Page 59 of Coming Home to Inishbeg Cove

Chapter 38

Sarah

The wind swirled around the cottage as I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains once more to check if I could see anything. Raindrops clouded the glass, and the sea lashed the rocks beyond the window. The village appeared to be under a dark cloak. Greg and I had been sitting on the sofa watching the news when the TV screen had gone black and we were plunged into darkness.

Greg had jumped up and reached for the candles we had left on the table in case of a power cut. He struck a match and began to light them, and it wasn’t long before the room was lit by a soft amber glow.

Not for the first time that evening, I’d thought about Mrs Manning. She was quite unsteady on her feet these days, and I didn’t know how she’d manage with no electricity. Earlier in the day I had tried to persuade her to stay with Greg and me until the storm had passed, but to no avail. She could be quite stubborn when she wanted to be and said that she had lived through more storms than I had eaten hot dinners. She had said she’d go to bed early and it would all be over by the time she woke.

I turned to Greg. His angular features were highlighted by the candlelight. ‘I really hope Mrs Manning is okay...’

‘Do you want me to call to check on her?’ he offered.

‘Oh Greg, it’s a bit risky going out in that weather—’

‘She’s only up the street. I’ll be up and back in a few minutes.’

I bit my lip. ‘I don’t know, Greg...’

‘I’ll be ten minutes max.’

‘Well, okay,’ I said, feeling uneasy even as I agreed to it, ‘but please be careful.’

That had been two hours ago. Now I was pacing around our cottage alone, waiting for him to return. To make matters worse, my phone was dead so I couldn’t call him. I was really starting to think that something had happened to him. He could be trying to call me, not realising that my phone was out of charge. Then the other, more rational, part of my brain said that perhaps he had decided to stay with Mrs Manning to keep the old lady company. But I had no way of knowing, and my mind was racing with all the possible worst-case scenarios.

The candlelight sent shadowy flickers around the room. I thought about heading out to Mrs Manning’s myself to see if I could find him, but it was risky going out in the storm. My bump meant that my centre of gravity was way off these days. If I tripped in the darkness or got injured by flying debris, I’d never forgive myself. I decided to wait a while longer. If he hadn’t appeared in half an hour, I would have no choice but to brave the elements and try to find him.

I had a dragging, heavy feeling in my bump. I was just making my way back towards the sofa when I felt a trickle of liquid between my legs. I stopped dead. Surely that wasn’t what I thought it was? But I didn’t think I had wet myself... I tried to check as best I could in the dim candlelight but, when I bent over, there was an unmistakable gush, and I knew my waters had gone. Fear snaked through me. I was only twenty-six weeks pregnant. It was far too early. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Panic filled me, rooting me to the spot. I couldn’t think straight. I had no phone, no way of checking with the hospital to see what I should do. I needed Greg. He was always calm in a crisis and would know what to do.

I made my way over to the press under the stairs and rooted around for the torch. I located it but, when I tried to switch it on, it didn’t work. It must have needed new batteries. God only knew where they were. Damn it, I thought, tossing it back into the press.

I pulled on my rain jacket, although it wouldn’t fasten over my bump. I had been meaning to buy a new one for the forthcoming winter but hadn’t got around to it. I opened the door and the wind rushed inside the cottage as I headed out into the storm to try and find Greg.

Rain poured from the skies and the gale sucked the breath from my lungs as I made my way down the street. Trees were bent double in the wind, and the rain came at me horizontally. Water was pouring over the seawall like a river. Oh God, this was worse than I thought. The whole village would be flooded at this rate. I was walking straight into the wind as I made my way downhill towards the main street. I moved as fast as I could, but the weight of my bump made me struggle. My jacket flapped in the wind, offering scant protection, and I was already soaked by the rain, which quickly found its way under my clothes until my skin was drenched.

I continued downhill until I reached the main street where, without realising it, I stepped into water that went up to my knees. I cried out in shock. I could see that the whole street was shimmering, almost magically, under a foot of water. It seemed that the sandbags hadn’t been able to keep the floodwaters at bay.

Mrs Manning’s house was at the far end of the main street. In normal circumstances it would have been less than a five-minute walk but, trudging through knee-deep water, it took a lot longer. I reached my post office, and my heart twisted when I saw that rainwater had breached the wall of sandbags built across the door. It was probably seeping underneath the door and across the floor inside. Up ahead, I saw a group of men struggling to reinforce the wall of sandbags. Perhaps Greg was helping them, I thought. That was the kind of thing he would do. I felt a renewed optimism and tried to hurry to reach them.

‘Sarah, what are you doing out in this weather?’ A man stood with his hands on his hips, surveying me. When I got closer, I realised it was Maureen’s husband, Jim. I looked around at the other men but didn’t see Greg among them. My heart sank.

‘Have you seen Greg?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘He was helping us out here earlier in the afternoon all right, but he went home hours ago. Is everything okay?’

Suddenly I felt a vice-like pain across my abdomen, and I was unable to talk.

‘Sarah, are you okay?’ Jim asked.

‘I think the babies are coming,’ I said, feeling terror grip me. ‘I don’t know where Greg is – it’s too early.’

‘Okay, let’s get you up to the B&B and we’ll call an ambulance,’ Jim said calmly. I was grateful to allow someone else to take control, and followed him up the street towards Cove View, where he and Maureen lived.

Cove View, like many of the homes at this end of the street, was set at the top of a flight of granite steps, so the water hadn’t managed to breach it.

‘Maureen is in bed. Hang on until I wake her. She’ll be more use to you than I will,’ he mumbled apologetically.

Minutes later Maureen descended the stairs wrapped in a ruby-coloured dressing gown.