Fran stepped into the long velvet skirt Sylvia had made for her and was surprised to find that it was a little looser than the night she had worn it to the Wine Club dinner. In fact, it was so much looser that she really ought to move the button, but being short of time she opted for a safety pin, and put on the cream silk shirt, wondering briefly if she was overdressed for wherever it was they were going. David had told her to dress up because he was taking her, Caro and Mike out for dinner to celebrate her birthday. It was a gesture designed, she was sure, to help heal the rift between her and Caro. She would actually have preferred to have a quiet dinner with them at home in the new house, especially as she had worn herself out unpacking boxes. But now that the time had arrived she found she was looking forward to it, and when she saw David’s car draw up outside she switched off the lights, grabbed her umbrella and ran down the path.
It was an appalling night, the strong wind driving the rain in almost horizontal torrents, and she slipped thankfully into the front seat. They set off, crawling along streets where water pooled and gushed in the gutters, the wipers working overtime, the gale force wind pummelling the car.
‘Why are we here?’ Fran asked as David turned into Caro and Mike’s street and drew up outside their house.
‘I said we’d pick them up.’
‘Can’t they get there under their own steam?’
‘They could, but I’m the designated driver, so they can get stuck into the champagne with you.’
Fran leaned back in her seat, thinking that it wasn’t a good idea for Caro to be drinking at all, especially if she was still throwing up. But she decided that it might be best to keep her nose out of it and try to enjoy herself. ‘Just hoot,’ she suggested as David opened the car door. ‘They can run out.’
‘Caro wants to show us something,’ he said. ‘Come on, it won’t take a minute.’
Fran struggled out of the car, which was low and awkward for someone her size. She felt it was irritatingly typical of Caro to make everything more complicated, and putting up her umbrella she took a stride across a huge puddle and hurried up the path. The front door was ajar and she pushed it open and walked into the dark hall.
‘Caro, Mike!’ she called. ‘We’re here!’ There was no answer. A slice of light showed under the door to the living room.
‘Best go on down,’ said David, and with her irritation growing, Fran strode on down the passage and opened the door to face a room decked with streamers and heart-shaped balloons, ‘Happy Birthday’ banners, and the smiling faces of her family and friends, who immediately burst into song.
‘Happy birthday, Mum,’ David said, pressing his hand in the small of her back, pushing her gently forward, and Caro, looking as though she might drop the baby at any minute, took her hand and drew her gently into the room.
Fran’s heart plummeted as she struggled to cope with the shock. She had always hated surprises. It went back to childhood, to the day her father had promised her a surprise on her eighth birthday. She had convinced herself it was going to be a visit to the zoo and afternoon tea with pink-iced buns, fruit cocktail in jelly, and strawberry milkshakes. But when the day arrived Mal had taken her and Lila down to the footy club, installed them in the family lounge and produced lemonade and a small birthday cake with seven candles. His mates had trooped through from the bar, sung ‘Happy Birthday’ and disappeared again, taking Mal with them. Fran had stared miserably at the candles that proved her father didn’t know how old she was, and then burst into tears.
For more than an hour she and Lila had sat alone in the silent lounge waiting for his return, waiting for even a glimpse of his face around the door. Finally, Lila told Fran to put on her coat, and led her out of the club to the tram, with the promise that she would take her to the zoo the following day. Hours later, Fran had woken to the sound of her father staggering drunkenly into the house, demanding to know why they’d left. Since then she had maintained a strong, sometimes perverse need to know just what was being planned, when and by whom. It had been the start of a lifelong mistrust of surprises, and her unwillingness to trust others to do anything for her. Faced now with this extraordinary demonstration of affection, Fran swallowed the shock that threatened to choke her, and gripped Caro’s hand. There was no mistaking the nervous brightness of her daughter’s eyes, nor the anxiety with which she searched her face for approval.
‘I wanted to surprise you, to make it really special,’ Caro said, cautiously, as though sensing Fran’s ambivalence. ‘I hope . . . I hope it’s okay.’
Crushing the strange mix of hostility and panic that she felt, Fran smiled. ‘It’s lovely, Caro, really lovely, thank you so much,’ she said.
‘Happy birthday, Fran,’ Mike said, kissing her and handing her a glass of champagne. ‘And many happy returns. Next birthday you’ll be a grandmother.’
