Chapter Thirty-Four – London, 25 August, 2007
Less than a minute after receiving the call from Abhirati, John and Rose were flying down the concrete steps of Brandon House. As they raced across the courtyard that separated it from Bucknall House, they dodged the groups of loitering teenagers and young adults who had gathered here and there, standing on corners or sitting on steps, smoking and chatting while finalizing plans for the evening.
Across the way, the corner shop was just closing, the owner locking the narrow door and flipping a dangling sign in the window to read 'closed'. Two doors down the youth center was still open, its door ajar and music blaring from inside, but it was likely empty, as everyone on the Estate seemed to be gathered in the courtyard, enjoying the clear, warm summer evening.
John led the way through the crowd, Rose on his heels, skirting around one group that were blocking the entrance to the alley that led to the garage—and barely avoiding knocking over a couple in a clinch—before tearing down the narrow passageway. Jeers from the teens followed after them.
"Where's the fire?" someone hollered, thinking himself clever. His mates hooted with laughter.
John reached the end of the alley first and came to an abrupt halt. Rose, evidently not realizing he'd stopped, or perhaps simply being unable to stop herself, plowed into him.
"What is it? Why'd you stop?" she asked, and then, "Oh."
Russell Road was packed bumper to bumper: cars, trucks, motorcycles, all were at a standstill. Even the bus was stuck where it was, boxed in while in the process of pulling away from the stop, turn signal blinking, with a delivery van in front of it blocking its path, and another to its side in the lane.
Directly across from them was the garage. The large bay doors were shut, and the heavy black iron security gate, discouraging theft and vandalism, had been pulled across the plate glass windows and customer entrance and padlocked, as it was every night when the garage was closed.
John craned his neck to see over the heads of the crowd that filled the pavement. Traffic was backed up as far as the eye could see. Even the cross streets were full.
He swore under his breath. "Saturday night. Typical London traffic."
"Tell me about it," she said. "I grew up here."
The light at the corner turned green, setting off a chorus of honking, but not a single vehicle moved.
John scanned the area, calculating the quickest route across the road. Less than a second later, he grabbed Rose's hand and darted between an ancient brown Dodge and a big yellow truck, dragging her along behind him until they reached the narrow door next to the main bay. He tried the handle, jiggling it a couple of times unsuccessfully, before pulling out his keys.
As he unlocked the door and let them in, he called out to Abhirati.
"I'm in the office," she answered.
They made their way through the silent garage to the office. Abhirati was standing in the center of the room, leaning against a mop, a bucket of water next to her. The office floor was gleaming.
When she saw them enter the room, a look of relief crossed her face. "Thank God you're here."
"What are you doing?" Rose demanded. "You need to sit down."
"Someone had to clean up the mess," she answered, and it suddenly occurred to John that when her waters broke, they certainly would have sullied the floor. To someone as neat as Abhirati, that would have been intolerable, labor or no labor.
While Rose moved the bucket and mop to the side of the room, John wrapped an arm around Abhirati's shoulders and led her to a chair in the waiting area.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Abhirati took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before answering. "About how you'd expect someone would feel, nine months gone and in the middle of labor. I feel like crap."
"How close are your contractions?" Rose asked as she joined them.
"Not sure. Pretty close together."
"Why didn't you call for an ambulance?"
"I knew you'd get here faster than they would," Abhirati told her. "When I had Padma, my first child, it took the ambulance over an hour to arrive. I said to myself never again." She paused, grimacing. "I'm sorry to bother you; I hope I didn't mess up your evening."
"Of course not," Rose assured her. "We're glad you called us."
"Where's Mudali?" John asked.
"You know how badly Arthur wants to expand. He heard of a garage available in Ealing, and he and Bill went to look at it." She winced, noisily sucking in air, and when she spoke, it was through clenched teeth. "He's stuck in traffic."
"I can believe that," Rose said, with a quick glance in the direction of the door. "Russell Road looks like a car park."
"Rose, stay with Abhirati while I pull a car around," John ordered.
"You're not going to get through that mess out there," Rose told him.
"Where there's a will, there's a way," he answered confidently. "We'll go out the back, cut through a couple of alleys…."
Abhirati shook her head and groaned. She wrapped her arms around her massive belly, hugging herself. "I don't know if we're going to make it."
