was always a tricky one. Inevitably there would be at least one mother who would revel in going over the more traumatic and memorable moments of her labour, regardless of the dread she was inspiring in the first-time mums, so Jo was on the alert ready to cut off anyone who launched into a counter-productive monologue.
In fact, they were fine, and after a few minutes she got them all to lie down and relax.
‘Think of every part of your body in turn. As you think of it, tense it hard, then hold it, then let it flop. Think about how you make it go floppy, and after a while you’ll be able to home in on tight areas of your body and relax them. Right, start with your feet. Point your toes hard, but make sure you don’t get cramp. Good. Hold—and relax. Totally floppy. Good. Now pull your feet up so your toes are pointing at your head. Tense—hold—and flop. Well done.’
She watched them, looking for the ones who found it difficult and the ones who had probably done yoga or had been to her classes before.
One new girl, thin and dressed in what Jo could only describe as ‘hippy’ clothes, was wonderfully relaxed. Her name was Mel, and Jo flicked through her notes and noticed her address—the travellers’ site in the forest outside Yoxburgh, up on the heath by the edge of the trees.
It was a lovely spot, but Jo had a sneaky feeling, despite what she’d said, that Mel was going to go for a home delivery. The idea of delivering a baby in a converted coach or, worse still, a ‘bender’—a shelter made of tree branches—filled Jo with horror.
What if anything went wrong? It was Mel’s first—there was no reason why anything should go wrong, but what if it did? The baby was bound to be born at night—the more difficult the location the more likely it seemed to be, and there was no power out there, no light, no running water. How would she deliver her safely under those conditions? Jo vowed to have a word to make sure Mel understood the risks. Mel had a few weeks left to go so she’d use them to try and talk sense into her.
Jo led them through the relaxation, then the breathing, and finally she got them to grip each other’s forearms with both hands and twist firmly in opposite directions to pull the skin. Called ‘Chinese burns’, they were a thing schoolchildren did to each other to see who was bravest—harmless but painful, Jo found they were a useful tool to help women practise breathing through the ‘contractions’ and remaining relaxed. When they’d all had a rest for a moment and she’d done the question-and-answer session and they’d put the mats away, she sent them all off.
Still thinking about Mel, she packed up all her stuff, cleared away the cups and made sure the mats had all been stacked properly in the cupboard. They used the maternity day-room for their classes, and she didn’t want to leave the place untidy.
One of the staff midwives stuck her head round the door and grinned. ‘Got time for a cuppa?’
‘I’d love one. Did you see my traveller?’
‘Yes—is she going to be a problem?’
Jo laughed. ‘I hope not, but I suspect so. I think she’s just unconventional, not stupid, but I’ve got a suspicion I won’t be able to persuade her to go to the Audley. I just have a feeling.’
‘Birth in a bender, eh? That’ll be a first, won’t it?’
‘Don’t.’ Jo sipped her tea and sighed with relief. ‘Perhaps I’ll get Ed Latimer to talk to her—see what he’s made of.’
‘I don’t know, but if you can get the recipe, I’d like one the same, please!’
Jo laughed, but inside her stomach the butterflies were working themselves up to a frenzy. The remark had reminded her about Ed, and about the rehearsal. It was panto time in three hours, and she’d have no professional guise to hide behind, no protocol—just herself, and Laura.
That was it! She’d be Laura’s mother. It would make her seem middle-aged and boring—with any luck!
ED PAUSED outside the black and white mock-timbered building that was the Yoxburgh and District Community Hall, and wondered if he was out of his mind.
Jo had made it pretty clear that she found his presence disturbing, and that the sensation wasn’t welcome. In a way he felt the same, and yet there was something about her that drew him so forcefully that he just didn’t seem to be able to ignore it.
He didn’t want to be a nuisance, and he was being very careful not to crowd her at work or flirt with her, but every cell in his body was screaming for more contact—and the pantomime seemed like a gift from the gods.
Anyway, Jo aside, he had to get to know people and make some friends. He couldn’t be GP to all of them—surely there’d be lots of people who’d be happy to be social without fear of compromising their relationship.
His father was a country GP and they’d always had a fairly hectic social life, but Jo had warned him about the locals, not letting newcomers in.
Well, he’d find out, wouldn’t he? He put his hand against the door and pushed, and found himself sucked into a fantasy world. Little bees ran about the floor, giggling and shrieking, a young girl was complaining that her dragon didn’t do up down the back and could the hooks be moved, costumes were piled in heaps on every surface, and in the middle of it all stood Jo in a wedding dress, her hair pinned up and a tiara perched in the dark, gleaming curls, laughing with a tall man in a blue satin suit with floppy lace cuffs.
He bent and said something and Jo laughed, her eyes sparkling at the joke they shared—and Ed wanted to kill him.
She turned just as the murderous thought was being put aside, and he wasn’t sure if he imagined it or if a flicker of panic brushed her eyes. Then she excused herself and came over to him, weaving her way through the crowd.
‘I thought you’d bottled out—you’re late.’
‘I couldn’t get away from the surgery—someone collapsed in the waiting room with a tummy bug and I admitted her to the hospital for fluids and supervision. It took ages. Anyway, I’m here now. Who do I need to see?’
‘Roz—she’s going through a scene. Come with me.’
He followed her, wondering how she could look so radiantly beautiful in what on close inspection seemed to be a set of net curtains skilfully flung together into a wedding dress. ‘Roz, this is Ed Latimer,’ Jo was saying, and he smiled automatically and shook her hand.
‘Oh, you look very useful,’ Roz was saying, eyeing him up with a grin. ‘Can you sing?’
He chuckled. ‘Well enough, I expect. Why?’
‘Because the other male chorus can’t. Go and see Anne for a costume, and we’ll get you kitted up as a villager to start with. It might be tricky—you’re quite big, aren’t you? Then you need to see Mr Music over there—Andrew, we’ve got a new victim for the chorus. Can you give him a music sheet? Here’s a script—you’re a love. Thanks.’
And Roz vanished into a crowd of villagers and the back end of the pantomime horse, leaving him with Jo.
He
