Chapter 4

As she left, Freda called back, “It can strike at any time to any of us: be warned!”

As he came to realise that such events could happen with more than one of his wives, Reg mentally braced himself for a busy time over the next few weeks; or however long this symptom continued. Then he hoped that Freda would remember her appointment with Jessica. If he did not hear back within the hour, he must remind Freda.

There was a rush of girls around the house for a while, then Fiona popped her head in to check that he was still there. She looked white-faced, but was on her feet. “Reg, I have had a bout of morning sickness: not actually sick, but everything but the vomiting. Your blasted baby is causing this. I hope it doesn’t continue for months at a time!”

“Sorry to hear that, Fiona. Tom Hancock warned me that one or more of you would experience that problem, but there is not much anyone can do about it. Come and have a cuddle with me if that will make you feel better in any way.”

“I will in the future, but it has settled down, so I am going to bed to rest for a while. I can’t even invite you to fuck me, much as I would enjoy that. You are not fit for lovemaking yet, I know. Tell me when the doctor frees you for sex, and we can try it out, gently.”

Frances put in an appearance behind Fiona. “Now now, Fiona; first things first,” she warned. “Let’s get you to bed, but keep your phone handy in case you need help unexpectedly.”

Fiona turned and gave Frances a hug. “Thanks for your help, Frances; you and all the other girls. They were so sympathetic.”

“One or more of us may have to face the same thing, Fiona. It is useful for them to see the effects first hand, so they are prepared. I know it won’t worry me so much, now that I have seen it. You coped very well.”

“Yes, but our husband doesn’t have to face these trials, lucky sod!”

Reg apologised, “I understand, Fiona. I don’t have to go through the pain of childbirth too. From what I have read, it can be agonisingly sore. We should ask if there are classes to help with all the trials of pregnancy.”

“There are,” Frances told him. “I spoke to one of the married students who is further along with her pregnancy, and she says there is a good class which gives you exercises to help your body develop pain tolerance, and improves the muscle tone around your pelvic area, in preparation for childbirth. Your birth canal opens more easily with these Kegel exercises to allow the birth to proceed effectively.”

Reg expressed his surprise. “You have done good initial research, my darling Frances, so that should stand you all in good stead. Perhaps it is time we got hold of a midwife to help with the preparations, starting with general advice. She should be able to tell you from experience how things are progressing, week by week.”

“Sure, but first, we have to get you to your own medical check-up. Is it tomorrow or the next day?”

“Gosh, I have lost track. Have you got it written down somewhere, Frances?”

“It is marked on a calendar in the upper hallway, along with regular things such as the day the waste bins are collected for recycling or general waste. I’ll check on it and see that you’re organised for the hospital out-patients department. If I go with you, I can ask about midwife services.”

On the day, Jessica was detailed to drive Reg to the hospital, when they found that the timetable clashed with the university classes. She deposited Reg at the front entrance, before driving off to find a parking space in the short-term section. This took longer than she expected, but Reg had stepped inside and asked about a wheelchair. One of the staff fetched one for him, and Reg gingerly sat down in it. The man asked where Reg wanted to go, but Reg told him, “My wife is parking the car, so she will push me to Outpatients, thanks.”

The man nodded and pointed to the direction sign. “Just follow the signs. You won’t get lost.”

Reg thanked him for his consideration.

Eventually Jessica arrived, stepping inside the front doors and finding him waiting. She checked her watch.

“We should have time before your appointment. Where do we go?”

“Follow the signs. The first one points left, I was told.”

They set off and found the outpatient reception desk. Jessica informed them, “Reginald Robertson for his check-up.” The nurse looked over her schedule, and nodded.

“Ah, yes. Room 5. Please take a seat outside it, in the corridor.”

They went to the assigned seating, and found two people already seated there. Reg carefully moved onto a chair, and Jessica took the wheelchair back to the reception. On her return, the woman said to Jessica, “No rush; the doctor is running late, by about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll leave my husband and get some coffee from the machine.” A vending machine was sited down near the reception desk seating area. Jessica went off, and the nurse looked curiously at Reg. “Husband? You?”

“Yep. Her second. Great girl! I suppose I must be her toy-boy.” He smiled gleefully at her.

The woman’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but she said nothing. Reg sat back and closed his eyes, shutting off conversation. He must have drifted off for a moment, as he found Jessica tapping him on the shoulder.

“Here love. Have some coffee; best NHS brew, but some brand name on the machine.”

Reg accepted the drink, and sipped at it. Nothing special, but it at least passed the time while waiting. Jessica sat beside him.

“Want me to come in with you, Reg?”

“Yes please, darling. I will feel more secure that way.”

