On Your Doorstep: Perfect for those who loved Close to Home

Amanda had arrived and shown them the door. ‘Have you men no consideration for a woman who has been labouring all night to bring her baby into the world?’ she demanded. ‘Get out of here before I take my broomstick to your hairy backsides.’

The first photographs of the Anticipation Baby had made the evening editions of the Evening Herald and the Evening Press, and was shown on the early edition of the televised news bulletin. Robert had been tight-lipped when he saw the media coverage. Carla had feared another row and suspected one would have occurred had the ward not been full of people. She had agreed with him that from now on their daughter must be kept out of the public eye. Carla’s Anticipation contract was over and Raine had already chosen a successor.

But most of yesterday remained a haze. Her family and friends had called throughout the day, bringing champagne and gifts. Gina Kelly, Carla’s sister-in-law, due her first baby in January, had asked for a blow-by-blow account. ‘Tell me everything,’ she demanded. ‘Just leave out the gory details…if possible.’

‘It was as easy as falling off a log.’ Carla dismissed six hours of intense labour with an airy shrug. All she wanted to remember was that instant of contact when, trailing blood and mucus, her daughter had been placed across her chest; a withered old woman’s face and scrawny fingers (all ten, the midwife assured her, same with the toes) and, in that instant, Carla had fallen feverishly in love. That, she reckoned, would be the abiding memory for the rest of her life.

Robert, pale and sober by then, was equally besotted. ‘She’s so perfect,’ he whispered. ‘So beautiful.’

Carla, nodding in agreement, had realised that beauty no longer had any meaning. It simply belonged in the eye of the beholder.

‘You have to come and stay with us when you leave the clinic,’ her mother said, disregarding the fact that Carla had already discussed this offer with her before Isobel was born and had refused.

‘Thanks for the thought, Mother, but Robert’s taking some time off work. We’ll be fine.’

‘Nonsense. You’ve no idea how difficult it’ll be when you go home. I still have nightmares about your first few months. Colic. You never stopped crying. No, no, I insist. Your old bedroom has been redecorated. It’s ready and waiting for the three of you.’

‘Once we’re settled into a routine, we’ll come and visit, maybe stay overnight.’ Carla’s energy had dipped, as it usually did when she was forced to argue with her mother.

‘You’ll thank me in the end.’ Janet’s voice climbed a notch. ‘It’s all very well lying here in a swanky clinic, being waited on hand and foot. But it’s a different kettle of fish when you’re up all night with a crying baby. And your father is really looking forward to having you stay, aren’t you, Gerard?’

‘Leave the girl alone.’ Gerard Kelly touched his wife’s wrist. ‘She knows we’re here if she needs us.’

Gillian and Raine had arrived with flowers and copies of the evening papers, and the focus of attention was back on Isobel again.

‘Welcome, Isobel Gillian.’ Gillian leaned over the cot and peeled back the sheet to admire her first grandchild. ‘Thank you so much for giving her my name,’ she whispered to Carla. ‘I’m so honoured.’

The veins on her hands were starkly ridged, her cheekbones accentuated. Despite her insistence that she was responding well to treatment, she was continuing to lose weight. Carla turned away, ready to cry again. She was like a tap, leaking everywhere. Her breasts ached a warning and Amanda, entering and catching her expression, had announced that visiting was over.

‘Good morning,’ said Amanda, arriving on the morning shift. ‘How was the night?’

‘Restless,’ said Carla, who had left her bed many times to stand beside Isobel’s cot, her own breath suspended as she watched her daughter’s chest rising and falling. She was unable to resist touching her gently to see her move. Even the flicker of her eyelashes was insufficient to reassure Carla she was safe.

‘How’s the feeding going?’ Amanda asked as Isobel stirred and whimpered.

‘I think my milk’s come down.’ Carla lifted her daughter and lowered the flap of her nursing bra. ‘It looks thicker.’

‘Excellent.’ Amanda nodded, satisfied. ‘Usually it takes longer. Like I said, that kid’s a natural. Keep it up, Mother.’

‘What’s the world doing outside?’ Carla asked.

‘The weather forecast is lousy. Rain and more rain. And this young lady, with her glamorous mother, is on the front page of the Irish Independent.’

Carla winced, imagining Robert’s annoyance. Nothing she could do about it. She returned her attention to Isobel, whose lips now had a vice-like grip on her nipple.

‘You look tired,’ Amanda said, as Carla eased Isobel from one breast to the other. ‘Why don’t you let us take her to the nursery for a few hours so you can catch up on some sleep?’

‘No. I’ll be fine.’ Carla shook her head. ‘Leave her with me.’

After Isobel finished feeding, Amanda demonstrated how to bathe her. Carla, seeing the little starfish body with her blobby belly button, lying on a towel, tried to control her tears. Such a bitsy baby to have made such an arduous journey.

‘Don’t be frightened.’ Amanda guided her hand to the bony curve of Isobel’s head. ‘Babies are tougher than they look but they do need to know you’re in control.’

Two more days, then she and Robert would be alone with this terrifyingly tiny individual. No wonder she was panicking. No wonder her pillow was wet with tears.

