When Mel woke at dawn on Christmas morning, snow lay thick on the ground. The children were opening their stockings, excited at the little bits she had foraged – bubbles, chocolate coins wrapped in golden paper, cars, table games and a book each. The main presents lay under the tree, except for two children’s bicycles in the hallway at the taverna. Her first thoughts were for Sammia’s family, huddled in a cave. It wasn’t right, not in this weather. ‘We have to do something before they freeze to death, Spiro. We have to bring them down here.’
He was half asleep and not really listening. The men had stayed up late in the taverna after the concert and Midnight Mass. Irini was not fully recovered from her flu and had gone to bed early. The boys were as high as kites, with the singing, and the excitement that St Nicholas was on his way with gifts.
‘I didn’t know you could sing like that,’ said Irini, after the concert.
‘My wife is a woman of many talents,’ Spiro said, hugging her. ‘With the voice of an angel.’
Mel had blushed. Singing solo had brought out a new confidence in her and, thanks to Natalie, even her cooking had passed the critical palates of Irini’s knitting group. The power was off, but they had oil lamps, candles and a Calor gas stove, plus the old bread oven if things got worse. The turkey would be cooked, come what may.
‘Can we take the pickup truck to the cave and invite them down for a meal? We’ve enough turkey to feed half the village.’
Spiro rubbed his eyes, still hung-over. ‘Give me time for a coffee, love, and to see the children with their presents.’ They were doing Christmas English-style for once.
‘They’re fine. Your mother can watch them. We can’t let people freeze on Christmas Day, can we?’
‘It’s not their day. They’re Muslims.’
‘I don’t care what they are! It’s too cold, and Sammia is due any day. The snow’s sticking and the track will disappear, if we don’t go soon.’
‘Slave-driver!’ Spiro groaned.
‘Better take blankets, just in case,’ she ordered.
Soon they were crawling along the white street, as neighbours shovelled up the snow on their paths and waved. Merry Christmas! It was much worse as they drove uphill past the track to the retreat. Mel had put on boots and her thickest coat and scarf. The snow was still falling and there were drifts. Spiro ground the gears. ‘I don’t like this, Mel. Visibility is poor. Better to turn round now. I’m not used to driving in snow.’
‘We can walk from here – it’s not that far. We have to see if they’re okay. I won’t settle till I know.’
Together they tramped towards the cave, the icy snow biting their lips and cheeks. The path was invisible and their jeans soaked in the drifts, but Mel would not be defeated. She had known much worse drifts on the hills outside Sheffield where they used to go tobogganing and snowballing. Thick snow had lain for weeks in the Peak District. She had blankets on her shoulders and struggled with the weight, but soon the entrance was in sight and she could smell smoke.
‘Ti canete? How are you doing?’ she shouted.
A worried face peered out of the entrance. It was Youssef. ‘Allah be praised. You have come for us just in time. Sammia is not well. It is too wet and cold for her. Thank you… thank you.’
Mel saw them huddled around a weak fire, shivering. Sammia was lying on bedding. ‘It is my time,’ she whispered to Mel.
‘You can’t stay here. We must get you all down to safety,’ Spiro said.
‘She has pains, big pains,’ Maryam said.
‘Then we have to get her to the health centre to see Mrs Makari.’
The men gathered up their belongings, doused the fire, then carried Sammia and sleepy Karim slowly down to the truck Sammia lay groaning in the back on a blanket. Mel, Karim and Maryam were squashed in with Spiro. He backed up slowly but the wheels were sticking. ‘I need something to put under the wheels.’
Youssef had brought his prayer mat, some towels and their rug. He rolled out a towel on the ground, and Mel laid another blanket over Sammia as Spiro revved the engine. At first it refused to budge, while Amir sweated, trying to dislodge the wheels. Then it suddenly jerked into life. The snow was coming thick and fast.
Sammia groaned. ‘I have to push.’
‘Not yet, Sammia! Oh, Lord, she’s not going to make it to the village. Where’s the nearest house?’ Spiro said, with a worried look on his face.
