James – Thirty-Seven weeksThe wee small hours. A full moon slants across the floor, tinting the room in weird monochromatic shades, painting everything in shades of light and dark.Michael lies in his accustomed position on the far side of the bed, his back to me but his ribs moving with the smooth rise and fall of sleep.Between us lies Charlotte, and I lie spooned around her, her spine pressed against my chest, and my arm curving around her so I can rest a hand over her distended belly. Every so often, there's movement against my fingers from inside my sleeping love; a foot or an elbow, pushing at me and I smile to myself as my unborn daughter parties through the night.Charlotte sighs and shifts, the rhythm of her breathing changing.Is she asleep? Keeping my voice low, "You alright?""I'm fine, Master." She sounds a little sleepy, but not just that. Something else lurks there.I nuzzle into her hair to kiss the back of her neck. "You sure of that?"She's sile
Michael – Thirty-Eight WeeksCharlotte waddles into the lounge. And it's a slow waddle. Her feet drag and her breathing's heavy, her face flushed.I stand, offering my arm to help her sit. "You okay, Babe?""I suppose." She reaches around herself, trying to rub at the small of her back. "I'm so tired all the time. And so hot..."Just as well it's winter..."... And my back's hurting." She's drooping almost as I watch.I follow her hand with mine to the base of her spine, feeling for the pressure-point; where she's tense. "Why don't I give you a massage? Let's see if we can ease this up for you a bit.""That would be nice."I slide my arm under hers, trying to help her back up again. She heaves upwards, then drops back. So instead, I stand, this time giving her both hands to haul her onto her feet. "C'mon, let's get you upstairs onto the bed and I'll see what I can do."*****On the bed, she's so quiet. Lying on her side, her back turned to me, head on a pillow, her
James - Thirty-Nine WeeksThe nurse is brisk, speaking from a view between Charlotte's knees. "Everything is fine. The baby has turned and is now in the correct position for delivery. And..." She nods down to Charlotte's 'dropped' abdomen, "... you can see for yourself that she is moving down. You're a textbook case, Mrs Summerford."I squeeze Charlotte's hand and the nurse sits upright. "Your cervix is at half an inch, but that's not a very reliable sign of anything, especially for your first. What I would say is..."She swings to me, her attention moving between my face and the space between Charlotte's knees. "... Have the hospital bag packed and you..." She levels a finger at me... "...make sure you have petrol in your tank. When you're sure she's in full labour, bring her in.""Of course. Thank you, nurse."She lays a hand on my arm. "Everything is absolutely normal, Mr Summerford. Exactly what we'd expect at this stage. Don't you worry about anything. Your wife's in goo
MichaelIn utter horror, I watch the monitor, the scene unfolding; Charlotte, all but helpless in her advanced pregnancy, assaulted, drugged unconscious and taken.And on the point of going into labour...Even in her current condition, she fights back, punching out at her assailants, landing a punch on the one with the hypodermic, screaming for help...There's no sound, it's video only, but her cry is so obvious..."Mast..."... as she shrieks for James. And is cut short.Her Master...Her sworn protector...So close... Only in the waiting area...So far...The back of a hand across Charlotte's face sends her reeling, rattling her long enough for the needle to drive in. Within seconds her eyes roll closed, and she sags into the arms of her attackers.And I was barely any further away than James... Probably strolling into the hospital as they took her. Exchanging chit-chat with him as...Nausea billows up inside me...It's not real...This can't be real...
Klempner - ThailandSwiping down the counter, I wipe away slops, discarded prawn shells and peanut fragments.The bar is just what you would expect; lowered lighting, luridly coloured over the stage area where a glitterball twists, reflecting whirling pinpricks of green, blue and red. The shelves are well-stocked for both the locals and the tourists, with names both familiar and unfamiliar to me. Some of them you'd expect, but who comes to Thailand and asks for the local vodka? And the regional wines are revolting - sickly sweet and syrupy. But then Thailand's hardly known for its grape growing either. There's Johnnie Walker on display for those that want it, but most of the 'whiskey' on display is actually rum.The liquor mainly drunk by the locals, lao khao, is brewed from rice. They call it '40 Degree'. After half a glass of the stuff set my ears on fire, I avoided it.I have a glass on the bar to sip from, for appearance sake, and I stick to soda water.On the stage, a gi
MichaelMitch is in the nursery as we arrive, working on... something... A stack of ripped-up glossy magazines to one side, she works through a mass of wires, strings and multi-coloured somethings-or-other...She smiles as we enter, glancing up but not really looking. "Jenny showed me how she makes those little paper birds she does." She waves across to where the Christmas tree is half-decorated, still waiting for tinsel, but with Charlotte's kaleidoscopic creations dotted through the branches."They're so pretty, so I looked up other kinds." She lifts the contraption up, untangles a couple of wires and then displays it, a swirling display of birds, fish, unicorns and more. "It's a mobile for over Cara's cot. I thought it would go well with the larger one from the ceiling."Then she finally looks at us. "So, how did it go..." Her smile dissolves. "What's wrong?" She looks past us, out to the hallway. "Where's Jenny?"James is having trouble speaking, his breathing short and q
JamesI've cleared the dining-room table. The best dinner set and cutlery, candlesticks, red and green napkins and the Christmas log sit tumbled together on the dresser. We sit, each with a laptop and a bowl of re-heated casserole.Mitch holds a spoon in one hand, but her stew is untouched. "Mitch," I say. "Eat."She looks at the dish, then puts down her spoon. "I don't want it. I don't think I could hold it down." She looks ill, her complexion now, not just pale, but pasty.Michael picks up the spoon and scoops up a chunk of chicken, offering it to her. "You have to eat, Mitch, even if it's just a little."She recoils, turning her face away. "I'm sorry. I couldn't."I level a finger at her screen where the drama of everyday hospital life plays: white-coated doctors with clipboards and stethoscopes; nurses, walking briskly, carrying stainless steel bowls and trays, and weird-looking pouches of fluids; a patient on a trolley draped in a green blanket. "If you don't eat, Mitc
CharlotteCold...Pain...Thirst......I'm thirsty...My eyes open to... an unfocussed fog... And droop closed again............ and open once more...The fog swirls... then clears. A blur of grey and brown and black resolves into detail...And the detail means nothing...Where am I?Master?I'm hurting...Master?Michael?I want to speak, but my mouth is dry and puffy, lips gummy, sticking together... My jaws won't work... like some nightmare where I want to scream but the sound won't come out...Sucking at my tongue and cheeks, to work up saliva, I try again to speak, but all that emerges is a whimper.I'm so cold...The fog clears some more and slowly it comes to me that I'm lying on my side on some hard surface. Pressed against it at shoulder and hip and cheek, the chill strikes up into flesh and bone. When I try to move, nothing happens. I'm stiff, my muscles unresponsive.Woozy, my thinking is tattered...What happened?Master?