Читать книгу The One Winter Collection - Rebecca Winters - Страница 36

CHAPTER EIGHT

ALL THE WAY to the bedroom Julie hoped Henry might be mistaken. They reached the guest room, however, and one look told her that there could be no mistake about this. Amina was crouched by the bed, holding onto the bed post, clinging as if drowning. She swung round as Julie entered and her eyes were filled with panic.

‘It can’t come. It’s too early. I can’t...last time it was so... I can’t do this.’

Right. Okay.

‘And it’s breech,’ Amina moaned. ‘It was supposed to turn; otherwise the doctor said I might need a Caesarean...’

Breech! A baby coming and breech! Things that might best have been known when the fire crew was here, Julie thought wildly. They’d had that one chance to get away from here. If they’d known they could have insisted on help, on helicopter evacuation. Amina would surely have been a priority. But now...it was nine o’clock on Christmas night and they’d already knocked back help. What was the chance of a passing ambulance? Or a passing anything?

They were trapped. Their cars were stuck in the garage. The tree that had fallen over the driveway was still there, huge and smouldering. It had taken Henry almost twelve hours to walk up from the road blocks and he’d risked his life doing so.

‘The phone...’ she said without much hope, and Rob shook his head.

‘I checked half an hour ago.’ He rechecked then, flipping it from his pocket. ‘No reception. Zip. Jules, I’ll start down the mountain by foot. I might find someone with a car.’

‘I didn’t see an occupied house all the way up the mountain.’ Henry shook his head. ‘The homes that aren’t burned are all evacuated. Amina, can’t you stop?’

Amina said something that made them all blink. Apparently stopping was not on the agenda.

‘What’s wrong with Mama?’ It was Danny, standing in the hall in his new Batman pyjamas. The pyjamas Julie had bought for her sons. The pyjamas that she’d thought would make her feel...make her feel...

But there wasn’t time for her to feel anything. Danny’s voice echoed his father’s fear. Amina looked close to hysterics. Someone had to do something—now.

She was a lawyer, Julie thought wildly. She didn’t do babies.

But it seemed she had no choice. By the look of Amina, this baby was coming, ready or not.

Breech.

‘You’ll be fine,’ she said with a whole lot more assurance than she was feeling. ‘Rob, take Danny into the living room and turn on a good loud movie. He had a nap this afternoon; he won’t be sleepy. Isn’t that right, Danny?’

‘But what’s wrong with Mama?’

She took a deep breath and squatted beside the little boy. Behind her, Henry was kneeling by his wife—remonstrating? For heaven’s sake—as if Amina could switch anything off. And Danny looked terrified.

And suddenly Julie was done with terror. Enough.

‘Danny, your mama is having a baby,’ she told him. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. There’s nothing wrong, but I suspect this is a big baby and your mama will hurt a bit as she pushes it out.’

‘How will she push it out?’

‘Rob will tell you,’ she said grandly, ‘while he finds a movie for you to watch. Won’t you, Rob?’

‘Um...yeah?’ He looked wild-eyed and suddenly Julie was fighting an insane desire to grin. A woman in labour or teaching a kid the facts of life—what a choice.

‘And your papa and I will help your mama,’ she added. But...

‘No.’ It was Amina, staring up at them, practically yelling. ‘No,’ she managed again, and this time it was milder. ‘It’s okay, Danny,’ she managed, making a supreme effort to sound normal in the face of her son’s fear. ‘This is what happened when I had you. It’s normal. Having babies hurts, but only like pulling a big splinter out.’ As if, Julie thought. Right.

‘But Papa’s not going to stay here.’ Amina’s voice firmed, becoming almost threatening, and she looked up at Julie and her eyes pleaded. ‘Last time...Henry fainted. I was having Danny and suddenly the midwives were fussing over Henry because he cut his head on the floor when he fell. Henry, I love you but I don’t want you here. I want you to go away.’

Which left...Julie and Rob. They met each other’s gaze and Julie’s chaotic thoughts were exactly mirrored in Rob’s eyes.

