Welcome to Say Nothing, the podcast bringing you a revised serialisation of a novel I wrote and self-published a decade ago. This is the thirteenth chapter of the story and has been recorded using AI and Speechify software.
You can purchase a full copy of the original novel at https://amzn.to/4gAEwnB.
***
CHAPTER 13
By the time he returned, Sarah had been asleep for hours, and Eloise had crashed out on the sofa. He had not wanted to wake either of them, so simply slipped into bed next to his wife. Surprisingly, he slept like a baby; his visit to London exhausting him both mentally and physically.
Now, as he sat eating breakfast, he knew it was time to talk to Sarah about her father. Contacting Sam - and later Dan - would have to wait until this afternoon. How he planned to address the issue, he wasn’t yet sure, but as she walked into the kitchen, flush in the face from her pregnancy and the heat of the hot bath from which she had just emerged, Owen simply decided to smile. Soon, he thought. Let’s just see how things are first.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart,” he asked as she pulled up a chair. “Want me to put the kettle on?”
Sarah smiled in the affirmative, but it was clear to Owen that there was sadness behind this façade. There was also an uncomfortable silence in the room, brought about by Owen’s sudden departure. He felt guilty but also inspired. The journey – and the conversation with Dan – had reaffirmed the beliefs he held. There would be no turning back. There could be no turning back.
This reinvigoration wasn’t enough to keep him from a feeling of guilt. Owen was all too aware that he had abandoned his wife at short notice to prioritise other things. He wanted to make amends and let her know precisely why he had to devote a day to visiting London, but was all too aware that it was impossible. Instead, he could only put his enforced absence down to work, and could not go any further.
As he poured her a cup of green tea, he couldn’t resist the urge to break the silence. “I’m sorry about yesterday. You know I wouldn’t have gone had it not been critical to work. I needed to visit a source and it was the only chance I might get. You know how much I love you, don’t you?”
There was insecurity in his voice, indicative that he truly was repentant; in all their years together, Owen had never been able to shake the fear that one day Sarah would simply up and leave. As infuriating as she often found his lack of self-confidence, it was simply another character trait that so endeared her to her husband. “I know you do. And I love you,” she said reassuringly. “It’s just that yesterday, I…”
“I know,” he interrupted. “I saw. The phone rang on the table just before I left. I wanted to say something then, but had no idea how to address it.” Owen placed her drink down and knelt down beside her. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. But you know that I’m here to listen when you need me.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, pushing the hair back over her ear. Just like her gentle words of reassurance, this simple act made all the difference to Sarah’s wellbeing. She threw her arms around him and pulled him tight towards her.
“It’s all going to be ok. Everything was ok.” She began to cry silently, but it was weeping that came from a good place. The feeling of Owen’s breathing in her hair accentuated the feeling that she was safe and that things were going to be fine.
***
The hot, heavy breath stank of stale cigarette smoke, but the sound of another’s breathing proved a welcome respite. Any sound brought with it a sense of relief that the ordeal was over. He been cowering on the floor trying to block out the repetitive crashing, grinding, and scratching in any way he could, but the recording was so loud it penetrated him to the core. So long had it been playing, the sound remained in his consciousness, even as the stale breath alerted him to the fact that it was over.
He felt drained and once more on the brink of collapse. As he was pulled up onto a metal chair and handcuffed, Pete longed for any way out. It had been six days since he first entered that cell, but his memories of walking through Belfast on that warm night felt a lifetime ago. If I die right now, he thought to himself, it would be a blessing. Wish as he might, there was no such escape forthcoming.
As he sat with hands bound, a table was brought into the room, followed by a second chair. Having been in the dark for so long, the brightness of the room’s lights made his retinas burn; another indication that his body could withstand more punishment than he could possibly have imagined. His mind, however, felt like it was beyond salvation.
The Englishman entered the room and sat down opposite. On the table he placed a pen and a notepad, a packet of cigarettes, and a bottle of water. Once more he decided to spend the initial moments in the room doing nothing but staring. Though the glare of the lighting caused a blurring of his version, Pete could tell there was something different about him. There was an intensity about the Englishman, as though his patience was wearing thin or he had received orders from on high to get things moving.
“Peter James of Connell Street. Born 1957. Father deceased, mother currently working as a cleaner at St Malachy’s Primary School. Brother…” The Englishman paused and looked long and hard at him, then glanced at his watch. “Brother Owen, now twelve. Probably at football practice about now.”
