Page 113 of The Last Train Home
‘You ain’t seen nothing yet,’ he laughs.
‘Oh God, really? Isn’t this the hard bit?’
‘’Fraid not. You’ll spend the rest of your life stressing about that little girl – whether she’s developing properly, whether she’s sick or upset. My God, it’s all a total rollercoaster. But it’s wonderful as well.’
‘It sounds absolutely awful,’ I say and I cry heaving sobs into Tom’s chest again.
He laughs. ‘You’ll be fine.’ I feel him kiss the top of my head.
I lie back on the bed, drained. Anaesthetic has always messed me up. When I was fifteen I had to have my appendix out and it took two hours for me to come round from the procedure. General anaesthetics and I are clearly still not a match made in heaven.
‘OK,’ Jackie says, returning, ‘baby is settled under the lamp and it’s time for you to let Abbie rest,’ she tells Tom.
‘Don’t leave,’ I say, clasping his shirt. The thought of him leaving fills me with dread, sadness – as bereft as I felt when my tiny newborn was taken away, although I knew she was going to a place of safety.
Tom gives Jackie an uncertain look, pleading to stay.
‘Sorry. We can’t have men on the ward overnight. But you can come back at visiting time.’
‘OK,’ I say, resigned. I let go of Tom’s bunched shirt. I don’t have the energy to fight, and I could definitely sleep again.
Tom bends down and kisses me on the top of my head again. ‘You did really well,’ he says into my hair and then rises.
‘Tom—’ There’s so much I want to say, and so much I don’t want to say.
‘Yeah?’ he asks, turning back to me. ‘I’ll be back in the morning, if you want me?’
‘I do,’ I say quickly. ‘I do.’
‘OK. Get some sleep.’
‘I’ll try. Tom, thanks for being here.’
‘Abbie, you’re so very welcome.’
And then he’s gone and I think I’ve lost the chance to say what I wanted to. But I’m so tired I’ve forgotten what it was.
Chapter 69
Abbie
‘I can’t think of a name,’ I tell my mum and dad as they hold my newborn. ‘I’ve been thinking of boys’ and girls’ names since I found out I was pregnant and there’s nothing.’
‘It’ll come to you,’ my dad says.
Despite being tired, I had drifted in and out of sleep and kept opening my eyes, expecting to see my baby being brought back in to me, expecting to see Tom in the chair next to me. But instead I was alone.
On her final visit to see me and help with breastfeeding, Jackie said goodbye as she finished her shift and a new, fresh and bouncy team of midwives arrived, who I hadn’t spent the whole night trying to push out a baby with. I felt lost after Jackie went. Everyone had left me: Tom, the baby, no-nonsense Jackie – all gone.
But now the baby’s back and I need to stop being silly, emotional. Tom’s not back yet, despite saying he would be. I woke up and, alongside my little baby, he was all I could think about. He was wonderful yesterday and I tell my parents how amazing he was, how he drove me to the hospital, took me straight up to the maternity ward and helped me fillin paperwork while I was huffing and puffing. I must have looked a state. I felt a state.
‘He held my hand the whole way through the labour until I was taken away,’ I say and my mum smiles, but I think it’s at the baby and not at my enthusiastic portrayal of Tom.
‘He messaged this morning,’ my dad says. ‘Only two visitors allowed at a time, so he’ll be here in the early evening instead, if you’d like.’
‘Oh,’ I say, disappointed he’s not coming until later. ‘Yes, I would like that.’
‘I’ll reply and tell him then,’ my dad says.
