Crisis Point

Episode 7: Crisis Point

     I’ve had it. Well, I say had it, it came. None of it was down to me, the really earth-shattering events for us poor humans aren’t, are they? Fate just takes you in its giant hand and gives you a bloody good shaking. Nothing you can do about it, one way or the other. And of course if you’ve lived through September 2001 with the rest of humanity, you’ll know it doesn’t just apply to babies. On the one hand, our little personal crisis seemed bloody insignificant in the face of that. But on the other, maybe it did ram home the point that what really matters is love and your family, and that the rest of the shit we spend our daily lives on, the acquisition of consumer goods and Success with a capital S and getting one up on our enemies, not to say our best friends, be it in the realm of consumer goods or Success or whatever crap, is so much crap…

    We’d gone up to town as threatened and the doc said I was fine, so we popped back to the cottage for another week, but then John had to get off to the Admiralty. So we moved back to the flat bag and baggage. He was getting home at a really reasonable hour, and everything was good and we’d got to the point of just wanting it to be over and done with, well, I certainly had, and if the doc was right there was about a week to go. Then it happened. The phone rang just as me and Miss Hammersley were admitting that it could be almost time for tea, well, early tea (afternoon tea), and if Aunty Kate wasn’t back from the shops soon, we’d have it without her.

    The brother that’s the senior admiral—Rear-Admiral Sir Arthur Hammersley (Rtd.)—ringing from home. Miss Hammersley went a funny colour and staggered.

    “Is everything all right?” I croaked.

    “Y—N—” She took a deep breath. “Rosie, my dear, it’s nothing to do with John, or anything personal, but I think you’d better sit down.”

    I sat down and looked at her blankly while she said firmly to the phone: “Yes, Arthur, Rosie is with me. We’ll put the television on, dear. I’d better let you go. No, of course I won’t try to contact Kenneth.” This last was almost sharp, so I was very puzzled.

    So she hung up and said firmly to me: “Something very, very nasty has happened in New York, Rosie, my dear.” And turned the TV on.

    And there it was. “Breaking news” and that frightful shot of that passenger jet slicing into the World Trade Centre.

    After a few moments Miss Hammersley gave me a hanky, I hadn’t even realised that the tears were running down my face.

    I dunno when it was exactly that Aunty Kate got back but anyway she came and tapped at the door and took one look at Miss Hammersley’s face and realised that something was up. But Miss Hammersley just said very firmly: “Rosie and John are quite all right, Kate, but there’s been a terrible terrorist attack in New York.” So she came in and sat down and joined us in staring numbly at the screen. Just in time to catch the news of the attack on the Pentagon.

    After quite some time I was able to utter: “That—that’s Fred Stolz’s building.”

    And Miss Hammersley, still very firmly in charge, said: “Yes, my dear. I’m afraid it would be pointless to try ringing Washington; and I would doubt very much if his wife has any news at this juncture. We’ll just have to wait, I’m afraid.” And got up and made us more cups of tea.

    Aunty Kate got the tea down her and then managed to ask me who Fred Stolz was.

    “A friend of John’s. I met him last Christmas. He works at the Pentagon,” I said flatly.

    “Mm,” she said; tears started running down her face again.

    So we just sat there watching…

    Rupy rang up later to say that someone at Henny Penny had hold of an extraordinary rumour—

    “It’s true. Come home,” I said flatly.

    Him and Katie turned up together in a taxi about twenty minutes later, both very white and shaken. By this time Doris Winslow and Buster had come upstairs so we all sat in front of Miss Hammersley’s TV for the rest of the evening and let her feed us on whatever. Well, Aunty Kate got up and helped but that was therapy, more than anything. God knows why any of us was hungry but we all were.

    At some point Miss Hammersley’s younger brother, Admiral Kenneth Hammersley, managed to ring us from the Admiralty, very relieved to know I was with “Tuppence.” I mean, not relieved to know she had company so much as to know she was in charge of me. And John wouldn’t be able to get away for a while.

    I wouldn’t’ve gone to bed at all that night but Miss Hammersley packed us off firmly, except Katie, she let her use her spare room. She had tried ringing Euan earlier but his mobile was turned off. She’d managed to get hold of Bridget at the flat, the girls were all just sitting watching TV and none of them could stop crying, even though none of them knew anybody in New York.

