Are You My Mother? (39 page)

Ruth looked up at the sound of my voice, her eyes huge above the mask.

‘
Thank you so much for coming. I’m scared. There’s nobody else…This shouldn’t be happening, it’s too early and....
ohhhhh!’

She screamed and panted with pain. I stroked her forehead and gently dried the ends of her hair in the towel, as it occurred to me that I’d left my car in the carpark. Oh well, I thought, hoping it would still be there when I eventually got back to it. The worst that could happen would be a parking ticket, if I was at the hospital all night. Or vandalism. Or theft….

‘
Ruth,’ I said. ‘I’m an aromatherapist. Can I
massage you? Just your feet? I could give you a little bit of reflexology.’

Ruth nodded, sticking her damp white-pruny foot out from underneath the blanket covering her. I moved down to the other end of her, still wrapped in my own blanket, and took her foot in my lap. ‘I’m not in the way, am I?’ I asked Gerry.

‘
You’re all right, just for a minute. I’ll need to check her once I’ve got these contractions timed, though.’

I struggled to remember the right acupressure points. It had been a long time since I’d massaged a pregnant woman, and I’d never done one in labour before. ‘Kidney 3, or “Bigger Stream,”’ I muttered to myself, finding the right place inside Ruth’s ankle. ‘Midway between high point of ankle bone and Achilles tendon, yes, there we are.’

I pushed firmly on the spot for a minute or two. ‘This is to help ease labour pain, or fatigue,’ I told her, although, frankly, it didn’t seem to be making any discernible difference. Ruth was gripped with another contraction, and I had to clamp her ankle with my other hand to stop her kicking me away. I wondered if I should go for Bladder 67, or “Reaching Inside” which was located on the bottom corner of the nail of the fifth toe, the pressure preferably to be applied with the point of a key, or other such object. But that was for difficult labour, or turning a breach, and I wasn’t sure if it might be overkill in Ruth’s case….

‘
Sorry, miss, but you’ll have to move out of the way for a bit. I need to take a quick look.’ Gerry manoeuvred me gently out of the way so he could attend to Ruth. I felt frustrated that I couldn’t be more helpful.

‘
A month early, is he? Well, he might be on the small side, but I’m sure there won’t be anything to worry about. Let’s have a little check, shall we?’ Gerry kept reassuring Ruth as he deftly unfastened the borrowed bathrobe, pulled away the towels, and peeled her wet costume off to examine her. Matt whipped two more blankets over her torso, as Gerry rummaged around between her legs. He had an absent, unfocused look in his eyes, as though he was trying to locate, by feel alone, the satsuma at the toe of his Christmas stocking.

‘
Six centimetres dilated already! He’s trying to take you by surprise, the cheeky little bugger.’

We reached the hospital, sirens blaring, before I could do any more acupressure. I was almost sorry to leave the ambulance; it felt like a little microcosm of safety, with its neat shelves and lockers, shiny kits and life-saving equipment.

‘
Good luck. I’ll wait for you outside,’ I said, disengaging Ruth’s clamped fingers from my own with difficulty, and wondering if I should offer to come in with her.

‘
Thank yoooooo,’ Ruth wailed as she was lowered out of the ambulance and whisked off through the swing doors. I was disappointed. I’d always wanted to massage a women through labour – but, I supposed, she might still ask for me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she hadn’t wanted me there. I was a stranger, after all.

I gathered up the pile of our possessions, shoved my feet halfway into my trainers without undoing the laces, and threw my coat on over the blanket. Feeling like a bag lady, or Tom’s mistress from
Tom and Jerry
, I flip-flopped my way down the metal steps of the ambulance and into the maternity unit, where I went to the reception desk, waiting to ask directions to the nearest bathroom. The backs of my trainers were crushed by me standing on them, and my blanket was slipping off. A tired-looking balding man clutching an equally weary potted chrysanthemum walked past me, in a wide arc as though I were armed and dangerous. Now I knew just how that man on the tube train had felt.

