The fountain by Mary Nichols

Author:Mary Nichols [Mary Nichols]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Roman
ISBN: 9780749008406
Published: 2010-07-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Barbara rang for a cab in the early afternoon of 21st February 1928. It had been a dreary, raw week, when the sky was grey and overcast and even the fields and gardens seemed colourless, a waiting time between winter and spring, not freezing as it had been a few weeks earlier, but full of cold dampness, the sort of week which made you feel as if summer would never come again. But earlier that day, the sun had broken briefly through the mist and it was during that short spell of sunshine she felt her first contraction and knew that she was about to bring a new life into the world.

Because Alison and Nick were getting old enough to ask awkward questions, they had decided the baby should be born in the cottage hospital. She called a cab and asked the driver to take her round by Victoria Terrace to alert Elizabeth who was going to look after the children for her. Then she went on to the hospital alone. She didn’t ring George’s office. She wanted to see the baby first, to hold it and look at it and have it all to herself for a brief time before he came claiming them both. She had counted back the weeks carefully and knew the day it had been conceived, almost knew the hour. It was bang on time; she had known that morning when she woke that today was the day. She told the nurses that her husband was out of town and could not be reached until the evening.

Jeremy John was born a few minutes after nine o’clock and two minutes later was put into her arms. He had very little hair but what there was of it was nearly white, and when he opened his eyes, they were as blue as cornflowers. There was a huge lump in her throat. She touched his hand, ran her fingers round his tiny fingers, felt his chubby thighs and perfect toes, gazed at his little pink face and smiled stupidly. ‘He’s lovely,’ she said, almost in surprise, as if she couldn’t believe she could be so blessed. ‘Perfect.’

She had almost managed to convince herself that George was her baby’s father, but looking at the infant lying contentedly in her arms, she knew he was not. There was not a single feature to remind her of her husband but any number to make her think of Simon: the fair hair, the clear blue eyes, the shape of his jaw. She wanted him beside her to share in the wonder of what they had brought into life, but that she could not do. Not ever.

The sister came into the room. ‘Your mother-in-law rang a few minutes ago,’ she told Barbara. ‘She’s going to try and get in touch with your husband.’

He arrived an hour later almost hidden behind a huge bouquet of hothouse flowers. He laid them on the bed and stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine. How are you? And the children?’

‘Fine.

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