“As long as the doctor doesn’t treat me as your mother!”

“I am sure he can estimate our ages accurately, so he will recognise there is no chance of that being possible.”

They sat and chatted as they consumed their drinks. The other man was taken in to the consultant’s room, then ten minutes later he came out and the woman went in. After what seemed a long time, she came out and the nurse called Reg’s name. He entered, holding Jessica’s arm for support.

Standing at the desk was a middle-aged woman. She looked at Reg and Jessica, then back at the notes on the desk. “Ah, the stab wound. Can you sit, Mr Robertson?”

“With care. I have been using pillows in an easy chair at home. This is my wife, Jessica.”

The doctor nodded unconsciously, intent on her medical notes, then noted Jessica’s Asian look. She blinked, but said, “Welcome, Mrs Robertson. Mr Robertson, instead of sitting just yet, please strip to the waist, so I can examine your wound.”

Reg turned to Jessica and she helped him undress, first taking off his jacket while he unbuttoned his shirt. He moved his arms up and Jessica slipped off the shirt before pulling his vest up and over his head. He turned his back to the doctor, so she could see the knife wound. She pulled his pants down lower, to examine the wider area with a quick professional glance. She switched on a small torch to look closely at the healing cut. She noticed it was covered by a thin plastic layer.

“A spray-on dressing?”

Jessica whipped the can out of her handbag and showed it to the doctor. “We got this so it would be easier to wash him in the shower. The hospital recommended it. He can’t reach his back, so he washes his front, and we deal with his back with a sponge. Is it healed enough that he can have a shower? That will make things so much simpler.”

“By the looks of it, the wound is healing nicely. How do you feel, Mr Robertson? Any pain of consequence?”

“Only twinges for most of the time, doctor. If I twist or bend in the wrong way, it hurts, so I have been careful in how I move.”

“That is to be expected. It should continue to improve, if you continue to take care. Any other problems?”

“Only one: when I was sent home I was told I couldn’t have sex until you medics reckoned my cut wouldn’t re-open. When do you think I can have sex?”

“Are you that desperate for sex?”

“Desperate, no; anxious, yes, but I am the one being pressured for sex. Pregnancy does that, I am told!”

The doctor looked up at Jessica with a surprised and generous smile. “You are pregnant, Mrs Robertson?”

She smiled. “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? The others are as well.”

The doctor’s professional smile slipped. “Others?”

“Reg’s other wives. Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Sorry, Reg darling.”

Reg laid a reassuring hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about it, Jessica.” He turned to face the doctor. “Doctor, I have several wives; wives in name and fact, if not in law. It was their decision. They are all students at the university. We are very happy.”

“Is that true, Mrs Robertson?”

“Indeed so, doctor. What I was going to do while at the hospital was to ask about a midwife. Fiona has started having morning sickness.”

“So that is what you meant: you are not the only one who is pregnant!”

“That is so. All the girls decided to get pregnant, once Fiona started. It was quite a surprise for Reg, the poor man. The previous plan was to wait until they graduated.”

The doctor had recovered her professional demeanour, so did not react to the ‘poor man’ comment. Instead she asked, “So you need advice from a midwife?”

“Correct. But first, the girls want to know when they can make love with Reg again; they are feeling deprived.”

“I see. The main factor is not straining his back. The best solution for that, in the short term, is what is termed the ‘cowgirl’ position. Do you know it?”

Reg intruded. “They all know that position, doctor, and I agree. That should put less strain on my back. How long until other positions are advisable?”

“That is up to you, but I would suggest wait a week before trying anything else. Ask your ‘girls’ to do most of the work in the meantime. O.K.?”

“I understand, doctor. Who should we see about a midwife?”

“Do you want one midwife for all of them, whatever number it is?”

“That would be best, doctor,” Jessica interposed, resuming control. “Each visit can cover all six of us.”

“Six? Good God!” the doctor exclaimed, then declared apologetically, “Sorry. Your marital relations are your private business, not mine, and really I ought to get to my next patient. But you are all truly happy?” She was staring at Jessica as she spoke.

Jessica smiled graciously. “We are. Reg is a wonderful young man; very careful and considerate and very loving with it. A real contrast to my first husband, who beat me for years before I escaped!”

“Well, good luck with your life together. As for a midwife, there is an overall shortage at present, though please speak to our maternity staff about the situation locally. If there is a problem, you might want to contact the Association of Radical Midwives (ARM) for advice.

Now, I must get on with my work, so if you don’t mind?...”

She ushered them out of the consulting room, Jessica still thanking her for everything.

Reg asked Jessica if he could get some walking exercise, so instead of hunting a wheelchair Jessica steered him toward the maternity wing, following the signs, but hovering by his side, just in case he should falter. When they got there, Jessica asked at the reception desk about the availability of midwives over a period of months.

