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PETER’S MEMOIRS 3: “OUR BERNIE” (PART 10)
It must have been pretty miserable for Bernie during the six months following Richard’s untimely death. She felt desperately guilty that she had not told him that there was a baby on the way and she worried that she might not manage to convey to the baby that he/she had a father to be proud of. I did what I could, but Angie was much better than I was at helping. Of course, it was easier for her because there were so many things that she could share with Bernie about the whole process of becoming a mother, which if nothing else must have helped to keep her looking forward instead of brooding on the past.
Anyway, eventually little Lucy arrived. Of course, Bernie couldn’t so anything the conventional way. When she went into labour, she rang us at home, as we’d agreed, but I was out on a case and Angie was ding an extra shift because they were short-staffed. She and Angie had arranged that Angie would be there at the birth as what they call in obstetric circles a “birthing partner”. Basically, it’s someone to hold the expectant mother’s hand and do all the things that the father is expected to do if he’s present. She got through to Eddie who generously volunteered to drive her to the hospital. Since he’d only passed his test a couple of weeks previously, Bernie very sensibly declined the offer.
Of course, what most people would have done under the circumstances would have been to call a taxi – or even an ambulance – but Our Bernie couldn’t be doing with any of that! She reckoned up that it was “only a couple of miles” and decided to walk it. Admittedly, she’d been cycling into college every day right up until the end of Hilary term, which was only about six weeks before D-day, and hadn’t slowed down noticeably in any other respect either in the run up to becoming a mother, but I’m glad Angie had showed less independent spirit when our two were imminent.
She made it without incident and went to reception to check herself in. it was only when her waters broke while they were taking down her details that it dawned on her that maybe she’d taken a bit of a risk. By that time it was near the end of Angie’s shift and one of the nurses helpfully contacted her to ask her to come straight to the labour ward, so it wasn’t long before things got back on to the pathway that we’d planned.
When I got home, I found Eddie in a state of great agitation. Anyone would have thought that he was the expectant father! There was nothing for it but for the two of us to go straight off to the hospital to get the latest news. Everyone was very kind and they found us seats in the waiting room and plied us with cups of tea, although I could see they were wondering who on earth we were. Eddie was like a cat on a hot tin roof and I was starting to get anxious myself as a result. I tried to remember how long it had taken for Hannah to be born – far longer than I had imagined it would be, I remembered, but that was not a very useful measure. Childbirth was more dangerous when you were older, wasn’t it? If something had gone wrong, how long would it be before anyone would tell us?
Of course, all our fears were groundless and by about ten that night Angie emerged carrying the new baby to show us. I was surprised at how entranced Eddie seemed to be at her little hands and tiny screwed-up face. It isn’t something you associate with teenage boys!