40 Things I Want to Tell You

  I was cut off by a terrifying scream coming from Griffin’s house. We both gasped as the front door was yanked open and his mum hurtled along the path yelling, “No, no, I won’t. You can’t make me.”

  Her hair was wild and tangled and she wore her dressing gown. I put my hand to my mouth in shock as she fell to her knees at the gate and began to rattle it. “Let me go-o-o,” she screamed.

  Cleo pushed past me and hurried over to Griffin’s mum, just as Griffin came out the house. His hair stuck up and his eyes were circled with purple exhaustion. He didn’t even see me. He called to Cleo, “I’m phoning the hospital.”

  She nodded and crouched down in front of Griffin’s mum, murmuring softly. I watched them stay like that, Cleo soothing Griffin’s mum, Griffin speaking into the phone.

  When the ambulance arrived, I quietly slipped into my house. Thank God Griffin was finally getting some help. I suddenly wanted to call my own mum, but I went into the living room and sat for a while looking out the window, watching Cleo hold Griffin as he leaned against her, sagging like a fallen tree, then watching the two of them head into his house and close the door. The baby performed a slow somersault, oblivious to the complicated, scary, beautiful world outside.

  TOP TIP 36: BE GENTLE WITH YOURSELF

  CHAPTER 24

  Mon 4 July

  Dear Miss Take-Control,

  I loved your last post and how honest you were but then you havent written for 2 wks. Where RU?

  JJJ

  Thurs 7 July

  Dear MissTake,

  You are definitely the worst advice columnist in the world but I love ya anyways. Uh, come tell us how to live, or how to screw it all up!!!!

  BessT

  Thurs 7 July

  Dear Amy,

  Come back come back come back.

  HeavenSentGirl

  Wed 13 July

  MTCofYLife,

  Luvd wot u said. Ur the best.

  Pumpkin54

  Sun 17 July

  Really missing reading your posts—are you reallyreallyreally never going to start up the site again???

  I flipped through the comments on my website, a slight smile playing on my face, then I shut the computer down. I was huge and uncomfortable as I got into bed, and I tossed and turned for ages. In the end I wedged a small pillow under my belly and finally fell asleep.

  TOP TIP 37: YOU WILL FIND A WAY

  At one in the morning, a rush of water broke from my body. I sat up, half awake, not sure what was happening. I clambered as quickly as I could out of bed. “Dad,” I yelled. “Dad. Something’s wrong.”

  He found me hunched over the bed, my head on my hands, my pyjamas soaked. “What should I do?” I wept. “I think the baby’s coming. It’s early. Oh God. I’m only, like, thirty-six weeks.” I was crying. “I’m frightened, Dad. I’m really scared.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just … fine.” His eyes were as wide as an owl’s. “I’m calling your mother.”

  I didn’t argue.

  He helped me downstairs, and I sat on the front step, with the warm night full upon me, crying and leaking water, while Dad got the car out of the garage.

  The baby kicked.

  As I got into the car, Dad slammed the passenger door onto my head.

  “I’m sorry,” he yelped.

  I started laughing.

  WE DROVE, THE NIGHT PASSING US BY. HE SWERVED TO A STOP. “WE forgot the bag,” he said, panic transforming his features so I hardly recognized him.

  “You didn’t forget. It’s here at my feet,” I said.

  AS WE ARRIVED AT THE HOSPITAL, DAD USHERED ME FROM THE CAR. “I’ll park. Go inside.”

  More water spilled from me as I stepped out. Two ambulances sat to my left. Big looming vehicles, empty, for the moment, of any drama. My own drama filled the space. This is really happening, I thought. I shuffled inside the hospital.

  BRIGHT LIGHTS AND A SYMPHONY OF VOICES. A NURSE USHERED ME from Casualty to a small room surrounded by green curtains.

  “Where’re your charts?” the nurse asked.

  I pulled them out of the bag, grateful to Cleo for packing everything so well after the prenatal class.

  “Your waters have broken. We’re getting you up to Maternity. You’re thirty-six weeks, three days, right? You’re early, but not too early. Happens often with younger mothers.”

  “Thirty-six weeks. Will the baby be okay?”

