Page 50 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

Ottilie wasn’t about to let Chloe’s lack of enthusiasm put her off. Perhaps Chloe couldn’t see the point now, but when the baby came she might feel differently. Ottilie was convinced that a support network of others going through the same ups and downs of new motherhood, or the experience of those who’d done it more than once, would be good for her to have. And even if she never went to the group, others would use it. One of the first things she’d been told on her arrival in Thimblebury was how the community was missing groups like that. And it was something for Ottilie herself to focus on – and God knew she needed things to keep her occupied.

‘Maybe you could give it a try once or twice,’ she said. ‘If only to make up the numbers until it gets established. We need to get funding from the council and they’re more likely to chip in if they see there are lots of people wanting to use it. If you get nothing out of it, then there’s no pressure to keep coming.’

‘But I bet,’ Stacey called over from where she was twisting a corkscrew to open the wine, ‘you’ll be surprised how much you enjoy it.’

Chloe looked unconvinced but said no more about it. Instead, she put her hand into the box again, this time pulling out a stack of bibs. There was a tiny, secret smile, Ottilie was sure, as Chloe looked at the colourful designs. She might tell everyone that the prospect of motherhood was unwelcome, that she was bored and inconvenienced by the whole thing, but Ottilie could see that somewhere, deep inside, a small part of her, as yet unacknowledged, was looking forward to meeting her baby.

‘Oh, they’re cute!’ Stacey brought two glasses of wine to the table. ‘Always good to have spare bibs – you’ll get through loads of them.’

Chloe dug in again and needed two hands to pull out an activity centre, complete with buttons and levers that made various sounds, and panels with different textures and brightly coloured illustrations on them. Her smile was more obvious this time.

‘Seems a bit soon for this,’ she said, already losing the battle to appear disinterested.

‘You’ll need it sooner than you think,’ Stacey said. ‘Especially if they’re a clever baby like you were.’

Then Chloe pulled out a plastic cone and frowned at her mum as she held it up.

‘Part of a breast pump, I imagine,’ Stacey said in answer to Chloe’s wordless question.

With a grimace, Chloe let it fall back into the box. ‘I don’t think so.’

Stacey chuckled. ‘There’s plenty of time to come round to that idea.’

Chloe shot a sour look at Ottilie. ‘I suppose you’re one of the breast is best brigade. Going to tell me why I shouldn’t be using bottles.’

‘I’m going to do no such thing,’ Ottilie said. ‘Firstly, I’m not your midwife. Secondly, I have no experience – no kids of my own – and thirdly, in the end, the choice is one that has to suit you and your needs. As I say, I’m not your midwife, but if I was qualified to give advice, I’d say don’t get bullied into anything you don’t want to do. Bottle, breast…I’m sure baby will do fine with either.’

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’ Stacey said.

‘It’s going to be bottles,’ Chloe said emphatically. ‘No argument.’

‘Then it’s bottles,’ Ottilie said. ‘What’s your midwife say?’

‘She keeps giving me all of those stupid leaflets. I don’t need to read those leaflets to know what I want.’

Ottilie was quite sure nobody could tell Chloe what she did and didn’t want, no matter what evidence they might try to put in front of her. In a way, she liked that about her. Ottilie herself had always been more of a people pleaser, often doing what she thought others wanted of her rather than what she felt was right for her. But that was who she was, and at her age, it was unlikely to change.

It was perhaps inch by inch, but Ottilie felt she had made progress with Chloe. They’d had a meaningful conversation of sorts, and Chloe had opened up, in a fashion, and if that was all Ottilie got that evening, she’d still consider it a success.

Stacey, on the other hand, was far more willing to chat. She’d hinted at what Magnus had already told Ottilie – that she was lonely, desperate for a relationship that might last but unable to find the right man, and now even further away from that as she did her best to support Chloe through a pregnancy she’d never wanted. It seemed so sad to Ottilie that both women had been let down by bad men, and sadder that she herself had been blessed with a perfect man who’d been taken from her all too soon. There was a disconnect sometimes, in the world, in life, that seemed more than unfair – it seemed downright cruel.

She’d got so absorbed in getting to know both women that she hadn’t realised how late it was until Chloe announced she was heading to bed.

‘Is that the time?’ Ottilie said, looking at her watch and then noting darkness beyond the windows of the kitchen.

‘You can stay for one more drink, can’t you?’ Stacey asked Ottilie as Chloe left them with a brief thanks for the baby equipment.

Emboldened by the drinks she’d already had and enjoying Stacey’s company, Ottilie was tempted. Even as she said yes, she wondered if she’d already stayed out too late. She would have to walk home in the dark because she’d had too much to drive, which might well prompt one of her panic attacks, but at the same time, perhaps one more drink would give her that little bit extra Dutch courage.

The decision was taken out of her hands when, with a laugh, Stacey went to pour more wine, only to find the bottle was empty.

‘We really went at that!’

‘That’s OK,’ Ottilie said. ‘I really ought to get back home anyway – work tomorrow, and I won’t be much use if I’m tired and hungover.’

‘Want me to walk with you?’

Ottilie shook her head. ‘Don’t be daft; there’s no need. It’s not that far.’

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