James – Thirty-Nine Weeks
The nurse is brisk, speaking from a view between Charlotte’s knees. “Everything is fine. The baby has turned and is now in the correct position for delivery. And…” She nods down to Charlotte’s ‘dropped’ abdomen, “… you can see for yourself that she is moving down. You’re a textbook case, Mrs Summerford.”
I squeeze Charlotte’s hand and the nurse sits upright. “Your cervix is at half an inch, but that’s not a very reliable sign of anything, especially for your first. What I would say is…”
She swings to me, her attention moving between my face and the space between Charlotte’s knees. “… Have the hospital bag packed and you…” She levels a finger at me… “…make sure you have petrol in your tank. When you’re sure she’s in full labour, bring her in.”
“Of course. Thank you, nurse.”
She lays a hand on my arm. “Everything is absolutely normal, Mr Summerford. Exactly what we’d expect at this stage. Don’t you worry about anything. Your wife’s in good hands.”
“I’m sure of that. Thank you.”
Charlotte struggles to sit up. “I need to pee.”
I help her upright, then as she struggles to reach, slip her white cotton panties over her ankles and tug them up for her. She lurches off the gyne table, totters while, my hand cupping her elbow, she catches her balance, then tugs them up the rest of the way.
“I’ll bet you’re looking forward to not having to say that every five minutes.”
“You bet.” She strokes the white hospital gown smooth over herself, trying to pull it enough together to protect her modesty. Still it flaps loose.
I’ve seen it before Green-Eyes…
“Should I come with you?”
Injecting dignity into her voice, “I can make it to the bathrooms by myself thank you.” I keep my face straight.
“Want me to help you get dressed properly?”
“I’ll manage, thank you.”
“Let me just close you up back here…”
I follow her out of the room, struggling to close the dreadful gown enough to cover her, to pull the ties tight; but she tugs away, irritable, her voice short. “I’ve got to pee.” And she shuffles down the corridor to the bathrooms.
“I’ll be in the waiting area then.”
She neither replies nor looks back.
Can’t cope with needing help…
Always been too self-reliant…
I help myself to a vending machine coffee and take a seat. Women, some alone, some in couples, wait around me.
Thirty years since I last did this…
Just like old times…
And all unbidden, a grin plasters itself over my face. Across the room, some guy, a youngster, a stranger, but sitting with a young woman’s hand in his, meets my eyes and answers with a matching grin, rolling his eyes down to her protruding belly.
The coffee is terrible. Classic vending machine crap. Surreptitiously, I tip what’s left into the pot of a cheese plant, then look for somewhere to dump the cup. In the background somewhere, a siren wails off into the distance.
“Ah, there you are.” It’s Michael, looming over me. “All done?”
“Yes, she’s fine. Everything normal. On the countdown according to the nurse.”
“That she is.” He beams, head swinging. “Where is she?”
“Making the eternal pilgrimage to the bathroom.”
He scratches at an ear. “Should think she’ll be glad to finish with that, eh?”
“You took the words from my mouth.” I glance at my watch. “She’s taking a while. I booked the table for half past. I’ll just go give her a knock.”
The bathrooms are left along a hall, another left, a right and then along a corridor.
Which idiot came up with that as a design for an ante-natal clinic?
At the women’s restroom, I give the door a tap. “Charlotte, Michael’s here. Time for us to be heading out.”
No response.
I knock again. “Charlotte, everything alright in there?”
Silence.
I try once more. “Charlotte, are you in there?”
Crickets.
A young woman with the matching hospital gown and a strained expression pushes past me.
“Excuse me, could you see if my wife is in there. Redhead. Name of Charlotte.”
She gives me a startled glance…
Not many men my age in a place like this…
But, “Yes, of course.”
She enters but returns a few seconds later. “No, she’s not in here.”
??
“You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. There’s no one else. See for yourself.” She swings the door wide, letting me see inside. “‘Scuse me.” And she teeters to a cubical, her footsteps echoing against blank tiles as the door swings back in my face.
