No, this is a tragedy, nothing more, nothing less. And suddenly the unfairness of it all washes over her—the fact that Will should be here, with her, holding her hand, but he’s not—and she has to go through this alone. And all because of Hugh, and her own unbearable, inexcusable stupidity.
It’s like a bolt of anger tearing through her, and as the car draws up outside the crematorium, it’s that more than anything that gives her the strength to stand up and make her unsteady, top-heavy way across the gravel to where the others are waiting—Ryan in his wheelchair, Bella with a sympathetic hug.
She can get through this. She will get through this.
And then the baby inside her gives a long slow kick, more of a press, pushing outwards against the wall of her womb so that she can actually see the tight-stretched black fabric ripple and move against the pressure, and she corrects herself.
They will get through this. Together.
“Are you ready?” Emily says, and Hannah nods.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“We’ve got you,” Ryan says. And she nods again, and even manages a smile.
“His parents are already inside,” Bella says. “We should head in. Are you ready, Ry?”
Ryan nods, clicks the controller on his wheelchair, and they begin to move slowly up the ramp, towards the chapel of the crematorium.
Hannah is not sure what to expect when they enter the chapel. There are only two other people there in the cool dark, heads bowed, and they are the two people she has been dreading seeing. Because what can she say? What is there to say when the worst thing that can happen to a parent has happened to them?
But in the end, she doesn’t need to say anything.
His mother simply comes to her and holds her in a wordless hug. And they stand there, the two of them, bathed in the light from the memorial window, the stained glass surrounding them both with a sea of blue and green. And then the organ music starts, Hannah wipes her eyes, and they turn to face the front, as the vicar intones, “We are here to commemorate the passing of Hugh Anthony Bland.”
And Hannah knows it is really over.
THE BEGINNING
“Maternity’s the other way!” the lady at the desk calls to Hannah as she passes through the front entrance and walks up the corridor towards the lift.
“Oh, I know,” she shouts back over her shoulder. “I’m not here for me, I’m visiting my husband.”
In the lift she stands, feeling the slow heave and shift of the baby inside her. Its movements have changed over the last week or so—not slowed down, as the midwives keep stressing. But instead of the frantic flurrying activity she has become used to, the movements are becoming more deliberate. Her child is growing into its limbs, and growing out of space to shift and turn. It’s flipped head down, the midwife said at their last appointment. I can’t promise it’ll stay like that, but… fingers crossed.
She puts her hand on the hard round bump jutting out just below her ribs. Its buttocks, the midwife had said, tracing the long rounded curve of her belly. And there’s its spine.
The lift pings and she heaves herself into action, out of the doors and up the corridor to the right, where Will’s ward is situated.
He is sitting up in bed, talking to a doctor, nodding.
Hannah hangs back for a moment, unsure whether to interrupt, but Will sees her and his face lights up.
“Han, come and sit down. Dr. James, this is my wife, Hannah.”
“Ah, so you’re the lucky woman,” the doctor says. “Fingers crossed we can have him up and about for the big day.” He nods at her stomach.
“Dr. James was just saying I could probably get a discharge tomorrow,” Will says, grinning.
“With conditions,” the doctor says firmly. “And sign-off from occupational therapy. Because obviously your wife isn’t going to be doing any lifting. You need to be able to maneuver yourself on and off the commode and so on.”
Will makes a face and nods, but Hannah can tell he’s taking it as read, and he puts out his hand and squeezes hers as hard as he can.
Afterwards, when the doctor has said his goodbyes and left, Will turns to her and pats the pillow beside him.
“Come on up.”
“Will, are you nuts?” Hannah looks at the narrow sliver of bed, and then down at her own ample width. “There is no way I’ll fit on there.”
“Come on.” He shifts himself across, wincing as he does. “You’ll fit. I’ll hold you in.”
Gingerly, trying not to disturb the dressing on his side, Hannah climbs up and slides into the narrow space beside Will on the bed. She leans back against his arm, feeling him grip her shoulder with a surprising strength. She remembers that long, nightmarish wait for the ambulance in the darkness of the beach, Will’s hand holding hers, slippery with his own blood, his grip faltering as he flickered in and out of consciousness, and her own heart stopping every time his grip slackened, imagining that this time, this time Will was slipping away from her, into the darkness, as Hugh had already done.