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First Class

Lisa Gray

    Maggie let out a scream. The pain reached almost an almost unbearable crescendo. She forced the gas and air mask tightly down on her face and took a deep breath like the midwife had told her. But it offered no relief.
    From somewhere amid a swirl of pain, Maggie heard a voice.
    “You’re going to die.”
    It was what she’d been frightened of all along. Dying in childbirth.
    “Don’t be ridiculous!” her friend, Dorothy, had said, when she’d expressed her fear. “No one dies in childbirth these days!”
    Maggie wasn’t stupid. She was an intelligent woman. They didn’t take anything less into teaching. She knew that and she knew what Dorothy was saying was true. But from somewhere deep inside her, she was experiencing fear – a deep fear like nothing she’d known before. She’d never wanted this child. She’d never wanted any children. And she’d done her best to make sure she’d never have any.
    But it had all gone wrong.
    “You’ll adjust,” her friend, Dorothy, had said, with an unconvincing look.
    “It’s just inexperience. It’s like anything. Once you know the ropes, you’ll not trip up.”
    Maybe the baby knows, thought Maggie, as another wave of pain swept upwards from nowhere and suffused her whole body.
    She let out another scream and, as the pain subsided, felt ashamed of her weakness.
    What must the midwife think of me? she thought. She’d been so kind from the beginning. An older woman. A maternal sort. Experienced. You could tell that. Telling me about her son, Joe. She sounded so proud of him.
    Not like me. There’s nothing maternal about me, she thought.
    She turned to the midwife at her side and offered a weak, apologetic smile.
    “There, there. You’re doing fine,” the woman said, comfortingly. “Not much longer now. And it’ll all be over.”
    Maggie smiled. It was a relief to know she was in such expert hands.
    Not much longer. She could stand that. She could stand anything. And after? Well, maybe she could stand that too. It would be a bit like teaching. She’d hated that at the beginning, wondering why she’d gone into the job in the first place. Tough schools, tough kids. But she’d coped, hadn’t she?
    She hadn’t done anything disastrous.
     And Tom leaving when he’d found out she was expecting a child. She’d coped with that, hadn’t she? And motherhood. Who knows? As she gained more experience, she might even come to like it.
    After all what could go wrong?
    “Push! Push!”
    She heard the midwife’s voice as if from afar, amid another gigantic wave of pain.
    She heard her voice scream.
    “I’m going to die.”
    And a reply.
    “Not yet.”
    No, she thought, not yet. I can come through this.
    She gave one last punishing push and knew it was over at last.
    “There. You did well,” the woman at her side said soothingly.
    “Is it a boy or a girl?” Maggie said, sinking back on to the delivery table.
    “A girl,” said the midwife. “But you let me take care of her. You need to rest, now.”
    Maggie sank back gratefully on to the bed. She could relax now. It was all over. Soon the midwife would lift her on to the stretcher and wheel her back to the ward. She could begin the rest of her life.
     A sharp prick in her arm brought her to her senses.
    “Just a little something to help you relax,” said the midwife softly.
    A little something to stop you squealing like a pig.
    The midwife looked at the woman on the bed. They were all the same. Frightened. Inexperienced. No idea what motherhood meant. And they expected her to make it all right. And she had done all these years. There’d been no option. She’d needed the money for Joe. But this one was different. This one was special.
    Maggie looked at her.
    “It’s Mrs. Barton, isn’t it?”
    Maggie nodded drowsily.
    She’d been thinking being a mother might not be so bad after all. After all, no teaching! Not that this was the first time she’d thought of giving up. She swept the thought aside hastily. No, she wouldn’t think about that time. She wouldn’t think about that first class.
    “You used to teach my boy, Joe.”
    “Joe?”
    Maggie started. Was the woman reading her thoughts?
    “Joe Harvey.”
    Maggie felt a cold chill run down her back.
    She forced a smile.
