Читать книгу Miracles in the Village - Josie Metcalfe, Caroline Anderson - Страница 15

‘I’VE got Fran and Mike Trevellyan coming in to see me on Monday.’

Nick cocked his head on one side and raised a brow slightly. ‘Any idea why?’

‘They didn’t say, but I suspect they want to talk about trying another cycle of IVF,’ Kate said. ‘You know I gave Fran the fertility-boosting diet sheet and lots of other advice and information?’

‘Mmm—that was the day of his accident, wasn’t it? They’ll need longer that that. It was only a few weeks ago—three, wasn’t it?’

‘Something like that. It’s certainly not long enough to have made a great deal of difference, and if they want to go ahead I’ll encourage them to wait a bit longer, but I don’t know if that’s what they want.’

‘Well, we know she’s not pregnant,’ Nick told her, lounging back in his chair and fiddling with his pen. ‘Lucy told me she made a bit of a faux pas the other day—Sophie said she was going to have a baby brother or sister and Lucy assumed it was Mike and Fran having the baby and congratulated Fran, but it turned out it’s Sophie’s mother, Kirsten. Lucy felt dreadful.’

‘I can imagine. Poor Fran.’ Kate sighed softly. ‘She said to me last time how it was funny that everyone seemed to be pregnant. And now Lucy and Kirsten are pregnant as well. Oh, dear.’

‘And Joe and Sarah, although I don’t know if Mike and Fran know that yet.’

Kate sat down, deeply troubled. ‘I hope this isn’t going to push them into a hasty decision.’

‘Hardly hasty. They’ve been trying for years.’

‘But they weren’t ready, Nick. Only weeks ago when she came to see me their marriage was in ruins.’

‘Well, not now. Not according to Lucy. They were there on Monday for a barbeque, and she said the air between them was sizzling.’

‘Interesting.’ Kate frowned. ‘So maybe they just want to chat through the next stage in the process.’

‘What time are they coming? I could drop in if I’m free.’

She gave a dry chuckle. ‘I think I can manage to counsel a couple trying for a baby rather better than you,’ she pointed out.

‘Why do you say that?’ he protested, bristling, and she gave him a wry look.

‘Because I spent six years trying to have a baby and so I know where they’re coming from?’ she said softly. ‘Because—correct me if I’m wrong—not one of your four children was planned or anticipated in any way, and infertility just doesn’t even cross your mind? And neither, apparently, does your fertility, so if it’s all the same with you, I’ll handle the Trevellyans my way. And if you’re very good, I’ll tell you what it’s all about.’

She got up and walked out, his growl of frustration clearly audible, then his barked ‘Shut the door, then!’ followed her down the corridor.

‘Pretty please,’ she said, sticking her head back round it, and got a sour look for her pains.

‘I can’t believe you think I’d be so bad at this,’ he muttered, scowling. Oh, dear, poor Nick. He obviously felt insulted, but she didn’t care. Her feelings were all with Mike and Fran, and Nick was big enough and ugly enough to take care of himself.

‘Get over it,’ she advised, and shut the door.

It was the longest week of Fran’s life.

Well, no, it wasn’t. Waiting to hear that she was pregnant after their IVF at the beginning of the year had been dreadful. This, waiting for their appointment with Kate to find out when they could start the process again, was different, but she felt so impatient to be getting on with it that every day dragged.

Mike was doing a bit more on the farm now, serving in the farm shop and doing the dreaded paperwork, but he didn’t start at stupid o’clock in the morning and he wasn’t coming to bed late, so they had plenty of time together to reinforce their new-found closeness.

With his gentleness and passion he’d repossessed her body from the grip of the medical profession, and their relationship was stronger and better than it had ever been. And it would have been wonderful if it wasn’t for the suspense.

A few things broke it up. Amber had her calf, and Sophie was there and saw it born, something Mike had no problem with and Kirsten was annoyed about.

‘It’s nature—she needs to know,’ he said when Sophie was out of earshot.

‘And I’m pregnant, and I don’t want all sorts of embarrassing questions!’ Kirsten protested. ‘I can hear them all now—Oh, God, I could kill you sometimes, Mike.’

‘Feel free to try,’ he said blandly. ‘She’s my daughter, too, and I grew up knowing where babies come from. It didn’t do me any harm. It was just one of those things. Better to know from the start than to be totally grossed out by the idea when you’re twelve or so.’

