Birth in Suburbia, Carol Falaki [electronic reader .TXT] 📗

to take home, one three times a day for five days.” Scooter was dehydrated.
The vet decided to keep him there for the day, wait for the test results and make sure that he had some fluids, although he explained that if Scooter refused to drink they would give the fluids intravenously.
“Telephone later this afternoon and hopefully you
can pick him up this evening, all being well.”
On the way home they went to the supermarket where they bought essential groceries and stocked up with dog food, including Scooter’s favourite treats.
“Do you remember the time we took him to Scotland camping? He wouldn’t come into the tent at first. It was windy and the canvas was moving. He wouldn’t trust a house with moving walls. When he became used to it he loved it, didn’t he?” Sean said, examining the array of dog toys in a display and placing a squeaky bone into the trolley.
Debbie allowed herself to buy some powdered baby milk,
“I thought you were going to breast feed,” Sean said.
"Just in case", I may never use it.” She had avoided buying formula feed until now, but her worry about Scooter somehow nullified the guilt she had previously attached to it. I’m not sure I even want to breast-feed, she thought.
They entered the house and could hear the answer machine bleeping. Sean pressed the play button and Nigel’s voice, a mix of emotion and joy said:
“Where are you both? We’ve had a baby girl, Chloe. She gorgeous and weighs a hefty nine pounds and half an ounce, loads of hair. Helen is fine. She had an emergency section so will be a bit out of it today; come and see them tomorrow, ward 37. I’m knackered so going to bed. Speak to you later.” And he was
gone, leaving Debbie and Sean standing in the kitchen. It was only eleven thirty and already the events of this day were gaining momentum. Debbie filled the kettle. Thank God they are alright, she thought.
“Do you want tea or coffee?” she said. Sean sat at the kitchen table: “Coffee, thanks love.”
“Sounds like they are okay; a little girl, that’s a surprise. Nigel was sure they were having a boy.”
“Yeah, he sounds all right, doesn’t he, relieved and all,” Sean said. “How long will Helen be in for?”
“Four or five days I think, sometimes they let you out earlier these. Nine pounds, that’s big. Poor Helen, lucky Helen, can’t wait to see her, I’ll bet Chloe’s lovely. I’ll get some flowers this afternoon, before we go back to the vet.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said, “Perhaps we can have our lunch out. I’ve got the mobile so we can ring the vet while we’re out.”
Debbie nodded, she smiled, they would spend the day together and it would be like it used to be.
The day was clouded by their concern for Scooter. Their conversation was subdued but comfortable, Sean was quiet, and Debbie kept on safe ground, talking about Scooter and asking Sean’s advice about their gift for baby Chloe. Occasionally she found herself wondering about Helen.
The news from the vet was mixed. “He has mild diabetes exacerbated by a chest infection,” the
vet said
“His blood sugar levels have improved dramatically since this morning. He can come home but will need careful watching and the vet would show them how to check his blood sugar. Scooter’s diet also required some adjustment. It was difficult to know what kind of recovery he would make.
They collected Scooter at five thirty. Despite his size Sean cradled him in his arms and carried him to the car. Debbie sat in the back with his head on her knee for the journey. Once home he was taken to his bed, but wouldn’t lie there until he had roamed about the ground floor of the house.
“He’s checking everything is in order,” Sean said affectionately, “That we haven’t changed things in his absence.” Then Scooter wandered into the garden, pausing by the clematis to wee.
“I think he is a little better,” Debbie said hopefully, “He couldn’t do that this morning.”
After Scooter was settled they had a light meal and Sean went upstairs to work on the computer. Debbie felt more relaxed than she had for some time now, and she decided to telephone Liz, she wondered if Liz had spoken to Nigel, or to Anne.
Harry answered the phone:
“Hello Debbie, you’ve rung at a very exciting moment. We’re biting our nails here. We’ve just heard the baby cry upstairs.”
“The baby? Liz has had her baby?” Debbie sat down.
“Have to go Debbie love, I’ll ring you back shortly,” and he hung up.
Debbie replaced the receiver, bewildered for a moment, then it sunk in and she grinned. Lucky old Liz, she thought. I hope she’s okay. I wish it was me. She went out into the garden and began to walk in slow circles around the small lawn, her deliberate steps following those trodden by Scooter less than half an hour ago; she stepped around the clematis.