    John didn’t come home at all that night, not that we’d really expected he would. He made it home about four o’clock the next day, looking very grey and drawn. He slept for three hours, having made Aunty Kate swear to wake him up, then got up again, showered, shaved and dressed, downed an enormous meal, and shot off again. Nothing was said about Fred Stolz, personally I didn’t dare to bring the topic up. Then me and Aunty Kate just got on with numbly watching TV.

    It wasn’t until must of been nearly a week later that he started keeping anything like normal hours again, at which point he reported that Dauntless would stay in the Persian Gulf, darling, and the main fleet had been headed that way in any case, and no, he wasn’t going back to Dauntless, they thought in view of his recent secondment to Washington he’d be of more use at the Admiralty for a while.

    “Yeah. Um, there hasn’t been all that much about the actual damage at the Pentagon on the news, John,” I said in a small voice.

    “No, there wouldn't be,” he agreed tightly.

    “Is it— Um, well, today they had some clearer shots and it looked to me like the side of the building where Fred had his office. Have you heard, at all?”

    “No, nothing. I have tried their home number but couldn't get through. –Darling, it may only mean that Bonnie’s at her parents’.”

    My jaw trembled and I couldn’t speak.

    He chewed on his lip and then said grimly: “Wes Schneider bought it. A Marine colonel, darling, you met him at that Christmas cocktail party.”

    I nodded numbly.

    “If the baby wasn’t due I'd suggest getting you out of London,” he said grimly.

    “I wouldn’t go,” I said dully.

    “No,” he agreed, squeezing my hand hard.

    And that was that, really. We just had to go on waiting for news.

    So next thing we knew the baby came. I’ll spare you the full gory details, not into that. Bad enough having to go through it without dwelling on it. Added to which, it’s only biology. Added to added to which, everybody says I was so lucky it was so quick! Yeah, only it didn’t feel that quick at the time.

    The whole thing was ludicrous, of course, since yours truly was involved, but at least it wasn’t disastrous, and Mother and Baby are both doing fine. I was completely off the cheese, not to say the hard-boiled eggs, but having frightful wind again. So after several nights in a row of poor John being woken up by me tossing and turning and farting and having these awful pains, we had another night of ditto and I woke up about sixish with more awful windy pains. If you’ve never had very bad wind you can just SHUT UP, see? Because it can be really painful. John was worried but I was half asleep and told him to stop behaving like a mother hen and more or less drifted off again. Came to and he’d gone off to work—of course he’d been going in very early for the past week. It was eight-thirtyish and Aunty Kate was crashing round in the kitchen. The wind was really bad by that time so I was gonna take one of those tablet things you suck, well, two, only then I realised the bed was all wet and then I did panic, this wasn’t wind at all, it was labour starting and only Rosie Haworth could be such a nong as to think— Yeah, like that. Anyway I let out a screech and of course she belted in and took over competently.

    No need to panic, plenty of time, we could have a nice cup of tea, if I thought it was only wind I couldn’t be that far down the track. No, a first baby won’t be that quick, Rosie. She gave me the once-over, bustled out, more crashing around in the kitchen. Think she was ringing the—OW-OOH! Bloody HELL!—the doc, to alert him. Bustled back, pile of mags, I don't want to read bloody mags! No need to swear and a first baby is always slow. She sat for a bit, letting me hold her hand and gradually my yells got louder. Was I timing them? God Almighty, woman! OW! I wasn’t timing them, I’d barely realised it was them before it got so bad I— OW-OOH-OW! –Like that She tidied up the bed, stop fussing, Rosie (in between the wailing and moaning, right) and timed them. Oh. Well, possibly it was time for the hospital. So she bustled out and rang up and dunno what, by that time it was so bad I'd stopped tracking her. So she came back and said that she knew what it was like, dear, but it wasn’t that bad, yet, but I yelled at her that it was coming! It couldn’t be, yet. Inspected me, oops. I just went on yelling. Well, partly I was yelling Aunty Kate, Aunty Kate! because I do remember she told me not to panic, she’d just get Doris up here. And shot out muttering about where was that dratted ambulance, and what a day for the road men to chose to dig that dratted trench across the road and etcetera.

