‘Warriors die.’
‘Not this one. Not this time. I won’t let you.’
I let out a pathetic, non-warrior-like sob. ‘Am I going to have to take off my knickers? Because I don’t think I can reach them at the moment.’
He burst out laughing then, his whole face lighting up.
And then the next contraction came, and everything changed.
It was brute force, and I was grunting for breath.
Squeezing someone’s hand.
The hair smoothed off my brow, which felt so lovely I sobbed.
Someone helped me onto the floor. The rug rough against my now bare knees.
Beckett’s voice, making no sense but a soothing burble like the brook behind my cottage.
I pressed my cheek into the sofa cushion and surrendered.
2
BECKETT
To everyone’s relief, Mary’s baby boy slithered into the world with a face scrunched in determination and no apparent issues or anything to worry about. Patty, the woman who’d opened the door, had immediately fetched another woman, Yara, who she assured Beckett was a medical professional, and Yara had handled the actual birth while Beckett held Mary’s hand and tried to find something helpful to say. He only felt grateful that Yara waited until she was wrapping the baby in a towel to reveal that her specialism was large animal dentistry.
‘I can handle a haemorrhage, help avoid infection. Hooves, trotters, paws. The basics don’t change.’ She shrugged, while Patty rushed off to let in an on-call midwife who, it turned out, lived only four streets away.
Beckett had witnessed births during his obstetrics training, but had still been mesmerised at seeing how Mary transformed as soon as the midwife helped her into a sitting position and placed the squirming baby onto her chest. Any trace of fear and agony melted into pure wonder as her son blinked a few times, then gazed solemnly into his mother’s blue-grey eyes. Beckett turned towards the window, almost overcome at witnessing such an intimate, yet monumental moment.
He was swallowing hard, willing himself back under control, when the midwife appeared at his shoulder.
‘Here you go, Daddy, introduce yourself to your son while I help Mum with the placenta.’
Before Beckett could protest, the bundle wrapped up in a small towel was pressed into his arms. He was too dumbfounded by the past hour to figure out if it would be worse to correct her about who he was, and therefore probably have to leave, when he’d promised Mary he wouldn’t, or risk the mistaken identity escalating into something that came across far worse in the long run.
He went with his default life-strategy, turned away to give Mary some privacy, and kept quiet. The baby felt as light as the dwarf lop rabbit he’d had as a boy, the feel of tiny bones making him nervous he’d break something.
It was startling – mind-blowing – that here he was cradling a whole new person. Someone with their own individual personality and unique set of DNA. A whole uncharted life ahead of them.
‘Here we go.’ Patty brought him back to earth by bustling in with a tray of mugs. ‘Plenty of milk and sugar for Mummy. I’ve been in your shoes, love – six times, would you believe it? – and this’ll be the best cup of tea of your life.’
Yara took a drink and left them to it, then once Mary was back on the sofa, a bath towel draped over her like a blanket, the midwife settled on a footstool to get started on the admin.
‘I don’t suppose there’s anywhere Mary can clean up before she leaves?’ the midwife asked.
Patty beamed. ‘There’s a shower room right on the other side of that door.’
‘Is it normal for a church to have a shower?’ The midwife glanced up from her laptop.
‘It’s our brand-new church apartment. Here in case of emergency. This is our first one!’
‘Brilliant. Mary, if your partner fetches your things from the car, he can help you get freshened up.’
‘Yeah, I’m not her…’ Beckett said, cheeks hotting up.
‘We aren’t together,’ Mary added, half hiding behind her mug. ‘Just friends.’
