She leaned on the Škoda and felt like she was a million miles away. She was queasy and worried about vomiting up her fresh orange and lemonade, imagined it skittering across the car bonnet onto the concrete. Raging heartburn spread from her gut to her gullet, and she burped several times. Shouldn’t have had a fizzy drink and definitely shouldn’t have run along the road. She couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. Lennox had obviously been trying to contact Sandy, then came back to chat to Heather. She felt a twinge of jealousy, the three of them were in this together, weren’t they? But then she couldn’t even stand up at the moment. Her heart thumped in her chest and echoed in a throbbing headache at the base of her skull. She remembered her stroke, like a jackhammer on her brain. What if it was happening again?
She splayed her fingers against the car to steady herself. The light in the glen was fading and a chill hung in the air. Her heartburn got worse then she was sick down her front. Her head spun and tears came to her eyes, blurring her vision. Her hand went from the car to her stomach and she pressed her flesh, desperate to feel a kick to let her know she wasn’t alone in the world, she was going to be OK, she was a good mother. But she didn’t feel anything and panicked. She pressed deeper, imagined breaking through the skin and muscles and pulling her daughter out, holding her to her face and nuzzling, smearing blood over the two of them like a primal ritual.
Her other hand slipped from the car and she collapsed, knees buckling, in slow motion but unstoppable. Her head thunked off the concrete and she pictured slow ripples from the impact passing through her body to her uterus, her placenta doing its best to shield the little one. Her bladder released and warm piss flowed down her legs. She saw the shapes of people a few yards away, like ghosts drifting towards her.
She closed her eyes and pictured being underwater with Sandy, her stomach flat, the baby swimming alongside, the umbilical cord still connecting them, trailing thin ribbons of blood in the water. Sandy was showing them the way, giant ice floes overhead scattering blue and green light, a throbbing red glow below in the depths. She reached over and held her baby, began sinking, the cord hanging loose between them like a skipping rope. Some force pulled them down towards the bottom of the ocean, Sandy fussing and tugging at Ava and the baby to no avail. Her feet began to burn in the hot water as she hugged her girl to her chest and sank further. They were going to die in a fiery underwater volcano.
‘Ava? Christ.’ Heather’s voice.
Ava opened her eyes.
Someone’s jacket was under her head as a pillow. Cars were still being worked on, the noise of a drill somewhere. A spread of worried faces over her, Heather kneeling. It looked uncomfortable, kneeling on the bare ground. Ava remembered her dream and touched her stomach, the stretched skin. She felt the baby’s feet kick beneath her fingers and smiled. Still safe.
‘We need to get her to a hospital.’ This was Paul.
If she went to a hospital the police would know, Fellowes would know, Michael would know.
‘No hospital.’ She took Heather’s hand to help her sit up and leaned against the grill of the Škoda. She smelled sick and piss, saw the dark patch on the concrete between her legs.
Heather followed her gaze. ‘That’s not…’
She shook her head. ‘Just pee.’
Paul looked confused. ‘There might be something wrong with the pregnancy.’
‘I’m fine.’ Ava went to stand, felt weak knees, slid back and plonked her bum on the ground.
Paul spoke to Heather. ‘I understand you’re in a situation but she needs to see a doctor.’
Ava gritted her teeth and shook her head.
Heather stared at her for a long time then nodded. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I just need rest.’ Ava pictured a king-size bed covered in plump pillows.
Paul shook his head. ‘Well, you can rest up at Toll Sionnach. The place I have with Iona. It’s a few miles up the road, in the hills.’
Heather stared at him. ‘Who’s Iona?’
Paul looked sheepish. ‘My wife.’