When the Bough Breaks (6 page)

The rough grass track at the edge of the field had never felt like this before, so uneven that she wasn't sure where her feet were going to touch ground. She'd have to stop for a moment. No, she'd get beyond the last row of sprouts before she let herself rest. Why didn't the plants stay still? Why did they sway like that? Nearly at the last row of them, then I'll . . . but she knew no more.

Perhaps she only lay on the ground for a minute or two, or even only seconds, she was aware of nothing until she felt herself being lifted and heard Dennis say, ‘Now we've got her up, I can manage her. Take the pail, Stan, and empty it in the ditch right at the end. I'll carry Kathie to the house.'

‘Are you sure? She must have got pretty heavy.'

‘She's coming round. We'll manage.'

Kathie was making a huge effort to gather her wits. Why was she being carried?

‘Can walk,' she tried to say, but her mouth seemed to have a will of its own and didn't want to shape the words. And her back felt as though it had broken in two.

‘You must have tripped,' she heard him say.

‘Ground . . . kept moving . . .' At least her voice was coming back and she reached up to put her arms around Dennis's neck in an attempt to ease her weight. ‘Too heavy . . . can walk.' As reason returned she was conscious that he was getting breathless so she wriggled to get to her feet. ‘Put me down . . . honestly.'

He stood her on her feet, keeping his arm around her.

‘Have you hurt yourself? You mustn't carry that bucket. You should call me, or get one of the boys.'

‘It wasn't that.' It was no use; she couldn't hide it from him. ‘It was because my back hurts. I expect everyone feels the same. It's probably just the way the baby is lying.' Sounding so strong and brave had been an enormous effort, but she couldn't keep up the pretence. ‘Den, suppose something is wrong with the baby. It's . . .' Whatever it was was lost as she leant against him burying her face against his shoulder.

‘Why didn't you tell me? One of the boys could have done the pig.' As he spoke he was holding her against him with one arm and with the other hand rubbing her back.

‘It can't be the baby starting to come, can it? It's not due for more than six weeks. It can't be, can it?' He heard the fright in her voice.

‘It's possible I suppose.' He made sure his voice had a ring of confidence, even though he was gripped with fear for something so far from his knowledge. ‘Some people get their dates wrong, so I've heard.'

‘I didn't get it wrong. My last period started on Good Friday. Oooh!' Her exclamation escaped before she could stop it.

‘Arms round my neck; I'm getting you indoors. Then I'll send young Bert to bring Nurse Cox.' And with almost superhuman strength he hoisted her back into his arms and carried her to the house at what was nearly a run. Leaving her bent double in her chair he went to find Bert Delbridge and send him on his mission.

When he got back into the cottage there was no sign of Kathie.

‘Kathie! Where are you? Kathie!' he yelled up the stairs then, getting no reply, took them two at a time in his quest to find her. Then downstairs again. ‘Kathie! Where the hell are you, Kathie?'

That's when he noticed the door of the old earth closet was open. He found her there, leaning weakly against the wall.

‘Couldn't you manage the stairs? Poor old Kathie. Come on love, I'll get you up to lie on the bed. Nurse Cox will be here soon, Bert's gone to get her.' Her answer was a silent, convulsive movement she couldn't control as she retched. ‘You feel sick? This place is enough to make anyone feel sick. Come on, love, let's get you upstairs.'

‘. . . was the pigsty . . . the smell . . . it's all over my Wellies . . . couldn't pull them off.'

What a moment for him to remember the first time he'd seen her, a girl like no other. Slim, a picture of health, her eyes so clear and luminous, her wide bright smile. It hurt him to see what time had done to her. Even the rich chestnut of her hair seemed no more than dingy brown, her skin looked weathered and yet there was nothing to hint at a healthy outdoor life, rather it seemed yellow and tight across the bony structure of her face. There were crows' nests around her sunken eyes, eyes with dark smudges under them. And her hands! As she raised one to wipe it across her mouth it registered on him as it never had before just how work-hardened and rough they were; that happy, energetic, glorious young girl he had fallen in love with had had soft hands, he remembered clearly how she had wiped the oil off them on the rag he had given her that day when her bicycle had broken.

