Free The Winter Children by Lulu Taylor

know what she would do without him.
    ‘Everything all right?’ he asks anxiously, seeing the midwife.
    Olivia nods. ‘It’s fine.’
    The midwife gets up and puts on her coat. ‘She’s doing very well. And I hear the babies are coming home this week.’
    ‘We hope so.’ Dan accompanies her to the door and holds it open for her. ‘Thanks for coming by.’
    ‘That’s all right. I’ll see you again in a couple of days.’
    As soon as she’s gone, Dan turns to Olivia. ‘Are you ready to go?’
    They’re going to the hospital. When they’re not there, as close as possible to the babies, life is empty and meaningless. The only good thing is that they’re sleeping deeply,
recovering their strength. No doubt that will change when the babies are home.
    Olivia hauls herself up out of her chair and Dan rushes over to help her. ‘I’m so weak,’ she says, and tears spring to her eyes. ‘I’m not used to this.’ She
wants to sob. She’s happy and miserable at the same time. She’s in love with her babies and agonised to be away from them, but she also knows they’re being cared for. It’s hard to fight the powerful sense of thwarted longing and the misery it brings.
    ‘Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be with them in a short while. I’ve parked the car right outside, sod the traffic warden. Come on, darling. You’re doing so well.’
    She sniffs. ‘I’m not sure about that. I’m a mess.’
    ‘Don’t be daft. You’ve had a major operation and you’re working like anything to keep the milk going.’ He looks at the large pump in the corner. ‘You’d
be on that all day if you could.’
    ‘Have you got the milk bags from the freezer?’ she asks quickly.
    ‘I’ll put them in the cold box now. Then we’ll get going.’
    ‘Thanks.’ She watches, full of love and gratitude as he hurries to get the milk. She’s loving seeing him like this: desperate to care for her, full of love for the babies,
doing whatever he can to help. This is a different stage in their lives together, a new challenge for both of them, and he is rising to it in every way he can. They’re a family now. There are
tiny helpless people in their lives, whose needs must be put first. She’s always wondered how they’ll cope, now that they’re so used to their childless life, so set in their ways,
so accustomed to pleasing themselves.
    Perhaps we’ll manage very well. After all, the babies are so wanted. But . . .
    She looks out of the window at the cold wintery day, feeling far from her mother and sister. She wants them now, to be with her and share all of this. She thinks of the hot Argentine sun, and the memory of her nephews, gurgling on a rug in the cool shade, their fat little limbs bare and kicking in the warmth.
    She shakes her head.
I won’t think about that now.
    ‘Come on,’ Dan says, holding up the cool box. ‘We’re all ready. Shall we go?’
    In the hall, they brush past the huge bunch of flowers Francesca sent. It was too big for anywhere else but the table there. They ought to be beautiful but Olivia doesn’t like them. Her
taste is for wild flowers, not manicured hot-house blooms in sheaves of cellophane. The heads of the lilies are already dropping rusty pollen, and one leaves a smear on the back of Dan’s coat
as he brushes past them. Olivia sees it but doesn’t have the strength to wipe it off. Her focus is only on getting to the babies as fast as possible.
    Later, in the hospital, she feels complete. She’s with them. They’re all together. She can hold Stanley but Beattie is still confined to the incubator, a tiny mask over her nose and
mouth as the machine helps her to breathe. Olivia cuddles Stanley, patiently manoeuvring her nipple into his mouth, encouraging him to latch on and suck, while Dan stands next to Beattie’s
perspex cot. Her tiny fingers are wrapped around his large one, and he’s gazing down at her with awe and love.
    Look at these amazing babies. They’re still a unit –