"Don't worry," he said as he walked behind the counter. "I'm not just an expert under the bonnet. You are looking at someone who is a master behind the wheel as well. We'll make it with time to spare." He scanned the pegboard that held the keys to all the vehicles currently at the shop. It wouldn't do to put her in a car that would break down on the way to the hospital. Behind him, Abhirati gasped.
"John, wait," Rose said urgently. "I think Abhirati's having the baby."
"Yeah, thanks, got that, Rose," he answered, as he debated between a full-sized Buick saloon car and a Honda Accord. The Buick would be a little more comfortable, but the Honda might be more maneuverable in traffic. "That's why we're here." He grabbed the Honda's keys.
"No, I mean, I think she's having it now!"
Dropping the keys, John spun around, alarmed as much by the tinge of panic in her voice as by her words. Abhirati was seated on the chair nearest the door, gently rocking back and forth, her face contorted in pain. Rose wrapped an arm around her, at once comforting and supporting her. In response, Abhirati blindly reached for her with one hand. The two women clasped hands tightly.
John was suddenly, shockingly, hyper-aware of the scene in front of him: of the sounds of traffic, only slightly muffled, coming from the street; of the scent of ammonia from the newly washed floor not quite covering up the typical garage odors of petrol and motor oil; and of the light from the setting sun filtering in through the holes in the gate covering the plate glass window, making patterns on the floor. A beam of light struck Abhirati's hair, and for the first time, he noticed it wasn't jet at all, but that dark, rich brown that often masquerades as black. Tendrils had escaped the thick plait that she wore down her back, and the strands had taken on a life of their own, floating about her face.
Rose looked up, and her eyes met his. She opened her mouth to speak, and then abruptly shut it, as if she wasn't sure what to say.
But nothing needed to be said. He already knew. It was too late. Abhirati's waters had already broken. Her contractions were obviously strong. Despite his assurances to the contrary, given the traffic, it was unlikely they'd make it to the hospital in time.
They might not even make it out of the car park.
Abhirati moaned.
"Help her," Rose pleaded.
He stared at Rose in disbelief. What could he do? Knowing a little about bruises and acupressure didn't equate to a knowledge of childbirth. But she was looking up at him so confidently, so trustingly, so unwaveringly certain that he could handle this.
But she was wrong. He couldn't. He wasn't a doctor. He was just John Smith, auto mechanic, able to fix broken cars and backed up toilets and heating vents that had had teddy bears shoved in them. He couldn't deliver a baby.
A loud metal-on-metal crash came from outside, quickly followed by the sounds of deep male voices shouting obscenities. A woman screamed…
The building behind him exploded in a fiery blast that lit up the night sky, causing a hailstorm of burning gravel to rain down from the heavens. As the acrid odor of high energy weapons fire assailed his nostrils, he tore down the war-torn street, screams of terror echoing in his mind and in his ears, dodging the rubble and debris that lay in his path and seeking somewhere, anywhere, to hide.
Aided by the light of the inferno, he spotted a narrow alley some thirty yards in front of him and to the left. It was partially blocked from view by a hunk of smoldering concrete, ten feet high at its pinnacle, that had only minutes before been part of the building behind him. Perfect. He changed course. Within seconds, he was leaping over a chunk of granite and darting inside. He plastered himself against the wall, trying to disappear in the shadows, holding his breath, not daring even to breathe in fear that the enemy would pick up the sounds of the air expelling from his lungs or sense the increase of carbon dioxide coming from his exhalation.
They were right behind him, were tearing the city apart, destroying everything in their path in their cold-blooded, relentless search for him. And they'd almost caught him this time. He'd been only seconds from extermination when something suddenly, miraculously distracted them, allowing him to escape. He'd never seen the source of their distraction, but he thanked the heavens—stars, moons, and planets—and all the gods of the Pantheon—every Pantheon, everywhere—for his escape.
But he wasn't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot, judging by the continuing sounds of weapons fire. And it was growing closer. He weighed the risks of moving from his present location with staying where he was for the time being. If he stayed where he was, they'd probably find him eventually, but if he moved now, they'd definitely find him.
From further down the alley came a whimper, muffled but distinct, startling him. He turned his head in the direction of the sound.