‘Kathie, dear Kathie, what have I done to you?'

She made herself smile even though the effort made her eyes sting with hot tears. ‘You've given me a baby. It must be coming early. Oh . . . ooh.' Frightened to breathe, she gripped his hands.

‘Come out to the garden bench and I'll pull your wellies off,' he said gently. ‘Then upstairs we go.'

By the time Nurse Cox pedalled up the track the feet of the offending wellies were standing in a bucket of water outside the back door, and Kathie was undressed and in bed, a bed in which Dennis had spread the mackintosh sheet they had in readiness. For Kathie it was hard to concentrate when she was consumed with pain, but somehow she'd managed to give Dennis instructions so that everything was ready for labour. She had no idea what to expect, but nothing less than labour could make her hurt like this. Would it get worse? She had been in the house when her mother had given birth to Algy and then to Lily, but she had had no idea that she'd been going through anything like this. And if her mother could bear it without making a fuss, then so could she. She tried to remember what the nurse had said on her one and only visit: when the contractions come, you have to push with all your might. She had imagined that when they talked about contractions it was something that came and then eased, but this just went on and on.

‘Den,' she breathed holding her hand towards him, ‘let me grip you.' Then when he took her hands in his, with all her might she pushed, then pushed again.

‘Here's Nurse Cox,' he said, thankfully, ‘I'll go and bring her in. Kathie, you'll be all right.' It was meant to boost to her confidence but it sounded more like a plea.

Kathie heard him greet the midwife.

In the village Emily Cox was always known as nurse, but in truth for all her experience of bringing local babies into the world she had no qualifications. Dr Knight trusted her, the local women had faith in her, and hearing her voice gave Kathie hope.

‘This little rascal keen to get into the world, is he? Now then, Mrs Hawthorne my dear, let's take a peak at you.' With one swift movement she threw back the bed covers, then hoisted up Kathie's nightdress. ‘How often are you getting the contractions?'

‘The pain doesn't stop. My back . . . just goes on . . . on . . .' Kathie bit her lip, ashamed at how near she was to losing control.

With hands that were still cold from her cycle ride, Nurse Cox felt her patient's hugely swollen stomach. ‘Um,' she grunted, an uncertain sound. ‘Big load you're carrying m'dear, no wonder your poor back is letting you know about it. I'll pull the covers back over you – just want a word with your husband.'

As if by magic Dennis appeared in the doorway from where he had been listening just out of sight.

‘That lad of yours, can you get him to ride out again and see if he can get Dr Knight. The baby is in no position to get born; the head isn't engaged. If it decides to try and push its way out we shall need forceps, it'll be a job for the doctor.' Then following Dennis to the head of the stairs, she said in a whisper, ‘There's something here that worries me.'

Half an hour later it was apparent there was something that worried Dr Knight too. The nearest telephone was in the village street, so he reversed his motor car the length of the lane and parked by the kiosk.

‘The ambulance is coming out from Deremouth. I want you to have an X-ray. I shall follow the ambulance in my motor car to be there to see the result.' he said as came back into the bedroom. His voice was big and over-cheerful.

‘Why an X-ray? Is there something wrong with our baby? I can't feel it moving.' Desperately Kathie wanted to sound calm, but it was impossible to hide her terror as she waited for his reply.

‘The heartbeat is strong,' he reassured her.

So why the X-ray? Kathie and Dennis looked at each other helplessly.

‘Is there room in the ambulance for me?' he asked.

‘It's most unusual.' For a moment the doctor hesitated as he looked from Dennis to Kathie and then back again, his mind working on the right action. ‘Most unusual. But I think perhaps it might be a good thing if you were to come along. Come in the motor car with me. I'll let you know the outcome, Mrs Cox. Perhaps we'll be delivering Mrs Hawthorne home and you'll be needed after all.' He was a kindly man and he could see the fear in Kathie's eyes. In his opinion she was too old to be giving birth for the first time. A girl of twenty, now that was what he considered ideal, the body young and supple. But this one must be well into her thirties – his assumption was evidence of what her hard life had done to twenty-nine-year-old Kathie. ‘Now then, my dear, can you manage the stairs or shall we see if they can get you down on a stretcher?'