Chapter 30

Nobody appeared, so I took matters in my own hands and wandered around until I saw a Ladies loo. Thank God, I thought, bolting in and stripping off my wet swimsuit. My breasts and belly were icy cold to the touch, and clammy, like dead flesh. It reminded me of a day at the seaside, that cold, wet distracted feeling when you’ve been having too much fun to get properly dry, and I half-expected to pull a skein of seaweed out of my crotch, or to feel the gritty kiss of sand in the folds of my skin.

I was shivering so hard by then that my hands were having a hard time obeying commands, but eventually I managed to separate my own clothes from the jumble of Ruth’s, noting with admiration her Agnes B hooded cardigan and smart black Hennes maternity trousers.

Once dressed, I dried my hair by holding my head underneath the hand dryer, the feel of the hot air blasting into my ears and through my brain making red stars dance before my eyes. Then I wrapped everything - Ruth’s clothes, my wet costume, the borrowed bathrobe, towels, bags and coats - into the ambulance blanket, and wearily plodded back out into the corridor, in search of a vending machine and somewhere to sit down.

I found coffee, and a seat; but even though my body temperature returned to normal, I still couldn’t relax. My heart went out to Ruth, alone and in pain, and the pathos with which she’d said ‘there’s nobody else.’ Was this how Ann Paramor had felt when she’d had me? I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t really want to stay sitting on this awful black slippery leatherette bench, drinking plastic coffee – she could be in labour for twelve or fourteen hours. No, it wouldn’t be that long. She was already six centimetres dilated, I reminded myself. I wished I had my massage oils with me – then I’d definitely have offered to come into the delivery room with her.

But this thought dissolved into more worrying issues of whether or not I had enough money to get a cab back to my car; and what if Janet locked the door of the guesthouse, and I couldn’t wake anybody up? Plus, I couldn’t just leave – I had all Ruth’s belongings with me.

I decided to wait for a bit, and ask a midwife what was happening. They should know roughly how long it would take. But every person in uniform I saw seemed to be rushing around manically, as if I was watching them on speeded-up film, and I didn’t get the chance. Well, I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes, I thought. They felt pink and tense from all the chlorine and panic, and it was good to rest them. Draining the dregs of my disgusting coffee, I swivelled my legs around on the leatherette bench, put my coat under my head, and drifted off into an uneasy damp sleep.

I awoke with a gasp from a dream in which Mum and Dad were adrift on a stormy sea, waves lashing and slapping against the side of their tiny, vulnerable boat. I was standing on the shore, one hand crooked over my eyes to try and see them better; unable to help. Marty stood next to me, wobbling with panic.

I’d grabbed his flabby arm and begged him. ‘Where’s Ann? Why isn’t she here?
Do
something!’ But he just dissolved in front of me, draining away into the sand, leaving an empty shell of black lycra on the beach next to me, like a deflated inner-tube. Back on the boat, Mum was in labour with Stella, screaming and crying, ranting almost incoherently, the way she had when I saw her after Stella was born, when she didn’t know that I was listening.

In my dream, the sea was chlorinated.

I sat up, feeling woozy and upset. I must have been asleep for quite some time. Usually I loved dreaming about Mum and Dad; it was a small gift of their presence which stayed with me for days afterwards. But they’d been so far away, and in trouble. Plus I could’ve done without the spectre of Marty in black rubber.

The vertebrae in my neck cracked and crunched as I rolled my head around, trying to shake off the memory of the dream. Miraculously, a midwife walked past me slowly enough for me to stop her, and I jumped up off the bench, feeling pressure against the bridge of my nose from where I’d been asleep with my glasses on.

‘
Excuse me. Can you tell me how Ruth…um...Jackson is getting on? I came in with her.’ I tried to run my hand through my squiffy hair, but it got stuck in a tangle, which made me accidentally yank my head to one side in a demented-looking fashion.

The midwife smiled at me. She was an Indian lady, large and soft with arms like hams, flabby with love and determinedly forgiving. Just how a midwife should be, I thought. ‘I think she’s had it already – was she the one who came in from the swimming pool? Yes? No, she has. A little girl, fifteen minutes ago. Very quick labour.’

‘
Oh! Are they both all right?’