    “Oh, yes,” she said, startled, looking at the woman differently. She remembered her. How could she have forgotten her?
    The woman who had threatened to sue her.
    Joe Harvey’s mother. Joe Harvey. Her worst behaved pupil. Joe Harvey whom she’d been glad to get rid of. Of all the places to meet his mother. What must she think of her? Squealing like she did.
    “How’s he doing?” Maggie forced herself to enquire.
    The midwife smiled. “He’s got his own business now. You’ll remember he was always good at woodwork.”
    At tossing it at people, thought Maggie, remembering Joe’s temper outbursts.
    “I’m glad,” said Maggie. And she was. There was no sense in harbouring a grudge. The past was the past.
    “He’s never forgiven you, you know,” the woman said looking at Maggie with a queer eye.
    “Forgiven me?” repeated Maggie, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Her head was beginning to swim.
    A picture was forming in her head. A picture of Joe Harvey running up the steps of the giant chute built into the hillside of the town park on the school trip. A picture of Joe Harvey pushing all the other children holding the safety ropes that lined the steps aside as he raced to the top to be first down that giant slalom. A picture of herself yelling to Joe to come down.
    And he had. For the first time he’d done as he was told. But not down the chute.
    Headfirst down the concrete embankment that surrounded it.
    Of course the mother had threatened to sue. But she’d backed down after the statements of the other children and the case had been dropped. Much to Maggie’s relief. That was when she’d almost given up teaching. Inexperienced, that’s what she’d been. She should never have taken Joe Harvey on that trip. But she’d learned after that.
    “For not taking him a second school trip,” said the midwife.
    Maggie smiled, despite herself.
    Was that all?
    “All the other classes in the school had two trips,” stated the woman.
    There was no way I was taking them on another trip after what happened, thought Maggie but all she said was,
    “Oh, sorry,” said Maggie, but she wasn’t. No more than she had been when Joe Harvey’s mother had eventually removed him from school. She was glad to put it all behind her. Though she had sometimes wondered what had happened to Joe.
    “You will be,” said the woman.
    Maggie looked at her. She seemed to be far away and her voice was strange.
    “What do you mean?” said Maggie, trying hard to concentrate. She was sleepier than she thought. A thread of fear started to wend its way through her. “Where’s my baby?” she said suddenly.
    “You won’t need her where you’re going? You don’t like children anyway,” said the woman. “And you wouldn’t want your inexperience to ruin her, would you?”
    Her face peered menacingly in front of Maggie’s. And she smiled.
    “You don’t need to worry. We’ll take good care of her – Joe and me.”
    Maggie felt a surge of fear and tried to rise from the hospital bed but her body was a leaden weight and her head wasn’t hers.
    She sank back on the bed and from somewhere she heard a laboured breathing. With horror, she realised it was hers.
    The midwife watched the woman’s chest rise and fall as it struggled for air. She hadn’t time to watch. She had things to do. She wrapped the baby in a hospital blanket, placed her in the bottom of her large portmanteau and snapped it shut.
    A gasp from the bed made her spin round. The woman’s jaw slid open and stopped like a theatre curtain that had got stuck.
    Awful how many women are dying in childbirth these days, she thought, slipping her coat over her uniform and grabbing the portmanteau.
    “That your shift over?”
    The midwife nodded to the woman who’d just entered the hospital entrance.
    The shift and the job, she thought. Not that she was sorry. Now she could dedicate her life to what she’d always wanted. Being a mother. She could put all her experience to good use.
    A slight furrow crossed her brow. She hadn’t always been. She’d been inexperienced when she’d had Joe. And she’d made mistakes. It hadn’t been easy being a single mother. But she was going to make up for it. It was never too late.
    She opened the door of her apartment. Joe was standing in the middle of the floor swaying from side to side, his hands clasped at either side of his head. He didn’t appear to see her. The apartment floor was covered with tools and wood-shavings.
    “See who’s come to see you,” she said, opening her portmanteau and taking out the baby.