Kathie took a deep breath and made sure she spoke clearly despite the dreadful feeling that she was being torn apart. ‘I walked up, so I can walk down. But why do I need an X-ray?'

‘I want us to be sure of the baby's position,' the doctor said with little regard to the truth. However, the answer stilled some of her fear.

For Kathie that evening was lost, but for Dennis, waiting on a hard bench, it seemed endless. They had arrived at the hospital just as the winter daylight was fading and the lamp lighter was working his way along the street. As Kathie had been carried away to where he supposed the X-ray machine was, Dennis had been told to wait and someone would come and tell him what was happening. In fact Dr Knight appeared from the sister's office after not much more than ten minutes. Immediately Dennis was on his feet.

‘What's happening? Is the X-ray done? Is she in labour?'

‘Mr Hawthorne, the result is much as I suspected. Your wife is already under sedation so Sister will bring the consent form for you to sign.'

‘Sedation? Consent? For what?'

‘The birth is not due for more than a month, but it is imperative the surgeon performs a Caesarean immediately.' Then, seeing Dennis's mystified expression, he explained, ‘An operation to take the baby. Have no fear; early though it is, it appears to be a large embryo. The real cause for alarm is not the birth; it is your wife's condition. The X-ray confirms what I feared: there is a large tumour in the womb.' Whatever Dennis had braced himself to hear, the doctor's words seemed to strip him of the power to think. ‘The only thing to do is to remove her womb – a total hysterectomy. How long the tumour has been developing or whether it has spread I can't tell you, but she couldn't be in better hands than Mr Freeman's. Ah, here comes Sister.'

‘When?' Dennis was incapable of putting a whole sentence together.

‘As I say, she is already under sedation and being taken along to the theatre. The baby will be delivered and please God it's the fine healthy specimen I anticipate. You'd better read this before you sign, although I fear there is no other way but to perform the operation.'

Dennis scanned through the words but his mind was incapable of understanding. Kathie . . . Kathie who had never had a day's illness . . . a tumour . . . in good hands . . . yes, but could even the cleverest of surgeons make her well?

‘She's always been well,' he murmured more to himself than the doctor. ‘If they take it all away, will she get well?'

As the sister scurried off with the signed form the doctor sat on the bench by Dennis's side.

‘There is always risk with any form of surgery. But assuming that it hasn't spread into other organs we must hope and trust that she will soon be restored to her normal good health – bearing in mind, of course, that she will be unable to have more children.'

‘We've been married for ten years, you know. We wanted children and I know how much she cared that she could never conceive. I wish to God she had gone on being disappointed, then this might never have happened.'

‘No, my dear chap, carrying the child has been a blessing in disguise. She might have gone on far longer not knowing anything was amiss if the wretched thing had had more space to grow.'

‘What are they doing to her now?' Dennis ran his fingers round the collar of his shirt. Despite not being able to stop shivering he felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. The sweat of fear; not for the first time he felt it. Memories crowded back on him. In the contentment and satisfaction of their life at Westways he had believed the past had lost its power. Then in the strange way that a mind can jump from one thing to another, he became conscious that he was still in his work clothes. ‘Straight from the field,' he muttered as if he expected Dr Knight to have followed his thoughts.

‘As soon as she is fully unconscious they will perform the Caesarean – indeed they are probably bringing your child into the world at this minute.'

They waited in silence. Five minutes or five hours, to Dennis it was like all eternity. Then the sister came from a double door at the far end of the corridor, hurrying toward them with a beaming smile.

‘Congratulations, Mr Hawthorne. You have a beautiful daughter. She's just being got ready to face the world and then I'll let you have a quick peep. After that I'm afraid we shall have to ask you to leave.'

‘And Kathie? My wife?'

‘I'll make sure you have the telephone number so that you can ring us in the morning.'