Hope looked left and right, but there was no sign of the familiar rusty silver Honda Civic with Quiet Isaac in.
Damn, where was he? Hope could feel a panic rising but she needed to remain cool and in control if this was going to work, so she took a deep breath, including the awful fumes, and she started to walk among the cars looking for him. Suddenly, she stopped, when the thought occurred to her that, of course, he would probably be waiting near the entrance to the lifts. That would’ve been the more likely place for her to emerge. She could see the big red doors on the other side of the car park.
She started to walk directly towards them.
She changed her mind; she needed to be cleverer.
She wended her way between cars and pillars.
She made sure no one saw her.
She kept low.
She moved stealthily.
She checked the bag didn’t bump anything.
She avoided a chatty family.
She watched them from behind a pillar and only proceeded when it was safe to do so.
It came easily to her to be furtive: she had the best of reasons.
Hope could see Quiet Isaac fifty yards away, near the lifts. He was sitting in the driver’s seat of the old car, with his head leaning back against the headrest and his eyes closed. Was he asleep? He looked wrecked. She checked that the coast was clear and when she was sure, she moved fast towards him. In behind, out in front, and around cars, she was on her victory slalom run with her eyes on the prize. At last, she arrived at his car and opened the front passenger door, shocking Isaac awake. He said, ‘Ah, hey. Wanna put that bag in the boot?’
For a brief surreal moment, she considered it.
‘No,’ she replied, climbing in and securing the bag full of baby on her lap with the safety belt, ‘just … drive.’
Gone
Over twenty minutes went by before baby Florence was reported missing. All the mothers on the maternity ward, except one, took their new little ones home with them. That mother was going home to rest, on the paediatrician’s advice, before returning later to visit her poorly baby in the premature baby unit.
And, of course, Hope. But Fatu had discharged her and reported that she’d left very early, way before anyone believed the baby had gone missing.
Prior to any alarm being raised, a fresh and keen midwife, who’d just come on duty and already been briefed by the departing two nurses about the sleeping Clarke family, took it upon herself to slide the ‘Do not disturb’ latch across outside the door. She wouldn’t ordinarily do this unless there was a doctor inside or an emergency going on, but she completely agreed with her colleague that this family could do with the rest, and that they should be allowed to grab it as long as their baby was sleeping.
The baby was seemingly ‘sleeping’ for a while, which suited everyone on the ward just fine. They were short-staffed and all the other rooms were filling up quickly with new couples buzzing with fear and excitement. All of the maternity staff were busily distracted.
As two of the nurses passed each other in the corridor, one handed the other a Kit Kat. ‘Here, darling, keep yer sugar levels up, yeah? ’S gonna be another hectic one.’
‘Thanks, Karen. I’m putting the kettle on. I’ll leave yours on the side for when you can grab five minutes, OK?’
‘Yeah, like when hell freezes over.’
‘Yeah. Ha ha.’
It was hell when Anna finally woke up from her deep deep sleep to find her baby gone and her entire life tipped into a hell-pit of confusion.
She took a while to wake up. The painkillers contributed to her drowsiness, and for a few minutes her groggy brain had no idea where she was. As she slowly allowed her memory to float back and fit together piece by piece, she happily remembered the seismic hugeness of what had happened. She had become a mother at last. She had given birth to a perfect, beautiful little girl. Yes, Anna had finally come to matter. No longer simply an add-on to Julius or a faintly disappointing daughter to her parents. She was significant. Finally. It felt wonderful.
She looked over to see her husband. She noticed a small line of drool making its way down his chin. He was still slumped uncomfortably on the chair in the corner, his head lolled down. Ooh, that’s going to ache when he wakes up, she thought, and then her next thought was, Meh, serves him right. She didn’t feel kindly towards him any more, and hadn’t for some time. BUT. He WAS Florence’s father, and they would be forever linked, so she was going to endeavour to give family life her very best shot.
The baby was still sleeping; she could see the blanket all bunched up in the bassinet. She was longing to have another look at her this morning, but it was probably best to let her be for a few minutes more, while she was so peaceful. Anna was still horizontal, and couldn’t easily see into the plastic cot. She started to hoik herself up the bed, trying awkwardly to rearrange the thin pillows behind her to prop herself up. As she moved, her clammy body alerted her to the fact that it had recently been a boxing ring for a baby to punch her way out of. Everything inside was jangled and bruised. She squirmed at the discomfort but she had no complaints; this was what happened when you were the arena where a miracle had happened: a temporary hurt which connected them profoundly forever. Only the two of them had shared it. Birth. A phenomenal, powerful agony. Florence had ripped Anna on her way out in her violent struggle to be born. She was clearly determined to have life; she’d fought for it with laudable vigour. Nothing was