Sylvia, who had registered the flash of mixed emotions that crossed Fran’s face as she opened the door, was wary. She knew that Fran’s reaction to Caro’s efforts in planning the party, and her own and Bonnie’s involvement, could go in one of two very different ways. Bonnie had been cavalier about the whole thing, confident that the genuineness of Caro’s purpose justified the secrecy; but Sylvia, highly sensitised to the subtleties of offence, defence, confusion of intent and misinterpretation in her own presently awkward relationship with Kim, had been on tenterhooks for the past ten days.
‘See,’ Bonnie whispered, ‘I told you it’d be okay.’
‘It’s not,’ she whispered back, watching Fran take in the presence of everyone in the room. ‘Not yet, she’s still being polite. We’re not out of the woods yet.’ Even so, she began to relax as Mike put on some music and the level of noise in the room rose to a lively buzz, drowning any traces of awkwardness.
But Sylvia had more on her mind than Fran’s reaction to the party. In the four weeks since she’d got back from Hong Kong, her relationship with Will had taken an entirely unexpected turn. She had been sure that the insistent telephone calls would soon stop. But it seemed that he had abandoned all routine and was instead working at odd, disorganised hours, dropping out of his social life, and focusing all his attention on her. Even from the other side of the country his neediness was smothering her. She had taken to leaving the mobile switched off for quite long periods to give herself a break from the constant calls, and because she was sure that their frequency would alert Bonnie to the fact that something strange was going on.
On more than one occasion Sylvia had been tempted to confide in both Bonnie and Fran, but it was clear that Bonnie was, for some as yet unexplained reason, distressed about Irene’s friendship with Hamish, and Fran was not only exhausted but anxious and concerned about Caro. And so, uneasily, she had kept her own counsel, hoping that time and distance would eventually do its work. But Will’s blunt declaration of love had made her realise that she was enmeshed in something much more complicated than she had realised.
‘You look anxious, Syl,’ Fran said, coming over to hug her.
‘Just hoping you’re happy about this,’ she said. ‘Happy birthday, Fran. You look gorgeous – and thinner.’
Fran displayed the safety pin. ‘I think I’ve lost a bit. Look at this! Bonnie might be right about low carbs being the answer.’
Sylvia hugged her again. ‘Well done! I hope this’ll fit,’ she said, handing her a package wrapped in silver tissue. ‘I made it but I may need to take it in a bit now.’
Fran made her way around the room. ‘What is Lenore Bannister doing at my birthday party?’ she hissed into Bonnie’s ear as she hugged her.
‘It’s difficult,’ Bonnie said awkwardly, turning Fran away slightly so that they couldn’t be overheard. ‘I stuffed up. The day I took her and Jack to the Boatshed she mentioned she was going to be in Melbourne again, and we arranged to meet and have dinner this evening. Thing was, I forgot to put it in my diary. So when she rang this afternoon I bluffed and suggested she come along. Do you mind very much?’
‘I’m just getting used to the idea of the party,’ Fran said. ‘Lenore is a minor hurdle.’
‘And I’m afraid Hamish is here too,’ Bonnie said. ‘Mum insisted on bringing him, although I told her she shouldn’t.’
‘Why ever not?’ Fran asked. ‘He’s a lovely man, and he and Irene get on so well. She was telling me that they’ve known each other for years.’
‘Don’t!’ Bonnie said, holding her hand up, palm outwards. ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’
Fran shrugged and moved on to hug a couple of former neighbours, and Bonnie glanced across the room to where Irene and Hamish were deep in conversation with David. At least they looked okay together. Perhaps this was just a phase they were going through, grasping at youth and the idea of a holiday romance. Surely Irene should be getting over it by now?
Lila had found a soul mate. She had spotted her the minute she walked in the door, a strong, energetic looking woman with curly grey hair, dressed entirely in purple with a turquoise pendant on a silver chain around her neck.
‘Hello, I’m Lila, Fran’s mother,’ Lila had said, thrusting out her hand, and the woman had taken Lila’s hand in both of hers and fixed her very bright turquoise eyes on her.
‘I can see that you are,’ she said. ‘I’m Lenore, I’m going to be working with Fran on her book. You and I are a matching pair – you love purple too?’
And Lila had led Lenore over to the window seat and told her how she had coloured her life purple.
‘I know that poem,’ Lenore said. ‘And, Lila, do you know about the red hat society? Well, you know the poem talks about wearing purple with a red hat – ’
‘And the hat clashes with the purple,’ Lila cut in.