    To cut what they claim was a mercifully short story short, Doris came up from the second floor and helped to hold my hand, telling me not to panic in between the yelling, and to breathe, breathe! I was incapable of anything like breathing, I was concentrating on not dying! And the ambulance men did arrive. They decided they better not move me now. I was yelling so much I can’t really tell you anything else except that it was born right there in the bed John bought at Harrods before any of the helpful females present had thought to ring up the Admiralty and let him know it was on the way. Oh, well.

    Aunty Kate wrapped it up in an old-fashioned nappy, God knows where she got it from, resisting the ambulance men’s attempts to help, and actually let me hold it. I was just glad it was all over.

    “Baby Bunting,” I said idiotically.

    Yes, blah-blah, her and Doris elbowed the ambulance men aside, get you cleaned up, everything’s all right, where on EARTH is that doctor? They bustled round, think I went to sleep.

    Next thing I knew the doc was telling me I’d beaten them to it, everything was fine, I was a lucky girl, hadn’t he always said I was fit as a flea, he’d recommend tap dancing up until the sixth month to all his mums, grin, grin. No need to bother with the hospital, after a thorough inspection, especially with Sister Winslow here! Would I like to hold the baby? He ignored Aunty Kate and Doris and gave me the bundled up Baby Bunting again.

    “What is it?”

    “Rosie!” –Aunty Kate, who else.

    “It’s a boy,” he said mildly, he’s not all bad for a male and a doctor. “What are you going to call him?”

    “Baby Bunting.”

    Think they decided to let me sleep. Anyway, next thing I knew I was opening my eyes and John was there.

    “You missed it.”

    “Yes. Sorry, darling. Got back as soon as I could. Why on earth did you let me go this morning?”

    Groggy though I was, I did think of mentioning the crisis. Then I thought better of it. “Thought it was wind.”

    “Mm. Never mind, you’ve done us proud, darling! Thank God Kate was here, eh? Well, call the first girl after her, mm?”

    “You’ll be lucky. –Have they let you hold it?”

    “Him! Er, not yet. Shall I?”

    “Jesus, John, it is yours! Tell them to go to Hell if they object!”

    “Ssh!” He picked up the bundle very gingerly. “Shall we count his fingers and toes?” he breathed.

    “He looks all right. Well, yeah, why not?” I could see he was trying not to give me a dubious look. He laid the baby down beside me and unwrapped him and inspected him. Boiled lobster effect, right. Tiny crab-like red hands, almost see-through.

    “He mustn’t get cold.” He wrapped him up again very carefully. “Like him, darling?” Before I could gather my wits and lie he was adding: “Want to hold him?” and putting him into my arms.

    He still looked as red and squashed and unattractive as ever but somehow at this point, dunno if it was because he felt very warm, or because John was obviously bursting with pride, anyway I felt very all-overish. Like, a very warm feeling that goes right through ya, from your toes to the top of your head. “He’s really nice,” I said hoarsely.

    “Mm,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Isn’t he, though?”

    “I’m gonna bawl,” I said faintly. “You better put him back carefully, John.”

    So he put Baby Bunting back in his new bassinet and I had a good bawl with his arms right round me. “All right, now, darling?”

    “Yes. I think I love him as much as you and Tim.”

    John Haworth, R.N., didn’t react to this totally inept, not to say crass statement in any of the ways that the society I spring from, at least, would dictate right-thinking persons did oughta. He just kissed me gently, on the mouth this time, and said: “I’m very, very glad, Rosie.”

    “Yes. Maybe we can call him Something John,” I said dreamily.

    “Something John would be lovely, sweetheart,” he agreed.

    Baby Bunting would of been all of a day and a half old, and we hadn’t got any forrarder than Something John or possibly John Something, and of course John was in at the Admiralty, when we got the bad news. Katie was still staying with Miss Hammersley, none of the rest of us were sure exactly why. She did eventually manage to get Euan on the phone: his story was he’d been immured with a script and hadn’t known anything about the crisis until the next day. She didn’t volunteer to rush back to him and whether he urged her to or not none of us knows. Anyway, like I say, she was still with Miss Hammersley, and she’d come over to keep me company while Aunty Kate did some shopping. So it was her that answered the phone.

    She came into the bedroom looking very nervous, carrying the phone on its long cord. “Rosie, it’s someone from the American Embassy.”

    My God, that gave me a jolt, the first thing I thought of was John’s son Matt! And if he’d been in New York when it happened, how was I ever gonna break the news to John?

