Authors: Catrin Collier
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #General, #Romance, #Family & Relationships
One Blue Moon (34 page)
A day when she had been happy. Her wedding! Here, in London, away from family and friends – no, not all her friends. Laura and Trevor had stood behind them, happy honeymooners, married for almost two weeks.
She’d worn the indigo dress and dark green coat Andrew had insisted on buying her although it had taken almost every penny of his spare money.
‘I do.’ Andrew looking at her, love etched in his deep brown eyes. ‘That’s it, Mrs John. You’re not going to get away from me now. Not ever again.’
His lips warm, moist, closing over her own as he carried her over the doorstep of the beautiful, modem flat he’d rented.
Her protest. ‘We have to save ...’
‘For a rainy day? It’ll never get any wetter than it is now. Another year or two and we’ll be rolling in it. I’ll be a senior doctor, and you’ll be a mother.’
Her Aunt Megan had said the same thing. ‘The rainy day is now.’
But it hadn’t been. Not for Megan. The rain had turned into a cloudburst the day the police took her Aunt Megan away for handling stolen goods. Megan, who had meant so much to her – the only woman apart from her dead grandmother who’d been kind to her when she was small – was serving ten years’ hard labour.
‘Mrs John? Mrs John? Bethan? Come on now. Wake up; it’s time to wake up.’
There was a baby crying. She could hear its wail: weak, resentful.
‘Mrs John? Bethan?’
Andrew’s voice, harsh and bitter. ‘Take it away before she sees it.’
‘It!’ Her baby? She made an effort, swam upwards towards the light. Fought to open her eyes. They hurt so. Every part of her hurt. She felt as though she’d been trampled on by an army of miners wearing hobnailed boots.
‘My baby?’
Andrew looked at her. Doctor Floyd stood next to him. Both had pulled down their masks, and both were wearing gowns.
‘You’re doing fine, Mrs John. We’ll just make you comfortable, then you can sleep.’ Lettie bustled around the bed.
‘My baby?’
Andrew turned away.
Doctor Floyd was kinder. ‘He has a few problems, Mrs John. Nothing for you to worry about. I’ve sent for a paediatrician. Don’t concern yourself. All that can be done for him will be. You have to concentrate on yourself. Get well and strong for your husband.’
She couldn’t see Andrew’s face. His back was still turned to her and he was looking out through the door.
The wail grew fainter. She closed her eyes. Don’t concern yourself? With her own baby?
It was all her fault. When Andrew had left her she’d tried to murder the poor mite even before it was born. But the drunken fall down the stone steps of the Graig Hospital hadn’t worked, nor had the brandy and boiling foot-bath. Not mercifully quickly they hadn’t.
