He patted the bedclothes. ‘You’ve done it before.’
‘Precisely, Mike,’ said Paige.
He consulted his clipboard. ‘I thought we’d run over a few things with you, give you a timetable to work with. At midnight tonight, we’ll give you…’
Unwilling to listen to these intimacies, I moved away, only to be confronted by more intense ones: mothers feeding, changing their babies, groaning as they shifted in their beds. Some seemed bewildered, an emotion I recollected perfectly. There was an almost sinister quality to the hopefulness of others and their visitors who clustered round the cots. Each time a baby was placed in one, it was assumed that a good, successful, loving life lay in store.
I glanced at Paige. Mike was writing on his clipboard, and Paige was talking at him, arguing in a decided way. I found myself smiling. How very like Paige to try to organize the ultimately unorganizable such as birth or, for that matter, death.
Mike bustled away and Paige beckoned me back. ‘I rather like being asked by nice men if there’s anything I’m worried about.’
The drugs trolley was progressing down the ward as I bent over to kiss her goodbye. ‘I must go – it’ll take me hours to find my way out of here.’ There was an unmistakable smell coming from Paige, the milky odour of giving birth. ‘What made you decide your children should come before your career?’
Not an iota of doubt clouded Paige’s serenity. ‘Simple. When Jackson was a baby, he cried at night and I was the only person who could shut him up. He needed me, and only me.’
Nathan was already at home when I got back, reading to the twins who were tucked up beside him. Number seven was warm and hushed. Eve had put a stew into the oven, Nathan, Felix and Lucas presented a tangled, contented tableau, and I halted in the doorway to savour the moment.
I inspected the boys. Damp, soap-smelling and tousled. ‘Lucas, have you put on your cream?’
He had a rash, but resisted every attempt to make it better. Beneath his father’s arm, he shook his head. I fetched the tube. ‘Come on.’ Reluctantly, he tilted his head, and I dabbed cream on the red patches by his ears. Beneath my fingers, his skin was both dry and soft, softer than anything else I had known.
Nathan rubbed his knee. ‘That’s sore.’ He spoke lightly. ‘Falling apart.’
‘Poor you.’ I sat on the bed, buttoned Felix’s pyjama jacket and smoothed his hair. ‘Maybe you need some exercise.’
‘Too tired for that.’
I glanced up as a spasm darkened Nathan’s expression and I knew what my husband was thinking. If I had been Rose, I would have gone upstairs, searched out embrocation and insisted on rubbing it into his stiffening muscles.
Secret grief.
I could picture this intimacy – the collusion – to the last detail. No, I could feel it: a warm cosiness, with no spectre of the past to cast a chill. Nathan and Rose had acted in tandem. Which school for the children? Did the hall require painting? Hey! They had talked to each other over breakfast, after a night of sex that had left them with burning eyes and aching flesh. We can take it.
Was Rose aware of how lucky she had been? She had helped herself to the young, strong Nathan, the one who had carried a laden breakfast tray up to her in bed as if it had been thistledown, the one who had balanced job, wife and children in his palm with the skill of the juggler, Look, I’m not tired. Look, I cannot fail.
I switched off the light and we stood in the doorway as the twins settled under their duvets.
‘What are you thinking?’ I asked.
Nathan slipped his arm round my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. ‘Nothing very much,’ he said.
9
Early the next morning – shrieks of protest from the twins, abandoned bowls of corn flakes, mad hunts for school reading books, a flustered Eve, a preoccupied Nathan – the phone rang. It was Martin.
‘Minty! We have another son. He arrived late last night. Isn’t that great? He’s big, he’s beautiful – he’s perfect! He’s even textbook weight.’
Oh, that’s lovely. Congratulations.’ I cocked an eye at Nathan, who was departing. We’re thrilled.’ Nathan sent me a thumbs-up and disappeared.
Tiny baby in cot. All limbs and digits accounted for. Clean and sweet after the trauma of its arrival.
A good, happy, successful life.
There was traffic noise in the background of this phone conversation. Martin was clearly on his way to work. ‘Did you get any sleep? Shouldn’t you take the morning off?’
‘I had more sleep than I bargained for.’
‘Oh, was it that fast?’
‘Ask the mother. Paige kicked me out at the final stages. She said it was her business, not mine.’ Martin’s tone altered to convey a touch of anger and disappointment. ‘But both are doing well.’ After a pause, he added, ‘I’m told.’
I cast around for a safe comment. ‘Did Paige manage to finish her shawl before it all happened?’
Martin was at his very, very driest. ‘Paige finished her shawl. She put the final touches to it during the second stage.’
‘Good grief. She’s made of iron.’
‘That’s a rather apt description,’ he said, anger again creeping into his tone.
‘I’ll see her over the weekend. From next week I’m working full-time.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘She disapproves. She thinks it’s frivolous to work full-time when you don’t have to.’
Paige’s disapproval hung over me as I organized a delivery of organic yoghurt and fruit for her, and settled down to making final arrangements: preparing to go back to full-time work was full-time work. Nathan had had fun teasing me about it: ‘You’re not going to war, you know.’ Then, a little later: ‘How’s the supply train?’ Or ‘Do remember that the general requires a slap-up meal?’ The joke ran and ran.
I pinned Eve’s reconfigured timetable to the kitchen noticeboard, and considered the logistics of provisioning, school runs, recorder lessons and swimming practice, and felt a sneaky but shameful admiration for Mussolini: he had made Italian trains run on time.
I ran my finger over the blocks marking off days and hours. There was no going back. Come to that, there was a theory that the First World War had happened not because of the shots at Sarejevo – an archduke or two were expendable – but because the Russians had mobilized the trains. Once that had happened, it was impossible to cry halt.
Eve had walked the twins to school and, to my astonishment, had volunteered to take them for a session in the park afterwards. Already I felt differently: I had waved them off, pleased that all concerned in this household had reached another milestone. Again, I ran over my timetable. It was impressively severe in its just-intime scheduling, with no margin for slack.
I ploughed on. Wardrobe checks. Nathan required new socks, and the twins had grown out of their dungarees. Equipment: Trying-pan,’ I jotted on the shopping list. ‘Food: Menus for the next two weeks.’
The phone rang. ‘Minty.’ Poppy dispensed with preliminaries. ‘Can I ask you something? Do you think you could speak to Jilly?’
This was entirely unexpected. ‘Why on earth?’
Poppy was full of importance. ‘I don’t know if Dad mentioned it but she’s refusing to go to the States with Sam, who’s been offered this fantastic job. Well, you know what that means. Sam will be the target of every predatory female in the state. And did you know that he bumped into Alice? His girlfriend before he married Jilly? She was very cut-up when he went off with Jilly. Personally, I think Alice manoeuvred it. She’s never got over losing him. Anyway, he talked about her last time I saw him, and it set alarm bells ringing.’ I knew Poppy well enough to grasp that it would be a short wait before all became clear. ‘Minty, I’m sorry, but there’s no two ways to put it and I’ll have to be rude. Could you talk to Jilly and explain how the Other Woman seizes her chance? I shouldn’t put it like that, but if Sam goes off by himself, then… who knows what damage Alice will do? Or someone like Alice. She’ll believe it if you talk to her – ‘