    “Did they say what it’s about?” I said faintly.

    “No. Hang on,” she said grimly. “Look, I’m sorry, but Mrs Haworth’s just had a baby,” she said grimly to the phone. “Can you tell me what it’s about? I’m a friend.”

    The phone yacked for a bit.

    “I see,” said Katie, sounding relieved but not happy. “I think she’d like to talk to you. Hold on, please, I'll just tell her.” She put her hand over the receiver and said to me: “It’s about your friend Captain Stolz, Rosie. It’s not good news, I’m afraid.”

    So I held out my hand for the receiver. And this nice American voice said they were afraid it was bad news, and Captain Frederick Stanley Stolz had been confirmed amongst the dead at the Pentagon.

    “Thanks,” I said numbly. “I never knew his middle name was Stanley. Um, have you rung John? I mean Captain Haworth, he’s at the Admiralty.”

     She explained that the Admiralty had asked them to ring our number if they had any news.

    “I see.” Tears had started to ooze out of my eyes like they’d done for most of the last week. “I'm very sorry about it all.”

    “Thank you,” she said, swallowing.

    “I better let you go. I’ll tell John. Um, hang on. Do you think we’d be able to get through if we tried ringing Mrs Stolz in Washington?”

    She believed people were getting through, now.

    “Are they? We’ll try, then. Thank you. Good-bye,” I croaked.

    She just said: “I’m very sorry, Mrs Haworth. Good-bye.” And hung up.

    “That was a nice lady,” I said idiotically to Katie, sniffing.

    “Mm.” Katie had never met Fred Stolz, though Bridget had, but tears were starting to ooze out of her eyes, too. “Can I—can I do anything, Rosie?” she said in a shaky voice.

    “Nothing to do.” I looked at the bedside clock, and winced. Now woulda been a really good time to ring Bonnie Stolz, because it was just about the time it happened.

    “Well, um, would you like a cup of tea?”

    We’d just had a cup of tea. I looked at her face again and agreed I would.

    When we were both sipping she said: “I’ll tell Bridget, if you like.”

    “No, I’ll do it, Katie. I mean, we both knew him. He was a really nice joker. One of those solid men that grins a lot. And with quite a sense of humour.” I told her a lot that I’m sure she didn't want to know about this great Washington steak-house we saw Fred at.

    “Mm. Um, are you going to wait until John gets home to tell him?”

    Given that it musta been him told the American Embassy not to call him at the Admiralty but to ring our number… Um, on second thoughts that was probably when he first rang them, not long after it first happened… “Shit, I dunno, Katie.”

    “Um, was it today he was going to that memorial service?”

    Uh—shit. “Sorry, dunno. I’m not focusing all that good, Katie.”

    “No, of course not, after the baby! I shouldn’t have told you,” she worried.

    “It’s better to know,” I said grimly.

    “Um, yes,” she agreed, not looking convinced.

    We went on looking at each other helplessly for quite some time. In fact until the door-phone squawked.

    “Is—is there anybody you’d rather not see?” she squeaked, getting up to answer it.

    Yeah: Lady Mother, Admiral Sir Father— “No. Better see who it is.”

    She went out, and dashed back in looking relieved. “It’s only Bridget!”

    So I opened my big mouth and said: “Well timed.”

    “Oh—yes,” said the poor little thing, looking very crushed.

    Bridget came in smiling with a big bunch of flowers for me, evidently she hadn’t noticed that Katie was looking very droopy. Well, who hadn’t looked droopy for the past week?

    So much for good intentions: I was going to be as brave as Miss Hammersley—she had cried in front of the TV news quite a lot, but she hadn’t cried down the phone at anybody, or like when she had to break the news or like that.

    “They’re lovely, Bridget,” I said. I tried to smile, and the tears just ran down my face.

    “Rosie! Don’t cry!” She looked frantically at Katie.

    “Baby Bunting’s fine,” she said, sniffing.

    “In the bassinet. Have a look at him, Bridget,” I said, wiping my eyes.

    She was looking very uncertain but she went over and peered at him, he was fast asleep, lucky little sprat. “Lovely,” she breathed.

    “Mm,” agreed Katie, standing on one leg.

    “Come and sit down, Bridget,” I said, patting the edge of the bed.