‘Right! Well all around the world there are red hat groups, women who wear purple with red hats, to beat that feeling of invisibility and the idea that older women are irrelevant.’
‘You mean there are other women?’ Lila asked. ‘Other . . . purple women?’
‘Thousands,’ Lenore said with a grin. ‘There are lots in England and the US, I think there are a couple of groups in Sydney, and maybe one here in Victoria. I could find out for you.’
Lila clasped her hand. ‘Yes, yes please, I haven’t got a red hat yet, but I’ve been thinking about it, a big one, with a wide brim and some lovely tulle or chiffon wrapped around it. Only between you and me, Lenore, I thought everyone would just laugh at me. They already think I’m a bit of a joke.’
‘Take no notice of them,’ Lenore said, patting Lila’s arm. ‘This is the time of your life to make a statement, Lila. There’s a novel written about it too, I’ll mail you a copy.’
‘I wish you’d come and see my place, Lenore,’ Lila said. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
‘I have to meet an author and a photographer in the morning,’ Lenore said, ‘but I’m free after that and I don’t go back to Sydney until Tuesday morning.’
‘Splendid! Here, I’ll write down my address for you.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘I may not have a red hat, but I do have something else. It’s a secret, I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’ve just bought a scooter, so I can get around a bit on my own. If you pop over tomorrow afternoon I’ll show it to you.’
‘A scooter? Good for you, Lila,’ Lenore said. ‘Purple, I hope?’
‘Canary yellow,’ Lila said with pride. ‘Lovely combination, don’t you think?’
‘Stunning,’ Lenore said. ‘And a red hat will top it off. Maybe I can have a ride on the scooter . . .?’
David strolled outside onto the deck to get some air. Three hours in and the party was in full swing. He had done his turn on the dance floor with his grandmother, his mother and sister; he’d even managed a very sharp samba with Bonnie and a rather surprising jive with Sylvia. He closed the sliding door behind him, breathing in the fresh cold air. It was good to be outside. Sometimes the effect of light and noise combined with the slightest hint of tobacco smoke would make him nauseous. Leaning against the wall out of the path of the wind, he watched as it ripped through the tree tops and the light from the windows transformed the driving rain into sheets of silver. It was the worst night he could remember for a long time, but at least everyone, and particularly Fran, seemed to be having a good time. What would it be like to have Jodie there with him, in the heart of his family, dancing with him, holding his hand? Pushing away the images he cursed himself for the stupidity of the past that had so dramatically affected his life, and for his more recent failure to grasp the opportunity that had been offered.
The door slid open and Mike staggered out, burping loudly, and lurched towards him. He’d been playing rugby that afternoon and had sunk a good few beers in the bar before collecting Lila, and had made it home half an hour before the party. Now he was quite drunk, bumping into furniture, hugging people at the least invitation, and constantly telling anyone who would listen that he was about to become a father.
‘Hey, Davo,’ he said, thumping him on the shoulder. ‘Great party, mate! Need you to do drinks and stuff, I wanna dance.’
David steered him back into the house, pointed him in the direction of Caro, opened some more wine, topped up glasses and checked the oven. The food looked done and he took out the quiches and the tray of filo pastry parcels filled with spinach and ricotta, and lined them up on the benchtop.
‘I’ll help you,’ Fran said, appearing beside him.
‘You will not,’ he said. ‘You’re the guest of honour. You just get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself. You are enjoying it, aren’t you? I wasn’t sure at first.’
She hugged him as he put down the tray of food. ‘Very much,’ she said. ‘It was a bit of a shock, that’s all. Now I’ve got over that it’s wonderful, the first time I’ve ever had a party for me.’
‘Then off you go,’ he said. And she drifted away and was collared by Hamish, who swept her onto the floor with a flourish.
Caro danced slowly, her arms around Mike’s neck. It was after ten and apart from champagne for the toasts she had drunk only water and eaten nothing at all. She had felt strange all day, queasy, light headed and on and off she’d been getting quite painful squeezing sensations.
‘Braxton-Hicks contractions,’ Mike had said when he got back from rugby. ‘Tightening-up practice for the real thing.’
‘I know what Braxton-Hicks feel like,’ Caro had said irritably, ’I’ve been having them for weeks. Everything tightens and squeezes and you feel as though your eyes are going to pop out. These are different, more intense – painful, actually.’
