Page 91 of The Man Who Didn't Call
‘Without meaning to pile undue pressure on you, I’m going out of my mind, wanting to just get there, and help if I can, or send her my love, or . . . I don’t know. So I wondered if you could tell me if she’s giving birth in Stroud or in Gloucester. Or somewhere else.’
The man folds his arms. ‘I’m going to have to run this past Hannah,’ he says at last. ‘I hope you understand.’
Of course I understand. I want, also, to punch him.
I take a deep breath and nod. ‘I get it. Although if it helps, Hannah’s phone’s switched off. I tried it earlier.’
The man nods. ‘Yes, that’s most likely.’ But he persists with calling her anyway, moving off down the corridor so I won’t be able to hear him when he says, ‘You won’tbelievethis . . .’
A few moments later he’s back. ‘No answer,’ he says. He jigs the phone up and down in his hand, uncertain as to what to do. He gets it, as a father – I can see he wants to help me. But this is no ordinary situation.
I begin to panic. He might not tell me.
‘I could just turn up at Stroud, or Gloucester, I suppose . . . But would you be willing to tell me how the labour’s going, at least?’ I ask. I’ll take anything, at this stage. Any crumb he’s willing to throw from the table. Smelly sighs, leaning his big square head on my thigh.
He pauses. ‘All I know is that it’s been going on two days. And that they’ve taken her out of the midwife unit and transferred her to the consultant-led bit.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘When it happened to us with Elsa, it meant things weren’tgoing brilliantly,’ he admits. ‘But it could be anything – she probably just got tired and wanted some decent pain relief. I wouldn’t worry too much.’
‘Please tell me where Sarah is.’ My voice is too loud, but I think I probably just sound desperate rather than threatening or mad. ‘Please.I’m a normal guy. Not a psychopath. I just want to be there.’
He sighs, defeated. ‘OK . . . OK. They’re at Gloucester Royal. I think the maternity complex is called the Women’s Centre. But be warned, they won’t let you through the door unless Sarah tells them to. I’ll text Hannah and let her know. I shouldn’t do this, really, but . . . well, if I were in your shoes and all that.’
I slump, my hand reaching instinctively for Smelly’s shiny black head. It’s a reassuring block, warm and – yes – probably smelly. ‘Thank you,’ I say quietly. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Dad?’ A child’s voice from above. Behind the man, I see a head appearing, upside down, from upstairs. Auburn hair trails down towards us. ‘Who’s that man?’
‘Good luck,’ he says, ignoring his daughter. Sarah’s niece, Elsa, whom she thought she’d never meet. He leans forward and shakes my hand. ‘I’m Hamish.’
‘Eddie,’ I say, even though I’ve probably already told him. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’
And then I’m off.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The drive is one of the longest half hours of my life. By the time I hit the A417, I’m frantic.
Alex would have loved a niece or nephew, I think, as I wait on a roundabout. (And:How can this light still be red?) She would especially have loved a niece or nephew related to Hannah.
And me? Of course I want a child. I’ve known for years, I think, but it’s not something that ever felt possible – at least not until I met Sarah. Then it stopped feeling like a remote fantasy and started feeling like an obvious desire.
I love her, I think, as I accelerate ferociously out of the roundabout.She made everything seem possible.
Sarah Harrington has been carrying my child, all these months. Along with her grief, and her sadness, and the loss of her grandfather. She’s moved to the other side of the world, back to a place to which she thought she’d never return, and has somehow patched up the scar that was riven down the centre of her family. All on her own. Knowing I didn’t want even a friendship with her.
I recall the unbearable sadness in her eyes when she talked of Hannah and her children, and I wonder again how it has been for these two women, trying to rebuild their relationship in such extraordinary circumstances. I hope it’s made Sarah happy. I hope the fact that Hannah is with her for thebirth means that they’ve become as close as they deserve to be. As close as sisters should be.
Hospital 1 mile, says a sign. One mile too far. I pass under a railway bridge and climb a hill, cursing the traffic. I drive, far too slowly, past a fish-and-chip shop. A man stands outside it in the fading light, a plastic bag of warm paper packages swinging from his wrist. He’s on his phone, laughing, completely oblivious to the desperate man stuck in slow-moving traffic in a Land Rover.
A minute or so later there’s a sign saying the hospital is half a mile away, but that’s still not close enough. Another traffic light turns red. I seem unable to stop swearing.
The Land Rover is silent, save for the old-fashioned ticker-flicker of the indicator. I imagine Sarah, my beautiful Sarah, exhausted on a bed somewhere. I think of all the labours I’ve seen in films: terrible screams, panicking midwives, doctors shouting, emergency alarms going off. It’s like someone’s taken an ice-cream scoop and hollowed me out. I am weightless with fear.What if something goes wrong?
I turn left, reminding myself that problem-free labours happen all day, every day – they have to: the human race wouldn’t have survived, otherwise – and the brown hulk of Gloucester Royal slides finally into vision.
The hospital’s busy. Illness, I suppose, is a 24/7 business. Several people cross the roadway in front of me. There are speed bumps everywhere. The first car park is full and I want to scream. I want to hurtle to the nearest entrance and abandon my car there.
