I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
"He's beautiful, Ron," Jack breathed, his arms wrapped around his wife's body as she cradled their newborn son in hers. The three Brannings were sat up in bed, all of them wide away as Ronnie fed their son. "James Branning," Jack said the name aloud, almost pinching himself as the giddy happiness didn't seem real.
"He needs a middle name," Ronnie said, looking up from her son's face to look into her husband's, her crystal blue eyes locking onto his dark ones. "We didn't think of middle names," she continued. At that moment in time, a frown would have normally appeared on Ronnie's face, but not today . . . not now . . . not when everything was perfect.
Jack chuckled, his hand coming up behind Ronnie and gentle winding through her long blonde locks. "You thought of everything else, but his middle name."
Ronnie raised an eyebrow. "Well, I had to do, didn't I?" She challenged.
Jack conceded, nodding his head in agreement. "There was no way I was missing the birth, Ron."
A smile slipped onto Ronnie's lips, her face awash with light and happiness. He had been there. When she had needed him, Jack had been there. Lifting her hand, her fingertips caressed the edge of Jack's jaw. He closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing even more so at Ronnie's touch. He had no idea why, but when she stroked his jaw, he could feel his skin tingling, as though his entire body was infused with the power and immensity of her love. Nobody else had ever made him feel that way. Nobody else had bothered to see beyond the cool, hard exterior he shrouded himself in. Jack Branning – he was the man with the answers, the man that messed up but never showed anybody how, the man that didn't need anybody but himself.
But when he had been helpless, when he couldn't even pick up a spoon, when he had felt ashamed and weak, as soon as he looked in Ronnie's eyes, Jack saw the man he was capable of being. The man whose edges weren't so sharp, the man she was in love with. And now, the man that called her his wife and father of her child.
"He's gonna break some hearts, ain't he?" Jack commented, his index finger touching James' hand before the infant instantly grabbed it and held onto it tightly. The baby's eyes snapped to his dad, as though instantly recognising him as the person who had been telling him stories every night before he was born whilst his mummy had slept.
"Pfft," Ronnie scoffed, her fringe blowing slightly upwards as she did so. "He is not having a girlfriend until he's thirty."
"Oh, come on Ron, he's a Branning boy," Jack joked.
Ronnie considered this before looking to her husband. "He is definitely not dating until he's thirty."
Jack shook his head, chuckling. "With the Branning genes, the girls won't be able to keep away."
Ronnie rolled her eyes at Jack's apparent arrogance. James squirmed in her arms, signalling that he was finished and she motioned to Jack who took the infant from her so she could do up the buttons on her nightie. Leaning against the headboard of their king sized bed, she watched father and son, her entire body feeling as though she floating.
Jack patted James' back, his strained ears trying to pick up the slightest sound of a milk burp. "Was that one?" He asked Ronnie who immediately shook her head.
"Nope," she replied, almost staring at her son's face, refusing to tear her eyes away. And James looked back, memorising his mummy's face. He already knew her voice, had heard it for the past six months. It had been the first thing he had heard, his mummy's voice. And she had sung to him every day; lullabies, nursery rhymes, Cher. So now he looked at her, taking in as many features as his infantile eyes could take in, desperately wanting to be able to move his body so that he could be lying against her once again.
I can't believe he's finally here. Ronnie thought to herself, her fingers playing with his tiny feet. "We've been waiting a long time for you," she whispered, gently tracing the outline of his feet inside a yellow babygrow.
"Yes, we have," Jack agreed. "Was that a burp?" He asked again, and once more, Ronnie shook her head. This time, she let out a small giggle.
"Stubborn, isn't he?"
Jack laughed. "Just like his mum."
"Oi," Ronnie quietly exclaimed, an indignation in her voice.
"You denying it?" Jack questioned, a look of disbelief in his dark eyes.
"No," Ronnie replied, simply settling into the side of Jack's body as he continued to try and wind their son. Her head rested against his shoulder, her exhausted form wanting both desperately to sleep and stay awake at the same time.
"You should sleep, Ron," Jack told her, but she shook her head against his shoulder. "Ron, you were in labour for thirty six hours – you need to sleep."
"You were there the whole time too, you sleep," she retorted, biting into her bottom lip to stop herself from giggling. She knew how ridiculous she sounded, like a child refusing to sleep so she could wait up for Father Christmas. But she never did believe in Father Christmas and her present was already here. Her son was in his daddy's arm – how could she fall asleep when she had that to see?
Jack rolled his eyes before grinning widely. "That was a burp," he said as James finally burped. Bringing the baby down from his shoulder, Jack's arms formed a cradle around him. "He's falling asleep." The newborn's blinking slowed, his eyelids growing heavier as sleep finally overcame him.
"Do you think his eyes will stay blue?" Ronnie mused, the tips of her fingers stroking the few dark strands of hair atop her baby's head, careful to avoid the soft spot.
"Yeah," Jack murmured, nodding his head. "He'll have your eyes."
"And your smile," Ronnie continued.
"And your stubbornness."
"And your strength."
"And your heart," Jack said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Ron," he whispered.
"Yeah?" She asked, her voice low and gentle.
"Thank you for our son," he told her. Tears lined his eyes as the pride welled inside of him, the magnitude of the love he felt for his family overwhelming him. "Thank you," he whispered once again before lowering his head to place a kiss on Ronnie's lips. "Thank you," he breathed into her mouth, his lips still on hers.