    Joe turned and looked at her. His head hurt. He’d been working hard with his tools waiting for Mummy to come home. Mummy had promised him a surprise so he’d kept on working like Mummy had told him to do. He’d always done what Mummy had told him. Since that day.
    “It’s Mrs. Barton,” said the woman. “Mrs. Barton has come to see you.”
    She held the baby up lengthways. Joe looked at the face opposite him. If only his head didn’t hurt so much. It had hurt since that day. But he knew it was going to be all right. Mrs. Barton had come to take him.
    He took the baby from his mother’s arms and placed it in the small box he had been working on.
    His mother watched him and smiled. He was a good boy. He’d been a good boy since that day. Of course she knew his head hurt. It hadn’t at the hospital. It wasn’t until later it had started. But by then she’d taken him away from school. She was the only one who could look after him. She’d given him everything he’d wanted.
    Joe smiled and placed the lid on the box. A perfect fit. He’d always been good with his hands. His mother shook her head.
    Mummy’s right, thought Joe. It’s not time yet.
    He lifted the lid off the small box and held the baby in the air.
    It was the day. It had come at last. The day of the second school trip.
    He pictured himself running up the steps of the giant chute. There would be no other children to get in his way. It was their fault, their fault he had lost his balance at the top of the chute. There’d be just him and Mrs. Barton.
    Mrs. Barton. From somewhere far below he heard her voice.
    “Come Down, Joe. Come down!”
    She was always shouting at him telling him to come down. She was the one who needed to come down – off her high horse. Joe smiled. Today Mrs. Barton would be at the top of the chute with him. And he’d make certain she came down. Not on the chute. The way he had. Down the concrete embankment. Then he’d come down. The proper way of course. And Mummy would be there. To catch him. Just like she always was. A frown crossed his face.
    “What’s the matter. Joe?”
    His mother sensed his every mood.
    “What if I trip up, Mummy?” he said, “like last time?”
    He didn’t remember much after he’d tripped. He just remembered the fear at that moment – like nothing he’d ever experienced before. And a voice from somewhere saying.
    “You’re going to die.”
    “It’s all right Joe,” said his mother softly, easing one arm at a time into his coat as he held the baby. “It’s just like anything else. Once you know the ropes, you won’t trip up.”
    She opened the door of the apartment and turned round. Of course they’d have to leave here. When it was all over. But they’d adjust. And put it down to experience. Wasn’t that what all life was about?
    And Joe was a clever boy. Joe could start again. And she’d make sure there was plenty of business for him.
    It was amazing how many women were dying in childbirth these days.
    She closed the door of the apartment. Joe was happy. She could see that because he was fingering the brass plate on the apartment door lovingly.
    He had reason to be proud. Like she had. And all those who thought otherwise would know one day. One by one.
    “You’re going to die.”
    She’d used the words herself many times.
    She liked them to know. So they’d experience it. There was a lot to be said for experience. She knew.
    A familiar furrow crossed Joe’s brow.
    “What’s the matter, Joe?” she said.
    “My head hurts, Mummy.”
    “There, there. You’re doing fine. Not much longer now. And it’ll all be over,” she said comfortingly.
    Joe smiled.
    Not much longer. He could stand that. He could stand anything. And after? Well maybe he could stand that too. He had hated the job at first. But he’d coped, hadn’t he? And who knows? Maybe he’d even come to like it. After all, what could go wrong? He was in expert hands. And he owed it all to Mummy. Mummy had suggested he start up in business. And Mummy had provided nearly all his clients. Mummy had even suggested the plaque on the door. He rubbed it lovingly with his free arm.
    “See, Mrs. Barton,” he said, softly to the baby in his arms. “See, I’ve done well. Mummy’s proud of me.”
    The baby’s eyes seemed to grow in size as it looked at the shiny object in front of it.
    “Joe Harvey – Funeral director – First class.”

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