‘
Baby’s quite premature, and she has a touch of jaundice. We’re going to incubate her for a while, keep an eye on her. Would you like to see Mum?’

‘
Sure, if she’s up to visitors. I’ve got some stuff of hers here. What time is it, anyway?’ I realised I’d left my watch in my bag, and began vaguely to fish about for it among the damp costume and towel.

‘
It’s ten o’clock.’

Blimey, I thought, feeling like Cinderella. Better hie me back to my guesthouse pronto, before I’m locked out all night. I decided to stay just long enough to congratulate Ruth, and leave her stuff, and then I’d get a taxi back to the pool and pick up the car.

Ruth was just tottering gingerly, bandy-legged, back from the shower as I was being shown into her room. The air around us smelled earthy, viscous, and it seemed terribly sad that the baby wasn’t there in person, the live trophy from Ruth’s elemental struggle. I loved babies. It would be such a disappointment to leave without seeing it first.

‘
Hi. Me again,’ I said, helping Ruth into bed. She smiled at me, her lips trembling with weariness.

‘
I can’t believe you’re still here. It’s so good of you, really, I –‘ Her eyes suddenly flooded with tears, which trickled exhaustedly down the sides of her face and onto her pillow.

‘
Hey – don’t – please. It’s all going to be fine. Congratulations, by the way. I hear you’ve got a daughter.’

‘
Thanks.’ Ruth sniffed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not a crier, normally. I’m just so….
knackered
.’

‘
Was it awful?’ I couldn’t help asking.

‘
Hideous. I am never, never going to have sex again. Ever. The pain was unbelievable. I’d have had an epidural only there wasn’t time.’

I made a face. ‘Well, I won’t keep you. You look like you need a sleep. I just wanted to make sure you were OK, and that you got your stuff back.’ I gestured towards her clothes and bag, which I’d left by the door.

‘
Stay for a bit, please. I don’t want to be on my own.’ Ruth’s lips were quivering again, but this time I could see that it was born of the humiliation of having to admit weakness, of the need to ask for company. My heart went out to her.

I sat down on the end of the bed, feeling the texture of the white cotton blankets rough under the palms of my hands.

‘
So what are you going to call your baby?’

‘
I don’t know. What’s your name? Oh, I remember, it’s Emma, isn’t it - oh, sorry, no. I can’t call her Emma. I had a great aunt called Emma; I hated her. She had a moustache and she smelled of wee.’

I laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m flattered at the thought, though.’

‘
What’s your middle name?’

‘
Imogen – but I hate that name. Besides, don’t feel that you – ‘

‘
Imogen. Do you know, I like that. Maybe I’ll call her Imogen.’

I looked away, embarrassed and flattered. The conversation petered out.

‘
She’s really gorgeous, though. I thought babies came out all squashed and purple, but she didn’t. She looks beautiful already.’

‘
I wish I could see her.’

‘
Yeah. Well, leave me your address, and, if you fancy it, maybe we could meet up for a coffee or something, once I’m back on my feet?’

I sighed a sigh, which turned into a jaw-splitting yawn. ‘I’d love that. But I don’t live in Nottingham. I live in London.’

Ruth looked askance at me. ‘Don’t tell me you came all this way to go to Marty’s aqua aerobics class.’

‘
Actually…. no. But I did come all this way to see Ann Paramor.’

‘
Who?’

‘
Ann, you know, Ann Paramor who normally takes the class.’

‘
Oh – right. I didn’t know that was her surname. Why? If you don’t mind me being nosy, of course.’

I hesitated, then thought, sod it, why not.

‘
This might sound kind of weird, but there are five Ann Paramors in the country, and one of them is probably my mother. I was adopted. I found out her name a while ago, and now I’m trying to track her down. I’m staying at a B&B in Lenton Sands, and since she wasn’t at the pool tonight, I’m planning to go to her flat tomorrow. I’ve got her address.’

Ruth looked at me with sympathetic awe. She bit her lip, as if wanting to tell me something, and I immediately knew that I’d hit another brick wall. This wasn’t going to be the right Ann after all.