Where Have We Come - A story of baby loss, family and love: University Reena & Nikesh, #2

Praise

An honest and insightful look at the impact of a tragedy on a family. A FINALIST and highly recommended!

The Wishing Shelf Book Award 2020

Where Have We Come is sincere and raw, a real tear-jerker. Saz Vora provides honest insight into the prejudices and trials that haunt couples from different backgrounds

Indies Today

A beautiful love story. It is modern and global in thought, yet fiercely Indian at heart.

Nik and Reena are unforgettable characters. They will stay with me for a long time to come.

Sarah Ismail, Editor, Same Difference.

A thought-provoking story that explores the complex emotions of giving birth to and the losing a child extremely sensitively. Saz recounts her personal journey tackling topics such as generational conflicts, economic privilege, cultural issues and gender politics with the backdrop of Bollywood.

Dr Pushpinder Chowdhry, MBE, Festival Director, UK Asian Film Festival

About Me

I grew up straddling British and Gujarati Indian culture. My books are stories that make you think, for readers who like the multicultural layers of South Asian family drama, Bollywood style gatherings and lots of references to food. I draw on my upbringing in England and the layers of complexity of living with my Indian heritage and my Britishness and use this to create stories to represent people from a diverse community with honest and positive life experiences.

Where Have We Come was a finalist in The Wishing Shelf Book Awards 2020, it is based on true events that has shaped my outlook on life’s trials and tribulations. My short story Broad Street Library was long listed in Spread the Word Life Writing Prize 2020.

Please visit my website, where you can read my blog and sign up to my newsletter where I will share, missing scenes, recipes, playlists and all things book related.

Website www.sazvora.com

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

My Heart Sings Your Song - Book One

University Reena & Nikesh Duet

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Note from Saz

The spelling used in this book is British which may be strange to American readers, but NOT to those living in Australia, Canada, India, Ireland or the United Kingdom. This means color is colour. I hope this is not confusing and will not detract from your reading experience.

The Gujarati words used in this book can be found in the Glossary at the back.

WHERE HAVE WE COME

Copyright © 2020 by Saz Vora

www.sazvora.com

Book Cover design by Mita Gohel

ISBN: 978-1393850854

First edition. March, 2020.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1  

Where Have We Come

You’re my moon, you’re my sun, you’re the star of my eyes.

Translated lyrics from Chanda Hai Tu Mera Suraj Hai Tu Lata Mangeshkar, Anand Bakshi

SOUNDTRACK

To enhance your reading experience, you can listen to the playlist for Where Have We Come on Spotify

Songs for Amar- Where Have We Come

Dedication

For Chetan.

To Papa I miss you so much.

One

January 6th, 1990 – four years later

UMI ARRIVES WITH A TOTE BAG and gives me a hug.

You’ve grown so big, she pushes me away, the bag rubbing against my side.

I know, I say, stroking my belly.

So what time is Anne-Marie coming?

I tell her Anne-Marie is working today and won’t be coming until her shift finishes. Her eyes dart towards the clock. Let’s have tea and cake, she says and heads for the galley kitchen that runs at the back of the open-plan living area of our renovated Victorian workman’s cottage.

I sit at the round table as Umi collects the teapot, teacups, saucers and plates from the kitchen cupboards. She pulls out a Marks and Spencer Victoria sponge and brings the plate to the table, saying, I’ve missed cake.

Don’t they eat cake in Thailand? I ask.

Not Marks and Spencer Victoria sponge. Don’t get me wrong, the food was amazing. She cuts a huge slice, takes a bite and walks back to the kettle.

She takes my hand. So, what’s wrong?

I wish the dreams would stop. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Umi and I don’t have any secrets. She has been through my highs and lows and knows all about my anxiety attacks.

I should have stayed here, she adds.

No, I reply, looking at her concerned face.

Umi had been to Thailand for Christmas, after another breakup with Peter. They had already broken up twice before and somehow drifted back together. Umi is ready to take their relationship to the next level. Peter isn’t in the same space. She was devastated when they broke up this time and booked the holiday on a whim, wanting to get as much distance from Peter as possible.

Did you have a good time?

She looks glorious, her naturally curly hair shining and her beautiful skin glowing from exposure to the sun. I wonder what is stopping Peter from committing to her.

Yes, I loved it all. Massage, spas, swimming, being waited on. I’m glad I went, but we’re talking about you. Still the same dreams?

Yes, the little girl is so beautiful and mischievous. I feel I know her.

I went to see a clairvoyant, and she told me you were going to have a girl.

My jaw drops. Are you serious? When did you start believing in that mumbo jumbo?

I just needed some help to move on, she says, her voice hushed.

I’m sorry. He does love you. He just isn’t ready yet. I pull Umi towards me, her eyes dim with sadness.

What shall we eat tonight? she asks me, raising a thin smile.

The doorbell interrupts us.