Cracking the door open, “Sorry to bother you again. Is there another Ladies’ washroom nearby?”
From the cubical; splashing and a sigh of relief. “Couldn’t say. Ask at the desk.”
Where the hell is she?
Took a wrong turn on the way back?
I stand, palms held up uselessly, as though I could somehow conjure Charlotte up from the ether that way.
There’s nothing here.
One bathroom door. One fire-extinguisher mounted on the wall. One emergency exit. One wall poster. Smoking is forbidden in all parts of this building.
Just on the off-chance, I lift the bar of the exit, poking my head out. Of course, there’s nothing there but a few parking spaces… Authorised Persons Only.
I head back, meeting Michael coming around the corner. “Found her?”
“No.”
“Well, she can’t have gone far. Maybe she used a different bathroom.”
“I suppose.” I stride smartly back to the waiting area to see if Charlotte somehow worked around me. Again, there’s no sign of her, so u-turning, I try the right-hand corridor instead.
Still nothing.
A touch of worry gnaws, somewhere deep.
A porter pushes a trolley by me. “Excuse me, have you seen a young woman? A redhead.” I hold my arms out in a ‘Humpty-Dumpty’ stomach impression. “Very pregnant. I think she might have gotten turned about on herself.”
“A redhead? No, sir, I haven’t, but I’ll ask for you. It happens sometimes. These corridors all look alike if you don’t know your way around.”
Twenty minutes later, there’s still no sign of Charlotte and a full search is underway.
The tannoy blarts: Would Mrs Summerford please report to the nearest reception desk. This is a call for Mrs Charlotte Summerford…
Michael, red-faced, looks set to explode.
A doctor taps my arm. “Mr Summerford?” His eyes… Something haunts them…
“I’m the father, yes.”
“You’d better come with me, sir.”
His skin is shiny, pasty almost, and that maggot of worry in my gut crawls faster.
Michael follows us and the doctor gives him an odd look but doesn’t argue when I don’t. He leads us to the security office. In the background somewhere, sirens are pulsing closer.
“When you raised concerns as to the whereabouts of your wife… Mr Summerford…” He looks between us, but continues… “…and she wasn’t quickly located… I asked the security guard to check the surveillance cameras for the last half hour.” He licks his lips, seeming about to baulk. “I’ve already called the police, but you’d better see this.”
The sirens are growing louder.
His hand trembles as he mouses the cursor over a monitor. “There’s no sound I’m afraid.” He stands clear to let us see the grainy black-and-white image.
Seen from behind, Charlotte, still trying to tug the gown properly closed behind her, waddles along the corridor to the bathroom I found empty. As she vanishes inside, two figures in green porters’ overalls push a patient trolley into view between them.
One follows in behind her. The other waits outside, one hand in a pocket, looking back down the corridor, apparently keeping watch.
Seconds later, the door opens again, this time with Charlotte, eyes wide in panic, struggling and trying to scream, being shoved out by the man, one arm locked around her, the other hand clapped over her face.
The one waiting pulls his hand from his pocket, holding a hypodermic. Her eyes widen further, showing whites all around as she sees the needle…
Her captor abruptly curses, releases her, and shaking his hand, spatters blood on the walls, blood reflected over her mouth.
In her bare moment of freedom, Charlotte lashes out with a punch at the one with the needle, simultaneously screaming down the corridor.
There’s no sound, but I can see her screamed plea for help, her face distorting as she cries out.
“Mast…”
… before her cry is cut off as he backhands her then drives the needle deep to her arm and presses the plunger home.
Within seconds, her head droops and she falls. The two catch her, laying her limp and unmoving on the trolley and covering her to the neck with a blanket. Then, banging up the bar of the emergency exit door, they wheel the trolley out, taking my unconscious Charlotte with them.
*****
The Story Continues in
Ransom