He hadn’t been surprised that they would bring his parentage into the questioning, but the mention of his kid brother shook him to the bone. Was this an explicit threat? Having experienced everything he’d been through this past week, Pete could assume nothing but the worst. Were there any lengths that these fucks wouldn’t go to in order to achieve their aim?
“Now, you know precisely what I’m going to ask you, so you’ve had plenty of time to construct an answer. Do you,” he began with particular emphasis, “know why you’re here?” Pete’s heart began to race and his breathing became short and sharp in intensity. “It’s a simple question. You can either answer it yourself, or we can ask one of your relatives to help. It’s up to you.”
Pete felt sick to his stomach, itself continually cramping due to the lack of nutrition. His mother and his brother were at risk; they knew precisely where to find them. His options were limited, so he tried as hard as possible to steady his breathing and made to speak. For a solitary word, the effort required was magnificent, and his voice hoarse from dryness. “Yes.”
“Good,” replied the Englishman, who quickly jumped to his feet and stormed out of the room. Pete’s head fell, knowing that he had lost the upper hand. It was all over, he thought. Without warning, the lights went black… and the industrial sounds returned. With the last trace of energy in his body, Pete let out a scream of anguish.
***
It was the middle of the night when the screaming began, waking him from his deep sleep and causing him to jolt upright in bed. Sarah lay beside him, writhing in agony, the sheets wet and warm with blood. The anguish of her cries was enough to wake the dead, and the fear that rushed through Owen made him feel so fragile a single touch could shatter him into a million pieces.
Sarah couldn’t move from her position, and the blood seemed to flow without respite. He ran to the bathroom and grabbed some towels, trying to stem the bleeding best he could. Now wide awake and struck with the fear that some horrific fate would befall his wife and unborn child, he frantically searched for his mobile phone. Normally sitting on the bedside table, he had knocked it to the floor in his rush to grab towels, and now it was nowhere to be seen.
Sarah howled once again and buried her face into the pillow. My baby is dying, she thought, before crying again in anguish. Owen was now on his hands and knees, reaching under the bed to salvage the handset. So heavy was the bleeding, the discolouration on the underside of the mattress was obvious. He emerged and dialled 112. His French was passable at the best of times, but now with extra pressure, he simply shouted ‘ambulance’ and gave his address. The operator got the message.
He dialled again, this time to Eloise. The phone rang and rang, and he hoped she had kept her mobile turned on. Sarah was now weeping heavily, but was somehow stifling further howls of pain. Perhaps she’s passed the worst of it, he told himself. “It’s going to be ok, sweetheart,” he said, stroking her head as he stayed standing. He dialled again, “Come on, Ellie. Pick up.”
The voice was weary, stirred from sleep. “Oui? Qui est-ce? ”
“Ellie? Ellie it’s Owen. Something’s happened to Sarah. I’ve called the ambulance. Can you get here?”
“Shit, of course.” She pulled herself out of bed, the news igniting her senses and filling her with dread. “Is there anything y…” Her sentence was drowned out by another howl from Sarah. The extreme pain had returned once more, so intense she thought she was going to black out.
“Just hurry. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m on my way. The ambulance will be there soon.” Eloise pulled on a jumper and her jeans and started out the door. Alain was just waking as she left, and was confused by what was happening. All he heard was Eloise shouting back over her shoulder, “I’ll be back soon. It’s Sarah.”
The waiting room was as good as empty, bar Owen and Eloise sat side-by-side clutching one another’s hand. The journey over had been fraught with worry, with Sarah passing out just moments after being loaded into the ambulance. Eloise had followed in her car while Owen accompanied his wife, en route to yet another hospital with fears of the very worst kind. One of his earliest memories was that of visiting the hospital to see his father, only to arrive too late. That memory stirred. The effect it had on his brother and his subsequent outlash of violence had frightened Owen. As he stormed out of the hospital room, his elder brother left him and his mother alone in a state of shock. Even at such a tender age, he felt bitterness towards Pete, and wanted to chase him out and demand he return.
Now, he was back in those same surroundings; while the location had changed, the familiarity of the hospital was enough to evoke painful memories.
"Do you want me to grab you a coffee," Eloise asked, unable to quell the urge to break the silence.
Owen couldn't think about consuming a thing without being overcome with a sense of nausea. "I'm good, thanks."
As he spoke, the attending nurse returned to the reception desk. His attention turned away from Eloise and the memories of his father's death, and he raced over to the desk, Eloise in hot pursuit, ready to translate.
"How is she? Can I see her?"
Comment est-elle? Puis-je la voir?