  She filled in some forms. “Any pain yet?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  MUM PUSHED BACK THE CURTAIN. WE SIZED EACH OTHER UP, THEN SHE rushed over and pushed my hair back from my face, kissing my forehead.

  “How’s it going, sweetheart?” she asked.

  I was nearly crying. “We need to call Pete and Cleo. Tell them.”

  The nurse interrupted. “You need to take her to Maternity.”

  I lowered myself into a wheelchair while Mum got directions.

  Two fingers of pain crept from the small of my back and pinched suddenly deep in my belly.

  “Now it hurts,” I gasped.

  The nurse said, “You’ll do fine.”

  MUM WHEELED ME SILENTLY ALONG THE CORRIDOR. HOSPITALS WERE all corridors, it seemed. Mum said, “Please let me stay with you.”

  I didn’t speak.

  She said, “We can talk after.”

  I reached my hand back to squeeze hers.

  THE PAIN WAS WORSE. DEEP AND LOW. I COULD HEAR MYSELF MOANING but I didn’t feel connected to my own voice.

  Between contractions, ten minutes apart, I walked round the room I’d been given. I would stay here until active labour. I vaguely remembered the phrase from the class, but I wasn’t sure what it meant. We waited. And waited. Until the contractions got closer together. Mum sat on a plastic chair, flipping through yesterday’s paper. I could tell she wasn’t reading it.

  Dad arrived. He was sweaty and wild looking. “It took me ages to find you. Hospital has terrible signs. Is the baby here? Did I miss everything?”

  Mum and I both laughed. “Not yet,” she said.

  Dad looked at me. “You okay? That boy and Cleo are in the hall—do you want them in here?”

  I shook my head. “Pete and I decided he wouldn’t be in the room. He’s not as tough as he makes out. Oh God. Another contraction’s starting,” I moaned.

  I leaned against the wall and grunted. Oh God. The pain. The pain. The pain. I had a sudden vision of myself holding a baby, the moonlight falling through the window, the baby crying, me shifting my weight from foot to foot. It scared me, but it seemed worse to let the baby go. How could I give my child to strangers?

  MY PARENTS LEFT WHILE A NURSE CHECKED ME. “ONLY TWO CENTIMETRES dilated,” she said.

  I lay on my side and noticed my pillow was damp with tears.

  “Do you want to try the tub?” she said. “It’ll help with the pain.”

  I followed her down a hallway into a large room with a bath. She turned the taps and I dropped off my robe, realizing with a flush of embarrassment that the nurse was still in the room. But then another contraction started and I didn’t care that I was naked and she was helping me into the water.

  She smiled at me. “Call when you want to get out.”

  SOMETIME LATER I WAS BACK IN THE ROOM. ALONE. I COULDN’T LOOK after a baby alone. No way.

  Mum came in and said, “How are you doing? I remember all this when I gave birth to you.”

  “How long did it take?” I asked during a pause in contractions.

  “I’ll tell you later.” She smiled.

  “God, that long?”

  “Look, Bird, have you decided if you want me to be here?”

  “For the birth?”

  She said, “I want to. You’re my daughter.”

  “I didn’t mean it when I told you I’d be a better mother than you. I’m giving the baby away—” My voice broke. “You’d never have done that. Never.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t think about it now.”

/>   “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. Giving the baby away.”

  “Don’t think about it.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, please be here with me through this.”

  SOMETIME LATER AGAIN, I WAS FOUR CENTIMETRES DILATED AND THE nurse got Mum to wheel me through to the active labour ward. It was a bigger room. They wanted to strap me with monitors to watch the baby’s heartbeat, and so I had to lie down. Somehow lying down made the pain worse.

  The nurse asked if I wanted an epidural.

  I agreed. “I can’t take any more.”

  THE ANAESTHESIOLOGIST SAT BEHIND ME AND TOLD ME TO STAY PERFECTLY still. Fear shuddered through me and then I held my breath. The needle was in and the drug slid into my veins.

  “The pain will stop in about twenty minutes,” he said. “Okay, you can move now.”

  I turned to him. “I think I love you,” I said.

  He said, with a smile, “I hear that all the time.”