Hidden deep in the shadows were two figures: a woman, crouched down and leaning against the building wall, and a young girl kneeling beside her. The woman was dressed incongruously for the location, in a ceremonial robe made of a heavy brocade, royal blue shot with gold. Her dark, thick hair hung in a plait down her back, and even from a distance he could see it had been intricately intertwined with gold thread. The girl was just as formally dressed, but in an old-fashioned gown made of lavender silk and trimmed in lace. But the woman's robe had a large singe mark that began on one shoulder and trailed down the front of it, and the girl was filthy, her bobbed blonde hair a mess, her dress torn and stained.
He raised a finger to his lips, and then pointed at the mouth of the alley. Wide-eyed, the girl glanced in the direction he had indicated, and then looked back at him. She nodded, understanding the need for silence. The woman beside her moaned quietly.
Help her, the girl's eyes pleaded.
Frowning, he turned his attention to the woman, and realized in shock that she was heavy with child. Unusual enough among their people in times of peace, but shocking given the present state of affairs on this planet. More alarming, however, a pool of dark red liquid had formed beneath the woman and was rapidly spreading across the alley floor. His nostrils flared. Amniotic fluid—mixed with blood. Too much blood.
He met the woman's eyes. She shook her head, almost apologetically. Too late, she mouthed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
With a high-pitched whine, a beam of light burst from the far end of the alley, followed quickly by a second…
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
A heavy metal door slammed shut in his mind, so hard that it left him reeling. He winced at the blinding jolt of pain that coursed through his head, his hands moving to his temples of their own accord.
"John, help me with Abhirati."
"What?" He stared, trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. The vision—memory?—had been so real, so vivid he could still smell the odors of ozone and burned flesh, but had faded so rapidly that he could scarcely recall any of the details.
Or anything at all actually.
He blinked. For instance, he had absolutely no idea who the women in front of him were, or what their relationship was to him.
Or even who he himself was.
"John, please!" The young blonde woman's voice was firm, bordering on demanding, yet still held hints of worry and fear.
Rose, he remembered. Her name is Rose.
The rest came back in a rush. He was in the office of the garage, and the owner's wife, Abhirati Mudali, was about to give birth, possibly right here in the office. He still wasn't sure who he was—but he remembered that that was par for the course—and he didn't know how to deliver a baby.
And yet here he was. He'd better figure out, quick.
Shaking off what little remained of the odd vision, he rejoined the women on the other side of the room.
"Rose, call for an ambulance," he said softly. As Rose moved to obey, John knelt beside Abhirati and took her hand. "You're going to be just fine, you and the baby both."
She nodded, looking up at him with the same amount of trust as Rose had earlier. If only he could be worthy of that trust.
He let go of her hand and reached out to touch her abdomen, but paused, his hand hovering inches over her belly.
"May I?" he asked.
She nodded again, and he gently placed his hand flat against her abdomen. It was soft, her current contraction over, and he could feel the babe within squirm under his touch. If only he knew what to do. And then, deep inside his brain, he felt something shift, rearrange itself, as if walls were being reconfigured. A door slid open.
He didn't know why, didn't know how or where he'd gained the knowledge, but he knew what to do. He smiled.
"You're going to be just fine," he said again. And this time he meant it.
~oOo~
Jimmy Stone stared at the ceiling, tracing the path of one of the cracks in the plaster as it travelled from one side of the room to the other. It began near the door and jutted straight out before swirling and weaving its way across the room, finally coming to a stop about a foot away from the door to the kitchen.
He grinned. He loved being high.
He loved the feeling of bonelessness, of floating, of complete and utter relaxation that came with it. He loved how profound everything seemed, even a crack on the ceiling of a council estate flat. And he loved how it made his problems feel a million miles away. Marijuana was better than alcohol, better than coke, better than pills. The only thing better than pot was sex, and sometimes not even that. He had missed a lot of things while in prison—girls, his guitar, freedom—but what he had missed most was this.
Lazily, he lifted the spliff to his lips and took a long drag, savoring the pleasant burn of tobacco and marijuana as it traveled down his trachea and entered his lungs. He held it there—one, two, three—before slowly blowing it out in a long stream. In the background, as if in a dream, he heard cheering.
Telly, he thought absently, and giggled.
"What's so funny?" Chuck asked, taking the spliff from him.
Jimmy gestured around the room expansively.
"My flat?"
"No!" Then he looked around the room. "Yes." And burst out laughing. After a moment, Chuck joined in.