She explained, “There are several pregnant ladies in our building. Most of them are university students, all living in the same building, so we wondered if we could arrange for one midwife to look after all of them together, so that in one visit she can see six women, which must be a good use of her time.”

The nurse agreed, but warned, “We have a limited number of NHS midwives here, and they are very busy. Would you be in a financial position to pay for a private midwife if necessary?”

Jessica gazed over at the listening Reg, who gave her a brief nod, so Jessica averred after moving her head from side to side to indicate doubt, “That MAY be possible, but it depends on the hourly rate asked for.”

The nurse told them, “From what I have heard, it is around twenty-five pounds per hour of her time, so if she has six patients, the travel time involved would be a small fraction, and be more cost-efficient for you. Would all six be able to share in the costs?”

Jessica found that a reasonable question. “Everyone either has the finance, or has parents who can help, or a husband who will pay, and my Reg has some money, so we should be able to guarantee payment.”

“In that case, I’ll put you in touch with an organisation that supplies private midwives to expectant mothers. Who is the contact person?”

“Myself. Mrs Jessica Robertson. I’ll write down the address for you, so you have it correct.”

The nurse eyed Reg, and queried, “And the young gentleman with you? A relative?”

“My husband. He had to be here for an outpatient appointment earlier, so we are covering both medical aspects of our family.”

“How nice. I am pleased to meet you, Mr Robertson. Any relationship to the Robertson who was on the front page of the local rag last week or so? We had him in the hospital for a time; a brave man.”

Jessica admitted, “This is him – Reg Robertson, slowly recovering from his experience.”

The nurse beamed, “And you are expecting a child, Mr Robertson? You and Mrs Robertson must be delighted.”

Reg agreed. “We think it is marvellous. I will be adopting Jessica’s daughter from a previous marriage, as well as another girl who wants to become our daughter, but having your own baby is something special.”

“It is. Did this incipient arrival come about from your adventure?”

“Oh, no. It was conceived much earlier than that. We fell in love unexpectedly, after we were thrown together by other circumstances. My so-called ‘adventure’ and its consequences has prevented us from cementing our love more fully, but the doctor has now given the go-ahead for mild lovemaking.”

Jessica smiled and gave a gentle hug to Reg, saying, “I am so pleased with that diagnosis.”

The nurse fished out a leaflet about the private midwifery service she had mentioned.

“Here you are; there’s contact details in it, and you should be able to get someone if you can afford the fees. They are not too high; but I can put you on our waiting list for a midwife in the meantime. I’ll mention it is for the wife of our local hero: that might help.”

Reg offered his thanks as Jessica accepted the leaflet. “You have been very kind. Please do as you suggest. As I said, we have other ladies in our building that will use such a service as well. One midwife may have extra patients to deal with, if we can come to an equitable arrangement.”

They made their way back to the front entrance of the hospital, Reg not much more than shuffling along to favour his back, Jessica holding his arm to keep him steady. As they entered the front foyer with its reception desk, they were confronted with an unexpected scene. A hospital porter was on the floor with blood dripping from his body; another man standing over him wielding a knife, but somewhat unsteadily. That he was a drunk became obvious when he challenged the man on the floor to get up and fight.

Reg was quick to the fray, even though it was with his voice.

“Hey, man! Don’t be stupid! That guy on the floor needs a doctor; he is not going to get up for you.”

The drunk turned his attention to the shouting lad.

“Shut up, sonny, or you’ll get the same,” the drunk managed to respond.

“I already have a knife wound in my back, you idiot. Knives are a bad idea at the best of times. What do you intend to achieve with a blasted knife, man?”

“Clever, are you? Clever enough to get another stab in your body?” he accused as he stumbled towards Reg, ignoring the groaning, bleeding man on the floor. Reg braced himself for what was coming, forgetting all about Jessica.

Jessica, for her part, had determined what she should do to protect her man. She geared up her plan, and intervened.

“Excuse me sir? Could you help me find my way?”

As the now confused drunk swung round towards Jessica’s interruption, she brought her knee up viciously into his groin, and grinned in satisfaction as her victim collapsed to the ground, clutching his privates. The knife was dropped, and skittered across the lino flooring.

“Nobody attacks my man, especially when he is ill!” she called out to the now whimpering man on the floor.

Seeing the end to the affray, a couple of males in hospital attire rushed to the aid of the injured porter, and in moments had him on a wheeled stretcher and heading to the Accident and Emergency section nearby. Jessica stood near the groaning drunk, ready to hit him again if needed to keep him out of action. Reg stood for a moment, astounded by Jessica’s heroic action, then carefully ambled over to sit down on a convenient chair. The resolution to this action could take a while, he reckoned.