Umi goes to answer it. We had been catching up on my Christmas break. Usually, Nik and I go away for winter sun, but this year as the baby is due in the second week of January, we hadn’t had a choice but to stay in London. We’d gone to my family for Christmas Day and had spent New Year at Shakti Bhavan. The rest of our holiday had been spent watching our favourite films, eating our favourite foods and making the most of our time together before the baby arrives. We planned to spend one last Saturday night separately, Nik with his friends and me with mine.

This morning I woke up with the taste of bile in my mouth and had thrown up; the anxiety dream of losing the little girl was too vivid. When Nik was getting ready to go out, I’d been fearful of the separation from my husband, and he’d taken me in his arms and had said, Let’s cancel. Everyone will understand. I had pulled myself together and told him I was just hormonal and wanted to spend time catching up with Umi. When he left, Nik kissed me longingly, raising his wicked eyebrow. Are you sure we don’t have time for a quick kiss and cuddle? I’d laughed and my stomach flipped as I looked into his sparkling eyes.

Hello, Reena.

Anne-Marie is in the small entrance hall, her strawberry-blonde hair tied into a messy knot. She pulls off her round silver-rimmed glasses and wipes them with a tissue. How are you today? she asks me and then turns to Umi, Wow! Umi, you’re glowing. Did you meet someone interesting in Thailand? she teases.

Umi chortles, Not everyone goes to Thailand for that. You’re early; we weren’t expecting you until seven-thirty.

I finished my work sooner than I thought, and I’ve left Ree’s number with Bill if they need me. She sits down on the sofa next to me and says, So do you think this will be our last girls’ night in, Reena?

I guess so, until the baby’s at least six months old and sleeping through the night, I reply.

So, where have they gone for their boys’ night out? she asks me.

They’re at Gino’s so not far ... just in case. I rub my tummy and see panic momentarily in her eyes.

He’s not due until the seventeenth. The due date’s still the same? she quizzes.

Yes, I laugh, I’m only teasing, although my body is practising lately as I’ve had some powerful Braxton Hicks contractions for the past two days.

Let me say hello. She kneels down in front of me and speaks into my tummy.

Hello, baby. It’s your masi here. How are you today? An elbow pokes my belly button, and we watch in amazement at my rotund belly.

Did you see that? Umi whispers. Can’t believe she responded like that. Her eyes twinkle in awe. How long has this been going on? she questions us.

Quite a lot, I tell her. You should see my belly when Nik sings; the baby spins round and round.

It’s my turn. She pushes Anne-Marie aside and kneels down to speak at my belly.

Hello, darling. I’m your favourite masi; I’m looking forward to meeting you.

A lump moves by my rib cage. We all laugh at the way my baby reacts to the sound of his aunties. When I had my check-up with Sally on Tuesday, I’d told her I was worried about the baby’s lack of movement and she’d told me the baby’s head had engaged ready for the birthing process, so the loss of sensation of a tumble dryer in my belly was nothing to worry about.

Umi crouches down to stare into the under-counter fridge. What soup do you want? Mushroom or cauliflower?

I don’t mind, whatever, I reply.

I want cauliflower, Umi. Are you going to make Reena’s recipe, or have you found something else?

Reena’s recipe, obviously, with some tweaks.

Umi quickly collects the chopping board, knife and pans; she knows my kitchen well, as I know her kitchen. We have spent many hours cooking together. Before she met me, Umi couldn’t cook a thing. I had taught her the basics, and now we compete against each other on producing exciting and delicious food from simple ingredients.

While Umi cooks, Anne-Marie sets the round country-style dining table for three; she opens the bottle of Shiraz and takes out the wine glasses from the cupboard above the sink.

Are you having a glass tonight? she asks me.

No, I don’t feel like a drink tonight.

She looks in the fridge, Ginger ale or Perrier?

I opt for ginger ale, and she pours my glass and hands the glass of red wine to Umi as she sweats the onion and ginger on the stove. The smell of ginger and a hint of curry fill the house. I’m starving. Anne-Marie takes a deep breath in to take in the aroma.

Do you have bread in here? she asks me as she opens the freezer door.

I tell her where it is. I have been batch cooking and stocking up the freezer for the last two weeks. Nik had teased me, saying that we’d be eating frozen food for the next six months and reminded me that Anumasi and Motaba would quite easily prepare and send us food.

A hot crusty loaf and a bread knife have been placed on a breadboard on the table. Umi lifts the pot off the stove and brings it to the table. Right, it’s ready. Let’s eat, she says.

We tell Anne-Marie about the first time we had created the recipe. It was when I had come down to stay with Umi over the Easter break in our first year. I had wanted to explore London and be near Nik. We’d spent all day at Portobello Market shopping for second-hand clothes. We bought a bottle of wine and thought we were so grown up and woke up with a huge hangover afterwards, Umi adds.

After dinner we discuss the names we’ve shortlisted for the baby. The list for boys’ names is longer than girls’. Nik and Umi are adamant the baby is a girl. I was confident when I had my twenty-week scan that we were having a boy, although my certainty has wavered as the dreams of the little girl have become more frequent lately.

***

I CAN SLEEP ON the sofa bed if you want me to stay? Anne-Marie asks, as she gets ready to leave at ten o’clock. I’m off tomorrow and Monday.

