Page 35 of Coming Home to Inishbeg Cove

Chapter 22

Sarah

I woke with a heavy, ominous feeling of dread clouding me. I couldn’t explain it. Perhaps it was tiredness after the festival the previous weekend catching up with me. Although I would never admit it to Greg, it had taken more out of me than I expected. I decided not to say anything to him; he would only worry.

‘What do you think of Theodore and Robert if they’re boys?’ Greg suggested as we ate breakfast together that morning. ‘We could call them Theo and Rob for short.’ He was forever suggesting baby names, whereas I hadn’t wanted to think that far ahead. Greg was like an optimistic ostrich with his head stuck in the sand, shielding himself from any worries. He was convinced that everything would work out. I hated to drag him down with my anxieties so instead I tried to keep them to myself and took the pregnancy day by day.

‘I like it, but I think Rum and Raisin would be better,’ I said, grabbing my bag.

‘Great suggestions! And that would work whether they’re girls or boys,’ he said, laughing as I kissed him on the cheek before heading out the door.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling as I went about my work that day. I was sorting through a stack of letters later that morning when I felt a pain shoot through my bump. It was sudden and sharp, and made me stop and catch my breath. I had been petrified of every little twinge I felt, but the pregnancy book Greg had bought said that some cramping and twinges were normal in pregnancy, so I tried to not to worry. It was probably just tiredness from overdoing it at the festival.

I was trying to concentrate on work when I was hit by another cramp a short time later. This one was fiercer, and it felt as though my whole bump was in spasm. I had to hold on to the counter until it had passed. Another assailed me a few minutes later, and I began to worry. Was something wrong with the babies? I didn’t want to panic and run to the doctor over every little twinge, but maybe I needed medical attention. It was far too soon to be labour pains. I decided to wait it out a while longer and if I still was cramping, then I would call Greg and see what he thought we should do. I didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily.

I gritted my teeth through the pain and continued to serve customers. As they chatted, I tried my best to stay focused on what they were saying to me, but the cramps were getting stronger, forcing me stop every time a pain hit. I could hardly concentrate as Mrs Manning dropped off some eggs for me and filled me in on some anecdote involving hair dye and her hens. At one point I accidentally gave Timmy O’Malley the wrong change because I was so caught up in the pain.

Soon the cramping had got so bad that I could no longer ignore it. I was gripped by wave after wave of pain. I went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet. Then I saw it. Bright red blood stained my underwear. My legs felt weak and jelly-like. Deep down, I had known this was going to happen. Everything had been going so well with the pregnancy – a bit too well. I was angry with myself. I should never have allowed myself to believe that the babies might be safe. I was stupid to get my hopes raised, only to have them dashed again.

I came out of the bathroom and grabbed my phone, fumbling as I tried to dial Greg’s number.

‘Sarah, is everything okay?’ I could hear the ice-cream parlour jukebox playing ‘Fun, Fun, Fun’ by The Beach Boys and the chatter of his customers in the background. ‘Sarah, are you there?’ he repeated.

‘You need to hurry, Greg. I think I’m losing our babies.’