Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [49]
We are in the middle of nowhere. There are no neighbours, nobody to help. We’re eight miles from the nearest village, more than thirty from the hospital, and Dad and Holly are miles away in Galway, delivering boxes of lemon-zinger soap and eating pizza for lunch.
‘Clare, what shall I do?’ I whine again, but Clare is lost in her own world, drifting somewhere between pain and sleep.
‘Open your eyes!’ I tell her. ‘Get up, Clare! It’s important! You need to stay awake, keep walking, OK?’
‘OK,’ she says hazily.
We walk round the kitchen a few times until Clare is halted by another contraction. She gives a low, animal groan that makes me shudder, and I realize that unless I do something fast I’m going to be delivering this baby myself, on the kitchen floor.
‘I’ll get help,’ I promise Clare. ‘I’ll find somebody, get us to the hospital, OK? I won’t be long. Keep walking, OK? Stay awake.’
It’s just past one, and Kian will be at the lough, waiting for me. He’ll know what to do. Clare looks at me in horror as I open the door, step out into the rain. ‘Please stay!’ she whimpers.
I feel torn, but I have no choice – I need to get help.
I run down the lane, splashing through puddles, brushing against the wet leaves of the fuchsia hedge. It’s still raining, and by the time I reach the edge of the woods my clothes are soaked. I plunge into the trees, stumbling over the roots and stumps, hurtling down to the lough. A branch catches the hem of my red skirt, ripping it slightly, but I don’t stop running.
‘Kian!’ I scream as I run. ‘Kian, help!’
Any minute, he’ll hear me, he’ll come riding through the trees on Midnight, and they can go for help while I wait with Clare. Any minute.
‘Kian!’ I shout, my lungs burning. ‘Kian, where are you? Help me, please!’
I stumble out of the woods on to the grass at the water’s edge. Kian is not there. I scan the hillside, rain running down my face. There is no sign of Kian, or Midnight. The lough is deserted, silent and brooding under the darkened sky. No fishermen, no tourists, nobody at all.
I stand still, my breath coming in gasps. He said he’d be here – he promised. Kian has always been here when I needed him. Today, though, when it really, really matters, I’m on my own. Maybe he’s hauling canvas over new-made hayricks, or sheltering with Midnight until the storm passes. He’ll be here soon. So why does the lough feel so silent, so deserted?
My eyes fix on to the wishing tree, searching through the rags and ribbons that hang heavy, dripping, from its branches. My heart is pounding. I tear at the branches, pulling them out of the way, until I can see the forked branches in the centre of the tree where Kian’s rucksack should sit. There’s no rucksack, no bedroll, nothing, just a wisp of wet hay clinging on to a branch.
Everything’s gone.
I wasn’t worth a promise, an extra day, not even a goodbye. I want to scream, I want to howl, I want to lie down on the wet grass and never get up, but there’s no time for any of that. I have to be strong because Clare needs me. I have to help her, because there’s nobody else to do it.
I tear a strip of ripped red fabric from the hem of my skirt and tie it on to the highest branch I can reach. ‘Please,’ I’m whispering into the hazel leaves. ‘Please let Clare be OK. Let the baby survive. Let it all work out, please, please…’
But the tree just shakes rain down on me, and I turn away, helpless. I run back through the woods and out on to the lane, and by the time I reach the gate the clouds are lifting and a few bright rays of sun shine through.
Beyond the dripping fuchsia hedges to my left, in the distance, a shimmering rainbow arches across the valley, and as I stare at last my heart lifts. I can hear something, in the distance… the hum of a car motor.
All I can do is step out into the middle of the lane, drenched, my breath coming in gasps. The engine sound gets louder, and after an eternity a red Skoda swerves into sight. ‘Stop!’ I shout, running drunkenly