The Midwife's One-Night Fling
Auteur
Carol Marinelli
Lezers
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Hoofdstukken
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Prologue
‘YOU MUST BE getting excited about the big move to London?’
It was a question Freya Ross had heard many times in recent weeks, and although the knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of what lay ahead she smiled.
‘I’m very much looking forward to it.’
As a midwife at the birthing centre attached to Cromayr Bay Hospital, Freya was examining Mrs Roberts while her three little boys ran amok in the rather small cubicle. Most patients preferred to be called by their first name, but not Mrs Roberts.
‘Jamie!’ Mrs Roberts scolded as her boisterous three-year-old climbed on a chair.
Freya was more than used to working with toddlers underfoot, and she was also very used to holding in her thoughts.
She had told no one of her misgivings about moving to London. Not her parents, nor her best friend, nor her colleagues. Certainly she would not burden a patient with her worries.
No one could possibly guess that now her leaving date was almost here Freya was dreading making the move from the small Scottish town of Cromayr Bay to London.
The news of her leaving had come as a complete surprise to everyone. No one had known she’d gone to London for an interview. This was no mean feat in Cromayr Bay! Even swapping her off-duty days had been complicated—Freya hadn’t been able to lie and say that she was visiting the dentist, given that the dentist was the husband of Betty, her senior midwife. And, had she called in sick—well someone would either have mentioned that her car had been seen at Cromayr Bay station, or they’d have dropped in to check that she was okay.
In the end Freya had said that she was catching up with a friend with whom she had trained.
‘Oh? Who?’ Betty had asked...
Feeling as if her nose must surely be an inch longer after such a complex lie, Freya had taken the train to Edinburgh’s Waverley Station and from there had travelled down to London to the Primary, a large, modern hospital.
Freya’s general nursing training had taken place in Cowdenbeath, and she had done some placements in Edinburgh during her midwifery training, so she wasn’t unfamiliar with busy hospitals. The Primary was incredibly large, though, and the interview had been very thorough.
Her training had been excellent, and Freya had kept her skills up to date with regular shifts in the main Cromayr Bay hospital, which the birthing centre was attached to.
She had been offered a six-month contract by the London hospital, commencing in the middle of July, and Freya was starting to get nervous.
Not that she showed it.
Instead of revealing her feelings now, she made small talk with Mrs Roberts as she palpated the baby. ‘We’ve got my leaving do tonight, over at the Tavern,’ Freya said. ‘You’re actually the last patient that I’ll see before I go.’
‘I’m sorry that you shan’t be here for the birth.’
‘I am too, Mrs Roberts,’ Freya agreed. ‘Although I know you are going to do just fine.’
‘I expect Alison is feeling the same as I do about your leaving?’
Freya’s hands paused mid-examination. Alison had made it clear that she didn’t want the news about her pregnancy getting out just yet.
‘We’re best friends.’ Freya decided to give a non-committal answer, just in case she had misinterpreted the question. ‘So, yes, she was a bit upset when I told her that I was moving—but I’ll be coming home regularly.’
‘I meant about the baby,’ Mrs Roberts said. ‘It’s okay, I’m not asking you to break any confidences. I just heard the other day that she’s expecting again. It’s lovely news.’
‘It is,’ Freya agreed, though inwardly she sighed for her friend at the fact that the news had got out. Very few people knew. And, even though Alison was past her first trimester, she had wanted to keep it to herself for a while yet.
But nothing stayed a secret for very long here.
‘I just hope...’ Mrs Roberts voice trailed off. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I hope that things go better for her this time.’
Freya gave a small nod, but refused to be drawn into a discussion about the loss of Andrew.
Last year had been a hard one.
Following an uneventful pregnancy, Alison had arrived at the birthing centre in active labour. But while checking the foetal heart-rate Freya had realised something was terribly wrong.
Alison had been transferred to the attached hospital and a crash Caesarean had been performed. The little boy had been resuscitated and then transferred to Edinburgh, where there had been a NICU cot available.