‘But to see it!’

‘It was lovely,’ Fran chipped in in his defence. ‘She was captivated. Believe me, Kirsten, I teach in a rural area, and the kids that see animals reproduce have a much greater acceptance of sexual matters and their parents’ subsequent pregnancies than those who don’t. They just accept it as normal and natural and part of everyday life.’

‘And what about my pregnancy? Did she say anything? Anything about my baby and where it’s going to come from?’

‘Actually, yes,’ Mike confessed, looking a little uncomfortable. ‘She asked if you’d stood up too when you had her, or if you were lying down, and what you’d do with the new baby.’

Kirsten closed her eyes and made a tiny screaming sound. And?’

‘And I said people were all different, and it depended on how you felt at the time. I told her you walked round and round till the end then lay down to have her, but you might not feel like doing that with this baby.’

She groaned. ‘Too much information, Mike. She doesn’t need it at her age.’

Mike opened his mouth, then shut it, and Fran wondered if he’d thought better of telling Kirsten how fascinated Sophie had been with the afterbirth and the fact that Amber had eaten it. But then Sophie came back into the room with Brodie in tow and the subject was swiftly dropped.

‘All ready to go?’ Kirsten said, and Sophie nodded reluctantly.

‘I want to stay and see Amber’s calf some more. She’s really cute—she’s called Ama—something.’

‘Amaryllis,’ Mike supplied. ‘And she’ll still be cute when you come next time. Maybe cuter, because Amber will let you get closer. Right, come on, into the car. Your mother’s in a hurry and we’ve got to go out.’

‘Where are you going?’ Sophie asked.

‘The memorial service at the church in Penhally,’ Mike told her. ‘You remember, I told you about it. Lots of people died in a storm, and it was ten years ago today, so we’re all gathering together to remember them.’

‘That was four years before I was born,’ Sophie said, counting on her fingers. ‘That’s ages ago.’

Not for the people who were still grieving, Fran thought, and wondered how Kate Althorp and the Tremayne family would be feeling. Had they moved on?

‘We’d better go,’ she said to Mike as soon as Kirsten and Sophie had gone.

There was standing room only, and Kate would rather have been outside with the majority of the villagers than trapped inside the pretty little church. At least outside she could look out to sea and communicate with James somehow, instead of being trapped inside this box with thoughts and feelings that were too painful to contemplate in public.

So she shut them down, sat quietly and still, and remembered him for the good man and loyal husband he’d been. She didn’t let herself think about Nick, sitting with the rest of his family in the pew to her right, there to remember his father and brother. And she certainly didn’t let herself think about that night ten years ago.

Reverend Kenner was leading the service, and when he read out the names of those lost, Jem leant closer to her, his hand in hers. For comfort, or to comfort her? She wasn’t sure any more. He was growing up, turning into a fine young man, and James would have been proud of him.

Except, of course, the boy who was here to mourn his father wasn’t that man’s son at all.

Dear lord, it was so complicated. So sad and veiled in secrecy. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

Did he have the right to know who his real father was? She had no idea. No idea at all if it was better to mourn a man who had been a hero than to know that the man who really was your father was refusing to acknowledge your existence in his life.

The service moved outside and down to the beach, and as she and Jem stood on the rocks and threw their wreaths into the water and watched them carried away, as James had been, she blinked away threatening tears and straightened her shoulders.

They didn’t need Nick in their lives. They could manage without him.

And if sometimes, at night, she still cried herself to sleep for the love of a man she had no business loving, that was between her and her maker.

‘Hello! Come on in and sit down. How are you, Mike?’

He gave a dry chuckle. ‘Better than the last time you saw me,’ he said, and Kate laughed.

‘Yes, I think I’d probably agree. And Fran. How are you?’

Fran smiled, not knowing quite where to start and what to say. ‘Um—good,’ she said in the end, because it was true. She felt good—a bit sick with nerves, because now they’d decided to go for this, she was having to face all her demons all over again, but she could do it.

She reached out, and Mike took her hand, folding it in his and holding it tight. ‘Um … we wanted to talk to you about the IVF. Trying again. We’ve spent a lot of time talking …’ Her voice faltered, but she could feel Mike’s fingers tightening on hers, and out of the corner of her eye she could see his reassuring smile.

