The Janus Stone

‘And what happened to Ruth? How come she collapsed?’

In reply, Cathbad holds something out. Nelson recoils.

‘What the hell’s that?’

It is Max who answers. ‘It’s a model of a newborn baby. When I saw it, I thought…’

‘So did I,’ says Cathbad, sounding rather shamefaced. ‘That’s why I sent you the message.’

Nelson looks at the model. It is an anatomically perfect plastic replica of a full-term foetus. Its face is blank, its eyes sightless. Turning it over, he sees a name stamped at the base of the spine. ‘It’s from the museum,’ he says. ‘I went to some ridiculous party there and I remember it. They’ve got these models of foetuses at all stages of development.’

Max looks as if he is about to speak but at that moment the doctor (a disconcertingly youthful Chinese woman) appears in front of them.

‘Are you with Miss Galloway?’

‘Yes,’ answers Nelson immediately.

‘How is she?’ asks Cathbad.

‘Still unconscious but her vital signs are good. She should come round soon. I understand she’s pregnant?’

‘About sixteen weeks,’ says Cathbad, ‘I told the ambulance crew.’

The doctor nods soothingly. ‘There’s no sign of a miscarriage but we’ll do a scan later. Go in and talk to her. It might help her come round.’

The invitation seems to be addressed to Cathbad alone but all three men follow the doctor into a side ward, where Ruth is lying in a curtained cubicle. Her name is already at the end of her bed. This efficiency strikes Nelson as ominous. Aren’t people meant to wait for ages in Casualty, lying on a stretcher in the corridor?

Ruth is lying on her side with one arm flung over her head. She seems to be muttering under her breath. Cathbad sits beside her and takes her hand in his. Nelson stands awkwardly behind him. Max hovers by the curtain, seemingly uncertain about whether he should stay or go.

‘What’s she saying?’ asks Nelson.

‘Sounds like Tony,’ says Cathbad.

‘Toby?’ suggests Max from the background.

Suddenly Nelson steps forward. ‘Wake up, Ruth!’ Ruth’s eyes flicker under her lashes.

‘Don’t shout at her,’ says Max. ‘That’s not going to help.’

Nelson turns on him furiously. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

But Cathbad is looking at Ruth.

‘She has come back to us,’ he says.

‘What’s happened?’ Ruth’s voice is faint, but accusatory, as if somehow this is all their fault.

‘You fainted,’ says Cathbad. His voice is soothing. ‘You’ll be fine.’

Ruth looks, rather desperately, from one face to another. ‘The baby?’ she whispers.

‘Fine,’ says Cathbad bracingly. ‘They’ll do a scan but there’s no sign that anything’s wrong.’

‘The baby in the trench?’

‘It was a model,’ says Nelson, ‘some nutter must have put it there for a joke.’

He holds out the plastic baby. Ruth turns her head away and tears slide down her cheeks.

‘Your baby’s OK,’ says Nelson in a softer voice. Ruth looks up at him and somehow it seems as if they can’t look away. The seconds turn into minutes. Max fiddles with a hand sanitiser on the wall. Cathbad, of course, is incapable of embarrassment.

‘I think,’ he says brightly, ‘that we should all give thanks to the goddess Brigid for Ruth’s safe recovery.’

Luckily, at that minute a nurse pushes aside the curtains and says that they are transferring Ruth to another ward. They will keep her in for the night, she says, just for observation. ‘And in the morning,’ she says cheerfully, ‘one of your friends can drive you home.’ She looks at the three men, from Cathbad’s purple cloak to Max’s mud-stained jeans and Nelson’s police jacket, and her smile fades slightly.

In the morning, Ruth is only too keen to leave hospital. At first it had been wonderful to lie between the cool, starched sheets and have kind nurses bring her tea and toast. They had wheeled her down for the scan and there was Toby, floating happily in his clouds. To Ruth’s embarrassment she had cried slightly, sniffling into the pink tissues handed to her by a nurse. Jesus, they’re so nice in here. It’s a wonder they don’t go mad.