He’d been beautiful and utterly perfect. A chunky baby, with long, dark lashes, big cheeks and pudgy hands. But the lack of oxygen from cord compression and subsequent meconium aspiration had left him severely brain damaged.
Despite best efforts Andrew had died two days later, leaving Alison, her husband Callum and their families shattered.
Freya had been his godmother and proxy aunt, and she still woke regularly from nightmares, with the ominous sound of the CTG bleeping seeming to fill her bedroom. It felt as if her chest was being crushed whenever she recalled the devastation on Alison’s face when it had become clear that things were going terribly wrong.
‘Freya?’ Alison had pleaded.
The fear in Alison’s voice was something that Freya would never be able to erase from her memory.
Alison had never blamed Freya. In fact she had drawn on her friend, and Freya had stayed strong for Alison even through a serious relationship break-up.
And now, not by a flicker did she reveal her own heartache as she focussed on her patient and the little life beneath her hands.
‘Everything’s looking grand,’ Freya said as she felt the baby’s position. ‘The head is down and baby is a good size.’
‘Aye.’
For Freya, the real beauty of working at Cromayr Bay was the chance to really get to know her patients and their families, and now, after being more than willing to chat about Alison’s pregnancy, Mrs Roberts’s short response when discussing her own, concerned Freya.
It wasn’t just that, though. Over the months Freya had been trying to gauge Mrs Roberts’s feelings.
This pregnancy had come close after the birth of twins, but Mrs Roberts insisted it was all part of the plan as she wanted her children to be near each other in age.
Freya was quite certain that Mrs Roberts was struggling, but she was a very proud and private woman. Earlier, though, she’d seemed more talkative, and Freya wondered if she actually wanted to speak to her.
Jamie, the eldest, was getting restless, and the twins were going through their mother’s handbag. Freya was in no doubt that Mrs Roberts would want to dash off as soon as her appointment was done.
As she went to the desk to write up her findings Mrs Roberts dressed and then came over and took a seat.
‘Jamie!’ She scolded her son, who had pulled over a jar of cotton balls. ‘I’m so sorry, Freya.’
‘It’s not a problem. I shouldn’t have left them at a three-year-old’s level.’ As Mrs Roberts went to retrieve them Freya stopped her. ‘He might as well play with them,’ she said—not just because the cotton balls would now have to be discarded, but also because it might keep Jamie amused for a few minutes.
‘He’s into everything,’ Mrs Roberts explained. ‘I need eyes in the back of my head.’
‘You’re certainly going to be busy when the new baby comes,’ Freya agreed. ‘Is there anyone who might be able to help once the baby is here?
‘Och, I’ll not be bothering others. I just have to get on with things.’ Mrs Roberts straightened herself in the chair.
Freya felt for her. She too was very private.
With two younger brothers, Freya had always been ‘the sensible one’. Her mother, Jean, had relied on her to look out for the boys and soothe their hurts rather than her own.
As Freya wrote up her notes she thought how she came across to her patient. Her long dark curls were pulled back into a ponytail and she knew that her green eyes could sometimes come across as guarded rather than shy. She was a quiet person, and that generally suited her patients just fine.
However, like Mrs Roberts, Freya could appear a touch aloof at times—abrupt, even—although not, she hoped, with her patients. And, while she tended not to chat too much about herself, that wasn’t an issue in Cromayr Bay, where everyone knew everyone else’s business anyway.
But Freya wanted to reach her patient and to be sure that she was coping, so she decided to open up a little to Mrs Roberts in the hope that the woman would reciprocate.
‘Actually,’ Freya said, ‘although I’m telling everyone that I’m excited about moving to London, I’m really quite nervous. It’s a big hospital and I shan’t know anyone.’
‘You’ll be fine...’ Mrs Roberts started, and then paused as Freya gently spoke on.
‘I expect everyone is asking if you’re excited now that the baby will soon be here?’
