‘There’s no car. Maybe she’s late, so Tony’s giving her a lift. Or she’s gone into labour and is at the hospital,’ I said.
‘I can’t imagine any other reason Polly’d miss the East Midlands heat of the International Community Choir Sing-Off.’
I could imagine several reasons.
I folded my arms. ‘We can’t leave without making sure she’s not inside.’
Marilyn squinted at me. ‘Agreed. What’s the plan?’
‘I have no idea. Credit card to pick the lock? Kick the door down? Maybe they’ve got a key hidden under a plant pot.’
While Marilyn hunted for a spare key, I sized up our other options. I briefly considered calling Perry for help, but he was at a conference. While I pressed my face against the window, hoping for a clue, a faint moan drifted through the glass.
‘I heard something!’ I ran over to the front door, pushing my fingers through the bristly letterbox to try to make a peephole. ‘We’re here, Polly. We’re coming to help you.’
‘Should we phone the police?’ Marilyn asked, squeezing up behind me on the doorstep.
‘We can’t call the police because someone isn’t answering the front door. Argh. Think, Faith, think.’ I sprinted over to the side gate, trying to gauge if I could scale it with a boost from Marilyn. ‘Maybe if we get around the back, we can find a window open, or something.’
Crash!
I turned back to see a saucer-sized hole in the front door pane. Marilyn tossed the rock she’d used to one side, wrapped her cardigan round her wrist, and shoved her hand through the hole.
She frowned. ‘There’s no key in the lock.’
‘Can you see one hanging up anywhere?’
Pulling her hand out, she stuck her eye up to the opening.
‘No.’ She picked up the rock again. ‘I’m going to smash enough of the glass for you to climb through. What do you think?’
‘I think I’m glad you’re here. I think I hope Polly isn’t inside calling the police. I think I’m going to wet my pants if Tony comes home and finds us. I think you should be quick about it. And please be careful.’
About six minutes later, I stood carefully amidst the shards of glass on Polly’s hall carpet. Leaving Marilyn to make her own way inside, I started searching the house.
In the perfectly decorated, tastefully furnished, spotlessly tidy master bedroom, I found her. Kneeling on the floor, leaning her shoulders on the bed, one hand clutching at the silk bedspread for dear life. She buried her face into the mattress and released a deep, primal groan.
Forget the blackened eye, the split and swollen lip, the purple palm print decorating her forearm for now. This woman was having a baby.
I gripped the door frame, shook the buzzing out of my head, and yelled for Marilyn.
15
An hour later, the paramedics tenderly loaded Polly and her tiny pink baby girl into the ambulance. The midwife had arrived just in time, while the person on the end of the phone gave me instructions to relay to Marilyn, playing interim midwife due to her having actually given birth before.
‘It looks a lot different from this end!’ she panted, squeezing Polly’s hand as another contraction wracked her smashed-up body.
To our shuddering relief, everything had gone smoothly. Polly was too dazed to ask questions. She cradled her daughter while slow, silent tears spilled out of her puffed-up eyes.
Marilyn and I cleared up the mess while the midwife did her stuff.
‘Usually, we’d give Mum a cup of tea and some toast, followed by a shower. Given the situation…’ She stopped and cleared her throat. ‘Given the situation, we’re admitting her straight away.’
‘Can we come too?’
‘You can follow behind. We’re taking her to City Hospital. Perhaps you can bring her a bag of things?’
Nobody mentioned a possible father, despite the numerous photographs of Polly and Tony around the house. Nobody expressed the slightest concern for the broken window, despite the light rain now falling. There were questions to be asked, and authorities to be contacted, but right now, all anyone cared about was getting Polly and her baby out of that house.