Big breath. No, make that deep breathing. A bit of Zen calm. Where was a nice safe monastery when she needed one?

‘Give us a moment,’ she said to Amina. ‘Henry, no fainting yet. Help Amina into bed, then you and Danny can leave the baby delivering to us. We can do this, can’t we, Rob?’

‘I...’

‘You won’t faint on me,’ she said in a voice of steel.

‘I guess I won’t,’ Rob managed. ‘If you say so—I guess I wouldn’t dare.’

* * *

She propelled him out into the passage and closed the door. They stared at each other in a moment of mutual panic, while each of them fought for composure.

‘We can’t do this,’ Rob said.

‘We don’t have a choice.’

‘I don’t have the first clue...’

‘I’ve read a bit.’ And she had. When she was having the twins, the dot-point part of her—she was a lawyer and an accountant after all, and research was her thing—had read everything she could get her hands on about childbirth. The fact that she’d forgotten every word the moment she went into labour was immaterial. She knew it all. In theory.

‘You’re a lawyer, Jules,’ Rob managed. ‘Not an obstetrician. All you know is law.’

And she thought suddenly, fleetingly: that’s not all I have to be.

Why was it a revelation?

Weirdly, she was remembering the day she’d got the marks to get into law school. Her hippy parents had been baffled, but Julie had been elated. From that moment she’d been a lawyer.

Even when the twins were born...she’d loved Rob to bits and she’d adored her boys but she was always a lawyer. She’d had Rob bring files into hospital after she’d delivered, so she wouldn’t fall behind.

All you know is law...

For the last four years law had been her cave, her hiding place. Her all. The night the boys were killed they’d been running late because of her work and Rob’s work.

Rob had started skiing, she thought inconsequentially and then she thought that maybe it was time she did something different too. Like delivering babies?

The whole concept took a nanosecond to wash through her mind but, strangely, it settled her.

‘We don’t even have the Internet,’ Rob groaned.

‘I have books.’

‘Books?’

‘You know: things with pages. I bought every birth book I could get my hands on when the twins were due. They’ll still be in the bookcase.’

‘You intend to deliver a breech baby with one hand while you hold the book in the other?’

‘That’s where you come in, Rob McDowell,’ she snapped. ‘From this moment we’re a united team. I want hot water, warm towels and a professional attitude.’

‘I’m an architect!’

‘Not tonight you’re not,’ she told him. ‘It’s still Christmas. You played Santa this morning. Now you need to put your midwife hat on and deliver again.’

* * *

She’d sounded calm enough when she’d talked to Rob but, as she stood in front of her small library of childbirth books, she felt the calm slip away.

What...? How...?

Steady, she told herself. Think. She stared at the myriad titles and tried to decide.

Not for the first time in her life, she blessed her memory. Read it once, forget it never. Obviously she couldn’t remember every detail in these books—some parts she’d skimmed over fast. But the thing with childbirth, she’d figured, was that almost anyone could do it. Women had been doing it since time immemorial and they’d done it without the help of books. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred there were no problems; all the midwife had to do was encourage, support, catch and clean up.

But the one per cent...

Julie had become just a trifle obsessive in the last weeks of her pregnancy. She therefore had books with pictures of unthinkable outcomes. She remembered Rob had found her staring in horror at a picture of conjoined twins, and a mother who’d laboured for days before dying. Extreme Complications of Pregnancy. He’d taken that book straight to the shredder, but she had others.

Breech, she thought frantically, fingering one title after another. There were all sorts of complications with breech deliveries and she’d read them all.

But...but...

Ninety-nine per cent of babies are born normally, she told herself and she kept on thinking of past reading. Breech is more likely to be a problem in first time mothers because the perineum is unproven. Or words to that effect? She’d read that somewhere and she remembered thinking if her firstborn twin was breech it might be a problem, but if the book was right the second twin would be a piece of cake regardless.

‘You’re smiling!’

Rob had come into the living room and was staring at her in astonishment.