Mrs Roberts nodded. ‘“Not long now!”’ She mimicked the regular phrases being thrown daily her way. ‘“You’ll be hoping for a girl after three boys.”’
‘Are you?’ Freya asked. She knew the sex of the baby.
‘Of course not. I didn’t get pregnant to try for a girl. In fact, I didn’t...’ It was the closest Mrs Roberts had come to admitting the pregnancy had been an accident, but she quickly rallied. ‘Healthy will suit me just fine.’
‘Of course,’ Freya agreed, and Mrs Roberts changed the subject.
‘So you’re nervous about leaving?’
‘Terrified,’ Freya now admitted. ‘And I’m wondering how I’m going to fit in.’
‘You’ll fit in just fine.’
‘I hope so,’ Freya replied. ‘But I’m starting to think I’ve made a mistake.’
‘Well, I know that feeling.’
Freya watched as Mrs Roberts closed her eyes and finally admitted the truth. ‘It’s not that I don’t want it—well, I’m sure I will once the baby’s here. I just honestly don’t know how I’m going to cope. The twins are into everything and Jamie runs wild. Davey’s no help. Och, he tries—but he’s out the door for work at seven, then not back until six and wanting his supper. I’m trying to freeze a few meals for when the baby comes...’
‘That’s good.’
‘It’ll take more than a few frozen dinners to see us through, though.’
Freya saw the flash of tears in Mrs Roberts’s eyes and then watched as she buried her face in her hands and started to weep.
‘Mam!’ Jamie toddled over and pulled at her skirt. ‘Mam!’
‘Mummy’s just a little tired,’ Freya said as she gave Mrs Roberts some tissues.
When his inquisitive eyes fell on her stethoscope, Freya took it from her neck and played with it on him, to give Mrs Roberts time to cry by herself.
‘Do you want to have a play with it now?’
Delighted with his new toy, Jamie wandered off.
‘I’m sorry, Freya.’ Mrs Roberts sniffed into the tissue that Freya had pressed into her hand. ‘How on earth am I going to manage with another one? I don’t get a moment to myself as it is.’
‘Have you thought about asking your sister to come and stay with you for a wee while once the baby arrives?’ Freya knew that the two women were close.
‘I have,’ Mrs Roberts nodded, ‘but it’s a huge imposition.’
‘Did she say that?’
‘No, no—she offered to come. But I think it’s asking too much from her.’
‘You’ll need help at the start, Mrs Roberts. It’s better to take it than to do too much and find yourself overwhelmed and exhausted. If you talk about it with her now she can start to make plans.’
And making plans was what Freya and Mrs Roberts did next.
Her sister Norma would come, and also there was a small crèche that Mrs Roberts occasionally used.
‘I might see if they can go there—just one afternoon a week, maybe two—so I can have some time with the new baby.’
‘I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ Freya said. ‘Did you know, once I’ve moved, I’ve got Mrs Hunt coming in to service my cottage between tenants?’
‘I dinnae need a cleaner.’
‘Well, I’m only mentioning it in case you might. She’s very thorough and her prices are reasonable.’
The appointment went well over time, but it was worth every minute because Mrs Roberts was actually smiling as she retrieved the contents of her bag from the floor.
‘You wee monkeys,’ she said to the twins. ‘Jamie, give Freya back her stethoscope.’
Before the cubicle door was opened Freya had a final word. ‘If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed when the baby is here—’
Mrs Roberts broke in. ‘Then I’ll speak to Betty. I honestly will. I feel so much better for talking with you.’
Mrs Roberts rounded up her three sons and Freya saw them to the desk. There she pulled up the appointments on the computer screen and made one for the next Thursday.
‘Thanks so much, Freya.’
‘You’re welcome, Mrs Roberts.’
‘Leah, please.’
Freya smiled, for it was high praise indeed to be invited to call Mrs Roberts by her first name.
‘I wish you all the very best in London.’
‘Thank you.’
Once Mrs Roberts had left Betty came over, and Freya explained a little of what had happened.
