Tasha sat in silence with Jim beside her. She watched her son lying in the huge hospital cot, scrutinising the rise and fall of his chest, holding her breath every time a rise didn’t follow immediately from the fall. The only sounds she could hear were the beeps and pings of the machines that were trying to make her baby better, recording his wellbeing and with each one she heard the more desperate she became for them to be replaced with one of his snores, snorts or funny little breathing noises he so often made. The ones that made her laugh, although, so long as he continued to breathe Tasha reasoned it was a win. Staff came and went, doctors and nurses. All of them wore empathetic and reassuring expressions, not that anyone uttered actual words that made her feel anything resembling hope that her baby was going to be okay, but then the doctor had told them they had to wait and see how Connor responded to the drugs.
Another hour, maybe two passed before anyone spoke and then it was Jim.
“Let me get you something to eat, or at least a drink.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Then a drink. Something. I’ll get us both something to drink.”
“Whatever. If it will stop you going on,” Tasha snapped and although she knew Jim was as lost as she was and in no way held him responsible for Connor’s illness she offered no apology. She watched him leave the room then returned her gaze to her baby whose face she began to stroke and fought the tears that wanted to escape but she knew if she allowed the first one to fall, she might never stop.
“Any news?” came Paul’s voice as Jim battled with the overcomplicated drinks machine.
“No,” he replied with a long, loud sigh and a run of his fingers through his hair. “I hate this, this feeling of powerlessness. Tasha is in with Connor and she just stares at him. She isn’t speaking, moving or crying, nothing.”
“It’s a shock.” Paul reassured him with a pat of his shoulder.
“I know, but I don’t know how to make this right. What if something happens, to Connor?” Jim asked with a quiver to his voice. “She has been through so much and she survived it all, even the most horrific things, but this—losing Connor might be the one thing she never gets over and I can’t help thinking if we’d sought help sooner…”
“Bloody hell, Jim. This is not your fault and if it is then it’s mine too. Look, babies get poorly and they usually get better without all of this so it was bad luck but it’s nobody’s fault. I know we’ve had our differences but you love my Nat like no-one ever has before and although I tried to bring her home and hold you responsible when she was hurt, I was wrong. When I’m wrong I admit it, so sorry.” He extended an outstretched hand of friendship or at least peace.
Taking the older man’s hand Jim offered him a weak smile. “I know how Tasha feels in there,” he said with a point down the corridor to where she remained with their son. “She feels helpless, lost and scared shitless, just like I did when she was in hospital. I spent hours, days wondering how I was going to take my next breath without her and now I am doing it again with my son, but this is worse. Not that I thought anything could be worse, but it is because I’m watching Connor fighting to survive and if he doesn’t I know I’ll lose Tasha.”
Looking at the other man’s shocked expression Jim reminded himself that this was Tasha’s grandfather he was addressing and he didn’t know everything Tasha had been through. Didn’t need to and Tasha wouldn’t want him too. Although, Tasha was unaware that he knew about her suicide decision that turned into a drunken stupor on the bandstand when the thing that had stopped her had been worry for her siblings, but if they lost Connor would there be anything left for her to stay around for?
“You need to stop these dark thoughts,” Paul chastened. “My girl, my Nat, she loves you and kids are resilient. They bounce back as quick as they drop and that boy is his mother’s son so if he knows how to do one thing, it’s fight. Now, you get back in there and take care of my girl, like you promised to.”
Jim nodded and with two cups of something brown and relatively warm he returned to his wife and son with Paul’s reminder of just how strong they both were fresh in his mind.
****
Another six hours passed and looking out into the darkness of the night sky Jim smiled a half-smile as he remembered holding his son on the night he was born and gazing out of the hospital window as he was now.
“What are you thinking?” asked Tasha who hadn’t spoken since a token thank you for the coffee she hadn’t drunk.
“About the night Connor was born,” Jim replied with a quiver invading his voice followed by a tear running down his face that his hand was too slow to wipe away before Tasha saw it.
In the blink of an eye she was on her feet and standing before her husband, reaching up to wipe his tears away while her own flowed freely down her face. She was unsure how long they remained in the window but as they huddled together, her head resting against his chest with her arms wrapped tightly around his waist while he squeezed her to him and stroked her hair tenderly she was relieved that both of their tears had dried and there was a calmness settling between them.
“I didn’t mean to shut down earlier, with the silent treatment,” Tasha finally said, knowing Jim had found it hard to deal with her like that.
“That’s okay. If that’s the way you handle things, but it did throw me in case you held me responsible.”
“Fuck! No, of course not. I’m shitting myself that he is so poorly, Jim, but never did I blame you. Why would I?”
“If I had said to come here sooner…”
“And if I hadn’t gone to meet Dan or kept us both away from Connor…”
“Then it’s not either of our faults,” Jim said flatly before landing a gentle kiss to Tasha’s head.
“We will discuss you going to meet Dan later, honey.”
“I bet we will,” she muttered knowing that conversation wouldn’t be put off forever. “I just need my baby to be better,” Tasha whispered, as if saying it any louder might jinx it.
“Me too, both of them,” he replied, and he really did mean it. “But you forget, our boy is a fighter, like his momma.”
“And a Maybury,” Tasha added, thinking that might make him an even tougher cookie.