‘No problem. We can do this.’ And she hauled out one of the slimmest tomes on the shelf, almost a booklet, written by a midwife and not a doctor. It was well thumbed. She’d read it over and over because in the end it had been the most comforting.

She flicked until she found what she was looking for, and there were the words again. If the breech is a second baby it’s much less likely to require intervention. But it did sound a warning. Avoid home birth unless you’re near good medical backup.

There wasn’t a lot of backup here. One architect, one lawyer, one fainting engineer and a four-year-old. Plus a first aid box containing sticking plasters, tweezers and antiseptic.

Breech... She flipped to the page she was looking for and her eyes widened. Rob looked over her shoulder and she felt him stiffen. ‘My God...’

‘We can do this.’ Steady, she told herself. If I don’t stay calm, who will? ‘Look,’ she said. ‘We have step by step instructions with pictures. It’s just like buying a desk and assembling it at home, following instructions. Besides, if we need to intervene, we can, but it says we probably won’t need to. It’s big on hands off.’

‘But if we do? You know me and kit furniture—it always ends up with screws left over and one side wonkier than the other. And look what it says! If it’s facing upward, head for hospital because...’

‘There’s no need to think like that,’ she snapped. ‘We need to stay positive. That means calm, Rob.’ And she thought back, remembering. ‘Forget the kit furniture analogy. Yes, you’re a terrible carpenter but as a first time dad you were great. You are great. You need to be like you were with me, every step of the way. No matter how terrified I was, you were there saying how brave I was, how well I was doing, and you sounded so calm, so sure...’

‘I wasn’t in the least sure. I was a mess.’

‘So you’re a good actor. Put the act on again.’

‘This isn’t you we’re talking about. Jules, I could do it when I had to.’

‘Then you have to now.’ She took a long, hard look at the diagrams, committing them to memory. Hoping to heaven she wouldn’t need them. ‘Amina has us. Rob, together we can do this.’

‘Okay.’ He took a deep breath while he literally squared his shoulders. ‘If you say so, maybe we can.’ Then suddenly he tugged her to him and hugged her, hard, and gave her a swift firm kiss. ‘Maybe that’s what I’ve been saying all along. Apart we’re floundering. Together we might...’

‘Be able to have a baby? Do you have those towels warming?’ The kiss had left her flustered, but she regrouped fast.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘I’ll need sterilised scissors.’

‘I already thought of that. They’re in a pot on the barbecue. So all we need is one baby.’ He cupped her chin and smiled down at her. ‘Okay, Dr McDowell, do you have your dot-point plan ready? I hope you do because we’re in your hands.’

* * *

Breech births were supposed to be long. Weren’t they? Surely they were supposed to take longer than normal labours, but no one seemed to have told Amina’s baby that. When Rob and Julie returned to her room she was mid-contraction and one look at her told them both that this was some contraction. Surely a contraction shouldn’t be as all-consuming if it was early labour.

Henry and Danny were looking appalled but Henry was looking even more appalled than his son. He’d fainted at Danny’s birth, but then refugees did it tough, Rob thought, and who knew what the circumstances had been? Today he’d literally walked through fire to reach his family. He must be past exhaustion. He’d cut him some slack—and, besides, if Henry left with Danny, it would be Henry who’d have to explain childbirth to his son.

He put his hand on Henry’s shoulder and gripped, hard.

‘We can do this, mate,’ he said. ‘At least, Julie can and I’m here to assist. Julie suggested I take Danny into the living room and turn on a movie. If it’s okay with Amina, how about you take my place? We have a pile of kids’ movies. Pick a loud, exciting one and watch it until you both go to sleep. Hug Luka and know everything’s okay. Danny, your mama’s about to have a baby and she needs to be able to yell a bit while she does. It’s okay, honest, most mamas yell when they have babies. So if you hear yelling, don’t you worry. Snuggle up with your papa and Luka, and when you wake up in the morning I reckon your mama will have a baby to show you. Is that okay, Henry?’

‘I’ll stay,’ Henry quavered. ‘If you want me to, Amina...’