    She came and sat down and I said: “We’ve just heard that Fred Stolz was killed in the attack on the Pentagon.”

    Her mouth trembled. She tried to say: “I see,” but the tears just rolled down her face. So Katie came up and gave her a bunch of tissues from my box and sat down beside her and we all mopped our eyes and tried not to cry for some time.

    “He was such a nice man,” Bridget said at last to Katie.

    “Yes, Rosie said.”

    “How did you hear, Rosie?”

    So I explained, and Katie added anxiously: “It’s official.”

    “Yes. I only wondered… So you haven’t spoken to Bonnie Stolz, Rosie?”

    “No. Wondering if I ought to ring her now.”

    Involuntarily Bridget looked at the clock, and winced.

    “No, well, maybe it’d be better to wait until John comes home—ring her together.”

    The Herlihy sisters both agreed very strongly with this, so I didn’t say anything about not really wanting to dump any more on John’s shoulders.

    After Katie had made us yet another cuppa and got out some of Aunty Kate’s biscuits—she’s been doing a lot of baking, I think more to take her mind off things than anything—and she still hadn't come back, and we’d eaten the plateful, and Bridget had had a much longer admire of Baby Bunting, I took another look at Bridget’s flowers plus and all the other bunches that had come for me and Baby Bunting and said: “Bridget, could you do something for me?”

    “Of course!”

    “No, wait until ya hear what it is. Ya might not fancy it. I’d do it myself, only I’m not up to it yet. Would you take some of my flowers round to the American Embassy for me? I mean, not to the Embassy, but people are putting—”

    She got it, she was nodding and wiping her eyes again but she said very firmly: “Of course I will, Rosie!”

    “Good. Because,” I said, starting to cry again, “I don’t think they’ve got a tomb of the unknown American soldier.”

    “No,” agreed Katie soothingly. “I’ll come with you, Bridget.”

    So we all dissolved into tears again, dunno why at this point, exactly. And we were all sitting there, me in the bed and them on the edge of it, crying softly, when Aunty Kate got back.

    “What’s all this? Now, this won’t do!”

    “Mrs McHale, you don’t understand,” said Katie bravely.

    Bridget blew her nose hard. “Poor Fred Stolz.” More tears crept down her cheeks.

    Aunty Kate looked uncertainly at me.

    “Bought it. The Embassy rung. –Blast!” More tears poured down my cheeks.

    Now Aunty Kate was trying not to cry. “Yes, well, you were expecting it, dear.”

    “Yes. And at least it’s definite,” I said, wiping tears away.

    Bridget blew her nose again. “We’re going to take some flowers round to the American Embassy, Mrs McHale.”

    “Yeah,” I agreed, sniffing. “Take the pink rosebuds, Bridget: they can be from me and John. And that big bunch of red roses, they can be from you and Rupy, okay? –They’re from Brian, but he wouldn’t mind, and Fred was the sort of man that liked red roses.”

    Nobody asked me how on earth I knew, because of course I hardly knew him, really: he was John’s friend, I only knew him when were in Washington for those few weeks over Christmas. And Katie and Bridget gathered up the big bunch of red roses and the lovely bunch of little pink rosebuds that John got me, just like the very first bunch he ever sent me. And Aunty Kate found a couple of cards that she thought would do and I wrote on one: “To Fred Stolz. In loving memory. From Your Friends, Rosie & John Haworth. XXX.” And Bridget wrote on the other: “In Loving memory of Fred Stolz. Your Friends, Bridget Herlihy and Rupy Maynarde.” Which was more the proper way to put it, but never mind.

    And Aunty Kate capably rung for a taxi for them and sent them off to the Embassy. Somehow I’d sort of imagined walking, y’know? Oh, well.

    “Don’t cry, Rosie,” she said with a sigh, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “It isn’t good for the milk.”

    “Isn’t it better to let it out, though?” I said, scrubbing at my eyes.

    “I don’t know,” she admitted heavily. “I don’t know why I said that, to tell you the truth… I suppose one falls back on stupid clichés at times like this.

    Aunty Kate admitting she didn’t know why she said something and that something she said was a stupid cliché? Not to mention addressing me in tones that indicated I'm practically an equal… Shit.

    After a very long time I admitted: “It feels sinful to be so happy about Baby Bunting.”

