Watch Over Me (31 page)

‘Just sit down and I’ll cook you dinner.’

‘No, come on, you’re just in, you sit down and I’ll cook.’

I shook my head, took her by the shoulders and gently sat her down.

‘Promise that you’ll go to the doctor.’

‘Promise.’

Later that night, I phoned Shona. I was worried sick.

‘She just seems … I don’t know, really under the weather. And she’s off her food. I keep asking her to go to the doctor but she refuses.’

‘Maybe it’s just like you said, she’s under the weather. She’s been through an awful lot in the past year, she needs a bit of time to build herself up again. Does she seem low to you? Or teary?’

‘You know Eilidh, she’s always a bit on the emotional side, but she doesn’t seem down in the dumps or anything. Just a bit … absent. Like her head is somewhere else. I worry that …’

The words unspoken hung between us. That she’ll go away, like Janet.

‘Don’t go worrying yourself now. You’re just jumping ahead.’

I could hear Maggie’s wee noises in the background. Even if I was worried, I couldn’t help but smile.

‘Is that Maggie?’

‘The very one. I wish you could see her right now, Jamie. She’s unbelievably cute, she’s got the stripey babygro on, the one I got from Jean. Listen, why don’t you come and stay this weekend? With Eilidh, I mean. I can have a wee chat with her, see how the land lies.’

‘I’d love to. I’ll ask her.’

‘I’ll text her tonight, too.’

When I put the phone down, I felt a little bit lighter. Shona didn’t seem too concerned, so maybe there was nothing to worry about. Shona is a bit like the cabin crew to me, you know, when you’re on a plane and there’s turbulence, and you look at the cabin crew and if they don’t look scared, then it means there’s nothing to worry about? Like that.

Still.

I could see the worry on Jamie’s face and honestly, I was quite worried myself. I felt so weak, listless. I thought maybe it was the stress of going back to Southport, taking my stuff away from Tom’s house. Seeing him again and knowing it was likely to be the last time we were in the same room. But that was a few weeks ago now. Surely I should have felt myself again.

I arranged an appointment with the doctor.

‘And how do you feel in yourself? Mood wise, I mean? You’ve had a hard year …’

‘Yes, you can say that. I feel … ok. Since my accident, funnily enough, I’ve felt a lot better. I don’t think this is in my head.’

‘Well, sometimes long periods of stress can weaken your body, make you feel drained. Why don’t we do a blood test and take it from there?’

Dr Nicholson has kind, clear blue eyes and as she looked at me, I knew that she was thinking something she was not saying. I found myself hoping and praying I didn’t have to go through the whole thing again – the antidepressants, the hopeless counselling. I had all that after I lost my baby, it was awful, intrusive and it didn’t work. Crazy, I know, but I hoped the blood test found something, I don’t know, like anaemia, something a course of vitamins could fix. Anything but emotional stuff. I was fed up with emotions. I just wanted to live my life.

They found something, but it wasn’t a vitamin deficiency. It was something different entirely. It was a different bathroom, a different floor I sat on and a different Eilidh who cried tears of joy, and I knew, I
knew
, that this time there would be a different outcome.

I was awake in a fraction of a second. I bolted upright at once as she whispered, ‘Jamie.’ I had waited for many nights for it to happen, I had only half slept for a long time, listening out for any sign of it starting. Many times I had watched her sleeping, her rounded form under the duvet, her eyelids flickering gently as she dreamt. Often, if she was sleeping soundly, I’d slip a hand under the duvet and place it gently on her tummy, to feel our baby moving. I’d hold my breath and smile in the darkness, wondering what it must be like to feel those kicks
from the inside
. Wonderful and very, very weird, probably. Now that her due date had come and gone, she was so big we could make out the shape of the baby and I could not believe the miracle that was unfolding before my eyes. I was in awe of it as much as I’d been in awe of Janet’s pregnancy, although back then the joy of it had been so dampened by her own distress. Eilidh had been so happy all throughout, very sick, very weak and uncomfortable, but glowing with hope and delight in her growing baby. We had been frightened, though, both of us, and every endless drive to Aberdeen, where she’d chosen to be looked after, had an edge of fear to it.

Eilidh had barely moved beside me after whispering my name but I was already half out of bed.

She laughed and said, ‘It’ll take another wee while.’

We sat together in the light of our bedside lamps, whispering in excitement and terror, sipping tea and eating buttery toast. Shona had told us to try and get some food down us when it all kicked off, because Eilidh wasn’t going to be allowed to eat throughout labour and I probably wouldn’t feel like it.

‘Mind you, your brother-in-law went for chips while I was labouring!’ she’d said, glaring at Fraser.

‘And a sausage in batter. I’d been through it three times by then. I thought, well, might as well eat ’cause it’ll last a while,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

My stomach was in a knot as I tried to chew on the toast. I felt so charged I could have gone for a run. By dawn, Eilidh was in pain and struggled not to make a sound. She didn’t want to frighten Maisie.