Mike leaned over and patted her enormous belly. ‘Not long now, babe. Have a rest, put your feet up for five minutes before they get here.’
Across the room on the window seat, Caro could see Fran deep in conversation with Lenore; she looked as though she was enjoying herself. Maybe now was the time to give her the other present, the present that was either going to be absolutely perfect or totally misunderstood. Caro took a deep breath; if she was going to do it she might as well do it now.
‘Hang on, Mikey,’ she said, pushing him gently away. ‘Gotta do something urgent.’ And she went up the four steps from the living room through the passage to the bedroom and returned almost immediately with a small package wrapped in pink tissue. She crouched down on her haunches beside Fran.
‘Sit here, Caro,’ Lenore Bannister said, making space for her on the seat.
Caro shook her head. ‘No thanks, I’m fine. Been practising this position at antenatal classes.’ She held out the package to Fran. ‘This is for you, Mum.’
Fran looked at her in surprise. ‘But you already gave me a present,’ she said, ‘these gorgeous earrings.’ And she put her hand up to touch her silver and amber birthday present.
‘It’s a different sort of present,’ Caro said, nervous now as Fran tore open the tissue paper and looked in confusion at the grubby, discoloured contents.
‘Whatever is it?’ she asked, touching the frayed fabric that had stiffened with age and wear.
Caro waited, desperate for her mother to recognise it. Fran put the tissue aside, staring at the gift in confusion as it started to unravel.
‘It’s the ribbon,’ Fran gasped, looking up at Caro. ‘The barrier ribbon from your old bedroom.’
Caro nodded. ‘I don’t need it anymore.’
Fran shook her head and swallowed hard, turning the ribbon over in her hands, watching as it dropped into a scruffy coil. ‘This is the very best birthday present ever.’
Caro nodded, speechless with emotion and flooded with relief that she had got it right. She braced herself to stand, putting her hand on Fran’s knee, but as she pushed down she felt a warm gush of liquid between her legs, followed swiftly by a sudden intense contraction that made her cry out with pain.
‘Oh my god,’ she said, abandoning her attempt to stand and lowering herself carefully to the floor. ‘I think my waters have broken, Mum, help! Where’s Mike?’
Someone turned off the music and David, who had been watching from the kitchen, ran through to the bathroom, where Mike had headed a few moments earlier. Caro let out a bellow of pain and thrust herself back against the window seat as she tried to breathe. Fran slipped onto the floor beside her and took her hand.
‘Hang on, darl,’ she said, ‘Mike’ll be here in a minute.’
Caro was incoherent with the pain.
‘Caro, you might be more comfortable on your hands and knees,’ Lenore suggested, kneeling beside her. ‘It’ll take the pressure off your back.’ Caro nodded, grim-faced, and with Fran and Lenore’s help twisted around onto her knees.
‘Is this the first pain?’ Fran asked as Caro began to relax.
‘I’ve had pains on and off all day, but nothing like this.’
Fran and Lenore looked at each other. ‘She’s in labour, isn’t she?’
Lenore nodded. ‘And if she’s been getting mild contractions all day – ’
‘She could be well on the way,’ Fran cut in.
When she thought about it later, Fran realised she had never seen a room clear so quickly. One minute everyone was laughing, talking, drinking and dancing, and the next minute the crowd seemed to evaporate. People slipped away to the bedroom and returned clutching their coats and bags, called out their goodnights from the doorway and disappeared into the storm, anxious to escape the drama that was about to unfold. Only Bonnie and Sylvia, Irene and Hamish, Lila and Lenore remained.
‘Where’s Mike?’ Fran asked, looking around desperately for someone who knew what to do.
‘Mike’s passed out on the bathroom floor,’ Hamish announced from the top of steps by the passage. ‘He seems to have had rather too much to drink. David’s trying to bring him round, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.’
‘Christ!’ Caro hissed between her teeth. ‘Isn’t that bloody typical? And my midwife’s in Noosa till Wednesday.’
‘Perhaps we’d best just put you in the car and get you to hospital,’ Fran suggested. ‘I’ll come with you and David can drive.’
‘Those contractions are coming pretty close together,’ Lenore said. ‘Can you start timing them, Sylvia? Fran, I don’t think this girl’s going anywhere in a car. She needs an ambulance, but they’ll have to hurry up.’
‘Right,’ Caro murmured, breathing easier now. ‘Yes, an ambulance please, and quick.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Fran said, struggling to her feet. Sylvia and Lila dragged some cushions off the chairs and Lenore pushed them under Caro’s knees and hands as she let out another roar of pain.