Drawing away, Ronnie lay back against the headboard. "It'll be New Years Day in a few hours," she commented as Jack slowly got up from the bed and tenderly lay their son down in his Moses basket. Jack covered James' body with a soft white blanket, before leaning down and kissing him goodnight. The first of many kisses to come.
"Yeah," Jack replied, yawning. "Well, as long as that lot across the road don't wake James up-"
Ronnie scoffed. "He's a Branning boy," she stated, mimicking Jack's favourite statement of the day. "No amount of shouting and screaming will wake him up."
Jack chuckled at his wife, sliding between the warm covers once again and lying down in the bed. Ronnie followed his example and Jack stretched out an arm so that she would snuggle into him and he would be able to draw her body to his. "I love you, Ron," he murmured.
"I love you, too," Ronnie replied. "You and James . . . you both filled the cracks in my heart," she whispered, her eyes closed. Even now, she couldn't say that and look at her husband at the same time, because she knew she'd see her agony reflected in his eyes. "You both make it better, a million times over."
Jack looked at her, wanting to say more, but knowing that now wasn't the time. We're married with a newborn baby. We've got all the time in the world now. "Thank you for letting me," he responded before gently laying his forehead against hers. "Now, sleep."
Three hours later, Jack awoke to the sounds of fireworks being let off. He blinked, his eyes slowly becoming adjusted to the darkness. Looking around himself, he saw Ronnie asleep on the other side of the bed and then the Moses basket standing next to his side. Jack instantly grinned, suddenly remembering the events of the last few days, of brining his son home that morning.
It's New Year's. Jack thought. And my son turned a day old an hour ago.
"You wanna see the fireworks, James?" Jack said quietly, so as not to wake Ronnie, as he carefully stepped out from the bed. "Yeah, let's see the fireworks. Now, people may say that these fireworks are for this thing called 'New Years', but between me and you – the fireworks are for you, because see, you are a whole day old now," Jack continued the one sided conversation to his sleeping son. "Out for the count, eh James?" He commented, before letting out a small chuckle. "Your mum was right, eh? But don't tell her that, I won't hear the end of it for the rest of me life."
Jack stood over the Moses basket, his hands moving down the hood so that he could see his son better in the darkness. "Your mummy will kill me if I wake you, but . . ." he said, reaching inside his son's cradle to pick him up.
Jack's fingers touched the delicately smooth skin on James' right hand.
He froze.
Why is he so cold?
"James?" Jack called out his son's name. "James?" It was louder this time, the panic breaking through Ronnie's deep slumber and jolting her awake.
"Jack?" She mumbled, confused and still on the precipice of sleep. "Does he need a feed?"
Jack looked to his wife, his heart hammering in his chest as he watched, powerless as she walked from the bed to the Moses basket. He couldn't speak. Couldn't tell her not to step closer. All he could do was watch her.
Ronnie looked into her son's cradle, the broad smile on her face slipping incrementally as the image that greeted her burned itself onto her retinas. "James?" She whispered her baby's name, her arms reaching inside the basket. Ronnie gasped. He was so cold. "Jamie?" She called out to him, her heart thudding to a halt in her chest.
"Ron, no," Jack grabbed hold of her arms, but he couldn't stop her from tenderly lifting her baby boy into her arms and cradling him against her chest. Her beating heart willing his to beat once more. "James, James," she repeated his name, as though her desperate pleas would wake him. "Please darling, please. Wake up, it's time for your feed, you need to have your milk, sweetie, so you can grow and-"
Ronnie stopped, the silent sobs ravaging her body.
Jack held his breath, trying to push down the emotions that were caught in his throat. He couldn't feel them, he couldn't feel them. Not yet, not just yet. He had to take care of Ronnie and their son. I have to take care of my son.
Ronnie breaths were ragged and suddenly she was screaming, clutching hold of her baby boy and screaming. She wanted to claw at her chest and rip out the burning piece of flesh that was her heart.
Jack saw Ronnie's fingernails digging into the skin at her throat, tearing at it. "Ron," his hand caught hers and time stopped. Their despair met in their joined hands and they both sank to the floor. The descent was abrupt, but Ronnie still held onto her son, refusing to let any harm come to him. The revelry outside had prematurely finished and Jack knew that at any moment, everyone would know. They would see and they would know.
"Come on, sweetie," Ronnie said, her breaths coming in shuddering gasps now. "Wake up for mummy. Let mummy see those beautiful blue eyes again. James, please." The anguish swept through her, winding her until Ronnie felt she could no longer breathe. It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. I don't care about breathing, just as long as he does.
"James, Jamie, James," she said his name, over and over again, the panic lacing her words and rising within her like a tidal wave.
"Ronnie," Jack whispered, the torment muting his voice. "Please." He shook his head as the tears poured down his face. Everything within him was shrieking. Everything. It was as though someone had doused him in petrol and set him alight.
"No. No." Ronnie refused to listen to Jack's words, refused to see the truth in her husband's eyes. "James, please, James-"
"Ron – he's-"
"No!" She shouted. "No." Ronnie held onto her son's form tighter, before her shoulders shook with the force of her grief as she wept with wild abandonment. She knew.
She knew.
"I'm so sorry, James. Mummy's so sorry. Please, darling. James."
The two parents sat crumpled together, the pungent odour of their torment suffocating them both, their broken hearts collapsing in on themselves as they held their newborn son. Their newborn son that would forever remain one day old.
"James," Ronnie wept. "Please, James. Open your eyes."
THE END