After his own drag on the spliff, Chuck handed it back. Instead of raising it to his lips, Jimmy became distracted by the thin trail of smoke that rose from its tip. It was sensual, the dance it did as it dissipated, joining the bluish gray haze that filled the room.
Dancing reminded him of music, music of his guitar, and his guitar...
He pinched out the burning tip and placed it in an ashtray on the coffee table.
"We should get the band back together."
"Wha..." Chuck stared at him as if he was speaking some other language, something completely unlike English. Icelandic maybe, or perhaps Urdu. "What are you on about?"
Jimmy spoke slowly, as if to a two-year-old, because being high made Chuck stupid. Always had, ever since they were kids. "We should get the band back together."
"We can't."
"Sure we can," he insisted. "I'm not working, your job is crap, what's there to stop us?"
"Rita always said…"
"Who the fuck cares what Rita always said? Rita ain't here. Listen, we call Chris and Reggie, do a few gigs here just to get the kinks out, then go to Blackpool or something. After that, we head to Berlin. They always do that festival there…" Chuck was shaking his head. "What?"
"Chris has got a job, a real one, at a bank or something. And I don't know where Reggie is. Last I heard he was in Armagh."
"Armagh? Where the fuck's Armagh?"
"Northern Ireland."
"Why the fuck'd he go there?"
Chuck shrugged. "Family or something."
Jimmy thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em both. We don't need 'em. You can play bass, and drummers are a dime a dozen. We'll just get a new one." He leaned back, letting his head rest against the back of the sofa, and stared at the ceiling. He sighed. "Everything's been so fucked, ever since that gig at The Starburst. Ever since Rose lost us that gig, everything's been for shit."
Chuck snorted. "Rose lost us that gig? Is that what you think? Rose didn't lose us that gig."
"What are you talking about? Reggie told me that Rose mouthed off to the owner's wife and got us fired."
"Reggie told you? Reggie is the one who got us fired. You remember that girl they had workin' there? You know the one, she bussed the tables, did the dishes, that sort of thing?"
Jimmy thought hard, trying to remember. There had been a girl, tall, skinny… "Yeah," he said slowly. "I think so. What was her name, Trish, Tiffany?"
"Tina."
"Yeah, that's right! Tina! What about her?"
"She and Reggie had a thing goin' on. Only turns out, she was the daughter of the owner. And she wasn't seventeen like she told him. More like fourteen. They got caught comin' out of the storage room. Reggie said he was lucky we just got fired. Five minutes earlier, they would have been caught half-naked and shaggin' against the wall, and he'd have ended up in hospital."
"Twat. I'd have put him in hospital if I'd known."
"Guess that's why he told you it was Rose's fault. You do have a bit of a temper."
"You should talk," he said with a sideways glance at Chuck. He paused for a moment, taking the story in. Memories altered, reconfigured. A confrontation with Rose. An accusation. Rose's denial, one he'd taken as a lie. But she'd been telling the truth.
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jimmy said. He laughed humorlessly. "All this time I blamed Rose. I guess I owe her an apology."
"Too late for that now. That was all years ago. Nobody gives a shit anymore. Reggie's gone, Rose's shacked up with that boyfriend of hers…"
Jimmy sat up abruptly. "What? Rose is livin' with that old man? I thought she was livin' with her mum."
"Nah. Didn't you know?"
Jimmy shook his head. "I knew they were hangin' out together. Didn't know they were actually seein' each other, let alone livin' together."
"Seriously? It's been all over the Estate for weeks. Where've you been?"
"Liverpool," Jimmy reminded him.
"Oh yeah, right. You told me that."
"Wow. Rose is screwin' that old man. What the fuck does she see in him?"
"Dunno. Maybe he's a good lay."
Jimmy snorted. "He'd have to be. She certainly can't be seein' him for his looks."
Chuck laughed. "Too right there."
With a sigh, Jimmy sat back, thinking of Rose. Looking back, things hadn't been that bad with her, particularly in the early days. She'd been fun to be around, almost always able to make him laugh with a joke or a sarcastic comment whispered under her breath. And when she dressed up, she was drop dead gorgeous. She outclassed everyone in the club whenever they performed.
Why the hell had he left her? And for that slag Noosh of all people?
~oOo~
"All right, we're almost there," John said. "The baby's head is crowning." He glanced up at Abhirati's face. She looked worn out, exhausted, beads of perspiration dotting her forehead and running down her face, causing her hair to stick oddly to her skin. "How are you doing? You okay?" She nodded. "Just rest for a second. Couple more pushes and we're done. Let me know when you feel the next contraction begin."
