Page 58 of The Mother-in-Law

‘That sounds about right,’ I’d say. All this fuss about naps.

‘No junk,’ she’d say when I was taking Archie to the movies, but what child didn’t have popcorn and a choc-top when they went to a film with their grandmother?

But clearly, she’d had a point. And I should have listened to her.

Archie had been begging to go in the pool all day. And why not? I enjoyed a swim myself and there was no question I wouldn’t supervise him. I’d shower him afterward and he’d fall off to sleep, exhausted, and Lucy would be none the wiser. That’s what I figured. And now, here we are. On the way to hospital.

I thought I’d done everything right. I waited for Tom to get home. Harriet was too young to swim, and besides, I wouldn’t have trusted myself with both kids in the pool at once.

‘Tom,’ I said when he walked in the door, ‘can you hold Harriet for me so I can swim with Archie?’

For someone who is so fond of holding his grandchildren, Tom was surprisingly reluctant. ‘Oh. Can’t you just put her in the pram?’

‘I think she’d prefer a cuddle from her grandfather.’

Archie was already naked, running for the pool, leaving a trail of clothing in his wake. ‘Archie, don’t run!’ I called after him. The floor is limestone and slippery when wet. At one end is a giant fish tank, which I think is over the top, but Tom insisted and the children love it.

‘Take Harriet up that end and let her look at the fish,’ I said.

Tom did, reluctantly. He was in a strange mood; I didn’t know what was bothering him. I slid inflatable armbands onto Archie and he dive-bombed into the pool while I got in slowly via the steps. Tom carried Harriet over to look at the fish. She is a pudgy baby, shorter and much fatter than Archie was. I watched her chunky legs kick insistently as she watched the fish swim past.

‘Watch this, Dido,’ Archie said, and I watched him pretend to walk down the street and then accidentally fall into the pool. Funny little fellow.

I glanced at Tom and noticed he was holding Harriet strangely, sort of using his forearms to press her against him. By the time I realised she was slipping, it was too late. I pulled myself up and out of the pool but I was still several metres away when Harriet slid from his grip and her head hit the limestone tiles with a crack.

In the ambulance, I sing ‘Old MacDonald’.

‘Old MacDonald had a farm. Ee ii ee ii oo.’

There is blood. A lot of blood. Heads bleed a lot, I remember someone saying that once. Lots of blood vessels close to the surface of the skin or something.

‘With a quack quack here, and a quack quack there . . .’

Harriet is awake, which is a good sign, but she’s very distressed, has vomited twice and a sizable bruise is already coming up on the side of her head. She seems drowsy, but itisher nap time. My job, the paramedic said, is to keep her awake. And so, I sing.

‘. . . here a quack, there a quack, everywhere aquack quack. . .’

It’s funny, the places the mind goes. My mind drifts from the idea that I may have permanently injured my grandchild, to the question of why Tom dropped her at all. Mostly my mind sticks on what I’m going to say to Lucy. I know what it’s like being told that you might not get to keep your baby. I remember that feeling as if it were yesterday. I cannot be the reason that Lucy has to hear these words.

I run my fingers through Harriet’s soft, baby hair.

‘Ee ii ee ii oo.’

Lucy and Ollie arrive at the hospital in a flurry. Ollie is in his work clothes, minus the suit jacket—he must have come in such a hurry he didn’t stop to put it on. Lucy is still dressed in the tracksuit she wore when I picked up the kids this morning.

This morning feels like a lifetime ago.

‘Lucy,’ I start, but she ignores me, rushing to Harriet’s side. I cringe. Harriet looks terrible. Her head is bandaged but blood soaks through the gauze. Lucy rears back in horror.

‘Is she . . . unconscious?’

At first I think Lucy is talking to me but then I realise there is a tired-looking doctor in the doorway. She’s dressed in scrubs and glasses dangle around her neck on a chain.

‘Your daughter has been sedated for an MRI,’ the doctor says. ‘We do that with young children, to make sure they’ll lie still. Try not to worry.’

‘Why does she need an MRI?’

‘It’s just a precaution. She has a depressed skull fracture, which may require surgery to lift the bone to prevent it pressing against the brain. We also need to check for cerebral lacerations and contusions, which are tears and bruises to the surface of the brain,’ the doctor says. ‘This can happen when the skull is fractured. Your daughter was vomiting in the ambulance, so we want to make sure we don’t miss anything. Chances are, she’ll be fine, but we can’t be too careful with head injuries.’ There is movement in the doorway—a nurse gesturing to the doctor. She nods, then looks back at Lucy. ‘I’m just going to check that we have everything ready here, and then we will be back to get Harriet.’