Page 103 of The First Time I Saw You
‘No! You’re still training.’
‘I’ve been your partner for five years, are you ever going to let me drive?’ he moans as he follows his partner towards the door.
I try my winning smile. ‘Can I drive?’ I ask. They laugh good-naturedly.
‘No,’ answers Charlie. ‘You’re blind.’
‘Yes, I know,’ I reply and any worries about Sophie’s relationship with Charlie dissipate. I have nothing to worry about here. Sophie would have laughed at my joke.
‘I’ll follow,’ Charlie says, his voice wavering a little. I think about how he had kissed Sophie’s bump, how intense their relationship had looked.
‘He can fit in the car, can’t he, officer?’ I interrupt.
‘The more the merrier!’ his voice booms as we leave the house and climb into the police car.
Week Thirty-Five
Sophie
‘Five pounds eight,’ Wendy announces as she looks over her shoulder at me, Bean’s scrawny, wrinkled legs kicking and quivering behind her. ‘That’s a great weight and he’s breathing perfectly. We’ll need to keep a close eye on him, but for now, there is no need to be incubated. Tough little cookie, this one. OK, Bean, you can go back to Mummy now.’ A timid cry fills the room, like the baa of a lamb; it shakes and shivers, then slows as – bundled up in the outfit with a rabbit poking out of the pocket – my son is passed to me. There’s a gentle knock at the door.
‘Come in!’ Wendy says as she scribbles things in her notes. I stare down at Bean; his eyes are looking directly at mine:Where is he? Is he coming?I begin humming, ‘One, two, three, four five, once I caught a fish alive.’I’ll find him Bean, I promise.His gaze is pulled away as slow steps advance towards us, but I don’t turn to see who it is; I’m too busy looking at every part of my son, the long golden eyelashes, the point of his chin. I lean forward and kiss the softness of his fontanelle, still yielding beneath my lips, and breathe in his smell; it’s like nothing I’ve ever breathed in before.
Week Thirty-Five
Samuel
‘There he is,’ I say to Charlie who takes my elbow, steering me away from a drinks machine that is hidden in the shadows. ‘Da!’ The corridor in the hospital is bright; my leg knocks a stray chair out of the way and it skitters and clatters, but at the end of it I can see him. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this far away to be able to see him, all of him, and I commit it to memory, the way he turns as he hears me shout his name, the look of relief that passes across his face, the slow look downwards at my half-mast trousers and the huge smile that lights up his face.
His arms close around me and he holds me tightly, clapping me on the back and kissing the patch of hair just above my ear. He pulls back from me and stretches an arm towards Charlie.
‘Charlie, I take it?’ His voice smiles. ‘Thank you, lad, for taking care of my boy.’ His voice rises and falls as he pumps Charlie’s hand up and down.
‘No thanks needed,’ Charlie replies just before Da’s hand flicks out of the tunnel wall as he clips me around the back of the head.
‘You great big fecking eejit! You’ve gone and missed it and nearly got yourself killed by the looks of you. Would it have killed you to wait for the next flight?’
‘Is Sophie OK?’ Charlie interrupts. ‘Are they OK?’ I can hear the worry in his voice and I’m glad that Sophie has had him with her.
‘They’re grand, Charlie boy, just grand.’
‘Missed it?’ I ask. Da’s eyes fill with tears.
‘Yep, gone and missed the birth of your . . .’ he hesitates, then slaps me on the back, ‘first-born child.’ He nods towards a door. I turn towards it and scan it until I see a few letters that make up ‘labour room’. ‘They’re in there,’ he says quietly, pride edging in.
The door stands in front of me, but my feet won’t move. My life will never be as it was if I open that door. I will never be able to leave her; I will never be able to save her from this new person I have become if I take another step. What if she doesn’t want me and my new life, the life that will come with Michael and a guide dog and a person who needs to be guided across a busy road? I will never be able to recover from that. If she doesn’t want me, how will I live? My thoughts stop: they disintegrate like sand through my fingers, because a noise, which resembles a goat, is leaking out from behind the door.
My feet move, my hand forms a fist and the fist knocks on the door.
‘Come in!’
The fist opens, my fingers spreading wide and pushing open the door.
My legs are shaking beneath me as I limp into the room; for a horrid moment I think I might pass out. The room is low-lit, and it takes me a second to scan the interior, to put together the small glimpses that the tunnel is gifting me. A midwife is sitting at the foot of the bed, her back to me. From the arch of her shoulders I conclude she must be writing something down. There is a bed in the middle of the room, and at the end of the bed I can make out the bump of feet. I can hear the snuffle of a baby and then the melody of a nursery rhyme from a voice that reaches out to me. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The notes break down the bricks at the end of the tunnel; they smash them down, and for a split second I can see: I can see my whole life ahead of me. I open my eyes and follow the tiny light, the tiny images that are as precious to me as every breath that I’m taking. I stand still; without Michael, I don’t know what is in front of me. I bend my head and try to check the floor, but I’m petrified I might fall.
‘Sophie?’ I ask, her name falling from my lips, the same way the leaf fell from the tree all those months ago. My voice stretches towards the bed, turning the head of the midwife. From out of the darkness comes a hand; it reaches towards me, it links its fingers in mine and brings me forward until Sophie is there. I can only see part of her eye at first, but it is filled with love. I lean forward, her hand holding mine tightly, and rest my head against hers.
‘I’m sorry,’ I try to say but the words are lost in a gulp, in a sob caught somewhere inside my chest, as I look down. I see a tiny mouth, the lips pouting and parting into a perfect ‘O’ as it shakes with a yawn. Fingers tipped with pale, minuscule fingernails, the colour of sea-shells, bat in front of the mouth and I reach for them, sliding my finger inside the palm. The tiny hand grips my finger.There you are, it says. I wipe the tears away from my face – they’re blurring the end of the tunnel – but I blink and drink in every part of the puzzle pieces in front of me. I look into the baby’s eyes and smile when I see parts of hair – the same colour as my sister’s – pushing their way into my sight. I feel Sophie’s breath in my ear. ‘It’s a boy, Samuel,’ she says. I reach for his head and stroke his skin. My son. I can see my son. I turn to Sophie, my hand shaking as it follows the curve of his head.