‘The retreat. Go there,’ Mel ordered. The windscreen wipers were sticking and it was misty, but Spiro drove slowly. There was silence in the back.
It seemed miles to the retreat house, but eventually they reached it. Mel jumped out to open the gate, raced to the door and banged on it. Peter came to answer, still in his pyjamas.
‘Mel?’
‘We’ve got Sammia in the truck, about to give birth. Sorry, no time!’
‘Alison!’ Peter yelled, and she came running.
‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Not now, Ali,’ Mel snapped. ‘Have you got a spare room? It’s really urgent.’
Youssef was already carrying in his wife, Maryam behind them with Karim.
‘The guestroom is empty, now Ariadne and Hebe are back home, but it’s cold. Bring her into the warmth.’ Peter and Alison’s two children stared in amazement at the crowd of snow-covered visitors. They were playing by the fire. ‘Archie, take your sister upstairs to play, and you can show this little boy your toys.’ She gestured to Karim.
‘Is Baby Jesus being born?’ said Katy.
‘No, darling, that was a long time ago.’
‘But it’s Christmas Day.’
Mel cleared the room. Alison brought cushions and blankets, hot water and towels. The men went with Peter to open up the guestroom, get a fire going in there and prepare it.
‘Have you ever delivered a baby before?’ Alison asked. Everyone shook their heads. Sammia yelled, as a pain took her.
‘Between us we’ve had four, so we should know the basics,’ Mel said, more in hope than confidence.
Sammia was pacing the room. ‘I make big pushes now?’ She knelt on all fours. ‘You must help me!’
‘This baby is in a hurry, so you must breathe gently,’ Alison advised. ‘Like this.’ She demonstrated. ‘Push and then rest.’
Mel knew this was easier said than done. It brought back all the panting and pain of the last few moments of childbirth.
They didn’t have to wait long.
‘Good girl! It’s coming! The head is almost here!’ Alison shouted, while Maryam was soothing Sammia, speaking in Arabic.
Slowly, slowly, the baby slid onto the waiting towels, purple then pink, taking a lungful of air and howling. Mel gathered him up, wrapping him carefully, then handed him to Sammia. ‘Ibrahim is here. Look, just as you thought.’
‘We have to cut the cord,’ said Alison, turning to Maryam. ‘You can do this bit while we sort out the mess. Lots of newspaper to wrap it in. Oh, hell, there isn’t any. We need something to bind the cord, something clean.’
Mel fled into the kitchen and tore up a clean tea towel to make a bandage.
There was a pile of ripped wrapping paper in a basket. ‘That’ll do. Now we must cut the cord, then lay Sammia down and press her stomach so that she delivers the placenta. I saw that on Call the Midwife.’
Maryam and Sammia were admiring the baby when the placenta released itself. ‘Look to see if it’s complete,’ Alison said.
‘Call the Midwife?’ Mel laughed with relief, as Sammia put the baby to her breast, tired but beaming with joy.
‘My son is beautiful.’
‘Let’s get you tidy and clean put all the stuff away, then Youssef can come to see his son. He will be anxious to know all is well.’ Mel felt tears of relief come to her eyes. Thank goodness she’d followed her instinct and brought the families to safety. ‘I won’t forget this Christmas in a hurry,’ she said. ‘Congratulations, Sammia. A Christmas baby – who’d have thowt it?’ She’d put on a broad Yorkshire accent to great effect.
They opened the door to the waiting father, leaving Sammia to show Ibrahim to Youssef in private, before the others came to admire the new arrival.
‘I think a cup of tea is in order and something stronger for me,’ Peter announced. ‘And for Mel, by the look of her. The snow’s stopped for the moment. The Begans must stay here. Caves are no place for winter, or a baby.’
Mel was limp with exhaustion and relief. Spiro hugged her. ‘Time for us to go home. We still have a dinner to cook – and what a tale to tell the village.’
Mel took one last glance at Sammia, the baby cradled in her arms. It was like a scene from a Christmas card come to life, a mother with her baby. All was well with the world.