Читать книгу Searching Fifty Shades Of Grey - Audrey Ellis - Страница 8

James stopped to light a Player’s cigarette as he stood against the front gate of a house in Harold Hill Romford Essex. As he listened to a dog barking his thoughts returned to his parents; heading home to his sisters- promising to help but pointing out without interfering!

Everything felt almost perfect; they were ready to live their own life in their own way; becoming parents in their own right.

“What a beautiful baby!” he was told by the midwife who’d delivered and laid her gently in his anxious arms. They couldn't see who she resembled but they could touch her and smell her and know she was theirs! They were ready to show everyone that being blind wasn't a barrier.

He’d already telephoned May’s mum and dad to share his wonderful news; all they could do was to wait and to hope.

“Now where the hell is that bloody key?” he muttered as his hands stretched out over all the surfaces; including the cold sink heaped high with boxes of all shapes and sizes. He heard a ting and a clink as the key slipped lightly to the tiled floor.

“Found it – what an idiot I am!” It seemed too good to be true. Perhaps he was dreaming and he would awake to a deeper darkness and loss. He heard at that moment, voices carrying in the air. Perhaps he ought to introduce himself. His thoughts quickly returned to his parents assuming they'd be half way to Coventry. No doubt they had pulled into a transport cafe for a cup of tea.

He thought of May and realized she’d be expecting him to ring her. She’d be anxiously waiting for his call. Where, though, was the phone box? How stupid of him. He should have asked his ma and pa before they left for their home in the van. He unfolded his thin collapsible cane as he felt his way to the front door. How could they think of giving up now?

Meanwhile May waited…..

“Come on, honey. You know you can do it. This is special. What you have been looking forward to for months.

“This isn’t what I expected, nurse…not this time…not when everything is going right. We have a house to move into…in fact my husband should have phoned me by now. He said he would”.

“Then he will. Would you like me to get the phone from the corridor and bring it to your bedside so you can ring…maybe your mum and dad? Here, sweetie, take her, she needs her mum’s love – what a little treasure!”

“If only a phone call could put things right…it goes far deeper. Maybe I will fail. Perhaps I won’t be a good mum”!

“I don’t believe you are going to be beaten by what people say about you. If any of us took notice of others opinions we would all be stuck and if you are depressed!”

“I’m not depressed nurse, but frustrated, and want to go home like the other mums”.

“You will be ready soon but it’s best that don’t go home until you feel a little more confident. At least when you are here you have someone to listen and support you. To get help, though, you must reach out though mustn’t you? Anyway, you know that there’s nothing wrong with low moments. Here darling, let me wipe those tears”.

“I’ll get a bowl of water, and a towel, so you can freshen up. That’s right, you plump those pillows up. I’m drawing these curtains and I’ll fetch you a lovely cup of tea. Promise me though, that you will talk to your nurse if you carry on feeling like this. I will make some notes on your files. What fantastic flowers. Hug that baby of yours and love her and you won’t go far wrong”.

How could May admit that she felt nothing but an awful flatness, a heavy head and an enormous fear for the future? True, she wanted to be happy, but happiness and relaxation always seemed to precede the fiercest of storms. This made no sense, but it was how she was feeling. She couldn’t relax. Was her baby’s breathing normal, or might she be too hot rather than too cold? What if she got her fingers trapped in her crocheted dress? Or she choked on her milk? Or what if she didn’t stop crying? Or failed to put on weight? Or she dropped her? Or she missed her feed? Someone might report them for not caring for her properly, even for the smallest mistake.

The young nurse returned with the trolley and phone.

“You’re in luck, honey. It’s Mr Nesbitt himself, wanting to talk to you. I will take Esther from you for a while…come here little one…come to Pat…let me sing to you”.

“You’re in a shop now; who’s with you? Then the phone went dead.

“Of course you can do it, honey, but take your time…babies are tougher than we think, and that includes this little mite, though she definitely doesn’t think much about her first bath, does she? Listen to her squall.

Pat, sensing the new mum’s fear, lowered her voice and moved closer to May

“That’s fine. You are doing well with enough support for her little head. Yes, I know she is slippery but don’t worry, you have her firm in your arms. She is gorgeous, and what a pair of lungs. I saw that young fellow of yours soon after she was born, standing outside the nursery listening. He seemed really proud”.

“We both are, Pat”. She chose not to tell her that. Esther wasn't...... If she'd done so what would the nurse have thought of her?

“You are doing fine. That’s it, now those fiddly toes and fingers”.

In theory, Pat ought to be someone to whom she could express her fears, as she seemed to have the knack of making her feel ordinary.

She was simply an anxious mum whose only difference was her disability, instead of someone who was without personality, which often seemed to happen to her in all sorts of situations. She felt dead inside with no room for resentment? It was a baby she held in her arms rather than her baby who kicked and slipped and splashed her towelling apron. May thought of........ Surely if she talked to James he wouldn't understand why she felt so sad. Was she going mad?

Her body started to tremble however hard she tried to control her fears and conceal the agony she felt. Tears slowly rolled and dripped from her chin.

There were so many opportunities to grasp, but, still deep within her pain that couldn’t be explained....not ever!