She was putting her bra on when she felt a stabbing pain shoot through her abdomen. It was so sharp that it immediately took her breath away. She waited for it pass, then she slipped her dressing gown on again. Sitting back on the bed, she waited nervously to see what, if anything, was going to happen to her next. She was not going to ring Michael or her mum or anybody until she knew what was going on. She would finish getting dressed, ring the doctor, and then she would drive herself to the hospital. She was determined not to panic; she was going to keep herself as calm as possible. Her doctor had told her that this was a normal pregnancy, and she was to treat it as such. There had been no bleeding or cramps, no feelings of illness or nausea. She had not felt her usual fragility, as if the child inside her womb was already too weak to go full term. There had been nothing untoward this time, and she needed to remember that. But until she held a baby of her own in her arms, she would not take anything for granted. She had suffered that kind of disappointment too many times before.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Eight

‘I hope she manages it this time, though why it was such a big secret I don’t know. Let’s face it, Michael, you could have told me! Anyone would think I was a stranger on the street instead of your own mother the way you treat me these days. I suppose the house is piled up with baby powder and nappies again. If she had a squad of ten, she couldn’t use half the stuff she buys. It’s ridiculous.’

Michael had heard enough. With Hannah, it was a constant barrage of complaints – then she wondered why they didn’t want her around. Her snide remarks about grandchildren broke Josephine’s heart. She made him feel guilty because he didn’t seek her out every day, even though it was her own fault. She was so fucking bitter and twisted. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with in his life without listening to her going on.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mum! Will you give it a rest!’

Hannah shut up. Her son’s voice was full of anger and irritation. She pursed her lips together tightly, so she wouldn’t react. Her son was worried about his wife, and that was natural. But he should still remember who had reared him, fed him, clothed him all his life.

Michael felt the urge to throttle his mother. She could make a saint swear. She was sitting there now, acting like butter wouldn’t melt, while his poor Josephine was being examined by the doctor.