  I LOOKED AT THE CLOCK. THE TIME MADE NO SENSE. I PUZZLED OVER where the hours had gone. Then I slept.

  I AWOKE TO MUM STROKING MY HAIR. A NURSE CAME IN. SHE CHECKED the monitors and then rushed back out. When she came back, a doctor and another nurse came with her. The doctor asked me to lift up my robe.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The baby’s heartbeat is dropping. Get onto all fours. It might help.”

  I did as I was told while they all gawped at the monitor. The baby’s heartbeat came back up.

  And

  then

  began

  to slow

  again.

  Another doctor came in. “I’m doing an ultrasound. I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

  THE BABY WAS ON THE ULTRASOUND SCREEN AND THEN HE WAS GONE. Everything was happening too quickly.

  “Is the baby okay?” I begged. “Is he okay?”

  Mum had gone white. Her eyes were big and childlike. She held my hand. “You’re doing great,” she kept saying.

  A doctor leaned over me, her breath sweet and warm, as if she’d been drinking hot chocolate. “The baby needs to come out now.”

  “Now?” I said.

  “He’s too far up and you’ve started to bleed.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “The placenta may be separating.” She said, “I recommend a Caesarean. Now.”

  I was crying. “Just make sure the baby’s okay.”

  THEY WHEELED ME ON MY BACK TO ANOTHER ROOM. MUM HURRIED along next to me. I could hear her panting. I saw Dad as we flashed along the corridor. His mouth was wide open.

  He yelled, “It is easy to be brave from a safe distance. Aesop said that.” He punched the air. Then I was wheeled away.

  THE ROOM WAS VERY BRIGHT. WHITE. THERE WERE MANY PEOPLE IN there. I could hear voices and someone had put on classical music.

  Everything was out of my control.

  The same anaesthesiologist came back. He explained the drug he was going to use. It would be stronger, he told me, and I would feel only pressure but no pain as they performed the operation.

  “Is the baby okay?” I begged.

  “Just breathe,” he said.

  I WAS LYING DOWN. SOMEONE WAS TOUCHING MY ARM LIGHTLY. “Can you feel this?”

  A CURTAIN WAS RIGGED UP THAT STOPPED AT MY NECK. IT MEANT I couldn’t see my body. The ceiling was so white.

  MUM STOOD NEXT TO MY HEAD. I COULD HEAR THE DOCTORS TALKING. I gazed up at Mum, my tears falling fast and salty.

  I COULD SMELL BLOOD AND I COULD FEEL THEM TUGGING AT ME.

  Wait.

  Breathe.

  Hope.

  Wait.

  Hope.

  Breathe.

  Then I hear you cry.

  CHAPTER 25

  “HOW IS HE?” I SOBBED.

  “He’s fine. He’s great,” the doctor called back. “He’s doing great.”

  Mum was crying as they laid you on me. You were wrapped up in a blanket, your tiny face so close to mine that I couldn’t see you properly. Your features scrunched against the bright light.

  THEY WERE CLEANING UP. I COULD HEAR THEM FAINTLY IN THE BACKGROUND. But I could only look at you.

  You.

  There was nothing but you.

  TIME SLIPPED PAST. I WAS IN ANOTHER ROOM, YOU ON THE BED with me.

  I could not sleep for looking at you.

  Your tiny, hungry mouth. Toothless as a baby bird.

  Your tiny fingers.

  I put my hand to yours and you squeezed.

  DAD CAME IN. “HOW’S IT GOING? EVERYTHING OKAY? THEY COULD DO with better signs here at the hospital. Maybe I’ll talk to them about that. I could work something out for them.” He stopped himself. His lips turned up in a rueful smile. “Ignore me. Are you okay, Bird?” Then he asked Mum the same thing.

  But he didn’t listen to our answers. He’d stopped speaking. He’d seen you.

  He came over and put his hand on your head.

  His hazel eyes were glazed.

  He said, “He’s beautiful—” His voice cracked.

  LATER I SAID, “COULD SOMEONE GET PETE? AND CLEO?”

  I LAY WITH YOU ON MY CHEST. YOU WERE SLEEPING. I STUDIED THE sticky swirls of hair on your head. Your ear, so perfectly formed. Your lashes, long, blond-tipped. Perfect. It was the right time for such a word.