‘One and a half minutes,’ Sylvia said, and the women looked at each other in dismay.
‘There’s a long delay with the ambulance,’ Fran called from the kitchen. ‘Lots of accidents because of the storm. I’ve told them it’s an emergency but they’re asking if anyone here has ever delivered a baby.’
‘I have,’ Irene said.
‘Oh don’t be silly, Mum,’ Bonnie snapped. ‘She said delivered a baby, not had one.’
‘I know that, Bonnie,’ Irene said, giving her a steely look.
‘So have I,’ Lila said.
Fran was holding the phone away from her ear. ‘You mean – ’ she began.
‘Yes, dear,’ Irene said. ‘Lila and I can probably cope if necessary,’ and she took the phone from her. ‘I’ll have a word with the ambulance people. Can you get me a pen and something to write on?’
‘Mike’s come round but he’s very drunk and throwing up,’ Bonnie said, returning from the bathroom. David and Hamish are pouring cold water on him.’
‘The ambulance will be at least forty-five minutes,’ Irene said, hanging up the phone, ‘and I don’t think Caro’s going to last that long.’
Lila got to her feet. ‘Come on then, Irene, you and I better scrub up.’
‘Shit,’ Caro said, ‘I don’t believe this is happening. Gran, are you sure you know what to do?’
Lila got down on her hands and knees again and put her hand on Caro’s cheek. ‘Course I do, darling. Irene and I are old hands at this.’
Caro let out a sigh that ended as a groan. ‘I suppose it’s better than a drunk and unconscious doctor. Use our bathroom, there’s lots of clean towels in the linen press. And shouldn’t someone boil some water?’
‘Absolutely,’ Irene said. ‘Fran, come over here and sit with Caro. Bonnie, don’t just stand around there, start boiling, the kettle, large saucepans, anything you can find, and rustle up some coffee for Mike. Sylvia and Lenore, I want you to find every pillow and cushion you can get your hands on, stack them around Caro, cover them with sheets and towels, try to make a comfortable space for her.’
‘D’you think they know what they’re doing?’ Bonnie hissed at Sylvia.
‘Well, I think they know more than we do, and they’re the best we’ve got in the circumstances,’ Sylvia replied. ‘Come on, Lenore, let’s get those big cushions off the settee in the other room.’
‘How long since you did this, Lila?’ Irene asked as they stood side by side washing their hands and arms in the ensuite bathroom.
‘Donkey’s years,’ Lila said. ‘Just after the war. What about you?’
‘Nineteen fifty-five, my neighbour went into labour in her kitchen,’ Irene said, drying her hands. ‘But I think we’d best not mention how long it’s been. How confident are you?’
Lila turned off the tap and took the towel, looking at Irene in the mirror. ‘Not at all, but she’s my granddaughter, Mike’s useless, and you and I are all that’s left.’
‘Exactly, and however nervous we feel we need to look confident. Now, do you think we should keep her off her back and on her hands and knees if that’s comfortable for her?’
Caro rocked back and forth, trying to relax between contractions. With any luck, she thought, Mike would be there in a minute. She allowed her weight to sink against the pile of cushions, and when the pain gripped her again she yelled out at the agonising pressure bearing down on her.
‘Push,’ she yelled. ‘I have to push!’
‘No, Caro – no, not yet,’ Irene cried as she and Lila struggled down onto the floor. ‘Don’t push yet, pant.’
Caro panted, remembering the classes and how it had all seemed so easy then. As the pain eased she lurched sideways again, bracing herself for the next onslaught.
‘I think she’s nearly there, Irene,’ Lila said, twisting around awkwardly to get a pillow under her own knees. ‘But she mustn’t push just yet.’
Irene crawled across the sheets and cushions to look Caro in the eye.
‘Okay now, Caro, it’s going to be fine. Lila and I can look after you, but you must listen to us. Remember your breathing and don’t push until we tell you. Someone get a clean flannel and wipe Caro’s face.’
‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ Fran asked, gripping her mother’s arm.
‘There isn’t any choice, Fran,’ Lenore cut in. ‘Caro’s probably been in labour all day and now this baby’s not waiting for Mike or an ambulance.’
‘Fran! Pull yourself together and breathe through it with her,’ Lila ordered. ‘She mustn’t push until we tell her.’