‘Leave,’ Amina ordered, easing back from the contraction enough to manage a weak smile at her husband and then her son. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ she told Danny. ‘This baby has to push its way out and I have to squeeze and squeeze and it’s easier for me if I can yell when I squeeze. Papa’s going to show you a movie and Julie and Rob are going to stay with me to take care of the baby when it’s born.’

‘Can I come back and see it—when it’s born?’

‘Yes.’

‘And will it be a boy?’

‘I don’t know,’ Amina told him. ‘But, Danny, take your papa away because I have to squeeze again and Papa doesn’t like yelling. You look after Papa, okay?’

‘And watch a movie?’

‘Yes,’ Amina managed through gritted teeth. Julie got behind Henry and practically propelled him and his son through the door and closed it behind them, and it was just as well because Amina was true to her word.

She yelled.

* * *

Hands off. Do not interfere unless you have to. That was the mantra the little book extolled and that was fine by Julie because there didn’t seem to be an alternative.

She and Rob both washed, scrupulously on Julie’s part, the way she’d seen it done on television. Rob looked at her with her arms held out, dripping, and gave a rueful chuckle. ‘Waiting for a nurse to apply latex gloves?’

‘The only gloves I have are the ones I use for the washing-up. I’m dripping dry,’ she retorted and then another contraction hit and any thought of chuckling went out of the window.

‘Hey,’ Rob said, hauling a chair up by Amina’s bedside. ‘It’s okay. Yell as much as you want. We’re used to it. You should have heard Julie when she had the twins. I’d imagine you could have heard her in Sri Lanka.’

‘But...but she knows...what to do? Your Julie?’

‘My Julie knows what to do,’ Rob told her, taking her hand. ‘My Julie’s awesome.’

And how was a woman to react to that? Julie felt her eyes well, but then Rob went on.

‘My Julie’s also efficient. She’ll help you get through this faster than anyone I know. And if there’s any mucking around she’ll know who to sue. She’s a fearsome woman, my Julie, so let’s just put ourselves in her hands, Amina, love, and get this baby born.’

Which meant there was no time for welling eyes, no time for emotion. There was a baby to deliver.

* * *

By unspoken agreement, Rob stayed by Amina’s side and did what a more together Henry should have done, while Julie stayed at the business end of the bed.

The instructions in her little booklet played over and over in her head, giving her a clear plan of action. How close? Julie had no clue. She couldn’t see the baby yet but, with the power of these contractions, it surely wouldn’t be long before she did.

She felt useless, but at the other end of the bed Rob was a lot more help.

‘Come on, Amina, you can do this. Every contraction brings your baby closer. You’re being terrific. Did anyone ever teach you how to breathe? You do it like this between contractions...’ And he proceeded to demonstrate puffing as he’d learned years before in Julie’s antenatal classes. ‘It really works. Julie said so.’

Julie had said no such thing, she thought. She’d said a whole lot of things during her long labour but she couldn’t remember saying anything complimentary about anything.

And Amina was in a similar mood. When Rob waited until the next contraction passed and then encouraged Amina to puff again, he got told where he could put his puffing.

‘And it’s breech,’ she gasped. ‘Julie doesn’t know about breech.’

‘Julie knows everything,’ Rob declared. ‘Memory like a bull elephant, my Julie. Tell us the King of Spain in 1703, Jules.’

‘Philip Five,’ Julie said absently.

‘Name a deadly mushroom?’

‘Conocybe? Death caps? How many do you want?’

‘And tell me what’s different about breech?’

‘I might have to do a little rotating as the baby comes out,’ Julie said, trying to sound as if it was no big deal.

‘There you go, then,’ Rob approved as Amina disappeared into another contraction. ‘She knows it all. This’ll be a piece of cake for our Julie.’

Only it wasn’t. Rob had managed to calm Amina; there no longer seemed to be terror behind the pain, but there was certainly a fair bit of terror behind Julie’s façade of competence.

