Dunswold--Part 6
The hotel manager came in looking flustered and red.
“Major Mulcahey, you’d better come out, sir.”
“Why what’s wrong?” Martin said.
“It’s your wife, sir, she’s fainted. I need to find Dr. Bryant.”
He’s on the dance floor,” Martin said and hurried outside.
The door to the ladies toilet was open. Several members of staff carried out the prone form of Deborah and laid her on a couch in the reception area.
“It’s alright, Martin,” Laura said. “She fainted. Probably just the heat in there.”
“No,” Deborah said weakly. “There’s blood, Martin. I’m bleeding.”
“Call an ambulance,” Martin said to one of the hotel staff standing nearby.
Roger Bryant bustled up and sat on the edge of the sofa next to Deborah. He felt her forehead and took her pulse.
“Alright, everyone,” he said. “Let’s give Mrs Mulcahey some privacy, shall we? Have you called an Ambulance?”
“Trying, sir,” the answer came from the receptionist who was engaged on the phone. “They’re taking a time to answer.”
“When you’re through to them, tell me. I’ll speak to them,” Roger said.
“What’s wrong, Debs?” Martin said. She looked pale and was breathing heavily. “What’s wrong with her, Roger?”
Bryant place his hands on Deborah’s stomach and she cried out in pain. “We need to get her to the hospital,” he said. “Dammit, man, haven’t they answered yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Right. Martin, we’ll take your car. Bring it around and we’ll put Deborah in the back. Hurry.”
Martin had to think where he’d put his keys. They were in his overcoat, now in the cloakroom. He retrieved it and ran outside. The cold night shocked him after the warmth of the hotel. He found the car and drove it to outside the entrance.
Roger Bryant led two of the hotel staff carrying Deborah between them. They put her in the back seat of the Jaguar, and Roger climbed in behind her.
“Quick as you can, old man,” he said.
“Is she going to be alright, Roger?” He pulled away, the tyres spinning momentarily on the gravel of the driveway.
“Is she pregnant?” Bryant asked.
“No. I don’t think so. She hasn’t said anything to me.” His mind raced. Why would she keep it from him if she was? It didn’t make any sense, and anyway, when? There had only been that once. He shuddered again at the thought.
The hospital in town was several miles away and their route took them into a densely wooded part of the countryside. Deborah started to moan in pain from the back seat.
“No, don’t,” he heard Roger say.
“I have to push,” she said between gasps. “I can’t stop myself.”
“Martin, we’re not going to make it,” Roger said calmly. “Can you pull over here?”
Martin stopped the car and jumped out. He went around to the other side where he cradled Deborah’s head in his lap whilst she gasped.
Roger was between her feet looking concerned, his face lit from above by the yellow light of the interior bulb. Deborah’s evening dress had ridden up over her thighs as she arched her back upwards and called out again in effort and pain.
There was a sound like something popping quietly followed by a trickle of liquid. Deborah went limp, unconscious again.
“Christ,” Roger said, shocked.
“What is it?” Martin asked. “Is something wrong?”
Roger pulled Deborah’s dress back down over her legs. He quickly wrapped something in the car blanket that lay across the back seats.
“What is it, Roger?” Martin said.
“I don’t know,” Roger said.
***
When Deborah woke up in the hospital, Martin was sitting beside her, asleep in the chair. He had taken off his dress jacket and his bow tie was undone.
“Martin, wake up,” she said. She felt as though something had run over her midriff, and then she remembered the terrible pain and the irresistible urge to push. The rest was mostly blank.
Martin woke with a start and sat up. He leaned across and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll get the doctor,” he said.
She gingerly placed her hand over her stomach. It had gone; she was empty again.
When the doctor came, he took her blood pressure and then sat beside her. “How are you feeling?” he said.
“Like I’ve been run over… It’s gone, hasn’t it—the baby. I can’t feel it any more.”
The doctor exchanged glances with Martin and something passed between them that she was sure they had already discussed.
“Oh, tell me, can’t you?” she said.
“Mrs Mulcahey,” the doctor began. “There was no baby. You weren’t pregnant.”
“But I felt it,” she said, and heard the indignation in her voice.
“Yes, I’m sure you did,” he said, as though talking to a child. “It sometimes happens. We call it Pseudocyesis, a false pregnancy. We’re not sure why it happens, but it sometimes does.” He paused awkwardly. “Your husband explained what happened. But let me add, there’s nothing to stop you bearing a child in the future.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Deborah?” Martin said. “We could have had it sorted out earlier.” He looked at the doctor as if waiting to receive confirmation of his admonition.