‘Anyway,’ she said, firming her voice, ‘we’ve been talking and thinking and we’ve been sticking to the diet and all the other things you said—the boxers and the showers and so on—and—’

‘Boxers?’ Mike said, frowning in puzzlement, then the light dawned. ‘I thought they were because of the cast,’ he murmured, but she could see a smile lurking in his eyes, and she smiled back.

‘Sorry. And the coffee and alcohol and so on have all been strictly rationed.’

‘And are you feeling better?’ Kate asked, looking at them both.

‘Probably, yes,’ Mike said, looking thoughtful. ‘I’m sleeping better, but that could be all sorts of things. Less pressure, we’re talking again—all sorts. And I feel energetic and optimistic, but again that could be because I’m not killing myself on the farm.’

‘Looks like your broken leg’s been quite useful, then,’ Kate said with a smile, and turned to Fran. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Scared. Sick. Dreading the injections and all the intrusive stuff, but …’ She shrugged and tried for a smile. ‘Generally better. Like Mike. Sleeping better, more energy, happier—but there are lots of reasons for that.’

Kate smiled again. ‘I’m so glad you’re both happier,’ she said quietly. ‘An unhappy relationship is never a good start to this journey, and I must say from my point of view you both look light years better.’

‘We feel it, and we were wondering if you could check us over,’ Mike said. ‘You know, run a ruler over us and make sure everything’s up to scratch before we start again.’

‘Of course. You probably haven’t given the diet and the other changes long enough yet, but if you really feel you can’t wait, we can start getting ready for the process of referral. You’ll have to go to a different centre for private treatment, but we can run a lot of the preliminary checks from here, to rule out anything that’s going to make them send you away. I’ll need blood from both of you, so can you roll your sleeves up? That’s great.’

She put a strap round Fran’s arm, slid a needle into the vein and took several vials of blood from it, then, giving Fran the swab to press down on the vein, she repeated the process with Mike. ‘You aren’t still on painkillers or anything, are you?’ she asked him, and he shook his head.

‘I’m not on anything at the moment. Neither of us are.’

‘Not even caffeine,’ Fran said, giving him a rueful smile. ‘I think that’s probably been the hardest for him.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said, pressing down on the swab. ‘Not compared to what’s at stake.’

‘Indeed. Right, let’s weigh you both.’

She noted down their weights, commenting on the fact that Fran had put on three much-needed kilos, and took their blood pressure.

‘OK. That’s that. And I’ll need a urine sample from each of you to make sure you haven’t got diabetes or any sub-clinical infections, and you know what we’re going to want from you,’ she said, sliding a little pot across the desk to Mike with a smile.

He gave a wry laugh. ‘Oh, yes. Do I ever. My favourite bit.’ He pushed the ominous little pot around, picked it up and tossed it in the air, then said, with a tension in his voice that probably only Fran would have noticed, ‘Will they be able to check for damaged sperm? Because if there’s any likelihood that it was my sperm quality that caused Fran to miscarry, I want to do something about it before we try again.’

Kate’s smile was reassuring. ‘Of course. If there’s a significant number of non-swimmers or sluggish ones, they’ll have a closer look. It might be that you have to persevere with the diet for longer, or there might be something more significant wrong, although I doubt it. That would have been spotted before, I’m sure, and if you remember they never did find anything significantly wrong with either of you last time. But let’s get the first tests out of the way and see what they come up with before we worry about what’s next.’

‘And then if everything comes back all right?’ Fran asked, feeling the tension ratchet up a notch.

‘Then we refer you to the clinic in Exeter, and they take over from us.’ She finished labelling all the bottles of blood, slipped them into the plastic sleeves, filled in the various request forms and looked up. ‘The semen sample needs to be as fresh as possible, so I would do it at the hospital, Mike, preferably near the beginning of the working day,’ she said. ‘Would you have time to do it this morning?’

He nodded, and Fran’s heart hitched.

‘Then I’ll give you all this stuff to take to the lab as well,’ she said, handing over all the blood samples and request envelopes, together with the urine sample bottles. ‘The sooner they get them, the better the results. And I’ll see you next week when they’re all back—I’ll give you a call when they’re in.’

She smiled and pushed back her chair, stood up and shook their hands and opened the door. ‘Good luck. I’ll see you next week.’

