been no urgency about them. Then, with a suddenness that had surprised her and panicked Forde, they’d increased dramatically in intensity with considerably less time between them.
Her overnight bag had been packed for weeks and left in the same place, at the foot of their bed, but somehow Forde had been unable to find it until she had lent a hand. She glanced now at the speedometer, her voice deliberately casual when she said, ‘We’re doing fifty in a thirty zone, Forde.’
‘I know.’ His voice was a little strained.
‘There’s plenty of time.’ But even as she spoke a new contraction gripped her, her muscles tightening until it was nigh on unbearable before loosening again.
‘OK?’ Forde hadn’t slowed one iota and the glance he shot at her was desperate. ‘I told you we should have left hours ago, Nell.’
‘It’s fine.’ She was able to smile again. ‘Three of the mothers from the antenatal classes were sent home again due to false alarms and I’d just die if that was me. I wanted to make sure.’
Forde groaned. ‘Would having the baby in the car convince you?’ And then realising that wasn’t the most tactful of remarks, he added quickly, ‘Not that we wouldn’t cope with that, of course, if it happened, but I’d prefer you to be in hospital.’
She would too, actually. And she was beginning to think she might have left it a little late—not that she’d admit that to Forde. Not the way he was driving.
Melanie focused her thoughts on the baby, willing herself to be calm and composed. They had decided they didn’t want to know the sex of their child at the twenty-week scan at the beginning of the year. It didn’t matter. The only thing that was important was that the baby was healthy after all.
They arrived at the hospital in a violet twilight that was balmy and scented with summer, but for once Melanie was oblivious to the beauty of the flowering bushes surrounding the car park as another contraction held her stomach in a vice. She held onto Forde at the side of the car as it gathered steam and then began to pant like an animal, her nails digging into his flesh.
‘I’ll go and get a wheelchair,’ he said, glancing round with a hunted expression on his face as though one were going to pop into his vision any moment. ‘Sit back in the car.’
She held onto him with all her strength until the contraction was over and then said firmly, ‘I am most certainly not using a wheelchair, Forde Masterson. They’re four minutes apart so we can get to Reception before the next one and then I can wait a while before we go to the maternity unit.’
He looked at her with huge admiration. Since she had returned home with him after they had spent Christmas in the cottage, she had taken everything in her stride. He had to admit he had been like a cat on a hot tin roof the past couple of weeks waiting for the baby to come, but Melanie had been what he could only call serene. They had decorated the nursery in pale lemon and cream eight weeks ago and everything was ready for the new arrival. They just needed the baby now. His stomach jumped with excitement mixed with concern for Melanie. He hadn’t expected her to be in such pain, although perhaps he should have.
They didn’t make Reception before the next contraction had her clinging onto him. Now fear was added to the mix. He had visions of the baby being born in the car park and delivering it himself. He should have made her come to the hospital earlier, he told himself desperately as Melanie’s fingers fastened on his wrists like steel bands. But she was so damn stubborn. And wonderful and beautiful and amazing.
After what seemed an eternity her grip lessened, although he could see beads of perspiration on her brow. ‘Wow.’ She smiled shakily. ‘Do you remember what they told us in the classes if the baby comes unexpectedly?’
‘Don’t,’ he said weakly.
He half carried her the rest of the way and once they stepped through the massive glass doors into Reception the hospital machine took over with an efficiency Forde was thankful for. In no time they’d been whisked along to the maternity unit and placed in a delivery room. For a moment he remembered the last time they had been in the unit and his guts twisted, but when he looked at Melanie she was concentrating on following the midwife’s instructions. He stared at her face, at her total look of concentration and the courage she was displaying, and his world swung back onto its axis.
‘You’re doing fine, sweetheart,’ he murmured, wishing he could share the pain. ‘Not long now.’
In fact the contractions continued at three-minute intervals for the next two hours, which seemed a lifetime to Forde, although the hospital staff didn’t seem unduly concerned.
Melanie was getting tired, even dozing between one contraction and the next in the couple of minutes’ respite, but she still held onto his hand with the strength of a dozen women and every so often would smile and tell him everything was all right. He felt helpless, badgering the midwife once or twice until that good lady sent him a look like a dagger.
Then, suddenly, a little while after midnight, everything speeded up. Melanie began pushing and another midwife joined them, the two women stationed either side of Melanie’s bent legs while he sat by the bed holding her hand. He wouldn’t have thought she had enough strength left for what was required but as ever she proved him wrong, pushing with all her might when the midwives told her to push and panting like an animal again when they told her to stop.
Twenty minutes later their son was born and he was a whopper, according to the midwife who immediately placed him in Melanie’s arms. Forde knew if he lived to be a hundred he would never forget the expression on Melanie’s face as she gazed into the little screwed-up face. And the baby looked back with bright blue-grey eyes as if he knew his mother already. ‘Hello, you,’ she whispered softly, the tears running down her face as she kissed his velvety brow. ‘I’m your mummy, my precious darling. And this is your daddy.’ She turned to Forde with a radiant smile to see his cheeks were wet too.
‘He’s so beautiful.’ Forde kissed her tenderly before offering his finger to his son, who immediately grasped it with surprising strength, making them both laugh. ‘And look at all that black hair.’
‘He’s going to be as handsome as his father,’ said one of the midwives, beaming at them both and their transparent wonder at the little person they had created. ‘My, he’s a bonny lad and no mistake. Over ten pounds, I’ll be bound.’
In actual fact, Luke Forde Masterson weighed in at ten pounds nine ounces—something, Melanie said in an aside and with great feeling, that didn’t surprise her.
The midwives bustled off, promising to return in a few minutes with a cup of tea for them both. Melanie sat cradling her son with Forde perched on the bed at her side, his arm round her shoulders.
‘How do you feel?’ he said very softly as she stroked one tiny cheek with the tip of her finger.
She didn’t try to prevaricate. ‘Wonderful,’ she said equally softly, ‘and a tiny bit sad, but that’s only natural, I suppose. It doesn’t mean I love Luke any the less, just that I wish things had been different with Matthew.’
He nodded, his arm tightening for a moment.
‘Isn’t he beautiful, Forde? And he already looks like you,’ she went on. ‘He’s got your nose. Can you see it?’
Forde looked at his son. He was beautiful, certainly the most beautiful child in the whole of England, but he simply looked like a baby, he thought, wondering how women could say these things and genuinely see what most men couldn’t. He smiled. ‘I’d prefer him to look like you.’
‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘Our daughters will look like me and our sons like you.’
After what she had just been through he found it amazing she could talk of having more children just at that moment. He kissed her hard on the lips. ‘I love you, Mrs Masterson.’
‘And I love you, Mr Masterson. Always.’