I do. I push and push, grabbing Marc’s hand the whole time.

‘Sophia,’ says Marc. ‘We should call the midwife.

‘No Marc,’ I say. ‘Please. Just stay with me. Just stay with me.’

I keep pushing, every time I feel the urge.

I don’t have any self-consciousness about anything. I don’t care about being naked. Or the fact my waters have broken around my knees. All I care about is that Marc is here.

Something shifts inside me and my hands come between my legs.

‘Marc!’

I feel the baby’s head in my hands, and then the rest of its little body slides out.

‘Alice!’ Marc calls, helping me cradle the baby’s head. ‘Dr Christian!’ He takes the baby from my hands and holds it to his chest.

‘Is it okay?’ I ask. ‘Is it breathing?’

Suddenly I hear the tiniest cry. Followed by a choky little cough.

I fall back on my haunches.

‘
She
,’ says Marc, smiling. ‘
She
is breathing. And
she
is beautiful. Just like her mother.’

82

A tiny, grouchy looking little baby, with brown hair, lies in Marc’s arms. She’s bright pink and covered in white stuff. Her skin is white and her lips bright red. Her eyes are tight shut and she puckers her lips into an annoyed little cry.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Tears slide down my cheeks.

‘Can I take her?’ I reach over and cradle our little girl in my arms. ‘Hello beautiful girl,’ I say. ‘Hello.’

‘So do you have any girl’s names lined up?’ Marc smiles. ‘Because I don’t.’

‘Well lucky for you I was open minded,’ I say, gazing down. ‘And I have the perfect name.’

‘Which is?’

‘Ivy.’

The next few weeks are sort of a blur. But a happy blur.

I spend a few days at the townhouse eating toast and drinking hot chocolate, and then we relocate to our country home – which has been perfectly prepared for our new arrival.

I’d been nesting for months before Ivy came, so our country house is spotlessly clean and full of every baby thing imaginable.

Marc and I spend all our time together with baby Ivy, watching her sleep and feed.

I do absolutely no cooking at all, on Marc’s insistence, and a chef comes every meal time to prepare the most amazing, healthy food. And the odd pizza.

It’s a whole new world, waking up every few hours every night, and a bit daunting. But I’d do anything for Ivy. Anything at all. And I know Marc would too.

Before we know it, Christmas is upon us.

We insist the whole family come to our country home for Christmas dinner. We invite Denise too, of course. And Tom and Tanya, whose families are both overseas. And Michael.

On Christmas morning, I carry baby Ivy down to see the Christmas tree and lights. Marc watches me like a hawk on the stairs. He’s still petrified I might get too weak and drop her.

I tell Marc over and over that I’m fine, but he still won’t quite believe me. I think the birth freaked him out a bit. Seeing me so frail. But I’d go through it again next week if it meant having Ivy with us.

I smile at the pile of Christmas presents under the tree. Marc has bought half of London for baby Ivy. She’s going to be the most spoiled little girl imaginable. But I’m going to work hard to make sure she has good values. And appreciates everything she gets.

‘You know, I don’t think Ivy understands presents just yet,’ I tell Marc. ‘She can’t even smile.’

Marc frowns. ‘My daughter will have the very best of everything. Are you sure you’re okay carrying her on the stairs—’

I laugh. ‘For the millionth time, yes.’

We open some of baby Ivy’s presents. Expensive clothes, toys and toiletries. But Ivy doesn’t understand what’s going on. I think she likes the Christmas tree better than anything.

‘Since our daughter seems to like trees and lights better than presents,’ says Marc, ‘perhaps you’d like to open your gift now.’

‘Marc! The tradition in our family—’

‘You have a new family. Me and Ivy. And I say our tradition should be opening presents first thing in the morning. Children shouldn’t have to wait all day.’

‘Fine. Just this once. But we’ll talk again next year.’

‘Glad to see you still do as you’re told Mrs Blackwell. At least some of the time. Here.’ He passes me a small box wrapped with beautiful cream paper.

‘You know, I didn’t quite manage to get you a present,’ I admit. ‘Ivy here came a little quicker than I thought. And with the movie and everything … I was disorganised this year.’

‘You’re forgiven,’ says Marc. ‘Now open your present.’

I tear off the paper and find a purple jewellery box.

‘This looks beautiful.’

‘You haven’t even opened it yet.’

When I open the box, the smile leaves my lips. In a good way.

‘Oh Marc. This is … oh wow.’

Inside is a silver necklace with aivy leaf and rose hanging from it.

‘Turn it over,’ says Marc.

I do, and see an engraving on the back of the ivy leaf.

It says, ‘
Light and dark together forever, Marc.
’

I bite my lip.

‘You don’t like it?’ Marc asks, his eyes wide with concern.

I shake my head, feeling tears coming. ‘Oh Marc. I love it. I just don’t want to cry.’

Marc laughs and puts his arms around us.

‘I will always look after you and our daughter. You know that don’t you?’

‘I know.’