‘I can’t believe I’ve got to go into that ghastly room again,’ Mike muttered as they walked down the corridor towards the path lab. ‘It’s just awful, Fran—even thinking about it’s enough to put me off. The girly magazines and the smutty videos—it’s just horrible.’ He suppressed a shudder, and then without warning she got hold of his arm and yanked him through a doorway.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he asked as she shut the door and turned on the light. ‘Fran? Why are we in the loo?’

She pushed him against the wall, took the pot out of her handbag and put in on the basin, then reached for his zip. He grabbed it and held her away from him, unable to stop the splutter of laughter that rose in his chest.

‘Fran, stop it! We can’t do this here!’ he hissed.

‘Why not? Why ever not?’

‘Because it’s a public toilet!’

‘Don’t be silly, it’s a single cubicle off the corridor and it’s a lot more private than that dreadful room. Now, stop fighting.’

She pinned his hands out of the way, grabbed his zip and slid it down, reaching inside and curling her fingers round him.

Dear God. He was already hard, the thought of her touching him enough to bring him to the edge even though they were both still laughing. But then she moved her hand, the firm, rhythmic strokes enough to bring him to his knees, and he dropped his head forwards on his chest and stared down at her, her hand curled round him, her lip caught between her teeth, her pupils darkening as she looked up and met his eyes.

‘God, you are so sexy, Trevellyan,’ she muttered, flicking her nail across the tip of his penis, and he fisted his hands in her T-shirt and closed his eyes.

‘I’m going to come any second if you do that,’ he said through gritted teeth, and she gave a sexy little chuckle.

‘I thought that was the general idea,’ she said, and reached for the pot …

‘Kate? It’s Jan, at the fertility clinic. We’ve got a lot of results here from some patients of yours, Francesca and Michael Trevellyan. I think they were probably for you and I’ll send them through to you straight away, but I thought you’d want to know the results anyway.’

‘Of course,’ Kate said, surprised to feel a little kick of apprehension. ‘I was going to chase them up, it’s been over a week now. OK, fire away. I’ve got a pen.’ She listened, frowned, raised her eyebrows and jotted down all the information. ‘Really? Thanks, Jan. I’ll pass all that on,’ she said. Cutting the connection, she dialled the Trevellyans’ number.

‘Fran? It’s Kate. Are you both in? I’ve got your results, and I was just about to leave the surgery. I thought I might drop by on my way to collect Jem from my mother and have a chat about what happens next.’

‘Oh. Um …yes, sure,’ Fran said, sounding instantly worried. ‘We’ll be here. Mike’s in the office. I’ll get him.’

‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes,’ Kate said, and replaced the phone in its cradle.

‘Mike?’

He glanced up at Fran and got straight to his feet, one look enough to know something was going on. ‘What is it?’ he asked, his chest tight with dread.

‘I don’t know. Kate’s coming to see us. She’s got our results.’

He felt his heart lurch and went over to her, gathering her in his arms and hugging her tight.

‘We can handle this, Frankie,’ he said softly. ‘Whatever it is. Come on, let’s go into the house and wait for her. I take it she’s coming here now?’

‘Yes. She said she’d be ten minutes. Mike, I feel sick.’

‘Me, too,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

She would have fallen down without his support. They left the door open, standing there in the kitchen facing it, him behind her, his hands on her shoulders, steadying her, and so when Kate came in they couldn’t see her face because the light was behind her.

‘Well, I’ll get straight to the point,’ Kate said. ‘It wasn’t the news I was expecting to give you, but we aren’t going to be referring you for the IVF programme.’

‘No!’ Fran wailed, her knees threatening to buckle, and she felt Mike’s arms tighten round her.

‘Fran, no,’ Kate said hurriedly, and Fran couldn’t work out why on earth she was smiling. ‘It’s not bad news! You can’t have the IVF because you don’t need it. You’re pregnant, Fran,’ she said, and her smile widened. ‘Congratulations, both of you. You’re going to have a baby.’

Fran stared at her for an age, numb with shock, and then with a fractured little sob she turned and fell into Mike’s waiting arms …

They talked for hours.

Once Fran had stopped crying, of course, and they realised that Kate had left.

She was sitting on Mike’s lap, one arm round his neck and his hand resting lightly over their baby, and she said softly, ‘It’s going to be OK this time, Mike. I feel so different. Much sicker. I thought it was just fright, but of course it isn’t. My period is two days overdue, and I feel really different. And tired, but I thought that was just you keeping me awake half the night.’