One line in the little book stood out. If the baby’s presenting face up then there’s no choice; it must be a Caesarean.

Any minute now she’d know. Dear God...

Her mind was flying off at tangents as she waited. Was there any other option? They couldn’t go for help. They couldn’t ring anyone. For heaven’s sake, they couldn’t even light a fire and send out smoke signals. If it was face up...

‘And my Julie always stays calm,’ Rob said, and his voice was suddenly stern, cutting across the series of yelps Amina was making. ‘That’s what I love about her. That’s why you’re in such good hands, Amina. Are you sure you don’t want to puff?’

Amina swore and slapped at his hand and a memory came back to Julie—she’d done exactly the same thing. She’d even bruised him. The day after the twins were born she’d looked at a blackening bruise on her husband’s arm, and she’d also seen marks on his palm where her nails had dug in.

Her eyes met his and he smiled, a faint gentle smile that had her thinking...memories can be good. The remembrance of Rob’s comfort. Her first sight of her babies.

The love...

Surely that love still deserved to live. Surely it shouldn’t be put away for ever in the dusty recesses of her mind, locked away because letting it out hurt?

Surely Rob was right to relive those memories. To let them make him smile...

But then Amina gasped and struggled and Rob supported her as she tried to rise. She grasped her knees and she pushed.

Stage two. Stage two, stage two, stage two.

Face up, face down. Please, please, please...

There was a long, loaded pause and Amina actually puffed. But still she held her knees while the whole world seemed to hold its breath.

Another contraction. Another push.

Julie could see it. She could see...what? What?

A backside. A tiny bottom.

Face down. Oh, God, face down. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She glanced up at Rob and her relief must have shown in her face. He gave her a fast thumbs-up and then went back to holding, encouraging, being...Rob.

She loved him. She loved him with all her heart but now wasn’t the time to get corny. Now was the time to try and deliver this baby.

Hands off. That was what the book said. Breech babies will often deliver totally on their own.

Please...

But they’d been lucky once. They couldn’t ask for twice. Amina pushed, the baby’s bottom slid out so far but as the contraction receded, so did the baby.

Over and over.

Exhaustion was starting to set in. Time for Dr Julie to take a hand? Did she dare?

Another glance at Rob, and his face was stern. He’d read the book over her shoulder, seen the pictures, figured what was expected now. His face said: do it.

So do it.

She’d set out what she’d need. Actually, she’d set out what she had. The book said if the head didn’t come, then forceps might be required. She didn’t actually have forceps or anything that could be usefully used instead.

Please don’t let them be needed. It was a silent prayer said over and over.

Don’t think forward. One step at a time. First she had to deliver the legs.

Dot-point number one. Carefully, she lubricated her fingers. One leg at a time. One leg...

Remember the pictures.

‘Jules is about to help your baby out,’ Rob said, his voice steady, calm, settling. ‘Next push, Amina, go as far as you can and then hold. Puff, just like I said. Keep the pressure on.’

Next contraction... The baby’s back slid out again. Deep breath and Julie felt along the tiny leg. What did the book say? Manoeuvre your finger behind the knee and gently push upward. This causes the knee to flex. Hold the femur, splint it gently with your finger to prevent it breaking. This should allow the leg to...

It did! It flopped out. Oh, my...

Calm. Next. Dot-point number two.

The other leg was easier. Now the baby could no longer recede. Manoeuvre to the right position. Flex.

Two legs delivered. She was almost delirious with hope. Please...

Dot-point number three. Gently rotate the baby into the side position to allow delivery of the right arm. Easier said than done but the illustrations had been clear. If only her hands weren’t so slippery, but they had to be slippery.

‘Fantastic, Jules,’ Rob said. ‘Fantastic, Amina. You’re both doing great.’

She had the tiny body slightly rotated. Enough? It had to be. Her finger found the elbow, put her finger over the top, pressured gently, inexorably.

An arm. She’d delivered an arm. The dot-points were blurring, but she still had work to do. She was acting mostly on instinct, but thank God for the book. She’d write to the author. No, she’d send the author half her kingdom. All her kingdom.

