James - Thirty-Two WeeksI perch a hip on an old stone wall, looking down the mountain, the meadows, the lake. The weather is fine and warm; late Summer drawing into Autumn and...Life is good.I have the woman I love, friendship, money, rewarding work, a wonderful home and, in only a few months, a new baby daughter. I raise my glass in a silent toast.Looking forward to meeting you Cara...My cup overflows.Where's Charlotte?I'd like her with me, just to share this moment.Heaving myself upright, I go in search of her. I move easily. With the sunshine, even my bad leg is behaving itself.I find her in the restaurant, by the big picture window that looks down the mountain to the lake, Charlotte sits between Michael's Gran, his Aunty Edna and another of the tribe that I don't recognise...Or do I? I have trouble separating out the legion of old harpies occupying the upper echelons of Michael's family, but I do vaguely recall Michael threatening me with a nasty
Klempner - ThailandI set out early, catching the sunrise and making the most of what passes for the cool of the dawn here. Even given the purpose of my trek, I can take the time to look around and appreciate the beauty of my surroundings.I've travelled pretty much everywhere that is reachable without being Shackleton or Hillary, and while it is something I enjoy, the actual 'travel' part of travelling is usually uninteresting. There's only so much variety in cabins and airports.But this is different.There is something about walking: hiking to your destination, connecting with the landscape, that makes the journey more real. And it doesn't get any realer than it is here.So early in the day, hiking up the trail through verdant forest, high up the mountain; sun-slanted mist weaves through the canopy.Trail over-plays the track I'm following. No human laid this route. Some animal probably made it, but of course, most of them are much closer to the ground than I am. From my
James – Thirty-Five WeeksI stride into the kitchen fanning smoke away from my face.Charlotte stands by the grill, the pan a grisly mess of soot and curled-up charcoal.She bursts into tears. "I burned the toast."Briskly dipping a tea-towel into the sink, I drape it over the grill-pan, then pull her into a hug. "It's not a disaster. No harm's been done. And we can afford another loaf." I guide her to the table. "Now sit down and I'll make you some more toast. What would you like on it? Honey? Marmalade? Cheese?"She sniffles, her face low. "Just butter, please." Then she jerks up again. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean...""Charlotte... Charlotte..." I draw up a chair by her, pull her face to mine, kiss her forehead. "You have it all out of proportion. Come on, see the funny side." I cast down. "Look, Scruffy will eat your burnt offering if no-one else will."Then I regret my words. The pint-sized mongrel grins up ingratiatingly, displaying more teeth than the average w
Klempner - ThailandHours later, my water-break is a half-forgotten dream. I'm sweaty and uncomfortable. The sun has westered beyond the treeline and shadows draw long.It's been tough; not so far in terms of distance covered, but the going is steep and over broken ground that bizarrely, has left me with a crick in my neck from constantly looking down to watch where I place my feet.But it's levelling out now, getting easier, and I'm leaving the treeline behind me, the trees thinning. Still hiking hard, I check the mapping app. Despite my break, I'm where I intended to be by now, the trail skirting around the mountain, more or less on a contour.Behind me, above and to my left, the forest is thick and impenetrable. To my right, ahead of me, a sheer drop, some hundreds of feet of rocky cliff-face, has opened up the view. I look over mile upon myriad mile of forest, stretching out in waves of mountain height, valley delve and misted crevasse.But on the edge of my vision, forwa
James – Thirty-Seven weeksThe wee small hours. A full moon slants across the floor, tinting the room in weird monochromatic shades, painting everything in shades of light and dark.Michael lies in his accustomed position on the far side of the bed, his back to me but his ribs moving with the smooth rise and fall of sleep.Between us lies Charlotte, and I lie spooned around her, her spine pressed against my chest, and my arm curving around her so I can rest a hand over her distended belly. Every so often, there's movement against my fingers from inside my sleeping love; a foot or an elbow, pushing at me and I smile to myself as my unborn daughter parties through the night.Charlotte sighs and shifts, the rhythm of her breathing changing.Is she asleep? Keeping my voice low, "You alright?""I'm fine, Master." She sounds a little sleepy, but not just that. Something else lurks there.I nuzzle into her hair to kiss the back of her neck. "You sure of that?"She's sile
Michael – Thirty-Eight WeeksCharlotte waddles into the lounge. And it's a slow waddle. Her feet drag and her breathing's heavy, her face flushed.I stand, offering my arm to help her sit. "You okay, Babe?""I suppose." She reaches around herself, trying to rub at the small of her back. "I'm so tired all the time. And so hot..."Just as well it's winter..."... And my back's hurting." She's drooping almost as I watch.I follow her hand with mine to the base of her spine, feeling for the pressure-point; where she's tense. "Why don't I give you a massage? Let's see if we can ease this up for you a bit.""That would be nice."I slide my arm under hers, trying to help her back up again. She heaves upwards, then drops back. So instead, I stand, this time giving her both hands to haul her onto her feet. "C'mon, let's get you upstairs onto the bed and I'll see what I can do."*****On the bed, she's so quiet. Lying on her side, her back turned to me, head on a pillow, her
James - Thirty-Nine WeeksThe nurse is brisk, speaking from a view between Charlotte's knees. "Everything is fine. The baby has turned and is now in the correct position for delivery. And..." She nods down to Charlotte's 'dropped' abdomen, "... you can see for yourself that she is moving down. You're a textbook case, Mrs Summerford."I squeeze Charlotte's hand and the nurse sits upright. "Your cervix is at half an inch, but that's not a very reliable sign of anything, especially for your first. What I would say is..."She swings to me, her attention moving between my face and the space between Charlotte's knees. "... Have the hospital bag packed and you..." She levels a finger at me... "...make sure you have petrol in your tank. When you're sure she's in full labour, bring her in.""Of course. Thank you, nurse."She lays a hand on my arm. "Everything is absolutely normal, Mr Summerford. Exactly what we'd expect at this stage. Don't you worry about anything. Your wife's in goo
MichaelIn utter horror, I watch the monitor, the scene unfolding; Charlotte, all but helpless in her advanced pregnancy, assaulted, drugged unconscious and taken.And on the point of going into labour...Even in her current condition, she fights back, punching out at her assailants, landing a punch on the one with the hypodermic, screaming for help...There's no sound, it's video only, but her cry is so obvious..."Mast..."... as she shrieks for James. And is cut short.Her Master...Her sworn protector...So close... Only in the waiting area...So far...The back of a hand across Charlotte's face sends her reeling, rattling her long enough for the needle to drive in. Within seconds her eyes roll closed, and she sags into the arms of her attackers.And I was barely any further away than James... Probably strolling into the hospital as they took her. Exchanging chit-chat with him as...Nausea billows up inside me...It's not real...This can't be real...