He chuckled and tilted his head back, smiling up at her tenderly. ‘You’re to take care of yourself,’ he said. ‘Nothing silly. No unpasteurised milk or soft cheese or any of the other things—and no cheesemaking either. I can do that with a bin bag on my foot. And I’m sure Kate will give you a huge list of dos and don’ts.’

‘I’m sure she will.’ His hair had flopped forwards, and she lifted it back with her fingers and smoothed it out of the way so she could see his eyes. ‘I don’t want to tell Sophie yet, though,’ she said, not wanting to acknowledge the possibility of failure but all too aware that it might lurk round the corner for them. After all it had before, twice.

‘It’ll be fine. Third time lucky, Fran,’ he murmured. ‘But I agree, we won’t tell her yet. We won’t tell anyone. Not till you’re past the three-month mark.’

‘I lost both the others at eight weeks,’ she reminded him sadly.

His arm tightened. ‘I know.’

‘Three weeks and five days to go.’

‘We’ll make it,’ he assured her, his voice quietly confident. ‘And even if we don’t, we’ve still got each other. As far as I’m concerned, that makes me the luckiest man alive. The rest is just the icing on the cake.’

She rested her head against his and sighed. ‘I’m so lucky to have you,’ she said softly. ‘Have I told you recently how much I love you?’

He chuckled. ‘Only about ten times today, but feel free to do it again.’

The phone rang, and she hung on to his neck and reached over, grabbing it from the charger without leaving Mike’s lap. ‘Hello? Oh, hi, Ben. Yes, he’s here. I’ll hand you over.’

She gave Mike the phone, and after a brief conversation he hung up and smiled at her. ‘The valuer’s been.’

‘And?’

‘If we’d ended up having to go the IVF route, we’d have had more than enough, but Joe and Sarah can do their kitchen, and Mum and Dad can change the car. And we can put the money on one side and spend it on something later. We’re going to make it this time, Fran,’ he said with conviction. ‘I know we will.’

‘We can spend it on the nursery,’ she said, allowing a little bloom of hope. ‘The house could do with a bit of decorating, and the heating’s not great.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t get too carried away,’ he said, and then kissed her. ‘Time for bed?’

‘Sounds good,’ she said.

He lay watching her sleep, a little knot of fear in his chest. They had to make it. If she lost this baby …

Then he’d cope, he told himself firmly. If Fran had the courage to do this, then he had to find the courage to support her if it all went wrong. And they’d have the money put on one side for the IVF, should they need it. Please, God, it wouldn’t be necessary …

Fran thought The Day would never come.

That was how she’d started thinking about it—with capital letters, because it seemed so huge, so important, so very far away that somehow nothing else would do.

Her pregnancy was a nightmare. Not because anything went wrong, because it didn’t. She got through it, day by day, hour by hour, focusing on the end, planning for the magical day when she could bring her baby home, but somehow not daring to believe that it would ever happen.

The eight-week deadline passed.

Safely.

She gave a shaky sigh of relief when she reached nine weeks and realised she was probably over that hurdle. The next danger point was twelve weeks, and she got through that, too.

Then she had a scan—an image of her baby, just a tiny curl of a thing, but with an unwavering heartbeat.

‘Oh, Mike,’ she said, clinging to him and staring mesmerised at the screen, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. So she did both, and so did Mike, and they were given a photo to keep.

Their first, in the album she started with a trembling hope.

Then at twenty weeks she had her second scan, and another photo for the album.

‘Do you want to know what sex it is?’

She looked at Mike for guidance, and he shrugged, passing the ball back to her.

‘I don’t care, so long as everything’s all right,’ he said, and she smiled.

‘No, then,’ she said. ‘We’ll wait and see.’

And then she kicked herself, because they started decorating the nursery, the little room off their bedroom that had always been the nursery, where Mike and Joe had slept for the first year of their lives, where their father, Russell, had slept, and so on back for generations. And because they didn’t know the sex of the baby, they didn’t know what colour to paint it.

‘Yellow?’ Mike offered. ‘That’s sunny and sort of neutral.’

‘It makes them look jaundiced,’ Fran said doubtfully, and he chuckled.

‘Not daffodil yellow. Something softer. A pale creamy primrose?’