She suddenly thought of the almost obscene amount of money she’d been earning these past years and thought...

And thought there was another arm to go and then the head, and the head was...

‘Jules. We’re doing great,’ Rob growled and she glanced up at him and thought he’d seen the shiver of panic and he was grounding her again.

He’d always grounded her. She needed him.

Her hands held the tiny body, took a grip, lifted as the book said, thirty degrees so the left arm was in position for delivery. She twisted as the next contraction eased. The baby rotated like magic.

She found the elbow and pushed gently down. The left arm slithered out.

Now the head. Please, God, the head. She didn’t have forceps. She wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with forceps if she had them.

‘Lift,’ Rob snapped and he was echoing the book too. ‘Come on, Jules, you know what the book says. Come on, Amina. Our baby’s so close. We can do this.’

Our baby...

It sounded good. It sounded right.

‘Next contraction, puff afterwards, ease off until Jules has the baby in position,’ Rob urged Amina, and magically she did.

Amina was working so hard. Surely she could do the same.

She steadied. Waited. The next contraction passed. Amina puffed, Rob held her hand and murmured gentle words. ‘Hold, Amina, hold, we’re so close...’

Do it.

She held the baby, resting it on her right hand. She manoeuvred her hand so two fingers were on the side of the tiny jaw. With her other hand she put her middle finger on the back of the baby’s head.

It sounded easy. It wasn’t. She lifted the baby as high as she could, remembering the pictures, remembering...

So much sweat. She needed...she needed...

‘You’re doing great, Jules,’ Rob said. ‘Amina, your baby’s so close. Maybe one more push. This is fantastic. Let’s do this, people. Okay, Jules?’

‘O...Okay.’ She nodded. She’d forgotten how to breathe. Please...

‘Okay, Amina, push,’ Rob ordered and Amina pushed—and the next second Julie had a healthy, lusty, slippery bundle of baby girl in her arms.

She gasped and staggered but she had her. She had Amina’s baby.

Safe. Delivered.

And seconds later a tiny girl was lying on her mother’s tummy. Amina was sobbing with joy, and a new little life had begun.

* * *

After that things happened in a blur. Waiting for the afterbirth and checking it as the book had shown. Clearing up. Watching one tiny girl find her mother’s breast. Ushering an awed and abashed Henry into the room, with Danny by his side.

Watching the happiness. Watching the little family cling. Watching the love and the pride, and then backing out into the night, their job done.

Julie reached the passage, leaned against the wall and sagged.

But she wasn’t allowed to sag for long. Her husband had her in his arms. He held her and held her and held her, and she felt his heart beat against hers and she thought: here is my home.

Here is my family.

Here is my heart.

‘Love, I need to check the boundaries again,’ he said at last, ruefully, and she thought with a jolt: fire. She hadn’t thought of the fire for hours. But of course he was right. There’d still be embers falling around them. They should have kept checking.

‘We should have told Henry to check,’ she managed.

‘Do you think he would have even seen an ember? You take a shower. I’ll be with you soon.’

‘Rob...’ she managed.

‘Mmm?’

‘I love you,’ she whispered.

‘I love you too, Dr McDowell.’ He kissed her on the tip of the nose and then put her away. ‘But then, I always have. All we need to do now is to figure some way forward. Think of it in the shower, my Jules. Think of me. Now, go get yourself clean again while I rid myself of my obstetric suit and put on my fireman’s clothes. Figuring roles for ourselves... This day’s thrown plenty at us. Think about it, Jules, love. What role do you want for the rest of your life?’

And he was gone, off to play fireman.

While Julie was left to think about it.

* * *

There was little to think about—and yet there was lots. She thought really fast while she let the water stream over her. Then she towelled dry, donned her robe and headed back out onto the veranda.

Rob was just finishing, heading up the steps with his bucket and mop.

