Home Sweet Home by Lizzie Lane Read Free Book Online Page B

She knew very well that he ached to get back into action. What was it about men and war that drew one to the other? ‘But you’ve done your bit. You’ve been injured. Your plane caught fire and you were almost killed. Surely that is enough?’
    She could tell her argument was dismissed. He shook his head, his fingers combing her hair back from her forehead. ‘I was injured, but not incapacitated. My hands are healing. My arms and legs still work and my brain is still in my head. Or at least I think it is.’ He tapped his head. ‘Sounds as though there’s something in there.’
    â€˜I wish you wouldn’t tease me like this.’
    His amused expression became serious. ‘I’m not teasing. I’m telling you how things are. I’m a serving officer. I have to fly. It’s my job.’
    Mary had hung her head. Deep down she had known it was useless, but she had had to try. She almost hated him for being so devoted to his job and to the war against the Nazis. Of course he couldn’t promise, and he didn’t deserve her hatred. She transferred it to the enemy instead. The war was not over and her husband would remain in danger until it was. Until then, there would always be the fear, but she knew better than to voice her fear. She had to support him. She had to have faith.
    Another storm occurred on the twenty-sixth of the month. A torrential downpour turned roads into raging torrents and strong gales brought down trees. The cottage creaked and groaned under the onslaught, windows rattling and water overflowing from guttering and pouring down drainpipes.
    Around midday, Mary went into labour. Michael managed to telephone the midwife before the single table lamp went out and the telephone went dead.
    â€˜The lines are down.’
    He pulled back the blackout curtains and looked out of the bedroom window with one thought in his mind. What do I do if she can’t get here? The answer was obvious, if daunting: he would have to deal with the birth himself.
    Mary caught his mood. ‘It’s quite easy, really—’ Another pain racked her body, forcing her to bend from what little waist she had left. ‘You won’t be the first husband to do it—’
    Astonished that she had read his mind, he looked at her helplessly, thinking how brave she was and how scared he was. Battling the enemy was not nearly as frightening as the prospect of bringing a child into the world.
    â€˜Do I need to get some water boiling? Isn’t that what they do?’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜In films they always send somebody to boil water and fetch towels.’
    Mary’s laugh was short-lived as another pain made her draw her legs up to her middle.
    Michael felt so helpless. ‘What do I do?’
    â€˜Make me a cup of tea.’
    â€˜I can’t leave you.’
    â€˜The kitchen is only downstairs,’ she declared somewhat sharply. The pain was increasing.
    â€˜Tea I can manage, but actually …’
    â€˜Michael. She’ll get here. Sister Monica is indomitable. The weather means nothing to her. She’ll fight her way through it.’
    â€˜Sounds as though she should be on the front line,’ Michael murmured and wished to God that she would hurry up.
    A lull in the pains gave Mary the chance to turn her head to one side and close her eyes. The one thing she did know about having a baby was that it took a lot of energy. Sleep was the best way to conserve that energy for when it was needed.
    While she slept, Michael paced the room, sat down, got up, went downstairs, put more coal in the kitchen range, and came back up again. Seeing her still sleeping, he went back downstairs. Between peering out around the blackout curtains and willing somebody to hammer on the front door, he checked the wall clock. The thin black hands ticked from one Roman numeral to the next, though to him time seemed to be standing still.
    When would the midwife come?