Seven Days(45)

He stilled, and she managed to press her nipple to his lips.

They opened, and he began to suck.

She watched, in awe, as she fed, for the first time, a baby. It was painful, the suction more powerful than she had expected. After a few minutes, some instinct told her to switch to her other breast; Seb latched on immediately.

‘You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘But you have as much as you want.’

Ten minutes later he was asleep. She lay there, watching him rise and fall on her chest. It was amazing how quickly and completely she had fallen in love with him. She knew that every parent felt this way, but to her he was the most beautiful person – the most beautiful thing – she had ever seen. She had no idea that it was possible to feel this way, to love someone to the point you would do anything for them.

The thought brought tears to her eyes, partly for herself and Seb and the situation they were in, but mainly for her parents. If they felt about her even one tenth of how she felt about Seb, then losing her must have been unbearable for them in a way she had not been able to understand until now.

And worse, they would not get to meet their grandchild. They would not even know he’d been born.

The man had asked her if she wanted an abortion when she realized she was pregnant. She asked how; he said he didn’t know. He would not be able to get medical help, so maybe with some medication, or whisky? He offered to find a method.

But it might be risky, he said.

She had not wanted to. She understood what it meant to give birth in this place, what kind of a life her child would have, but she wanted to have the baby. Part of her thought the man might relent and let her go, but that wasn’t the main reason. The main reason was nothing other than the feeling that she wanted her baby. It was inside her and she couldn’t bring herself to kill it. She had nothing against abortion; if you’d asked her before she was abducted what she would do if she got pregnant at sixteen she would have said she would have got rid of the baby.

But that was before she knew how it felt. And it felt right. That was the word: it felt right. Everything else was as wrong as it could be, but this one thing was right.

And she did not want to end it.

So she decided to have the baby and the day had come and she’d given birth, which was, pardon her French in front of a child, a fucking miracle. She couldn’t believe she – and Seb, for that matter – had survived. It was so violent. And so, so hard. Worse than hard. Worse than anything. Like having someone reach a hand into your body and turn you inside out.

She had done it all alone. The man had told her what to expect. Push on the contractions, rest in between. He gave her a pair of kitchen scissors to cut the cord, and a wooden peg to clamp it. Slap the baby if it’s not breathing. Check the cord’s not around its neck.

She wondered how he knew this stuff, if he was even right. She asked for a doctor.

What if something goes wrong? What if the baby needs help?

That’s a risk you’ll have to take. For you and the child.

And then it began. At first she wondered what all the fuss was about. The contractions were mild, just an increase in tension in her abdomen. She was starting to think this might not be all that big a deal when she felt like someone wearing iron-toed boots had kicked her in the stomach.

She lay on the bed, sweat forming on her forehead.

It happened again and again and again. For a time she found some relief by getting on all fours, groaning and moving her hips from side to side. That passed. Eventually the contractions were every few seconds and she could feel the baby between her legs, see the shape of her stomach change as it moved down.

She screamed through the next contractions and then it was out. She put her hands down and felt a head. The contractions continued, and shoulders then a torso then legs emerged. and she lifted and there was a baby on her chest, a baby who could move and was crying and was hers.

Hello, she said, crying herself. Hello.

And there were more contractions and more stuff came out – The placenta? she thought vaguely – and after a few minutes she reached for a towel and wiped the baby clean. She took the peg and the scissors and cut the cord and that was when she saw that it was a boy.

She had a son.

She wrapped him in the towel and held him against her chest. She studied him. He was asleep, his body moving up and down against her as he breathed. He had fine, black hair and ten fingers and ten toes and he was so fragile but so perfect.

After a while she felt her eyes closing. She didn’t dare sleep with him in her bed; she was terrified she would crush him, so she clothed him and placed him in the basket the man had brought. By the time she got her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes, she was asleep.





3


She woke and was immediately alert. She looked at Seb. He was very still and she felt the beginnings of panic. Was he even alive? She watched for signs of movement, his chest going up and down.

There it was. The tiniest, tenderest lift of his narrow puppy-skin breast. He was alive.

Seb’s peaceful expression changed to a pained one, and there was a gurgling sound. Maggie looked at him in alarm; seconds later his peaceful expression was back, but there was a faint smell coming from him.

His first poo, she thought. First feeding, first sleep. Motherhood is a series of firsts.

There was a pile of nappies by the basket. She leaned over and picked one up. She moved slowly; when she had the nappy, she sat up and stripped Seb naked, taking care not to pinch him or twist him or do anything which might cause him pain.