He glanced at Rose, who was seated behind Abhirati on the floor, propping her up. A pile of brand new shop towels, fresh out of their plastic wrappers, lay flat beneath them, serving to both soften the hard surface and absorb all the fluids that came with birth.
Rose gave him an encouraging smile, one he returned.
"Okay, with this next push, Abhirati, I want you to grab your knees and pull on them, and Rose, you push against Abhirati's back as hard as you can. Got it?" he asked.
Both women nodded.
"It's starting," said Abhirati breathlessly.
"Okay, on three. One, two, three, now push!"
Abhirati screamed with the effort, pushing as if a life depended on it, which of course it did. The baby's head emerged from the birth canal.
"Okay, okay, stop, stop for a second." The cord was loosely looped around the baby's neck. John slid a finger underneath it and slipped it over the baby's head. "Okay, the baby's head is out. One or two more hard pushes and he'll be here. Ready?" At Abhirati's nod, "Push!"
With another gush of liquid, the baby slipped out. John caught him neatly in one large hand and wiped him down with a fresh rag. "Oh, good job, Mum! Fantastic! You have a little baby boy." With a syringe from the emergency medical kit Rose had retrieved earlier, he cleared the baby's mouth and nasal passages. The baby began to cry. "Oi, what's all this fuss? Your mum will feed you in just a tic. She's just a bit busy at the moment." He glanced up at Abhirati, who smiled weakly at him. "Almost done. Just need to deliver the afterbirth and you're good to go." He winked at her. "All set?" Another push and the placenta was delivered. Thankfully intact, since that meant there was less of a risk of hemorrhaging.
"Do you need something to cut the cord?" Rose asked.
John shook his head. "No. As clean as Abhirati keeps this place, it's still not a sterile environment. Instead, we'll just wrap it and the placenta up with the baby," he said as he did just that, "And we'll let the medics handle it when they get to the hospital." He handed the precious bundle to Abhirati as the sound of a door opening in the garage echoed into the office. "And here they are now."
But it wasn't. Instead, it was Arthur Mudali who rushed into the room.
"Oh, thank God. I called the hospital, and they said you weren't there, so I came straight…" He broke off as he caught sight of his wife, holding their new baby. "I missed it? He's here?"
"And he's perfect, absolutely perfect, Arthur," John said.
Arthur turned to stare at him, an undecipherable look on his face. "And you…"
"John delivered the baby," said Abhirati. "He and Rose both."
"All I did was catch," John said. "It's your wife that did all the hard work. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wash up."
When he returned to the office from the toilet, face and hands freshly scrubbed, the paramedics were there, helping Abhirati into a wheelchair. Predictably, Arthur was instructing them on how best to do it.
Rose stood to the side of the room, trying to stay out of the way. She was holding the baby, looking down at him in wonder. At the sight, something niggled at the back of his mind, just out of reach.
As if she could tell he was there, she looked up. And with her smile, the world lit up. He smiled back.
Once Abhirati was settled, Rose handed the baby to her.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you both. For everything."
"We can't thank you enough," said Arthur. "Anything you want, just name it."
"Maybe a day off," John joked.
Mudali laughed. "You've got it."
"And I know you've already met," Abhirati interjected. She glanced at her husband, who smiled. "But John, Rose, we'd like you both to meet… Adri John Mudali."
John stared at them open-mouthed. "Seriously?" At their nods of confirmation, "I don't know what to say. I'm honored. I'm truly, truly honored."
And a warm, slim hand, feminine and oh, so familiar, slipped into his and squeezed.
~oOo~
The match having ended, Chuck was now playing a video game. It was one of the racing ones, with odd cartoonish creatures driving around impossible tracks—ones that involved driving up waterfalls or through volcanos or some such—and in which other characters set up road blocks along the way. He'd offered to play it in two player mode, but Jimmy said no. Not only was he uninterested in playing himself—he usually won so the games bored him—but he couldn't even be arsed to watch. Instead, like an old fashioned broken record, his thoughts returned over and over to what Chuck had told him about Rose, about how Rose hadn't been responsible for the loss of the Starburst gig, and particularly how she was shacked up with that mechanic from the garage.