‘It would have taken a lot for her to admit she’s struggling,’ Betty agreed. ‘Well done, Freya. And don’t worry—I’ll be keeping a very close eye on her.’
Freya took in Betty’s knowing eyes and kind face and knew Mrs Roberts was in the very best of hands. Betty had been a midwife here for nearly forty years. She had, in fact, delivered Freya herself. Right now, though, she was just trying to get the clinic closed somewhat on time.
‘I’ll shut down the computers and you go and tidy up the cubicles,’ Betty said. ‘You’re going to be late for your own leaving party.’
Goodness, Freya thought when she saw the chaos of the cubicle. It looked as if it had been snowing!
Yet not for a second did she regret that the check-up had spilled more than an hour over time.
Freya tidied up and as she came out saw the waiting room was in semi-darkness.
‘Everything’s done,’ Betty said. ‘I’ll lock up.’
And then it was finally here—the end of her time at the Cromayr Bay birthing centre.
Freya looked around the waiting room and beyond the desk, thinking of the two birthing suites behind. Then she walked out through the familiar room and into the office to collect her coat before a dash home to get changed for her leaving do.
She hoped her ex wouldn’t show up.
Alison would be there. She had cried when Freya had told her that she was moving to London,
‘I’ll be back all the time,’ Freya had reassured her.
‘It won’t be the same.’
No, it wouldn’t be. But then, things hadn’t been the same between them since Andrew had died.
Freya had always been private. The only person she really opened up to was Alison—but of course the loss was Alison’s, so Freya had tried to remain stoic and strong for her friend, not burdening her with her own grief.
She said goodbye to Betty, who promised she would join them all at the Tavern shortly, and then drove the short distance home in her little purple car.
It was July. The holidaymakers were back and the town was busy.
She parked outside her tiny fisherman’s cottage which, although a bit of a renovator’s nightmare, was certainly a home.
Each of the houses along the foreshore was a different colour, and Freya’s little cottage was a duck-egg-blue with a dark wooden door. Opening it, she stepped into the surprisingly large lounge with its open fireplace, seeing on the mantelpiece her favourite pictures and little mementoes.
Freya headed into the tiny alcove kitchen. It needed a complete overhaul, but everything worked—and anyway, Freya wasn’t much of a cook. In pride of place was a coffee machine that Freya was having to leave behind in the move, as there really wasn’t that much room in her father’s car.
It would be nice for the tenants, Freya thought as she made a very quick coffee.
Freya had the house rented out over the summer, but in October it was going on the market to be sold.
In the cellar she had boxed up some of her belongings. The tiny spare bedroom looked a little bare, but it was ready for its new occupant with a pretty wrought-iron bed and a small chest of drawers.
Freya headed into the main bedroom to change out of her uniform and get ready for her leaving do, but for a moment she paused.
The unobstructed view of The Firth had sold the place to her on sight. Often at night she simply lay there in bed, looking out, and she had watched the new Queensferry crossing being built. It was a spectacular cable-stayed bridge, and Freya had watched the huge structure unfold from either side until finally the two sides had met.
It was her favourite view on earth, and as she gazed out to it Freya asked herself again what the hell she was doing leaving. Here, she had a job she loved and friends she had grown up with as well as her family, to whom she was very close.
Yet, the very things she loved about Cromayr Bay, were the very reasons she felt she had to leave.
The loss of Alison’s baby had hit everyone.
After it had happened Freya had often walked into a shop or a café, and on too many occasions the conversation would suddenly stop.
Everyone knew everyone’s business—which wasn’t always a good thing. Take tonight—there was a fair chance that her ex, Malcolm, would be at the Tavern. Not that she really thought of him much, but it was always awkward to run into him and see the hurt, angry expression in his eyes before he turned his back on her.
It wasn’t just about Malcolm, though. Freya wanted more experience and a fresh start.
She would be thirty soon, she reasoned. If she didn’t make the move now then she never would.
Deep down, though, she knew she was running away.
It was going to be hard to leave, but for Freya it was simply too hard to stay.
