MIDWIFE Maria Wyatt was having a nightmare.
It didn't happen so often now, perhaps once a month
instead of two or three times a week. More than one doctor
had told her that the dreams would pass, that time would
heal everything. It hadn't healed her so far. The dreams
were more rare, but still as bad.
She woke sobbing, whimpering, her pillow wet with tears
and her body damp with sweat. And the images disappeared.
A pity really, some of them had brought her so much
happiness. A baby in a cot, a child taking his first
steps, the same child a year older, smiling at the camera.
But then there had been the others.
She looked at the red figures on her bedside clock. It was
five in the morning, the room dark. No daylight for three
hours yet, it was January. Maria lay there, her breathing
slowly getting calmer, her pumping heart slowing.
Today was the beginning of a new era in her career as a
midwife. It was a pity to start it with a nightmare.
There was no way she would get back to sleep. She climbed
wearily out of bed, pulled on her dressing-gown and walked
into the corridor of the nurses' home. Just a chance that
there might be somebody to talk to. But there was no one.
She'd have to get through this alone. This was usual,
she'd done it before.
Since she was in the kitchen, she made herself a mug of
tea. Then she went back to her room to sit on the bed and
try to think positive thoughts. The good thing was that
she knew that in time the horror would pass. But first
there was something she had to do.
She slid open the bottom drawer of the built-in unit, felt
under the layers of carefully stored summer clothes and
took out a thick album. She had to keep it hidden. She
didn't want it on view, where people might open it, ask
her questions.
For perhaps ten minutes she stared at just one photograph.
It was of herself, and she was holding a baby. She looked
at the picture of her own, younger face. Then she glanced
into her dressing-table mirror. There was a world of
difference between her features now and how they had been
just six short years ago.
Then, decisively, she snapped the album shut. Life had to
go on. She had a new job to think of.
She sat on her bed, opened the heavy midwifery textbook on
her bedside table. As she flicked through it she saw
pressed flowers. Pressing flowers was something she had
done as a child — and had never quite got out of the
habit. But these were not wild flowers. They were maroon
and lemon roses. Maria had been a bridesmaid to her friend
and tutor, Jenny Carson — now Jenny Donovan — and the
flowers were from Jenny's bouquet. Maria smiled at the
memory. Life wasn't all bad.
She read in bed for an hour and then showered and dressed.
She put on her new community midwife uniform, which she
rather liked. On the ward in hospital she had worn either
scrubs or the usual midwife's blue. This uniform was
slightly more formal. More useful for home visits.
Technically, she was still working for the hospital trust
but she was on outreach. The hospital had opened a couple
of clinics in distant parts of the city, dealing mostly
with pregnancy and the welfare of younger children. Maria
was to work at the Landmoss clinic.
It had only been four months since Maria had qualified as
a midwife so this job should have gone to someone more
experienced. But the midwife originally appointed had
broken her leg in a fall, she'd be off work for at least
six months. So Jenny had suggested Maria. "Good experience
and you're a bit older than the other possibilities," she
had told Maria. "I know you can do it."
"I'd like the job," Maria had said after a minute's
thought. "I fancy working in a clinic for a while. But
it's just O and G, isn't it? Just mums and babies. No
small kids?"
"No small kids," Jenny had said, looking levelly at her
charge, "not unless you want to work with them."
"I don't. Well, not yet anyway. Perhaps in a year or two
I'll change my mind…but for now I'm happy as a midwife."
"A year or two?" Jenny had said quietly. "Don't leave it
too late, will you?"
Maria had shrugged. "I'm improving," she said. "It doesn't
hurt as much. Not quite as much."
"Good. There is another thing, though. The doctor in
charge will want to see your CV. He'll learn about your
son."
There had been silence between them. Then Maria had
muttered, "You'd better tell him, then. And about how I
feel."
Jenny had reached over, clasped her friend's hand. Then
her voice had altered, become efficient again. "There's
another thing I should warn you of. A lot of the time
you'll be out on your own. Here in the hospital there's
always help at hand. But out on the streets things can get
unpleasant — violent even. Can you cope with that?"
"I can cope. You know I'm tough." Jenny had looked at her
speculatively. "You are in some ways. But anyway…you'll be
working with one of our O and G specialist registrars — a
Dr Tom Ramsey. He's a good man. Just don't call him
Blondie."
"What?" Maria hadn't quite been able to read Jenny's half-
amused expression.
"It's just that he's got blond hair," Jenny had
said. "It's quite something. I think the two of you will
get on together." So it had been settled.
Maria had one last glance in the mirror, smoothed down her
super-short dark hair. Her midwife's bag was ready packed
at the foot of the bed. From now on she'd never move
without it.