So that was how it ended up, a lovely soft colour, and when she was thirty-six weeks, they bought a cot. They didn’t assemble it, though. It was as if, by tacit agreement, they didn’t want to push their luck. So it stayed in the room, propped up behind the door, and for the next three weeks they didn’t look at it.

It was as if they were holding their breath, but every night Mike would hold her in his arms, cuddled together like spoons in a drawer, with his big, strong hand splayed tenderly over the baby, soothing it with gentle strokes when it kicked and squirmed.

It had hiccups, too, which made them chuckle once they realised it was nothing to worry about.

And then Fran woke one morning tired and grumpy, and the house was a tip. So she cleaned it, furiously, from end to end, which frankly would have been stupidly ambitious when she hadn’t been pregnant, she thought in a rare pause when she’d changed their sheets and vacuumed the bedroom floor, but she just had to do it, because the baby was coming soon and it couldn’t be brought back to a place hanging with cobwebs.

Well, one cobweb, and it wasn’t exactly hanging, but it was soon banished with a flick of the feather duster, and after another half-hour the dining table was gleaming, the old mahogany nourished within an inch of its life.

And she ached. Lord, how she ached! She straightened up, the beeswax in her hand, and arched her back. She’d done too much, she thought. Much too much.

Time to sit down for a while.

Except she couldn’t sit down, because it was so horrendously uncomfortable suddenly, and then she had one of those lightbulb moments and couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. She’d watched Brodie do just the same thing only two weeks ago, dragging her bedding round and round to get it comfortable, before finally settling down and giving birth to three puppies.

And she hadn’t even realised she was doing the same thing!

She phoned Mike on his mobile. ‘Um, can you come?’

‘Sure—is supper ready?’

‘Not exactly.’

He must have picked up on the tone of her voice, because he swore softly and she could hear him running. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said, and five minutes later he burst into the kitchen and found her standing leaning over the sink, a pool at her feet, panting.

‘Fran?’

‘Mind the floor,’ she warned, worried he’d slip.

‘What have you spilt?’

‘I haven’t. My waters have broken.’

‘Oh, God.’ He went pale, then lifted her out of the way and scrubbed his hands. ‘I’d better take you to hospital now. Are you having contractions?’

‘Um, sort of—Ah-h-h!’

It poleaxed her. It was the first time she’d felt anything other than a horrendous ache, but this was different. This was strong, and powerful, much bigger than her, and it took her over completely.

‘Fran?’

‘Bed,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Now.’

And Mike peered down at her, stopped flapping and turned into the father, stockman and one-time-maybe vet that he was, scooped her up and carried her up the stairs.

He dumped her on the edge of the bed, grabbed the plastic sheet they’d had for Sophie out of the airing cupboard, spread it over the mattress, covered it in thick, soft towels and lifted her into the middle of it.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to help him, but she didn’t need to. He was doing fine, his smile reassuring, his hands slow and steady and confident as he stripped off her wet underwear.

‘In a bit of a hurry, I think,’ he said, rubbing her back gently and smiling at her.

She suddenly realised why the livestock trusted him so much, why his cows were so content and relaxed around him.

‘I’ve called an ambulance,’ he told her, but they both knew she wasn’t going anywhere till she’d had the baby, and she felt a great peace steal over her. Generations of his family had been born here, in this room, and their baby would be the next in line.

‘Help me out of my clothes,’ she said, struggling to get out of them. She didn’t know why, she just wanted to get rid of them, get rid of anything that wasn’t natural, anything tight, anything constricting that would come between her and nature, because nature was taking her over and she was following her instincts blindly.

Mike eased the dress over her head, pulled off her T-shirt, unclipped her bra and took it off, then drew her naked body into his arms and held her, rubbing her back through another contraction.

‘I need to push,’ she said a minute later, shoving him out of the way and struggling to her knees. ‘Now!’

She couldn’t have done it without him. She locked her hands around the back of his neck and hung on him, whimpering, and he knelt there in front of her and cradled her, then turned her so she was lying over the pillows, hanging on to the headboard for dear life while he concentrated at the business end, and as the baby let out a lusty howl, she turned and sagged back onto the bed, her empty arms outstretched.

Mike lifted their son, slippery and shuddering with rage, and put him into her waiting arms. ‘It’s a boy,’ he said, his voice unsteady, and his hand came out, trembling, and he brushed the back of his knuckles gently over the soft, soft skin. ‘We’ve got a boy, Fran. A son.’ And his tears welled over and splashed onto her hand.

