One minute later the first of her twins was born.
Ten minutes later the second baby followed.
‘You have twin girls,’ shouted Mrs Neil in triumph.
Serena, panting, soaked, gave a final push to expel the afterbirth which slipped out easily.
‘Thank God,’ she whispered. Aware only of a profound rush of relief, she made no attempt to stem the tears that slipped down her cheeks, trickling across her parched lips.
Mrs Neil was visibly bubbling with excitement, smiling joyfully at Tom – who looked equally delighted, his face beaming with such pride that he could have been the father himself.
‘Are they all right?’ Serena asked the question that all mothers ask.
Mrs Neil nodded emphatically. ‘They’re very small, but absolutely fine,’ she confirmed, smacking each baby’s bottom in turn.
With the first cries of her offspring filling her ears, Serena sat up. Turning to Tom, she pointed in the direction of the sink.
‘Could you pass me some water, please.’
‘Of course miss, you must be mighty dry after all that effort.’
She swallowed the ice-cold water thirstily, thinking it tasted better than anything in her entire life. Handing back the empty glass, she turned to face Mrs Neil.
‘Can I see my babies?’
It was then that she first noticed a strange look on the midwife’s face. She didn’t know why, but it frightened her. And Mrs Neil had whispered something to Tom that she couldn’t hear. He left the room immediately, and this frightened her more.
‘What’s wrong?’ Serena’s panic was echoed in her voice. ‘Are my babies OK?’ she demanded.
Leaning as far forward as possible, she desperately searched the older woman’s face, trying to discover why she was shaking her head in disbelief, her eyes firmly fixed on one particular baby.
‘Your babies are f … fi … fine,’ Mrs Neil stammered, ‘It … it’s … it’s just—’ She could not contain the shock registering in her voice.
‘It’s just what?’ Serena’s own voice rose. ‘Is there something wrong?’
The midwife didn’t look up. She was still staring at the baby closest to her. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’
When she did lift her face, it was filled with a look of astonishment that Serena wrongly interpreted as fear. Voice faltering a little, Mrs Neil eventually explained.
‘You have given birth to one white baby, and one black.’
There was no mistaking her total incredulity. Serena’s mouth dropped open; she was stunned. She continued to stare at the midwife whose features were frozen in an expression of horror.
‘Have you gone mad!’ she shrieked, ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
Mrs Neil shook her head and wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘I only wish that I had. I really don’t understand what’s happened.’
The woman sounded almost apologetic, as if in some way she was responsible. She lifted one of the babies and, cradling her carefully, carried her to Serena. ‘Here, look for yourself and you will see that this baby is most definitely not one of us.’
‘I don’t want to look.’ Serena was shaking her head, holding her hands tightly clenched in her lap.
‘You must. She is your child,’ insisted the midwife, holding the tiny bundle right in front of Serena’s face.
The baby was still attached to the umbilical cord, her body crouched in the foetal position, with string legs curled up into her chest. Serena stared at the top of the baby’s head. It was slippery wet with blood. Suddenly, the newborn infant began to wail, arms and legs thrashing out in every direction. Tiny hands were thrown up in protest and, for the first time, Serena had a clear view of her daughter’s face. Instantly, visions of Royole Fergusson flooded her mind.
It was then that she began to scream.
‘I’m Mr Wilcox. I believe you want to talk to me urgently.’
‘Yes I do.’
Mrs Neil shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was wearing the same brown clothes that she’d worn the previous night to deliver Serena’s babies. Dressing hastily, she had merely thrown a Barbour jacket over the top and pulled on the felt hat bought for her sister’s wedding. She hadn’t slept, so her eyes were puffy.
The consultant thought she looked a little odd. He glanced at his watch with obvious impatience. ‘I’m due in theatre very soon, please Mrs …’ The doctor read a note on his desk, ‘… Neil.’
The booming voice was not lost on Mrs Neil who twisted her mouth into a polite smile before she continued, ‘What I have to say won’t take long, sir. I’d just like to know whether there’s ever been a case of a white woman producing twins, where one child is black and one white?’
If Mr Wilcox was surprised he didn’t show it. ‘Do you know of such a case?’ he asked. ‘Because if you do, I’d be very interested.’
‘Yes, I do; but it’s somebody who lives abroad.’
The excuse came out far too quickly, and the consultant knew immediately that it was a lie. But the stubborn set of his visitor’s jaw, and the determined ring to her voice, dispelled any hope he might have of persuading her to identify the mother involved. He doodled on a note-pad for a few seconds, pondering his reply.
‘Conceiving and giving birth to mixed-race twins – non-identical I presume – is an extremely rare phenomenon. To my knowledge it’s been recorded only a few times in Europe. It’s very unusual for a mixed-race couple to have twins where one baby is pure Caucasian and the other black. A million-to-one chance in fact.’
Mr Wilcox seemed to warm to his subject and added, ‘Actually about five years ago, a Jamaican colleague of mine delivered black and white twin boys to a white woman who had a West Indian husband and a relationship with a white man.
‘It means, of course, that two entirely separate eggs are fertilized by two men. It can only occur if the woman has intercourse with the men concerned within a period of approximately eighteen hours.
‘For this to be possible she would need to be in natural ovulation during intercourse with the first man, and that could lead to fertilization of the first egg. Then, what we term as a “spontaneous ovulation” during orgasm with the other man could produce a second egg, and if that’s also fertilized, non-identical twins, or more to the point siblings, could be conceived within hours of each other.’
‘Thank you, doctor. As a midwife, I just wanted to understand how such a phenomenon was possible.’
Her chair scraped across the polished oak floor as Mrs Neil stood up. ‘And thank you for seeing me at such short notice.’
‘You gave me very little choice,’ Mr Wilcox replied. Then he offered, ‘Are you sure the lady concerned can’t be persuaded to come and see me? I’d be more than happy to talk to her. I might even be able to help.’
Mrs Neil had reached the door, and turned to face him. ‘I don’t think she’s ready to see or speak to anyone just at the moment. Goodbye Doctor.’
When Serena awoke she thought she’d wet the bed.
Slowly