Trio - [97]

He held her and kissed her hair.

The baby woke then. Her mouth stretching, a cry gaining volume.

‘Perfect timing.’

She laughed and pulled away, reached for a tissue to dry her face.

‘I’ll make you some tea?’

She nodded. ‘And crumpets. I’m ravenous again.’

Like mother, like daughter, he thought, but bit his tongue just in time. The phrase might seem loaded given Theresa’s state of mind.

She turned to plump the pillows up behind her. Lifted Ella from the bed and let her latch on. She wouldn’t think about it again. It was all too upsetting and she had enough to deal with coping with all the demands that a new baby brought.

‘Craig! Craig!’ The terror in her voice brought him, taking the stairs two at a time, banging his elbow on the door jamb in his urgency.

‘What?’

‘Ella.’

Theresa stood beside the cot. Inside, Ella was jerking and bucking, her back arched, her limbs flailing, face con torted.

‘It’s a fit. She’s having a fit.’

‘Ambulance!’ He wasted no time.

Theresa put her hand on the baby’s stomach, willing the terrifying movements to stop. Epilepsy, brain fever, a seizure. Fear sang through her veins. She wanted to lift her up and cradle her but was frightened she would do more damage if she moved her. If she dies… the thought took the ground from under her, she clung to the cot side.

Craig reappeared. ‘They’re on their way.’

‘What do we do?’

‘Nothing. They’ll be here soon. Oh, God.’

Ella’s limbs tremored then stopped. Her features slackened, the red drained from her face, her abdomen sank back on to the mattress. She began to whimper. Theresa lifted her up, cradled her against her left shoulder, gently rubbing her back, making soothing sounds. ‘Is she awake?’

Craig checked. ‘Yes, she looks fine. Bit sleepy.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Here soon. You poor wee babby,’ he said to his daughter.

At the hospital they needed to perform a battery of tests to try and establish the reason for the seizure. Family history was one of the questions that kept being raised.

Craig had already rung his mother and established that there was nothing on either side of his that he could have passed on.

‘I’m adopted,’ Theresa told the consultant. ‘I’ve no idea.’

They took turns sitting by her bedside. They allowed Theresa to stay the night, sleeping on sponge block on the floor. She barely slept in the unfamiliar place. The sound of other children sleeping, the whir of heating and clanking of pipes competing with any sound from Ella, so she strained to hear, bracing herself to call the staff if her breathing altered or there was any sign of discomfort.

After two days and three nights there had been no repetition, they had made no positive diagnosis and Theresa was dead on her feet.

‘Some of the blood tests are still being completed,’ said the consultant, ‘and that may tell us more, but I must say there doesn’t seem to be any clear indication at this stage.’

‘Would it help if you knew more about my family history?’ Theresa said.

‘It would help us to rule out or factor in genetic predisposition, but at the end of the day it might not give us an answer.’ She nodded. She could feel Craig’s eyes on her, questioning, would she? She continued to look at the doctor, not wanting to make a decision about it here, in front of a stranger.

They took Ella home. If she had any further seizures they should bring her back to the hospital immediately. They had a list of do’s and dont’s. Don’t use duvets, cot bumpers or too many blankets, don’t overdress the baby, make a note of any symptoms that precede a seizure – aversion to light, vomiting, diaorrhea, high temperature. It was like living with a time bomb.

The following evening she sought out Craig in his study, where he was preparing lectures.

‘You think I should find out my medical history, don’t you?’ She lowered herself into the easy chair.

He put down his pen, blew air out through his mouth. ‘You heard what the doctor said: ‘It might help them get to the bottom of it’.

She rubbed at her forehead. ‘That’s all I’d want,’ she said, ‘just the medical stuff.’

He waited.

‘I’d just be doing it for Ella.’

‘I know.’ He looked at her.

‘It’s scary. Even that.’ She frowned, eyes suddenly wet. ‘Don’t know why.’

‘The unknown.’

She agreed. ‘And ignorance is bliss. But if there was something, in my genes, and I hadn’t tried to find out…’ she shook her head.

He moved around his desk and stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, bent to kiss her hair. ‘I love you,’ he murmured.

‘Me, too.’ She kissed his hand. But her thoughts were distracted, strewn about like dropped papers, and she felt only dread at the thought of the journey ahead. The unknown stretched before her like a chasm, black and bottomless.

Caroline

She was walking the Pennine Way, the whole of it, from Edale to Kirk Yetholm, right along the backbone of England. On their visits to Paul’s family in Settle she had walked a lot in the Yorkshire Dales, she had done the three peaks – Ingleborough, Pen-y-ghent and Great Whernside – and had promised herself one day she’d walk the whole length of the hills and here she was. Bliss.