Robert arrived mid-morning for a quick visit and watched, fascinated, as Isobel’s lips searched and latched onto Carla’s nipple, her tiny cheeks moving like miniature bellows. When her head lolled to one side and a dribble leaked from the corner of her mouth, he winded her and placed her back in her cot. He settled the bedclothes around Carla, who was almost asleep, and quietly left the ward.

Carla drifted high above the sounds of the afternoon routine and slept.

She continued to weep in her dreams, knowing with the horrendous certainly that comes when the mind is relaxed that Isobel’s arrival had triggered off the memory of another journey. So long ago and, until now, safely boxed in the past; a stray wasp that could be swiped aside when it occasionally flew too close. But her barriers were down, her boundaries invaded. Nothing would ever be the same again.

She awoke to the sound of drums tapping out a light, persistent rhythm. The earlier metallic sunshine had been replaced by grey cloud and rain lashing against the window. Carla glanced at the clock on her locker. Three hours since Isobel’s last feed. Her breasts felt tender, heavy. Milk had seeped through her nursing bra and the front of her nightdress was wet. When she pulled down the flap and stared at the blue veins, she could see how engorged her breasts had become. Surprising, then, that Isobel had remained silent.

She pulled herself upright. The counterpane on Isobel’s cot was bunched awkwardly over the mattress. Impossible to see her from that angle. Carla swung her legs to the floor. Four stitches. She grimaced as they tightened and forced her to walk gingerly towards the cot. She grabbed the counterpane and stared at the empty space where her daughter, swaddled in a white sheet, had been lying. The undersheet had a slight stain, as if Isobel had marked her territory. A ‘wet burp’ Amanda had called it when she demonstrated how Carla should wind her after feeding.

She reached for the emergency bell beside her bed and pressed it. Unable to wait for a nurse to arrive, she ran into the corridor. A long empty corridor that silenced her footsteps when she turned to the right, then the left, and tried to locate the nurses’ station. She stopped, suddenly dizzy, and leaned against the wall. There had to be a rational explanation. Amanda had taken Isobel to the nursery so that Carla could sleep undisturbed. Her terror gave way to anger. How dare anyone make such a decision without asking her permission?

‘My goodness!’ Amanda’s smile became uncertain as Carla approached the nurses’ station. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’

‘You took Isobel to the nursery without asking me?’

‘What?’ Amanda’s head drew back, her eyes widening as she stared back at Carla.

‘Didn’t you?’ Carla shouted. ‘You should have told me.’

The nurse’s expression changed, her face smoothing out into a professional mask, inscrutable.

‘Tell me she’s in the nursery.’ Air whistled from Carla’s throat. ‘Tell me.’ Her legs buckled. She was vaguely aware that Amanda had rushed from behind the station and was holding her upright, that she was moving, guided by the nurse, back to her ward. As they entered, she experienced an instant of hope. Her imagination had run riot. Crazy baby blues and hallucinations.

The cot was still empty. Carla held the edge of it and screamed Isobel’s name until Amanda forced her to sit down into the soft leather armchair.

‘Please remain calm, Carla. There’s been a misunderstanding!’ Her voice penetrated Carla’s hysteria. ‘If one of the nurses has done what you’ve suggested, we’ll deal with her immediately.’

‘What do you mean if? Of course they did. Where else can she be?’

‘We’ll find out, don’t worry.’ Amanda whipped the bedclothes from the bed. ‘But you must remain calm. Sometimes mothers fall asleep when they’re feeding…’

Now, a new terror had to be considered. The fist clenching Carla’s heart squeezed tighter but this thought barely had time to register before the bed was stripped. Nothing there, only the warm imprint of her body. Amanda checked the chart hanging from the bed rail then lifted the phone and asked for the matron. Despite her calm manner, Carla suspected a coded emergency message was being relayed. As the nurse spoke, her experienced glance constantly roved around the room, checking out places where a crazy mother, burdened with baby blues, could have hidden her child. The wardrobe, a drawer in the bedside locker, under the cushions on the armchair.

Carla leapt to her feet and pulled the cushions to the floor, rushed to the wardrobe and opened her suitcase, spilled her clothes across the bed. ‘She’s not here…can’t you see…she’s not here…’

Amanda tried to prevent her opening the drawer of her bedside locker but Carla pushed her aside. The matron entered as they struggled. Carla had met her shortly after Isobel was born. Small and sturdy with plump chins and authoritative eyes, she had been smiling then, as everybody had been, and Robert was holding Isobel in his arms, a dazed grin on his face.

‘Mrs Gardner, tell me exactly what has happened here.’ Her tone was formal, first-name terms abandoned.

‘One of your nurses took my child from her cot without asking my permission. How dare she…? I have to phone my husband.’

‘But first, you need to answer my questions.’ The matron’s voice was firm. Isobel’s disappearance was no longer a misunderstanding. It had, according to Matron, become a serious breach of procedure. ‘It’s in all our interests to find Baby Isobel as swiftly as possible so please co-operate with us, Mrs Gardner.’