    “Mm.” She took a bunch of my tissues and mopped her eyes and tried to smile. “But that’s what matters, Rosie. And—and not to feel joyful about him would be to let those wicked terrorists win, wouldn’t it?”

    She was right, and I’d already told myself that. But you know what? It didn’t help.

    John was really late that evening, so we had our dinner without him. Aunty Kate wheeled the TV into the bedroom and we watched it for a while. Finally she said heavily: “I suppose it's almost time for your mother to ring.”

    Yeah, like at crack of dawn their time. “Mm.”

    “I just wish she’d try not to—” She broke off. “Oh, well. I suppose everyone copes as best they can, in this sort of crisis. And May always was a watering-pot.”

    “Yes. Dad has tried to convince her we’re quite safe, here.”

    “Mm.”

    We just went on sitting for ages.

    When the phone rang we both jumped ten feet: it was right here on its long cord, it was awfully loud. And she picked it up quickly but then hesitated.

    I grabbed it off her. “Hullo? Yeah, hi, Mum. …I’m fine, we’re both fine.” I held the receiver out so that Aunty Kate could hear that Mum had started to bawl.

    She made a face, so I put my hand over the receiver and said: “You don’t have to speak to her.”

    She got up but said: “She is my sister, Rosie.”

    “Yeah, but why punish yaself on that account?”

    “Uh… well, all right then, dear. Thank you,” she said, giving in completely and disappearing.

    I just held the receiver well away from my ear until the sobs had died down. Or until Dad’s exasperated voice could be heard saying very loudly: “Give that here! For God’s sake, a toll-call to England, and then all she does is bawl! You there, Rosie?”

    “Yeah. Hi, Dad. We’re fine.”

    “That was gonna be my next question, yes!” he said with a smile in his voice. “Sorry about your mother. Having a baby’d be enough to set her off on its own, but as it is…”

    “We’re not even in a high-rise, Dad!”

    “No. What’s the doc say?”

    “Same as he said yesterday. I’m as strong as a horse and Baby Bunting’s blooming. He’s awfully crumpled, though,” I admitted, not having meant to say any such thing.

    “They are, at first!” he said with a chuckle. “Been folded up inside you for a long time, y’know. You were just as bad—ugly as sin, ignore any crap your mother might dish out about wee rosebuds. And Kenny looked like skinned rabbit. Well, until he was about one, actually.”

    “Jerry Marshall! He did not!”

    Some of us thought that’d rouse her. Quickly I said: “Dad: there is bad news. One of John’s American friends.”

    “Yes, John said. A colonel of Marines, was it?”

    “No, Fred Stolz. U.S.N. We met him,” I gulped.

    “Bugger. I’m sorry, Rosie. Tell John, mm?”

    “Yeah. Um, I don’t really feel like talking to Mum any more,” I admitted.

    “You astound me.—Shut up, May!—I remember, Rosie: you mentioned him in one of your letters. Worked in the Pentagon, that it?”

    “Yes,” I said, tears were starting to trickle down my cheeks.

    “Yes. Bloody. –Kate there?”

    “Um, she’s in the kitchen making something tricky for supper,” I lied.

    “Just so long as you’re not alone. Uh—listen.”

    Then there was a pause and finally I said: “What, Dad?”

    “I dunno what to say to you, Rosie. Just focus on the baby, okay?”

    “Mm.”

    “Your mother will keep watching the damned television news… I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “–Shut up, May! One of John’s Washington friends, you won’t remember, but she did mention him! –Sorry, Rosie. She’s bawling again.”

    “Yeah. Um, you can’t not watch, Dad,” I said cautiously.

    “Apparently not,” he agreed tiredly. “Well, one of them, forget whether it was an American network or not, claimed it takes the place of clustering round the campfire. Anyway, like I say, try to focus on the baby.”

    “Mm. I am, really, only… Don’t tell Mum I said so, but one doesn’t cancel the other out.”

    “You’ve discovered that, have you?” he said drily. “Yeah. We had a minute’s silence at Randwick last week, dunno what good we imagined that’d do— Anyway. Take care. We’ll ring you tomorrow, okay? Later,” he noted grimly. “When John’s there, too. Bye-bye, love.”

    “Ta-ta, Dad,” I said feebly, hanging up.

