No face. In her ears a piercing squeal. At first she thought she was at Utra and Ronald was helping Joseph to kill another pig. That would explain the blood, the red hands and the terrible high-pitched sound. Then she realized the noise was her own voice screaming. Someone rested a dry hand on her forehead and murmured words she didn’t understand. She spat out an obscenity at him. More pain. This is what it is to die. The drug must be wearing off because she had a sudden burst of clarity as she opened her eyes again to bright, artificial light. No, this is what it is to give birth. ‘Where’s my baby?’ She could hear the words slightly blurred by the pethidine. ‘He was having problems breathing on his own. We’ve just given him some oxygen. He’s fine.’ A woman’s voice. A Shetlander, slightly patronizing, but convincing, and that mattered most. Further away a man with blood to his elbow grinned awkwardly. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Retained placenta. Better to get it out here than take you to theatre.