The nurse looked first at Owen and then addressed Eloise. He studied the reaction on his friend's face, hoping to identify any telltale signs of Sarah's condition before the message was relayed. The nurse spoke quickly and with authority, impatient and eager to simply finish. Her face was toughened from years of battling with patients; the satisfaction of helping others she used to feel at the end of her working day long since diminished.
Sarah had regained consciousness upon arrival but was now asleep; the ordeal exhausting her both physically and mentally. Eloise was excellent as passing on the details, with little delay in translating the nurse’s advice. It was a suspected placental abruption, but it wouldn't be until the morning that an ultrasound could be performed. Until then, there was nothing more anyone could do except monitor her condition and let her rest. Eloise thanked the nurse and led Owen to the room indicated.
"Placental abruption?" questioned Owen. "What is that? Did she not say anymore? What's happened to the baby?"
Eloise knew that the risk to both Sarah and the unborn baby was severe, that she could become seriously ill, and the baby could well die. “We won’t know until the ultrasound. It’s not uncommon, though, more than one in fifty.”
His mind racing, he had no idea how to respond. “Everything’s going to shit, Ellie.” The two stopped outside the door, Owen taking hold of her arm before she opened it. He thought long and hard before speaking. “Did you know she’s spoken to her dad? She’s never so much as mentioned him until now, and they’ve been speaking.”
“Yeah, I was there when it happened. I assumed she would’ve spoken to you about it.”
“Barely a word. Don’t suppose you know what they spoke about do you? Do you think this is related? Stress or something?”
Eloise had barely anything with which to scrape together an answer. The conversation she had been privy to was sparse and awkward. As much as she wanted to offer something reassuring, there was little to be said. “As far as I could tell, they didn’t really say much,” she began. “Besides, it’s not really the most pressing issue at the moment, is it?”
She pushed open the door to the hospital room and walked towards her friend. Sarah lay on the bed, hooked up to a drip. The first thing Eloise noticed was how pale she looked. When she arrived at the house, the paramedics were already attending to Sarah while Owen looked on. The bedroom had been a state, and the quantity of blood on the bed and floor resembled a crime scene from a Hollywood thriller.
As Owen walked to the opposite side of the bed, Eloise slid her friend’s hand into her own and felt a squeeze.
“She was very lucky,” said the doctor. “Any more blood and we would’ve had to perform a transfusion.” His English was impeccable, but Eloise could spot familiar imperfections in his French when he had been chatting to the nurses beforehand. Her cousin had been engaged to a teacher from Geneva, and he’d had the same slower delivery and obscure expressions that she found amusing and fascinating in equal measure. But now there was something about having a Swiss doctor that provided added reassurance to her.
“Now she’s stabilised, we’re just going to let her get some rest and keep her on the oxygen for the time being,” continued the doctor, “then we’ll carry out a quick ultrasound to see the precise details. Depending on the results, we may have to make a decision about whether or not to induce the baby. Mr James, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but there is the very real risk that your baby may not survive any procedure we decide to take.”
Sarah had been asleep for a good few hours, during which time both Owen and Eloise had taken the opportunity to catch up on some rest. Only when the doctor arrived to update them on the status were the two of them simultaneously alert. With news that his baby was at risk of being premature - or even stillborn - it felt as though he had been suckerpunched. That would not do, he thought to himself. “No, you can’t let that happen. You mustn’t. What about Sarah? What would that mean for her? Is she going to be ok?”
The doctor had seen the look in Owen’s eyes before. Everytime he had delivered bad news, the immediate responses were anger and fear. He’d always been fascinated how the human psyche responds with a desire to find someone to blame, no matter what the situation. Now, however, it was an unenviable part of his career, and that fascination with the human condition had been replaced by nothing but sadness. As he looked at Owen, he could see his knuckles turning white from the intensity of his grip, and wanted to offer something - anything - that would keep his hopes alive. “Your wife should be fine. At this stage, the concern is with your baby. We’ll get the ultrasound done as soon as possible and from there we’ll know more.”
It was the best he had to offer. He placed Sarah’s file back on the bed and looked sympathetically at Owen before leaving the room quietly and returning to the nearby nurse’s station.
Eloise had been silent throughout the exchange. She knew there was little that could be said to ease the pain Owen was feeling. Over the years, it had become apparent that he was as sensitive as anyone she’d met, and was the eternal pessimist. Things will work out, she thought, but there’s no way to help Owen rationalise at this moment. Just keep strong, and keep positive. It had been a long night of waiting and worry, but she was determined to be there for the couple.
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