First day at a new job. It wouldn't hurt to arrive early.
It was cold out, just getting light. Christmas was now
over, she could look forward to the depths of winter.
There was a little notebook on the dashboard of her car,
from now on she could claim a mileage allowance. That was
something new.
Memories of the nightmare were now fading. She was setting
off to start a new life.
The Landmoss Clinic was a new building about six miles
from the hospital. It was set in a vast estate of new
houses, many of them occupied by first-time buyers —
people proud of their new homes and tending to be starting
families. But there were also three large tower blocks,
many of the flats there occupied by what were tactfully
called 'problem' families.
"There'll be a lot of teenage pregnancies," Jenny had told
her. "It'll be your job to make sure they get the care
they'll need. You'll meet a lot of interesting people."
"All babies are interesting to me. And I love them." It
was an easy ride to the clinic as most of the traffic was
heading into the city. She turned into the leafy avenue
that led to the clinic, glancing sideways at a small
shopping centre. And frowned.
A crowd of people was gathered on the pavement, apparently
looking down at something — or someone. There was
something about their attitude that suggested there had
been an accident. Someone was lying on the pavement. Maria
was not a registered nurse, but she had some medical
training and she might be able to help. And it wasn't in
her character just to move on by.
She stopped the car, took her midwife's bag. It held a few
medical supplies that might be useful. She approached the
group, saw that there was indeed someone lying on the
ground. Firmly she said, "Could you let me through,
please? I might be able to help." The people parted.
A panicking voice said, "He just walked in front of my
car. There was nothing I could do. I knocked him into that
lamppost."
Maria looked up, saw a young man and noticed that he had a
mobile phone in a holder on his belt. "Phone 999," she
said. "Do it now. Ask for an ambulance." Then she looked
at the victim.
He was an old man, apparently unconscious, lying on his
back on the pavement, blood in his hair. Someone had
thrown a coat over him, another man was kneeling and was
about to lift up the old man's head. Sharply, Maria
said, "Don't lift his head! Let it down where it was, very
carefully. We need to check for a broken neck."
Gently, the man lowered the head, and then stood back. He
was obviously glad to hand over responsibility.
Maria knelt by the old man, tried to remember her first
aid. ABC. Check airways, breathing, circulation. Quickly
done. The man might be unconscious but he was still alive.
She lifted the coat but could see no signs of excessive
bleeding — the head injury was the worst. She opened her
bag, almost automatically pulled on a pair of latex
gloves. Then she took out a sterile pad. Technically it
was used to stop vaginal bleeding — but it would do.
She didn't like the angle of the man's neck. But there was
no hard collar in her midwife's bag.
Behind her a voice asked, "Are you a doctor?" It wasn't an
anxious voice but firm and assured, a voice that gave
confidence.
Without looking round, she answered, "No, I'm a midwife.
Just doing what I can."
"Well, I'm a doctor. Would you like me to take over?"
Taking her agreement as read, a man knelt by her side.
Jenny glanced at him — and gasped.
She remembered that Jenny had told her that the O and G
doctor at the clinic would be a Dr Tom Ramsey — and that
she was not to call him Blondie. Well, this had to be the
man. But his hair wasn't blond, it was spun gold. He wore
it fairly long and it was wavy. Even at that cold hour of
the morning, even as they looked at an emergency together,
she wanted to run her hands through it to feel if it was
as soft as it looked.
Then he turned to look at her and she gasped again. If
anything, his face was more striking than his… Then she
collected herself. He wasn't smiling. This wasn't a social
meeting, he had a job to do — as did she. "I've sent for
an ambulance, I've checked ABC," she said. "Now may I help
you in any way?"
He was feeling the back of the unconscious man's neck, his
fingers delicate as they traced down the line of
vertebrae. "Look in my bag," he said. "There's a hard
collar there. We'll get that on him and then just wait for
the ambulance."
He had placed his bag by his side and it took her only a
minute to find the collar. Then she slid it round the old
man's neck as the doctor carefully raised his head.
"At a guess, you'll be Midwife Maria Wyatt," he said when
they had finished. "I'm Tom Ramsey and I've been looking
forward to meeting you."
"Yes, I'm Maria Wyatt." 'Well, there's nothing much more
we can do here until the ambulance arrives. But just to be
certain, I'm going to stay with the man. You can do me a
favour, though."
"Anything I can."
He nodded in the direction of a parked blue car. "My four-
year-old son James is in that car. He's upset, he's just
seen a bit too much. Could you take him to the clinic for
me? I'll come and pick him up later, he's in the crèche
there."
Maria flinched. "I'm a midwife, not an expert on small
boys," she said. "Can't I help here? I'd rather do that."