I loved her so, so much as she sat at the breakfast table, white as a sheet, eyes shining, keeping it together for Maisie. We had explained to her that when the baby was ready to come, Eilidh was going to have to sleep at the hospital a couple of nights, for the doctors and nurses to help her get the baby out. And she, Maisie, was going to stay with Aunt Shona and Uncle Fraser. She seemed very calm about it but I knew she was apprehensive.

Half an hour later, we were driving towards Aberdeen, Maisie sitting in the back with her little
Charlie and Lola
backpack and an overnight bag. Shona and Fraser were coming to get her at the hospital to drive her home with them.

‘You ok there?’ I asked Maisie. Eilidh was silent. Very silent, very white, a film of sweat on her forehead. Oh God.

‘Yes. You ok?’ Maisie answered, a little shakily.

‘Right as rain, my love!’ I said cheerily. Well, I tried to be cheery, I probably sounded hysterical.

‘You ok, Eilidh?’

‘Yes.’ She answered curtly. Her voice seemed to come from far away. Like she wasn’t with us, like she was somewhere on her own, somewhere we couldn’t reach her.

She’s going into battle, I thought. And there’s only so much I can do to help her.

As the automatic doors of Aberdeen Maternity Hospital closed behind us, with Eilidh leaning on me and breathing heavily, I felt dizzy. We were stepping into a new world, nothing was going to be the same again.

I was in so much pain, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t even scream anymore – and I had done a good deal of screaming by then. I was strapped to a monitor and in the haze of pain, I could see it tracking my baby’s heartbeat. It was strong and unafraid, resounding in my ears like a song.

An eternity of pain later, my baby’s cries filled the room. Its voice was as old as the mountains and as strong as the tides, life flew through it without obstacles, like a rushing river. And I thought of my other baby, the one that passed, the one that couldn’t stay, and for the first time I saw clearly why it had gone and why this one would stay. This baby was meant to be, this baby belongs here …

‘It’s a boy!’ I heard Jamie saying.

‘It’s a boy,’ I whispered back. Yes, of course, it’s
you
. It was always you. I’d known you all my life.

He was placed in my arms, his head still covered in our blood, his scrunched face and his little fists, his little warm body wrapped in a blanket. He was beautiful and perfect and my heart sang with happiness, in a way I never knew before. I couldn’t stop looking at his face, his hands. I couldn’t stop breathing in his sweet baby smell, which was my own scent, too.

‘What’s his name?’ the midwife asked me. I looked at Jamie. I wanted him to name our baby.

‘Sorley. Sorley McAnena,’ he said and it sounded like a blessing, like a prayer, like a song.

The midwives left, saying something about the golden hour and bonding. Not sure what they were talking about, what bonding? My baby and I have bonded since before time, we are one and always will be. Whatever, as long as they went and left us for a bit. Jamie and me and our son. Our son. I couldn’t believe I was finally saying those words!

When I could finally tear my eyes away from my baby’s face, I looked at Jamie. He looked terrible, blue shadows under his eyes and all pale and flushed at the same time, but he had a big smile from ear to ear. I’d made him happy.

I felt so proud.

I raised my face to him for a kiss. He brushed my wet hair away from my forehead and our lips met over Sorley’s little head.

And then something strange happened.

They say newborns can’t really see, they can’t focus, they can only make out shadows and silhouettes of this big strange world they’ve been thrust into. But my son, I think he looked at me. At us. His eyes were two black pools, like the eyes of an underwater creature blinking in the light of the surface. Like someone coming to a new place from far, far away.

He looked at me, he took me in, and then deliberately, his eyes moved to Jamie, as if he knew us already. Through my tears of joy I said, ‘Look, Jamie, he’s got Elizabeth’s eyes.’

I think of the women behind me, my mother Rhona and her mother Flora, and Flora’s mother Margaret, and Margaret’s mother Anne, and on and on, a long line of strong women with their stories, their joys and their sorrows. Their blood runs in my veins and with their blood, their memories – they flow through me and make me who I am. In my blood and in my bones, from the cradle to the grave, through marriage and childbirth and loss, their lives are inside me. I hear their voices whispering and I feel their hands supporting me when I’m weak, their strength is my strength and their pride is my pride.

And my husband’s mother, Elizabeth, I see her in Shona and in Maisie and in my own son. I know that she reached to us from beyond, she watched over us and led us home, Jamie and me. When I was in darkness, two years ago, I must have prayed without realising. I must have asked for help, because God knows I was lost.

Elizabeth heard my call and I’ll hear our children’s call when it’s my time, and if they turn to the unknown looking for help, I’ll listen when they say, ‘Watch over me.’

First published 2011 by

Black & White Publishing Ltd

29 Ocean Drive

Edinburgh

EH6 6JL

www.blackandwhitepublishing.com

This electronic edition published in 2011

ISBN: 978 1 84502 407 9 in EPub format

ISBN: 978 1 84502 408 6 in Mobipocket format

ISBN: 978 1 84502 366 9 in trade paperback format

Copyright © Daniela Sacerdoti 2011

The right of Daniela Sacerdoti to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.