“We’ll keep you in for a couple more days, and then you can go home and start regaining your strength,” the doctor said. “You need plenty of rest. Do you have someone who can help out?”
“Yes, there’s Mrs Haylock,” Martin said.
“Very well. I’ll bid you goodnight, Mrs Mulcahey. Remember, rest and recuperation.”
When the doctor had gone, she said, “I’m sorry, Martin. I didn’t want to worry you until I was sure. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“Don’t be a silly,” he said gently. “It’s enough that you’re alright now.”
“But I really thought I was,” she said. “I felt it move, Martin. How do you explain that?”
He was uncomfortable talking about it. It was as though he found it embarrassing—his wife suffering from a phantom pregnancy. The taint of mental illness. Something you didn’t talk about.
“Deborah, they can’t explain it. You heard the doctor. They don’t know why and how it happens. But whatever it is, you shouldn’t worry about it now. Rest—that’s an order.”
“I will. You go if you want. I’ll be fine.” The truth was, she didn’t want him there. She wanted to mourn in peace. He didn’t understand—neither did the doctor. It had been there, and the emptiness she felt now was the proof. Martin and the doctor were trying to protect her. Did they think she was that fragile?
“If you’re sure,” Martin said. “I need to change out of this monkey suit.”
She waited until she was sure he wasn’t going to pop back in, and then gave in to her grief.
***
Martin met the doctor in the vestibule at the end of the corridor.
“Well, is she going to be alright?” he said.
“There was some damage I’m afraid. Nothing we could have done about it. I’d say the chances are 70/30 that she will be able to conceive without a problem. And you say you found nothing?”
“Deborah was in the toilet when it happened. I expect she… you know, flushed it away.”
“Yes, I expect so. A rotten thing to happen, but as I say, the odds are in your favour.”
When he was outside, Martin lit a cigarette, the first he’d had for a long time, and stood for a moment in the fluorescent glow of the hospital reception. Roger was sitting in the car opposite the entrance. He flashed the lights at Martin.
“How is she?” he said when Martin climbed in.
“They say she’ll be alright. But what do they know?”
“What do any of us know?”
They headed back to the base, and Martin took two shovels from the tool store.
The spit was five miles long and separated from the mainland by salt water marshes for most of its length.
They walked beyond the base, through the forest of aerials where a seaward wind moaned quietly though the stanchions and wires. A mile further and the stones gave way to sandy soil.
They’d walked in silence up until this point.
“Here will do,” Martin said. “This will stay M.O.D. land forever, considering all the poison they’ve buried here.
He began to dig. The work was easy and soon he had a hole three feet deep. Roger went to lay the bundle at the bottom.
“I want to see it,” Martin said.
“I don’t think that’s wise, Martin. Best just put it in the ground and forget about it.”
“Show me.”
Roger laid the bundle on the sand and opened the blanket.
Martin shone his torch over the tiny form inside. “It looks almost normal,” he said.
It was curled in upon itself as though sleeping. The long scaly limbs were shiny, and the tiny fists clenched themselves in anger. There was something saurian about the face and the lower jaw that emphatically proclaimed its strangeness. It was a child born between worlds.
“I don’t know what to say,” Roger said. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Don’t say anything. It’s gone. I will never speak of it again.” He re-covered the thing in the blanket and laid it in the hole. As he was about to let go of the bundle, he felt it squirm.
“Quickly,” he said, trying to hide the note of hysteria in his voice. “Let’s get it over and done with,” and started to shovel soil in on top of the blanket. When the hole was filled in, they raked over the surface and hid the disturbed ground with dry sand from nearby.
A quarter of a mile inland, a line of pines delineated the old road. Shadows moved amongst them. At least, he thought that’s what they were. It was difficult to tell from this distance.
“Do you see them?” Martin said.
Roger stopped to look. “There’s nothing, Martin. It’s the wind in the branches.”
“Yes, you’re right. Silly of me.”
***
Deborah sat at home listening to the radio. Cleo sat on her lap purring. Martin would be home soon and they would eat dinner together and talk about how their day went. Afterwards they would watch the television until bedtime.
“Cup of tea, Mrs Mulcahey?” Mrs Haylock called from the kitchen.
“Yes please. Thank you, Mrs Haylock.”
The green eye on the radio flickered and wavered as the signal came and went. Deborah lent forward and turned the tuning dial very slightly until she found the silence she had been searching for.
THE END