What the hell did she see in him? It wasn't looks, that was for damned sure, and it certainly wasn't money, not if he worked at the garage. And despite what Chuck had said, it couldn't be sex either—after all, the man was old. He'd be surprised if they shagged at all.
"That bloke, what's his name again?"
"Which bloke?" Chuck didn't bother to look at him, so engrossed as he was in what was happening on the screen.
"The one Rose's going with."
"John Smith. I told you that."
"Yeah, right." Then, after a moment, "Does he live out on Davies?"
"Nah, he's right here, in this building. Thought you knew that." Chuck shook the controller in his hands, convinced, Jimmy knew, that it improved his game. Which it never did. "One up, and two over. Why?" Something exploded on the screen, so maybe it did this time.
"No reason. Just, my mum lives out there, and before I left for Liverpool, I used to see Rose a lot over by Davies Street, you know, where it crosses the High Street. At the time, I figured she was seein' someone out there. Since you told me she's livin' with that bloke, I reckoned maybe that's where they live."
"Nope. They're right upstairs." There was another explosion on the screen, and Chuck swore. "Damn. No more lives. Gotta start over." In a huff, he threw the controller down. It landed in a pile of dirty clothes and bounced once before rolling off the laundry and under the sofa. "What's with all the questions about Rose and John?"
Jimmy shrugged and looked away. "Dunno. No reason in particular," he said evasively.
Chuck shook his head in disgust. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous. I don't get you. Three weeks ago, you're writing angry notes to her and leavin' them at her mum's, half an hour ago you hated her guts, and now you want to know where she and her boyfriend live. You're obsessed."
"No, I'm not."
"Then what was with all the notes? Notes I caught hell over?"
"I was pissed off. And drunk."
"So you left notes? Why didn't you just go talk to her?"
"Have you seen her mum? Last time I saw Jackie, she told me she'd have my left nut if I came anywhere near Rose again."
Chuck snorted. "Yeah, that sounds like Jackie Tyler."
"What about you?" Jimmy demanded. "You're on my case for writin' notes to Rose—didn't you tell me you wrote a couple to John, tellin' him to back off of you and Rita?"
Chuck had the grace to look sheepish. "Maybe." He stood up abruptly. "I need a drink. You want somethin'?"
He thought about Rose, wondered what she was doing, if she was shagging John even as they spoke, in their flat on the floor above, right over their heads…
He glanced up at the ceiling, and then just as quickly looked away. "Absolutely."
~oOo~
Later, much later, John and Rose let themselves back into their flat. They had stayed behind to clean up the office, binning the rags and mopping the floor, before locking up and heading home. On their way, they stopped by the takeaway on the corner and picked up Chinese, both being ravenous after missing dinner but far too exhausted to cook after the eventful evening.
After eating, they tidied up. Since they'd had takeaway, that mostly consisted of throwing out a couple of cartons and washing a couple of forks. Rose also put a dish of tuna down for the cat, who wasn't there. When he asked about it, she informed him that she had no intention of getting up early to feed the cat breakfast and this way she could sleep in undisturbed.
Finally, they climbed into bed, Rose in her familiar bananas-in-nightcaps sleep shirt. She snuggled into his side.
"Now, where were we when we were so rudely interrupted?" he asked jokingly.
"I believe you were telling me just how impressive you were," she said. "In fact, you were promising to demonstrate your impressiveness." She reached up and gave him a lingering kiss.
"Twice," he said when they broke apart.
"Twice?"
"I think I promised to impress you twice."
She yawned. "Maybe, but not tonight. I'm absolutely knackered." She yawned again. "That was incredible, wasn't it?"
"What was?"
"Helping Abhirati deliver her baby like that. I never thought I could ever help anyone like that, not here on the Estate I mean."
"It was something, wasn't it?" he said absently. His mind had returned to the sight of Rose holding the baby, and the look of wonder on her face. "Sure makes you think."
"Yeah," she said quietly.
"You ever think about us… I mean, I never thought about it, hadn't occurred to me, but we haven't been…"
"Oh! You don't have to worry about that!" she said in a rush. "I got the implant, couple of years ago. Should still be good for a while yet, I should think." She kissed him on the cheek and snuggled back down into his side.
"Oh," he said. "Oh, good. Fantastic. Glad that's all sorted."
But in his mind's eye, he saw Rose with a babe, his baby, in her arms. And instead of relief, what he felt was a wave of disappointment.