It was new. Everything was new, everything felt warm and soft, the reception desk beautifully curved – even the doors had no sharp edges. And these huge, colourful flowers everywhere, it really was lovely. That was the moment when it hit her, just how much was resting on the birth of this one innocent, unaware baby. Will held her hand – his other arm occupied with their bag of supplies – and together they’d followed Freida into their birthing room.

And the funny thing was, she couldn’t remember what happened next. She’d seen other births so many times since she knew what must have happened, but all she could remember now was the look of absolute awe, of love, on Will’s face as he stared at his newborn daughter. He was almost afraid to touch her. ‘She’s so perfect,’ he kept saying. And she was.

Freida had left to give them a moment, in that thoughtful, sensitive way that she had. Sometimes it seemed to Holly that Freida was everything her own parents were not. And when she came back she brought a balloon with her. A single, deep-indigo-coloured, perfectly round balloon. Holly had looked for a balloon that colour for every birth she’d been to since, but she could never find one.

She had kept the dress, though. She’d altered it a few times over the years, had to re-hem it, and more recently she’d added pockets because she liked to have pockets these days. Perhaps that was some part of the ageing process she didn’t understand. But the colours were still there, on the pretty flowers covering the dress that she was holding in her hands. Will had called it her Holly dress.

‘There’s no holly on it, you know,’ she’d said once, many years after the name had stuck, after their children had grown up and they’d been told that his cancer was terminal.

‘But it’s got Holly written all over it,’ he said.

‘Unapologetic?’

‘Yes. And bold,’ he smiled. ‘And bright. And so very pretty.’

Now, Holly sat on the edge of her bed and pulled the dress over her head, feeding one arm at a time through the full-length sleeves of soft fabric. She stood up, smoothed over some creases, then turned back and forth to see every angle in the mirror. Yes, it still fitted her. She knew it would. It had to. This was the dress she was going to wear for the birth. For the new baby Will, named for the man she loved, whom she was missing, today, particularly deeply.

Audio log

8 Dec 2015 17:04

It has been two weeks now since I sent the letter and no one has arrived at my door. Still, it would have been out of the blue, I know, and I’m sure there are things happening that you need to be there for. It’s OK, is what I’m saying. I’ll wait.