Eclipse. Lynne Pemberton

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СКАЧАТЬ that it was only for a couple of days. But the thought of how guilty and remorseful he was going to feel at least made her feel marginally better.

      Finally they reached the end of the lane and Tom stopped the car. ‘We’re here!’ he announced, jumping out and running round to the passenger side with the agility of a sixteen-year-old.

      He helped her down to the ground, bearing all her weight, and then opened a three-bar gate at the bottom of the pathway to Saddlers Cottage. ‘Lean on me,’ he urged, as they struggled towards the front door, their feet crunching on the gravel path.

      ‘Mrs Neil!’ hollered Tom, rapping sharply. ‘Mrs Neil!’

      There was no reply; the only sound being Serena’s laboured breathing.

      He tried again. ‘Mrs Neil, are you there?’

      A neighbouring dog barked, then stopped abruptly. A few moments later they could hear a voice, muffled and thick with sleep, speaking through the letter box.

      ‘Who is it?’

      ‘It’s Tom Bayley, Mrs Neil.’

      ‘What on earth do you want at this time of night?’ she demanded. ‘It’s gone twelve, man!’

      ‘Did Jack from the Plough not call you?’

      ‘No, he did not!’ she snapped, then added grudgingly, ‘Well, he may have tried, but my phone’s been playing up the last few days. I can dial out; it’s in-coming calls that are the bother. Still waiting for the blasted engineer to come; the rate they—’

      Tom interrupted. ‘I’ve got a woman in labour with me, Mrs Neil. I don’t think she’s got long to go.’

      With that the door was flung open and the midwife appeared in her nightclothes.

      ‘This lady,’ Tom glanced in Serena’s direction, ‘came into the pub earlier, asking for directions. She was lost.’ His eyes opened wide. ‘She started her labour right there and then in the bloody Plough.’

      A stupid grin covered his face, making Serena think he looked slightly simple. Just my luck, she told herself, to get stuck with an ageing midwife and the village idiot. Then she felt the now familiar pain beginning its steady rise. Gasping for breath, she grabbed Tom’s arm, her hand as white as bone upon his black donkey jacket. The contraction peaked and small beads of perspiration broke out on her brow. Struggling to stay on her feet, the panic in her voice was obvious.

      ‘I think you’ll have to be quick, the contractions are coming fast.’

      Instantly alert, Mrs Neil took charge. ‘Come on, let’s get the poor woman in out of the cold Tom Bayley, instead of you standing there like a big oaf,’ she ordered briskly.

      Tom nodded, ushering Serena inside.

      ‘Take her into the back bedroom, you know where it is.’

      ‘I should do.’ He grinned again, this time in Serena’s direction, and by now she was convinced that he was simple.

      ‘Mrs Neil here delivered my boy last year. Nearly lost him an’ all,’ he added.

      ‘Thanks Tom,’ Serena commented sarcastically, ‘that’s very encouraging.’

      He dropped his head on one side to concentrate before helping her upstairs, and into a sparsely furnished room that smelt strongly of lavender and damp. It contained a washbasin, a high delivery bed and battered medical trolley.

      Serena couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sight of the antiquated trolley holding an assortment of ominous-looking instruments. Tom sat her down in the one and only chair. Seemingly reluctant to leave, he held on to her hand.

      ‘You’re shaking,’ he said, ‘Can I get you something warm to drink?’

      Serena shook her head. ‘I’m terrified. I don’t want to give birth here.’

      Catriona Neil entered the room at that point. Overhearing what had been said, she addressed her patient in a businesslike tone, ‘First time is it? Well, I’m afraid you may not have any choice, my dear. How often are you having the contractions?’

      ‘Every few minutes.’

      ‘When you have the next one, tell me,’ instructed Mrs Neil as she walked to the small sink in the corner, where she washed her hands vigorously.

      She had changed from her nightdress and dressing gown into a more suitable outfit: tailored blouse; tweed skirt and court shoes, all in exactly the same shade of donkey brown.

      ‘Tom, now that you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. Go and boil some water, and get fresh linen from the cupboard under the stairs.’

      Tom looked helpless. ‘I’ve got to be off Mrs Neil, my missus will be worried sick, and it’s a long walk from here.’

      ‘It’s Friday night Tom Bayley; your Lucy will be fast asleep, confident that you’re holed up in the Plough as usual. So go on, do as you’re told.’ She pushed him towards the door.

      Serena watched with a kind of morbid fascination as Mrs Neil lifted a small scalpel off the trolley and placed it in a kidney bowl. Shifting in her seat, she suddenly gasped.

      ‘The pain! It’s coming again.’

      The thickly set midwife, who looked cumbersome but was actually extremely agile, reached her side in an instant and placed her hands either side of Serena’s stomach. There they remained until the contraction had subsided. At that point Mrs Neil stood bolt upright, with a knowing look in her eyes.

      ‘Is this your first?’ Serena nodded as Mrs Neil went on. ‘I see you’re carrying twins.’ After a slight pause she continued. ‘Don’t worry lass, you’re in good hands. I’ve been delivering babies long before you were even a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.’

      There was something about Mrs Neil that instilled confidence. For the first time since her labour had started, Serena felt a little less afraid. A faint smile crossed her face.

      ‘I’m just a bit scared, that’s all.’

      ‘Well, I’m sure you didn’t plan to have your babies in the middle of the country, with a couple of strangers in tow. But you’re young and healthy; I foresee no problems whatsoever. Now, let’s get you out of those clothes and into bed.’

      When Serena didn’t move immediately, the midwife had to click her tongue.

      ‘Where do I undress?’ Serena scanned the room.

      ‘Well, here for heaven’s sake! No point in being shy, you’re about to give birth.’ Rummaging in a cupboard to her left, Mrs Neil pulled out a long, cotton nightdress. ‘Here, put this on, and get into bed. We’ve got work to do.’ She chuckled, and went downstairs to chivy Tom.

      Serena could’ve sworn the midwife was enjoying herself. Well, I’m glad one of is, she thought.

      She pulled her woollen maternity dress over her head. Dropping it on to the floor, she was standing in her bra and panties, shivering, when Mrs Neil came back.

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