-Ellie-
He cries. He cries which means, thank goodness, he is alive!
I crane my head to look down the bed. A red messy thing is there. The same red messy thing that was inside me, now there. I’ve done it, with that final push. I sink back. I look up. There is Gillian, who has somehow reinserted herself into the room. She is looking at the little red mess intently. Not smiling though. Just staring. She has put her bag down on the chair, so that she can move in for a closer look. The bag that has my phone in. I could just –
But here is my Leo. They are handing him to me. My shrivelly, tiny tiny tiny little Leo. So keen to meet me, to come out into the world feet first and find his mummy. Yes, yes, you were! Only one hour of labour, you impatient little thing. But now he’s here, he’s shy, not making eye contact. In fact his eyes don’t open at all, yet. I look up to see a circle of doctors standing round me. They all seem to be trying to make eye contact with Leo and scrupulously avoiding making it with me.
“So?” I ask.
“So we need to give this little one some special attention, Mrs Spears.”
And then, he is lifted away from me, this little boy who I have only just met.
“We’re taking him to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Get him the attention he needs, set him up in an incubator. We’ll let you know as soon as you can come and see him.”
I want to stop them, to tell them that he is my son. That I own him. That if he is going somewhere, I must go there too. I move to get up but pain stops me. The midwife seems to notice my expression, as he starts examining my lower end.
“We’ll get you some local anaesthetic and have you stitched up in no time. For such a little one, he’s knocked you about a bit.”
As if that matters. As if anything about me matters at the moment. Having sex with Will isn’t at the forefront of my mind right now. Not if he is busy murdering his mother. And if my Leo, my little little Leo, doesn’t make it – then no, no I don’t think I would want to go down that route either.
But I can’t explain that to the midwife, as he busies himself sewing me up.
I look round for Gillian, but she seems to have drifted off somewhere. Haven’t seen her since they took Leo away, actually. Maybe the miracle of birth was too much for her. Maybe she’s finally understood why she can’t lay any claim to Will, not having done that for him. She certainly seems to have lost an interest in worldly goods – her bag is on the seat next to me. Her bag, holding my phone.
“Nearly done,” says the midwife. “Then we’ll see if the doctors are ready for you to visit Leo. They might want you to breastfeed him, at some point.”
He stitches his final stitch.
“There!” he says.
I take that as the moment to lean across to Gillian’s bag and extract my phone. And there it is. Right, let’s find the email. Searching searching, would you like to continue this search on the server? Damnit yes, I said I wanted the email, find it, phone! OK, OK, there it is. If I click through I will find the number. Yes, yes, there we go, and if I click on it –
“Mrs Spears?”
It is one of the doctors, flanked by Gillian. I thrust the phone under the covers, lest I’m caught showing an interest in something other than my new son. Lest Gillian see me trying to break my vow.
“We’re ready for you to come and see Leo now.”
They get me out of the bed. Gillian passes me a bathrobe and slippers which she’s produced from somewhere. If she sees me slip the phone into the pocket of the robe she doesn’t register it.
“Lead on,” I say.
I follow as they take me to Leo.
I fondle the phone in my pocket. If I ring and Sophie just hears silence, will that help? Probably not. Perhaps she is already in silence now. Perhaps Will has already been there. Done the deed. Now in custody. Or maybe Sophie has the hammer – maybe she has turned it on Will. Maybe she is threatening him. I must phone, I must phone.
“Now Mrs Spears,” the doctor says, as we walk along. “Please don’t be alarmed by the number of tubes and things that Leo has attached to him. They’re all to give him the best chance he has.”
Chance. So there’s a chance, then, that he won’t make it.
The doctor confirms that is right. Leo is, after all, very premature. A real premmie. Totes prem, I guess, but no – humour doesn’t work, now.
And when I see little Leo, poor little Leo, I can believe it, this idea he may not have a chance. Such a tiny creature in the middle of the open-topped incubator, surrounded by a mass of wires and bags and vents. There is a vent taped to his mouth, a whole riddle of tubes coming from his abdomen, and the rest of him is all swaddled up. He does not look well.
“Hello, Leo,” I manage. I give him a little wave. He does not wave back. But he has one eye open now. So he is giving me a permanent wink. Don’t worry, Mummy, it says. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll put everything right. It will all be all right in the morning.
Little ambitious Leo.
Gillian appears at my elbow. She is hugging a pillow, I don’t know why. Perhaps she is pretending it is a baby, from her own belly; maybe it’s a surrogate for Will, now he’s rejected her.
She leans over. I think it is to look at Leo. But then she whispers in my ear words that do not help Leo’s chances one bit.
“You promised on his life. And I’m going to remember that.”
I hold the phone so firmly in my pocket that I worry the screen may shatter. She is powerless, I tell myself. Powerless, and bitter, and wrong. I must phone Sophie’s apartment. After all, what can Gillian possibly do?