In a corner of the garden was a young apple tree, already bearing small green fruit. She thought of her mum, who gave them the tree when they first moved to the house. How did you feel mum? How did you feel when I was born? Debbie had been born at home. Her mum was very young, only nineteen and Debbie was her second child. Debbie’s brother, John, a year older that her, was named after her father. He lived and worked in Leeds. They saw each other a few times a year and kept in touch with weekly telephone calls.
Her father had died twelve years ago. He had been a drinker and a smoker and when he became ill it was a painful and traumatic time for them all. He was a small man, five foot seven and weighing around nine stone. He was generally mild mannered, although he did possess a temper; she could only remember him losing it twice.
What she remembered most about him were his hands. They trembled like a fledgling’s wings when
he held his pint, and if he made an attempt to carry it when it was full, the beer would spill over the side of the stormy glass, so he would take a sip from it while it stood, still on the bar, in the working men’s club that was his home from home. “Waste not wants not,” he would say, and a snowy froth would collect between his top lip and his moustache.
Her dad was a painter and decorator by trade, apprenticed in the old way. The most amazing thing was when he held the paintbrush in his hand, full and oozing with paint, and put it to the wall, his hands stopped shaking and he could cut the straightest line without ever spilling a drop.
They'd scattered his ashes beneath his favourite tree, an ancient oak in a nearby country park. The one with roots like spaghetti hoops.
Debbie and her mum had always been close, almost like sisters. She could tell her mum anything. When she was a child her mum played tennis with her in the park, and they would go swimming together. When she was fifteen they'd had jiving lessons and when she was twenty they'd learned French together. Once they even went to Jujitsu.
Then her mum became ill, a long illness, until finally they had scattered her ashes close to her father's.
Debbie needed her mum now, at this moment, more than ever. “Mum," she said to the sky between the branches of the apple tree. “My baby is
due tomorrow, I’m thirty on Monday, and I think Sean and I are in trouble. I miss you so much.” She remembered the old woman with the shopping trolley. ‘Your mother is with you’ she had said. It was small comfort. She returned to the house and up the stairs to Sean.
He was on the internet, and closed the site when Debbie entered the spare bedroom, which doubled as an office.
“Liz has just had her baby,” she announced.
“I thought it wasn’t due for a few weeks. How do you know?” “I just rang her. It was all happening, just then. Harry is going to ring back later.”
“So you don’t know what she’s had or anything?
“No,” Debbie wasn’t sure what reaction to expect from Sean at this news, but he just said,
“Any chance of a cuppa’?” This was her cue to leave him alone.
“Okay.”
She went back downstairs, filled the kettle and sat in the kitchen with Scooter, who was sleeping peacefully. His breathing was now coming at a more regular pace, but his nose was still dry and warm.
The television was a distraction, for half an hour or so. She waited until she could wait no longer then picked up the phone to find out how Liz was. This time it was Leo who answered. Debbie was surprised to hear his voice.
“Leo, it's Debbie, what’s happening, how is Liz?”
Leo gave her the details and Debbie was genuinely delighted for Liz, ignoring a rush of uninvited envy; now Liz and Helen had their babies and she was to be the last of the three.
“Give her our love, Leo, and tell her I’ll come and see her tomorrow, if that’s okay, I’ll ring first to check.” She would telephone Chrissy later - right now she would be at the school summer show watching Natalie and Jonathan sing. Debbie would call her after the show. Michael would be there and Debbie was curious to know of any developments between them.
Half way up the stairs, to tell Sean, she could hear talking. He was on his mobile phone. She listened for clues. Who he was talking to? But his voice was low and the door was now closed. Among the muffled phrases and words Debbie was able to make out “Yes, you’re right, it has to be done,” and “Chrissy, what about her?”, then “No she doesn’t know anything, yet.”
Debbie stood still, gripping the stair rail tightly. Her heart felt like it was in her throat.
Sean paused listening to the person on the other end of the telephone until finally he said:
“Yes, about half an hour.”
Debbie heard his chair move and so carried on up the stairs, although at first it felt that her legs might not bear her weight. She pushed open the door and in a voice barely loud enough for him to hear, she said:
“Liz had a girl.” His tea was making