  PETE TIPTOED INTO THE ROOM AND CAME OVER TO ME, RESTING HIS hand on my shoulder. We stared at you. And stared. After a while he held you. I watched the two of you together. I cried a little.

  “He’s a baby,” Pete said.

  I giggled.

  “I can’t believe how tiny he is, Amy.”

  Later, Pete kissed me lightly on the cheek and left.

  Time passed.

  DAD WAS TALKING ON A PHONE IN THE CORRIDOR JUST OUTSIDE THE room. He said, “Yes, bring him. That would be fine.”

  Cleo came into the room. She put her hand on my forehead, and then moved her hand to your face. “He’s gorgeous. How are you? Are you okay? It took forever. Pete and I were here. How was it? Did it really hurt? God, no, don’t tell me. Is it as bad as they say?”

  “Really bad. But the epidural, God. Amazing.”

  “What happens now? You know, with the adoption worker?” She turned her gaze to me. “You don’t have to, you know, give him up if you don’t want.”

  “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”

  “I’m your best friend.”

  “God, am I crazy?”

  “So crazy. Now stop talking and let me look at this baby.” She bent over me and kissed you on your forehead. You reached a tiny hand out to hold her finger. “He likes me. You like me,” she said to you. “So cute. Anyway, I brought someone with me. He’s waiting outside. I should let him have a turn.”

  Cleo left and Griffin came through the open door, pulling it closed behind him.

  I swallowed hard. “I wish I hadn’t treated you so badly.”

  He shrugged.

  “I should have been braver,” I said. “I miss you as my friend.”

  “We’ll be friends again one day. I just need time to move on.” He gave a funny half-smile, and then looked at the baby. “He’s sweet.”

  “Thanks.”

  “My mom had to go into hospital a few days ago. She’s not doing very well.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No. Not now.”

  “Are you okay?”

  He pushed his hair from his forehead. “I will be,” he said.

  I WAS ALONE WITH YOU. TIME PASSED. YOU WERE AWAKE. YOU WERE hungry. You cried. A nurse showed me how to change you. She taught me how to hold you so you could latch properly—it was weird and wonderful. She stroked under your chin so you would suck. I didn’t tell the nurse that you weren’t going to be staying with me, that I didn’t need to know how to feed you. I didn’t say a word.

  I RESTED WITH YOU IN MY ARMS, SENSATION CREEPING PAINFULLY back into my body. I looked at your tiny face. I couldn?
??t imagine giving you to someone else. I couldn’t imagine letting you go.

  NICOLE, THE ADOPTION WORKER, CAME IN. BRIGHT AND BREEZY. SHE smiled and said, “How are you feeling?”

  I flushed with anxiety. You squirmed against me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to sign anything right now.”

  She gave me a long, gentle look. “No, no. You don’t have to sign anything, remember. That’s not why I’m here. There’s no rush. I’m just seeing how you’re doing. I’m here to support you, remember? And I wanted to meet your beautiful baby.” She turned to look at you in the bassinet and tickle you under your chin.

  “Nicole, I don’t know what I want to do.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “Take your time. As I said, I’m supporting you with whatever choice you make.” Soon after, she slipped out.

  THE DOOR OPENED AND I LOOKED UP TO SEE PETE STANDING THERE. “You’re back,” I said. “He’s sleeping.”

  “It’s you I wanted to see.” He chewed his lower lip. “So, uh, I was thinking about the baby and about you and I was reading your website and I put this together.” He scrabbled in his back pocket and handed me a folded sheet of white computer paper. “I, uh, printed all these out. I thought maybe we could give this to the baby. You know, before he goes to some other family—”

  His voice caught and I looked up at him. It seemed like he might cry.

  “What is it?”

  “Just read it.”

  I opened up the sheet of paper and began to read.

  • You never know what’s coming next—embrace the unexpected.

  • Do what you love.

  • It’s called a comfort zone for a reason.

  • Sometimes you’re lying when you say nothing at all.

  • Snow sucks.

  • You can regret what you haven’t done.

  • Secrets breed lies.

  • Temptation is just too tempting.

  • Even the best parties aren’t always fun.