Poisoned Cherries

Chapter 4

For a while after that, everything became a bit blurred. I’ve been in a couple of dangerous situations in my time, and I’ve managed to stay reasonably cool, to keep thinking logically.

Looking back on that day, all I can remember saying is, ‘Let’s get you to the Simpson; it’s nearest.’ After that my brain went into meltdown; I drove that M3 like David Coulthard with Schumie on his tail, while Susie did all the sensible stuff like getting the number of the maternity unit and calling ahead to warn them.

Words broke in. Susie saying, calmly, ‘Yes, my waters have broken,’ although that was not news to me by that time. Then there was something about, ‘Less than a minute.’

We got lucky on the outskirts of Edinburgh; I had to stop for a red light and I pulled up next to a police car. I honked the horn, the driver took one look and got the message; we had a blues and twos escort all the way to the new Royal Inf irmary.

Even at that it was touch and go. I drove right up to the door of the unit; where a nurse. . ‘Hello dear. I’m Sister Mickel. A bit early, are we?’. . and a porter were waiting for us with a wheelchair. If it had had a motor it would have been revved up. As the midwife helped her into the chair, Susie grunted, ‘Christ, Oz, she’s coming faster than you!’ Somewhere behind me, I heard a policeman laugh.

It got blurred again; we were rushed along to a room with a funny-shaped bed. Nurses stripped Susie; just took all her clothes right off and stuck a gown over her head. There was shouting all round; ‘Go on, that’s a lass. Push hard now.’ I realised that I was yelling as well, and that someone was grasping my hand hard enough to crush it. Then all at once, the pressure eased and there was a great collective gasp of satisfaction, into which intruded a thin wavering cry.

Sister Mickel held her up; a long, sticky, wet, pink, wriggly thing, crying full volume now that she was fully released into the world. I couldn’t see her properly though, I blinked and realised that my eyes were full of tears. I held on to Susie, my head between her breasts, and let them all out. The last time I’d cried had been when one Janet had died; now I wept for the birth of another. Cry for sad if you must, but never be afraid to cry for happy; it’s better.

‘Well, look at you,’ I heard her say, after a while; Susie as I’d never heard her before. ‘Look at her, Oz. She’s just like you.’ I did; she was.