be frightened. And there’s a beautiful baby at the end of it.’
She helped Ruth to her feet and down the stairs. At the front door the Rover was waiting, Patrick standing at the passenger door. Ruth checked as a pain caught her, and Elizabeth held her arm, and then guided her into the car.
‘Drive carefully,’ she said to Patrick. ‘I mean it. You have plenty of time.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you.’
She stepped back from the car and waved until it was out of sight. ‘Dear little Ruth,’ she said lovingly. ‘At last.’
She closed the front door and went up the stairs to her bedroom. Frederick was still asleep. Nothing ever woke him. Elizabeth tapped him gently on the shoulder. ‘They’ve gone to the hospital,’ she said softly, thinking that the news might penetrate his dreams. ‘Dear little Ruth has gone to have our baby.’
The childbirth course which Ruth had completed, and Patrick had attended twice, had laid great emphasis on the bonding nature of birth for the couple. There had been exercises of hand-holding and back rubbing, and little questionnaires to discover each other’s preferences and fears about the birth. Patrick, who was not innately a sensual man, had been embarrassed when he was asked to massage Ruth’s neck and shoulders in a roomful of people. His touch was light, diffident. The teacher, a willowy ex-hippy, had suggested that he grasp Ruth’s hand, arm, shoulder, until he could feel the bones, and massage deeply, to get in touch with the core of Ruth’s inner being.
‘As if you were making love,’ she urged them. ‘Deep, sensual touching.’
Patrick, horribly embarrassed, had made gentle patting gestures. Next week there was an urgent meeting at work and he missed the class altogether.
Ruth conscientiously brought home notes and diagrams, and discussed the concept of active birth. She and Patrick were sitting on the sofa while Elizabeth and Frederick watched television. Ruth kept her voice low but Elizabeth, overhearing, had laughed and remarked: ‘I only hope he doesn’t disappoint you by dropping down in a dead faint. He’s always been dreadfully squeamish.’
‘In our day fathers were completely banned,’ Frederick said. He turned to Elizabeth. ‘You wouldn’t have wanted me there, would you?’
‘Certainly not!’ she said. ‘I gave birth to two children in two different countries, and never had a class in my life.’
‘I want to have a completely natural childbirth,’ Ruth said firmly. ‘I want to do it all by breathing. That’s what the classes are for. And I am counting on Patrick to help me.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ Elizabeth reassured her. ‘And, Patrick, you know all about it, do you?’
‘Not a thing!’ Patrick said with his charming smile. ‘But Ruth has given me a book. I’ll bone up on it before the day. I just can’t get on with the class, and a roomful of people watching me.’
‘I should think not!’ Frederick said. ‘It’s a private business, I should have thought.’
‘And it’s more difficult for me,’ Patrick said, warming to his theme. ‘Everyone knows me, they’ve all seen me on the telly. I could just see them watching me trying to massage Ruth and dying to rush home and telephone their friends and say, “We saw that Patrick Cleary give his wife a massage”.’
‘I’m sure they wouldn’t,’ Ruth said. ‘They’re all much too interested in their own wives and babies. That’s what they’re there for, not to see you.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Frederick. ‘Fame has its disadvantages too.’
‘But I’ll read the book,’ Patrick promised. ‘I’ll know all about it by the time it happens.’
But Patrick had not read the book. It was in his briefcase on a journey to and from London. But he had bought a newspaper, to look for news stories for the documentary unit, and then there were notes to make, and things to think about, and anyway the journey was quite short. The book, still unread, was in his pocket as he helped Ruth into the maternity unit of the hospital.
As soon as the nurse admitted Ruth it was apparent that something was wrong. She called the registrar and there was a rapid undertone consultation. Then he turned to them. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to do a section,’ he said. ‘Your baby is breeched and his pulse rate is too high. He’s rather stressed. I think we want him out of there.’ He glanced at Ruth. ‘It’ll have to be full anaesthesia. We don’t have time to wait for Pethidine to work.’
The words were unfamiliar to Patrick, he did not know what was going on, but Ruth’s distress was unmistakable. ‘Now wait a minute…’ he said.
‘We can’t really,’ the doctor said. ‘We can’t wait at all. Do I have your permission?’
Ruth’s eyes filled with tears and then she drew in a sharp breath of pain. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose so…Oh, Patrick!’
‘Permission for what?’ Patrick asked. ‘What’s going on?’
The registrar took him by the arm and explained in a quick undertone that the baby was in distress and that they wanted to do a Caesarean section at once. Patrick, out of his depth, appealed to the doctor, ‘But they’ll both be OK, won’t they? They’ll both be all right?’
The doctor patted him reassuringly on the back. ‘Right as rain,’ he said cheerily. ‘And no waiting about. I’ll zip her down to surgery and in quarter of an hour you’ll have your son in your arms. OK?’
‘Oh, fine,’ Patrick said, reassured. He looked back at Ruth lying on the high hospital bed. She had turned to face the wall; there were tears pouring down her cheeks. She would not look at him.
Patrick patted her back. ‘It’ll all be over in a minute.’
‘I didn’t want it to be over in a minute,’ Ruth said, muffled. ‘I wanted a natural birth.’
The nurse moved swiftly forward and put an injection in Ruth’s limp arm. ‘That’s the pre-med,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You’ll feel better now, and when you wake up you’ll have a lovely baby. Won’t that be wonderful? You go to sleep like a good girl now. You won’t feel a thing.’
Patrick stood back and watched Ruth’s dark eyelashes flutter and finally close. ‘But I wanted to feel…’ she said sleepily.
They took the bed and wheeled it past him. ‘What do I do?’ he asked.
The nurse glanced at him briefly. ‘There’s nothing for you to do,’ she said. ‘You can watch the operation if you like…or I’ll bring the baby out to you when it’s delivered.’
‘I’ll wait outside,’ Patrick said hastily. ‘You can bring it out.’
They went through the double swing doors at the end of the brightly lit corridor. Patrick suddenly felt bereft and very much alone. He felt afraid for Ruth, so little and pale in the high-wheeled bed, with her eyelids red from crying.
He had not kissed her, he suddenly remembered. He had not wished her well. If
