1
During her time serving as midwife to the tiny Lake District village of Thimblebury, Zoe had looked forward to many births but perhaps few quite as eagerly as she’d anticipated this one. Twenty-year-old Maisie had been a particular worry, and Zoe had often wondered if the young, sometimes naïve woman would be able to cope with pregnancy and subsequent motherhood, particularly as the father of the child had abandoned his responsibilities as soon as she’d given him the news that she was expecting. But Zoe had been proved pleasantly wrong – at least when it came to the pregnancy bit. Maisie had just delivered a little boy, handling the birth with more common sense than many of the mothers Zoe hadn’t worried about.
Zoe gently wiped the baby’s face and handed him to Maisie with a broad smile.
‘Well done! He’s beautiful. Eight pounds two ounces of perfection.’
For once, Maisie’s usually truculent mother, Bridget, looked on with an expression that had softened into something almost like happiness. Almost because Zoe wasn’t convinced Bridgetknew what happiness was. If not happiness, it was at least affection. She’d take that as progress.
Zoe began to clean up. The living room where only Maisie and Bridget had been present hadn’t, in Zoe’s opinion, been the ideal space to give birth. The room was cluttered, in need of some dusting and hoovering, and in one corner sat a pile of questionable boxes that looked as if they might contain things Zoe didn’t dare think about. Still, they’d made the best of it after Bridget had announced that Maisie’s room was a tip and that hers was absolutely out of bounds. Zoe had quickly decided there were advantages to being closer to the kitchen should they need anything, once she’d been reassured that there would be privacy for Maisie.
‘Are you sticking with the name you picked a couple of weeks ago? What was it again?’
‘Ezra. Yes, I’m keeping that.’ Maisie was bathed in sweat, her fringe glued to her forehead and her cheeks glowing, but Zoe thought she’d never looked lovelier. She gazed at her baby, who was wriggling and snuffling in her arms as if trying to make sense of the mad new world he’d been thrust into. ‘It really suits him, don’t you think?’
Bridget gave a derisive snort. ‘Makes him sound like an idiotic farmhand.’
‘No,’ Maisie said, her tired smile faltering. ‘I know you don’t like it, but come and look…I think he does look like his name. I wasn’t sure before but…Mum…?’
Bridget peered over from her position on the sofa. ‘I suppose I’ll get used to it.’
Maisie allowed the grasping fingers of her son to curl around her finger and grinned. ‘Look, Mum…he’s hugging me!’
‘He doesn’t know he’s doing it,’ Bridget said. ‘They’d grab a rusty knife if you put it in their hand.’
‘Well, I reckon it’s cute…’ Maisie’s grin disappeared. ‘I would never put a knife in his hand.’
‘He’ll find all the things he shouldn’t play with soon enough by himself,’ Bridget said. ‘If he’s anything like you were, you’ll need two sets of eyes in the back of your head, three in the front and some up your backside for good measure.’
‘I’ll watch him all the time so he doesn’t get into trouble.’
‘You say that now, but it’s not as easy as you imagine. I told you all this when you got pregnant, and nothing’s changed.’
‘I’ll try my best.’ Maisie’s expression held a beat of sadness as she looked back at her baby. ‘Don’t you want to come and say hello?’ she asked.
Bridget let out a sigh and pushed herself off the sofa. She ambled over and gave a non-committal grunt. ‘I suppose he’ll grow into his skin in time.’
It was so hard for Zoe not to reply on Maisie’s behalf, but she knew better than to get involved – not in any obvious way, at least. Bridget wasn’t a woman you confronted. She’d take it out on the person who’d caused her offence, but anyone close enough would be caught in the crossfire, and Zoe didn’t want to make things more awkward for Maisie, not now when she needed her mother more than ever. When she reflected on it for a moment, it was sad to see how little regard Bridget seemed to hold her daughter in, because, for all her faults, Maisie clearly loved and looked up to her mum.
‘Your gran’s coming later,’ Bridget added. ‘I told her you’d most likely pop today, so she’s cried off her darts tournament. It’s a good job the lad did arrive on time – she wouldn’t have been best pleased if she’d had to pull out for nothing.’
Zoe listened vaguely as the conversation continued, busying herself making more checks on mother and baby, completing her notes and clearing up. Mother-and-child relationships were never simple, and she’d seen many more difficult than this, butstill she hoped Maisie and Ezra would break what was quite clearly a negative cycle in this particular family.
Half an hour later, Bridget stepped outside for a cigarette and Zoe took the opportunity to cast a more critical eye over Maisie. There were no concerns for her physical well-being – aside from the blindingly obvious fact she’d just given birth – but from an emotional standpoint…that was a different matter. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Tired,’ Maisie said. ‘But I think I’m happy. Is that all right?’
‘You tell me.’
‘I mean am I supposed to feel happier than I do?’
‘Do you feel sad?’
‘I’m not sure. But I don’t feel sad about Ezra,’ she added quickly. ‘I love him – he’s amazing.’
‘That’s good then. You’ll be a bit up and down the next few days, I expect, but as long as fundamentally you feel all right.’
‘Huh?’
