‘Do we know the gestational age?’ she asked.
‘Twenty-six weeks,’ Alex said tersely, ‘and he doesn’t look any too large.’
As she was handed the tiny slippery mite, she bit her lip and frowned.
‘It’s going to be touch and go—he looks pretty flat,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘Let’s get him sucked out and get some oxygen into him, and I think he’s going to need surfactant. Could somebody call Peter Travers?’
Behind her she was conscious of Alex’s quiet requests and directions, and Jo’s calm response as they struggled to control the haemorrhage.
‘That’s more like it,’ Alex murmured, and Maggie felt the atmosphere lift a little. ‘How’s the baby?’
She shrugged. ‘Iffy. I’m doing what I can.’
‘It’s all we can do,’ Alex said steadyingly, continuing his fight for the mother.
Peter Travers, the head of Maggie’s firm, came into the room and took one look at the baby before shaking his head.
‘This one’s going to be all uphill,’ he muttered, warming his stethoscope and running it over the baby’s chest. ‘He’s got a murmur—it may settle.’ His voice was devoid of hope. ‘Right, let’s get him into SCBU and wire him up. He’s got this far, you never know.’
But he didn’t make it, and it was Maggie who was with the little boy and his father when he died. His mother had seen him and held him briefly when she came round, but her condition was still very weak and, apart from Maggie, the baby’s father was the only one there when he slipped qietly away.
Mr Grainger lifted his eyes to Maggie’s, and they were dazed with shock and pain. ‘He’s gone …’ he whispered.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Maggie said heavily, and, opening the incubator, she lifted out the tiny body and placed it in the man’s arms, and then she held him and cried with him as he cradled his tiny son.
‘Nicky’ll be heartbroken,’ he said gruffly, and his voice cracked.
‘Yes, she will,’ Maggie told him gently. ‘She’ll need time to come to terms with it. I’ll ask Mr Carter if he thinks she’s strong enough to be told, but on the whole it’s best not to drag out her hopes for long. I expect she’ll want to hold him again while he’s still warm, and we’ll take photographs of him, and keep his clothes for you so you’ll be able to remember him.’
The man looked worried. ‘Is that a good idea? All those reminders?’
Maggie nodded. ‘You won’t need reminders, Mr Grainger. You’ll both think of him often, and he’ll always be real to you. He is real. Memories can be a great comfort, and we try and give you as many memories as we can to take with you.’
‘What will they do with—with him?’
Maggie brushed the tiny baby’s cheek with her knuckle. ‘He’ll be taken to the mortuary, and any time you or your wife want to see him you only have to ask and you can hold him if you want, as many times as you need to, and then, when you’re ready, he’ll have a funeral just like anybody else.’
‘They don’t … incinerate …?’
Maggie shook her head, understanding his fears. ‘No. He’s a person, just like any other person. His death is just as real, just as important as anyone else’s. Remember that. You have a right to your grief, and to proper recognition of his short life. Did he have a name?’
Mr Grainger swallowed hard. ‘Samuel.’
That’s a lovely name. He’s a beautiful baby.’
Samuel’s father cradled the tiny body against his chest. ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ His voice, for all its sadness, was full of wonder. He turned to Maggie. ‘Thank you for explaining——’
She shook her head helplessly. ‘You’re welcome. Do you want to be alone with him for a while?’
He nodded blindly.
‘I’ll phone Mr Carter.’
She walked quickly away, took a second to compose herself and picked up the phone. Alex was on the ward and came up immediately, sparing her a quick squeeze on the shoulder.
‘Sorry—it’s awful, isn’t it?’ he said quietly.
Maggie left him dealing with the man and made her way into Amy’s cubicle. Because of the possibility that she had been contaminated with the HIV virus by her mother, Amy was nursed in isolation, and it gave Maggie the solitude she needed to pull herself together.
At least this was one baby who was beginning to respond to treatment. She had stopped twitching, and now at five weeks old she was breathing independently, beginning to suck for herself and was nearly ready to go home. No doubt once Christmas was over she would be allocated to a foster mother until her adoption was decided. Maggie just hoped that the woman would be flexible and receptive to Jo, because she was going to have a hell of a fight on her hands if she intended to keep them apart!
As if her thoughts had produced her from thin air, Jo appeared behind Maggie and touched her shoulder gently.
‘OK, Maggie?’ she asked softly.
Maggie sniffed. ‘Yes. Just—it’s such a waste.’
Jo nodded. ‘You win some, you lose some. Are you off duty?’
‘Yes—I think I’ll go and tackle my grandmother on the subject of her suddenly precarious health.’
Jo chuckled. ‘Good idea. Give her my love.’
‘Not until I’ve strangled her!’ she replied with a strained laugh. ‘See you tomorrow.’
She drove her little VW Polo back to her flat, the converted middle floor of a Victorian pile in the old part of town, and, running upstairs, she lit the gas fire, kicked off her shoes and let down her long red-gold hair before picking up the phone and settling comfortably in the armchair by the fire.
‘Lucinda? Hi—it’s Maggie. How are you?’
‘Oh, Margaret, darling, how lovely to hear from you. I’ll be all right—just a little weak, that’s all, darling. Don’t worry about me.’
Maggie twiddled the flex of the phone, winding her finger into the coils. ‘I thought I’d come and see you——’
‘Oh, no, goodness, dear! That would never do! I think it’s a touch of flu, actually, and that’s positively the last thing you need with all those tiny babies you come in contact with. No, no, dear, you stay away, do you understand?’
Maggie’s lips twisted into a wry smile.
‘I understand, Grannie, darling.’
‘Don’t call me that, dear—so ageing! Anyway, now, are you all set to go?’
Old fraud, Maggie thought fondly. There wasn’t a trace of a fluey cough or sniff, and she sounded about as weak as a barracuda.
‘Yes, I’m all set, but I don’t think I should go without you——’
‘Nonsense! You need a holiday, darling, more than I do. You must go, otherwise I shall feel obliged to drag myself out of my sick bed and accompany you, and God knows what that’ll do to my precarious health!’
‘God knows!’ Maggie agreed drily. ‘Anyway, I could do with some company later—maybe I will drop in just for a short while—I promise to keep out of your way so I won’t catch anything.’
‘No! No, Margaret, you mustn’t! I simply forbid it!’ her grandmother all but shrieked, then, collecting herself almost audibly, she continued in a noticeably weaker voice, ‘Anyway, darling, I thought I’d