She stared down at them, the tears he’d shed, and the child they’d made together, the child they’d feared they’d never have, and she looked up at him, her own eyes flooded with tears.

‘Come here,’ she said, and he covered them both with the quilt, lay down beside them and drew them into his arms. The baby was nuzzling now, and she looked up at Mike helplessly. ‘I don’t know how to do this,’ she confessed.

‘Yes, you do. Remember the classes?’

And wrapping his big hand round his son’s tiny head, he steered him in the right direction, brushed his cheek against her nipple, and as his mouth opened instinctively, Mike pressed him firmly against her and she felt the baby start to suckle.

‘Oh! It’s so strong!’ she whispered, and stared down at him in wonder. ‘Oh, Mike. He’s beautiful.’

‘He is. Incredible. Amazing. Our little miracle.’

His tiny fingers were splayed over Fran’s breast, the transparent nails so small she could barely see them, but he was strong, a real fighter. He was suckling hard, his tiny rosebud mouth making little sucking noises, and she looked up at Mike and laughed softly.

‘He’s got his father’s appetite,’ she said, and Mike chuckled and hugged her closer.

‘We haven’t talked about names,’ she said, remembering their reluctance to take that much for granted.

‘Sophie has,’ he confessed with a groan. ‘She’s been nagging me. She’s had hundreds of ideas, but her favourite seems to be Thomas.’

‘Thomas. I like that. Thomas Trevellyan. Sounds good.’

‘I think so.’

She stroked his tiny cheek. ‘I think we ought to let your sister name you, little man, don’t you? She’ll be so excited. You have to tell her, Mike.’

‘Not until we’ve got you sorted out,’ he said, easing away from her. ‘The ambulance is here. I’ll talk to her later.’

‘Daddy!’

‘Hello, pickle!’ Mike scooped Sophie up into his arms and hugged her. ‘How’s my favourite girl?’

‘I’m fine—Daddy, where’s Fran? I’ve got something really special to show her. Fran! Look!’ she yelled, catching sight of her. Fran hugged her close and took the little box Sophie was thrusting at her eagerly.

‘It’s a model—I made it at school!’ she said. ‘Look, it’s Brodie and her puppies!’

‘So it is,’ Fran said, smiling down at the little model nestling in its bed of cotton wool. ‘It’s lovely. Give it to your daddy, then.’

‘It’s not for him, it’s for the baby. Can I see him? I’m dying to see him. I can’t believe Mummy made me wait two whole days!’

She was beside herself with excitement and, taking her by the hand, Fran looked up at Kirsten, still in the car. ‘Coming in?’

She shook her head and smiled. ‘I’ll see him when I pick her up on Sunday,’ she said, and drove away, leaving them with Sophie.

Fran led her through the kitchen, past Brodie and her three little puppies all snuggled up together in her basket, into the sitting room to where Sophie’s brand-new little brother was lying sleeping in his crib.

‘Oh, he’s tiny!’ she said in a stage whisper. ‘Much smaller than Millie. Daddy, he’s just like you! All that black hair—and he’s got your nose!’

‘Poor kid,’ Mike said with a proud grin, wrapping his arms round Fran and hugging her close.

‘There’s nothing wrong with your nose,’ Fran told him, turning and kissing the tip of it with a smile. ‘Nothing at all. And there won’t be anything wrong with Thomas’s either. It’s just a bit squashed, but I’m sure he’ll grow into it.’

‘I’m sure he will,’ Mike said, staring down at his son with an expression of wonder and love so profound it brought tears to Fran’s eyes.

‘Can I hold him?’

‘Of course. Sit down.’

Sophie sat on the sofa, with Fran next to her just in case, and Mike slipped his big hands gently under his son’s small body and lifted him, resting him carefully on Sophie’s lap.

‘Hello, Thomas,’ she whispered, and kissed her little brother gently on his forehead. His eyes fluttered open and he stared at her, and they were both transfixed.

It was magical, Fran thought as Mike sat down beyond Sophie and put his arm around them all. Perfect.

Then Sophie looked up, her eyes shining and her smile as bright as the sun, and said, ‘We’re a proper family now.’

And Brodie, wandering in to see what was going on, rested her head on Sophie’s knee and thumped her tail in agreement …