Caro let out a low groan that built to a roar as her body threatened to split open.
‘It’s crowning,’ Irene cried.’Pant, Caro, pant, it’s too soon to push yet. Just pant. You’re nearly there.’
‘Thank god it’s the right way round,’ Lila said. ‘That was definitely the head.’
The dark bulge slipped back and Caro breathed more easily again, waiting for the next contraction.
‘I think it sometimes helps to count, Caro,’ Irene said, and Fran, wiping the sweat from Caro’s face, began to count aloud and Caro followed her.
Mike appeared at the top of the steps, staggering between David and Hamish, his head and shirt soaking wet.
‘S’okay, babe,’ he managed. ‘I’m here, I’m here.’
‘No way,’ Caro panted. ‘You’re still pissed – stay right out of the way.’
‘Okay, Caro,’ Irene said, her hand gripping Caro’s ankle. ‘Now listen, take it gently. We mustn’t let it come too fast.’
‘Right,’ Mike called from across the room, ‘not too fast.’
‘Shut up,’ Caro growled, steeling herself for the next contraction. Fran rolled the flannel and held it out to her.
‘Bite on this if you need to.’
Caro felt a tiny lull in the pain and then it ripped through her again and she roared, a great crescendo of sound that seemed torn from unknown recesses of her body. The breathing lessons forgotten now, she groaned and ground her teeth on the flannel as she fought the overwhelming urge to push.
‘Next time, I think,’ Irene called. ‘Next time, Caro, you can push.’
Caro’s head rolled back and she threw out the flannel and grasped Fran’s arm, her nails biting into the soft flesh. ‘Oh my god,’ she cried, ‘I have to push . . .’
‘Yes, darling, push now,’ Lila yelled. ‘Go on, Caro, push now.’
And thrusting down on her lungs, her face clenched and purple, her legs and arms trembling, Caro pushed and pushed and pushed again, until, just as she thought she must burst or die, her muscles contracted a final agonising time and something warm and wet thrust itself out between her legs.
‘Good girl,’ Lila cried. ‘We’ve got the head.’ And Irene gently eased the cord over the baby’s head to free it. ‘Pant now, then next time, darling, push long and slow for the shoulders.’
‘Strong and steady,’ Irene agreed.
Caro pushed, growling deep in her chest with the effort, the promise of relief hovering close as the slippery body was freed in a final triumphant whoosh of moist warmth, and she heard a splutter and a cry, and the gasp as the other women caught their breath.
‘It’s a girl!’ Lila cried, cradling the baby. ‘A beautiful little girl.’
‘Well done, Caro,’ Irene said, sinking off her knees to sit on a pillow. ‘Well done, dear, splendid.’
Irene and Fran helped Caro to lean back against the cushions as Lila cleaned the mucus from the baby’s nose and mouth and laid her on Caro’s chest.
‘She’s so beautiful,’ Caro breathed. ‘Oh Mum, isn’t she beautiful!’
Fran took a warm towel from Bonnie and wrapped it gently around her granddaughter, leaning forward at the same time to kiss Caro’s cheek.
‘She’s gorgeous, darling, just gorgeous, and you were perfectly wonderful.’
The tiny red face crumpled and the baby let out another cry, a robust one this time, squeezing her eyes shut against the light.
‘She looks a bit cross,’ Caro said.
‘Not surprised,’ Lila said, touching the wrinkled forehead with her finger. ‘Bit of a shock arriving so fast in the middle of a party.’ And Sylvia helped her up off her knees and onto the window seat.
‘Is it all right – being so quick?’ Caro asked, suddenly anxious.
Mike, who had sobered up rapidly at the sight of his daughter being born on the other side of the room, searched his medical bag for sterile scissors, and sank down beside Caro, kissing her gently, stroking the baby’s head.
‘Of course it is,’ he said, ‘it’s brilliant. So sorry, babe, useless bastard. I love you,’ and he bent forward, kissing her first and then the baby. ‘She’s almost as beautiful as you. Can I sort out the cord and the placenta?’
Caro grinned at him. ‘Boofhead,’ she said. ‘Thank god for Gran and Irene.’ She held the baby closer, shivering with shock and exhaustion.
Fran, tears running down her cheeks, moved the edge of the towel to look again at the baby’s face.
‘Your granddaughter,’ Caro said with a smile. ‘Rebekah Frances – she shares a name and a birthday with her grandmother.’