‘Not a single ember,’ he announced triumphantly. ‘Not a spark. After today I doubt an ember would dare come close. Have I told you recently that we rock? If I didn’t think Amina might be asleep already I’d puff out my chest and do a yodel worthy of Tarzan.’

‘Riiiight...’

‘It’s true. In fact I feel a yodel coming on right this minute. But not here. Do you fancy wandering up the hill a little and yodelling with me?’

And it was such a crazy idea that she thought: why not? But then, she was in a robe and slippers and she should...

No. She shouldn’t think of reasons not to. Move forward.

‘That’s something I need to hear,’ she said and grinned. ‘A Tarzan yodel... Wow.’ She grabbed his mop, tossed it aside, took his hand and hauled him out into the night.

‘Jules! I didn’t mean...’

‘To yodel? Rob McDowell, if you think I’m going through what we’ve gone through without listening to you yodel, you’re very much mistaken.’

‘What have I done?’ But Rob was helpless in her hands as she hauled him round the back of the bunker, up through the rocks that formed the back of their property, along a burned out trail that led almost straight up—it was so rocky here that no trees grew, which made it safe from the remnants of fire—and out onto a rock platform where usually she could see almost all over the Blue Mountains.

She couldn’t see the Blue Mountains tonight. The pall of smoke was still so thick she could hardly see the path, but the smoke was lifting a little. They could sometimes see a faint moon, with smoke drifting over, sending them from deep dark to a little sight and back again. It didn’t matter, though. They weren’t here to see the moon or the Blue Mountains. They were here...to yodel.

‘Right,’ Julie said as they reached the platform. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Really?’

‘Was it all hot air? You never meant it?’

He chuckled. ‘It won’t be pretty.’

‘I’m not interested in pretty!’

‘Well, you asked for it.’ And he breathed in, swelled, pummelled his chest—and yodelled.

It was a truly heroic yodel. It made Julie double with laughter. It made her feel...feel...as if she was thirteen years old again, in love for the first time and life was just beginning.

It was a true Tarzan yodel.

‘You’ve practised,’ she said accusingly. ‘No one could make a yodel sound that good first try.’

‘My therapist said I should let go my anger,’ he told her. ‘It started with standing in the shower and yelling at the soap. After a while I started experimenting elsewhere.’

‘Moving on?’

‘It’s what you have to do.’

‘Rob...’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘You haven’t. But you will. Try it yourself. Open your mouth and yell.’ And he stood back and dared her with his eyes. He was laughing, with her, though, not at her. Daring her to laugh with him. Daring her to yodel?

And finally, amazingly, it felt as if she could. How long had it been since she’d felt this free? This alive? Maybe never. Even when they were courting, even when the twins were born, she’d always felt the constraints of work. The constraints of life. But now...

Rob’s hands were exerting a gentle pressure but that pressure was no constraint. She was facing outward into the rest of the world.

She was facing outward into the rest of her life.

‘Can you do it?’ Rob asked, and he kissed the nape of her neck. ‘Not that I doubt you. My wife can do anything.’

And she could. Or at least maybe she could.

Deep breath. Pummel a little.

Yodel.

And she was doing it, yodelling like a mad woman, and she took another breath and tried again and this time Rob joined her.

It was crazy. It was ridiculous.

It was fun.

‘We’ve delivered a Christmas baby,’ Rob managed as finally they ran out of puff, as finally they ran out of yodel. ‘A new life. And we’re learning Christmas yodelling duets! Is there nothing we’re not capable of? Happy Christmas, Mrs McDowell, and, by the way, will you marry me? Again? Make our vows again? I know we’re not divorced but it surely feels like we have been. Can we be a family? Can we take our past and live with it? Can we love what we’ve had, and love each other again for the rest of our lives?’

And the smoke suddenly cleared. Everything cleared. Rob was standing in front of her, he was holding her and the future was hers to grasp and to hold.

And in the end there was nothing to say except the most obvious response in the whole world.

‘Why, yes, Mr McDowell,’ she whispered. ‘Happy Christmas, my love, and yes, I believe I will marry you again. I believe I will marry you—for ever.’