Page 112 of The Last Train Home
‘It’s literally on her name badge,’ I say, smiling. ‘And I did say I didn’t want a C-section. I react really badly to anaesthetic.’
‘You neglected to mention that very important detail, and I kind of think there was no choice.’
‘I was busy trying not to push,’ I say.
‘You did really well,’ Tom says and tears suddenly fall down his face.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘I thought you were dying.’
‘Oh, Tom,’ I say. I’ve got tubes and all sorts coming out of my hand and I’m clutching my baby. I can’t reach out and stroke his hand, his hair, even though I really want to, so I just repeat softly, ‘Oh, Tom. Thank you. Thank you for being here.’
‘It’s my fault you’re here,’ he says.
‘What are you talking about?’
But he doesn’t get the chance to answer because his phone rings and he answers it. ‘It’s your mum and dad – they’re outside.’
‘Visiting hours aren’t for another five hours yet,’ Jackie cuts in.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Tom says, unimpressed. ‘I remember all this from when Teddy was born in the middle of the night too, at what the nurses deemed a thoroughly inconvenient time. Can she at least see her mum?’ he asks.
‘Don’t worry,’ I cut in, placating him. ‘It’s fine. They can come when it’s time.’
Jackie gives Tom a withering expression. If he carries on like this, he’ll get kicked out any second.
‘Talk to your mum,’ he says and holds the phone up to my ear.
I can’t help but cry into it as I tell my mum and dad I’m fine, that the baby is fine and is going back under the lamp,now that we’ve had a cuddle, but will come back and we’ll try breastfeeding soon. They say if I’m OK, they’ll go back home and get changed and come back later in the morning, although they really don’t want to leave.
‘It’s OK. Go home. I’m safe. I’m with Tom.’
‘And Jackie,’ Tom offers, trying to get the midwife back onside.
Jackie gives him another withering look and leaves the room for a moment when I say goodbye to my parents.
‘Jackie and I were best mates up until three minutes ago,’ Tom says knowingly.
‘You didn’t even know her name,’ I point out as I gaze down at my little newborn.
Tom sighs, looks fondly at my little girl. ‘Abbie, I was absolutely petrified you were going to die.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, still groggy. ‘I passed out and had no idea about any of it.’
‘Lucky for you. I’ve been through hell in that waiting room. I thought I’d killed you. It was my fault.’
‘Why do you keep saying that?’ I ask.
Jackie arrives again. ‘Time to take little one back to the lamp, and time for you to get some rest, Abbie. If you want to try breastfeeding—’
‘I do,’ I say.
‘Then we’ll come back when she wants her next feed.’
I watch as my tiny little bundle is taken gently from my arms and carried away to be put under a lamp. Bereft, I start crying the moment she’s gone, and Tom leans forward and holds me. He smells of cologne and sweat, and an evening spent in a hospital and … of Tom. I nestle in, my face against his chest.
‘Having a baby is emotional,’ I say, crying into Tom’s shirt.
