“Oh…piss off!” I shouted, picking up my shoe and yanking open the car door, “You’re about a pint past sober! Mind your own business!”

“Mia’am, I was watching you inside. You’re about ten past sober!” The man laughed again and walked back into the pub, letting the door slam.

I sat in the passenger’s seat and shut the door.

Oliver got in the car, “Well, that was a bit awkward,” He said mildly, sticking a key in the ignition, “We should go somewhere much more private than that, don’t you think, Love?”

“Definitely.”

He looked over at me and motioned with his thumb, “Back there all right with you then?”

“Perfect!” I was over the seat before him.

It was not quite light out when we woke up naked and tangled in the back of the car. “Oh, good God!” Oliver slipped on his jeans, slowly and with great effort, “I think someone blasted a rocket off from between my ears.” He hit his head on the window closing his button and pressed his hands to his skull.

“Where is my skirt?” I fumbled with my knickers and finally just dropped them on to the floor and picked up a shirt.

Oliver looked about and then pulled it out from under his legs, “Here. Your shirt’s buttoned crooked, Love. Actually, that’s my shirt.”

“I don’t care,” I pulled up my skirt and gave up almost immediately on zipping it.

Oliver yawned and rubbed his head, “It’s a good thing I didn’t drive. I think I was a bit more juiced up than I realised. Lord, I have to pee!”

“Well, go do it!”

“I will!” He pulled on his undershirt and got out of the car.

“My neck is killing me.” I whimpered as he got into the front seat.

“When we get home I’ll rub it for you.”

“I think I’m going to puke.”

“You probably are.”

“Oh, I feel wretched, Oliver.”

“You’ll be all right.”

I decided it was better for me to stay in the back instead of joining him in front. We drove on in silence until he pulled up at the end of our path and stopped the car, “We’re home, Love. You all right?”

“My head hurts.”

“Sorry,” He said sincerely.

“Don’t be. I did this to myself.” I lay down on the seat.

We were both quiet. Oliver dozed off in the front for about an hour while I suffered in the back. Finally, I shoved the door open and vomited all over the grass. I felt much better when I was through.

“That was commanding,” Oliver observed, putting a hand on the small of my back, “Are you through, Love?”

“I think so.”

“You ready to go in then?”

“Oh, yes,” I got out of the car on the other side as to avoid my mess and began to make my way across the garden. I was about half way when my skirt, which I had not zipped, fell down and I tripped over it, sprawling in the grass. It seemed like too much of an effort to get up, so I didn’t.

Oliver sat beside me, “Bare arsed, face down on the lawn. God, I’m proud I’m married to you,” He waved a piece of gum before my eye, “Here, Love, chew that. It’ll help the taste in your mouth. At least you had your hair back, eh?”

“Aye,” I took the gum and put it in my mouth, turning on to my back with my eyes closed. Oliver collapsed beside me flat on his face with his arms to his sides.

Both of us slept for a little while. When I woke, I rolled on to my knees. I spat out my gum and focused my eyes on the cabin. I was gauging the distance, considering whether or not I wanted to make a crawl for it.

“You know, Silvia,” Oliver rubbed my thigh, “You’re beautiful when you’re recovering from a night of debauchery. Want to give it another go?”

“Oh, yes. Right here, Sweetheart. It’s just too far to the house.”

Funny how it all happened. All in one day, Alexander married Lucy, Oliver and I saw a bunch of old friends, got drunk, almost had sex in public, wound up making love twice in our car, then did it again later in our front garden, passed out and woke up freezing in the November chill, oddly with sunburns on our bottoms and backs.

Best of all, six weeks later I discovered that I was pregnant.

Who would have guessed Lucy would be, too?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Antonia Rose and Elizabeth Elena Dickinson were born eight and a quarter months later at ten sixteen and ten twenty six am respectively. After a rough pregnancy that included going into full blown labour at only five months followed by three months of taking drugs and lying flat on her back with her feet up to avoid it happening again, Lucy had gone into labour early once again the night before.

The whole thing was very scary. Oliver called to tell me that the water had ruptured on one of the amniotic sacks while he’d been at the house. He’d gone with Alexander to take Lucy to the hospital and there was no stopping it now, early or not, the babies were coming. Lucy took this quite calmly. She was, as any other first time mother, completely clueless. Oliver came home after an hour or so, saying that her labour was progressing very slowly and we didn’t need to rush out. Alex would call when it got serious.

And so we spent an evening with all four children in the cabin and we went to bed without much concern. Alexander called us at about nine in the morning to tell us that she was in full blown labour. After hours of only mild contractions, she had completely dilated within twenty minutes, was in horrible pain, and by the time she was to begin pushing she had become hysterical.

“Can you come?” He sounded desperate, “Right now, Silvia?”

“I can,” I said uncertainly, “I have to collect the children…”

“I need you now! Lucy needs you now!”

“We’ll be there straight away,” I assured him. There was something in his tone that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I hung up with Alex and told Ollie what was happening. We were out of the cabin and on the road to Newtown in a flash.

When we got to hospital, I could hear Lucy screaming all the way down the hall. “I told her she needed to take the drugs,” I covered my ears with my hands. I felt like I was going to vomit, “A natural childbirth, she said! Oh, my poor, stupid little sister! Listen to her!”

Oliver wrapped me in his arms, closing my one ear with his chest and the other with his hand, “It’s OK, Love. There are doctors with her.”

“Is that Mummy carryin’ on?” Nigel, obviously concerned, turned and looked at Oliver. Ollie reached out and put his hand on the boy’s head, but said nothing.

Edmond and Ana had been there when we’d arrived. Ana was sitting in a chair to my right, clutching her purse in her hands. She looked pale. “Eddie,” She made a motion with her eyes, “Take the children and go down the hall, please,” Edmond nodded and gathered up the children. With promises of crisps from the vending machine, they happily followed him out of the waiting room. Ana stared straight ahead, but her chin quivered.

“Mum?” Oliver said gently, taking a step toward her, “Don’t cry! It’ll be fine! Oh, come here! I’ve got arms for both of you!”

She stood and fell against her son. Oliver was holding us both under each arm whispering consolation when Alexander came sprinting down the hall. He skidded to a stop, “Silvia! You’re here! Thank God! Can you please come? She’s completely mental!”

I nodded. Alexander took my hand. I waddled as fast as I could along behind him, being eight months along myself. I looked over my shoulder and watched Oliver draw his mother in with both arms. “Be strong for her, Love!” He called after me. “She’ll get through it!”

“They gave her something to calm her down, but she’s asking for you. She’s lost it completely!” Alexander was stressed. I could see the vein pulsing in the side of his neck as it only did when he was very upset, “I’ve never seen anyone like this!”

Lucy was lying in her bed moaning when I entered the room. When she saw me, her eyes widened. She looked crazed, not at all like sweet little Lucy, “Oh, Silvia!” She held her hand out for me, “I’m dying, Silvia! I’m dying just like Mummy…”