    I meant to stay awake until John came home, however late he was, but I dozed off. I woke up and he was here, bending over the bassinet with just the little night-light on, on the dressing-table.

    “Put the light on, clot,” I said groggily. “Whassa time?”

    “Ten-thirty, darling. Kate said you’d had an exhausting day,” he said, coming to give me a kiss.

    “Something like that. Nothing to do with Baby Bunting. Sit down.”

    He sat down on the edge of the bed and I said baldly like I had to Bridget, no point in beating about the bush, anyway I couldn’t think of how to soften it, how can you soften something like that: “The American Embassy rang to say that Fred Stolz is dead. He was at the Pentagon.”

    “I see,” he said tightly.

    “Yeah.” I put my hand on his so he turned his a bit and held onto mine very tightly and leant his head on top of mine, it was very comforting to me, so I hope it was to him.

    And after a long time he said: “He was a terribly decent fellow.”

    “I know; I liked him. Bridget thought we better ring Bonnie together.”

    “Yes. Now?” he said, looking at the watch.

    “If ya like.”

    So we rang her number but there was no reply and John concluded she must be at her parents’ place. So I suggested maybe we could send her some flowers by Interflora and he was very pleased. And after a bit he said: “Talking of flowers…”

    “Eh? Oh. Um, I asked Bridget to take the pink rosebuds round to the Embassy: you know, where people are putting them by the fence. I know you think that’s very down-market—”

    “No. Hush,” he said, squeezing my hand very hard.

    Of course I know he does really think that but I felt a bit better. And after quite a long time I managed to say: “We’re really very lucky.”

    “Bloody lucky,” he said grimly.

    “Oh—Dad rung, I told him about Fred and he said to tell you he was very sorry, John.”

    I expected he’d say something very proper in reply or possibly something very stiff-upper-lip, a bit like Miss Hammersley, only he just said hoarsely: “Yes,” and squeezed my hand again.

    “Have you had your dinner?”

    “Mm? Oh—no. Kate’s warming something up for me. Er—she said something about your mother,” he said cautiously.

    “Yeah. Still bawling her head off. Dad’s a bit fed up. No, well, it got a bit much when she rung me up and I only had time to say Hi before she started bawling.”

    “Yes. It’s understandable, though.”

    “Yes, well, I suppose they’re both just being typically them. People do,” I agreed, yawning.

    “Mm. Oh, by the way, darling, Kenneth Hammersley would very much like to come and see the baby.”

    “In the middle of all this?” I croaked.

    “Mm. Well, it is a life-affirming thing to do, isn’t it? But do you want him?”

    “Of course,” I said blankly.

    “Oh, good,” he said limply.

    Then Aunty Kate bustled in and decided he could pop into bed and have it on a tray, no arguments, John. So he meekly obeyed, though noting it wasn’t him that had had the baby.

    She gave him miles too much mash, she always does, so I helped him eat it. He fell asleep straight after finishing his pudding, so that was that. I just let Aunty Kate turn the light out.

    Of course Baby Bunting had to be fed in the middle of the night: even though he hadn’t woken up, she had. And again at crack of dawn. John slept through the lot.

    I was already awake when his alarm went off. He sat up bolt upright with a big jerk. Then he said loudly: “Damn!”

    “What’s the matter?” I croaked.

    “Uh—God,” he said feebly, passing his hand across his forehead. “Thought I was back in the Falklands, Rosie.”

    “I’m not surprised, with what you’ve been through in the past few days.”

    “What I’ve been through?” he said with a mad laugh.

    “Well, yeah.”

    “Rosie, you’ve just had a baby, for God’s sake!”

    Yeah, but it wasn’t my friend, make that friends, that were killed by bloody terrorists, was it? I didn’t say that, I just said: “That’s completely different. It results in something good.”

    Boy, did that sound stupid on the mild September air of a London morning.

    But John didn’t seem to mind. He got out of bed smiling and went across to the bassinet. “You’re right,” he murmured. “Something good.”

    After a bit I said: “Maybe we could call him John Frederick Something.”

    “Mm, I’d like that,” he said. He tried to smile but tears started to just ooze out of his eyes.

    I patted the bed. “Hop back in for a few min, John.”

    So he got back in and the pair of just sat there with our arms round each other letting the tears trickle down our cheeks for a bit. Well—all you can do, really.