Sure enough, the wailing of a police siren heralded two police officers rushing through the front entrance as soon as the automatic doors would let them, tazers at the ready. Spotting Jessica standing over a groaning man, they jumped to the wrong conclusion, and ordered her to stand to one side and put her hands behind her back.

Reg called out, “She is not the culprit! She was protecting me, officers.”

One of the policemen strode over to Reg and demanded he stand up for questioning. Reg gingerly and slowly stood, explaining, “Injured back, sorry. I shouted at the one with the knife, and he tried to get at me, but Jessica gave him the knee.”

“Jessica?” the policeman asked for clarification.

Reg gestured in her direction. “My wife. She was protecting me from the drunk with the knife. He had already stabbed a porter. If you don’t mind, I’ll sit down again.”

At this point one of the reception staff approached the police officers, and pointed to the abandoned knife.

“Officer, this man on the floor had that knife and stabbed our porter, who is now being treated. This patient distracted the attacker towards himself – brave man – and when the drunk man with the knife approached him, the woman with him kneed the attacker and put him on the floor. She was very brave as well. I don’t know who she is.”

The policeman who had spoken with Reg told her, “She is this man’s wife.”

The counter assistant looked again at Reg, and her eyes widened in recognition. “You were on the front page of the Gazette!”

Reg nodded slightly, in acknowledgement, but stated, “But my wife was the hero here, not me!”

Jessica recoiled at being designated a hero. “Reg, I was just stopping him getting to you!”

He looked back at her calmly. “I did the same for you in Scarborough; so?”

“But I didn’t kill the man, did I?”

“No, so you did much better than me, my darling.”

“Don’t be silly,” she retorted automatically, then stared at Reg. “You mean that?”

“I do. You managed to rescue me without killing the assailant; I failed in that way.”

“Golly. I didn’t look at it like that; just tried to get him to drop the knife. I did what I thought necessary in the circumstances: what I learned in our self-defence classes.” Her eyes moistened. “I was not going to lose you, my love.” She leaned down and gave him a long passionate kiss.

“All right, break it up, you two,” demanded the second policemen. “According to the staff, after the porter was stabbed, you, young man, distracted the assailant by shouting at him. He then approached you, and your wife assaulted him with her knee to prevent him getting to you. Why didn’t you stand up for yourself, being a man?” he accused.

Jessica was not going to stand for this.

“Officer, that is quite enough! Reg has a stab wound in his back from when he rescued me in Scarborough recently. He was not in a fit state to be heroic this time, so I had to step in. There was no way I would allow him to be harmed again; NO WAY! Understand?” Her voice was raised, so everyone could hear her insistence.

The policeman halted at this tirade and stared at her, then at Reg, recognition dawning. “Reg? Scarborough? Reg Robertson! I remember that story. Good grief: you do live an adventurous life, Mr Robertson.”

Reg grinned wryly. “Not of my choosing, constable. I prefer the quiet life of academia.”

“Oh, yes; you are at the university, it said. So what brought you here, today?”

“Medical check-up of my knife wound. It is healing well, apparently.”

Someone must have phoned the local newspaper, for a young reporter rushed in the front door, phone in hand ready to record the story.

“Someone said there had been a knife attack: who was injured?”

The counter assistant, who had called him, told him, “Jeremy Fisher, the porter on duty. He tried to intercept a drunk coming in, and the man pulled out a knife and stabbed him. He is being treated now in A & E.”

“Excellent. Any witnesses?” He ignored the police, as they were only secondary sources for the story. The counter lady said, “Mr and Mrs Robertson. They diverted the drunk and disarmed him.”

“Robertson, eh?” he turned to look at Reg, and his eyes widened in immediate recognition. “Not you again, Mr Robertson? You were a witness this time?”

Reg declared, “Yes. I am not fit enough to do anything physically.”

“And whom is this lady with you?”

“This is my wife.”

“Right.” He looked at the much older Jessica in surprise, mentally shrugged, and asked, “Can I have your details, Mrs Robertson? First name, age, etc.?”

“No, you can’t,” she insisted.

“Pardon?” The young journalist looked flustered at this impasse.

Reg butted in, “She has personal issues that means she cannot give further details. You must simply call her ‘Mrs Robertson’ if you want to use her in your story.”

“The editor is not going to be happy, Mr Robertson.”

“It is not our job to make your editor happy,” Reg argued. “It is our job to stay safe, and that is more important.”

“I suppose. Whatever. So, Mrs Robertson, did you see what happened?”

The reporter’s arm was grabbed by the counter lady. “She was the hero, this time. She brought down the attacker!”