No, don’t worry. Umi’s staying tonight and Nik will be back soon. I hug her holding back a yawn.

When Umi comes upstairs to the old guest bedroom, she smiles and says, It’s beautiful; when did you do this?

I tell her Nik and I spent the holiday decorating.

What did his motaba say?

Oh, the usual superstitious tosh.

Tosh! She lifts her eyebrows.

Yes, I’m trying not to swear; the baby can hear everything, I say, pointing to my bulging tummy.

I eventually fall asleep. The Braxton Hicks contractions are extreme and, at times, the pain is unbearable. I practice the release of slow breaths through my mouth to ease the pain and find it uncomfortable to settle.

My mouth fills with bile; the contents of my dinner gush out as if through a tap. I steady myself and climb down to the bathroom, turning on the landing lights. My body is getting rid of what I had consumed in preparation for birth.

I am still sitting with my head in the toilet bowl when I hear Umi.

Ree, what’s the matter? I look up, and she says, Oh, is the baby ready to come?

I nod. She brushes the hair away from my forehead and sits on her haunches, Let’s time the contractions. She raises her left wrist. The contractions are coming every five minutes.

Where’s your list of phone numbers?

I point to the little address book by the phone. She brings the phone to me, and I speak with Sally first. She instructs me to stay calm and head for the hospital. Umi calls the labour ward and then she calls Gino’s.

It’s time. The baby’s ready to come. Get Nik and the guys to come to the hospital; I’m taking Ree.

Two

THE BIG HAND IS ON ONE and the little hand is on eight on the wall clock.

Where is Nik? My mind goes back to another time.

My stomach feels as hard as a rock; the pain is unendurable. For the past three days, I had been experiencing lower back pain, and the Braxton Hicks had been more frequent. But the baby wasn’t due for another two weeks, so I’d ignored it, marvelling at how the raspberry tea I had been drinking was helping my body prepare for the birth of our first child.

Come on, Ree, breathe. You can’t hold your breath; you have to breathe through this.

The face of my best friend fills with concern. It’s not often you see concern on Umi’s face. She is a repository of calmness and strength. I didn’t expect her to be with me as my birthing partner, but if I had to choose anyone else apart from Nik, it would be her.

My stomach decides to expel the last remnants of this evening’s meal. I hate the bitter taste that fills my mouth; being sick reminds me of my panic attacks. It suddenly dawns on me that my body is expelling my baby.

I can’t do this on my own, Umi. Where is he?

He’s on his way. Any minute now he’ll rush through those doors, she assures me, pointing to the double doors of the birthing room. As my eyes focus on the doors, they burst open and Nik and the guys rush in. Nik is by my bed in seconds.

My love, look at me. Breathe; deep breath in, now slowly out. Concentrate on the breathing. I feel like I’m the only one here with him.

We have practised this many, many times at the classes. As I breathe through the pain, I concentrate on what we’d learnt at the NCT classes and the Lamaze technique. I had opted for a pain relief-free labour. Sally, our midwife, had suggested it to me.

Nik had been apprehensive about the whole process and had tried to convince me that pain relief was a good thing. I stuck to my guns. I was not going to have an injection to numb the pain and reminded him of the many women around the world who gave birth without pain relief.

Whoa, there’s too many of you here.

Sally, a tall, slim, chestnut-haired woman stands with her arms out to block our friends. She is in her late fifties although, if you met her, you’d think she was younger. She was my primary contact and had become a firm supporter throughout the pregnancy. I guess she made more of an effort with me because I didn’t have a mother to ask all the questions that had plagued me. It was Sally who monitored my pregnancy at our GP surgery, and as I had opted for as natural a birth as possible, it was Sally who I called when I knew the time had come.

Peter has broken away from Sally’s outstretched arms and is looking into my eyes.

Reena, you’re unbelievably beautiful when you sweat.

I laugh. He smiles at Umi as he turns to walk out of the room.

Sally’s soft, melodious, Gaelic timbre interrupts our laughter.

Right, let’s check the baby, shall we? She places a trumpet-like instrument to my bulging stomach. It has become as hard as a rock again, and it feels like a metal bar is beginning to tighten around my waist. Her eyes lock with mine, and she smiles and confirms all is well.

Breathe, Reena. Remember to breathe through the contractions, she reminds me, and I exhale through my mouth as the pain ebbs away.

Can I get Reena into the water? It helps relax her, Nik asks quietly.

Let me get a reading from the machine first, Nik.

Sally wraps a black elastic belt around my bulbous belly. In her hand are a set of plastic discs four centimetres in diameter attached to wires. One disc is placed just below the bulge near my pelvic bone and the second disc is placed on my lower back. The monitor by the screen comes to life with a beeping sound. Both Nik and Umi move towards the graph and stare at it in awe.

Is that the baby’s heartbeat? Umi asks Sally.

Yes, look at it. So strong. Some people can tell whether it’s a boy or girl from this.

Can you tell, Sally? Nik’s expression is full of love and awe. I think he’s actually fallen hook, line and sinker for the person whose heartbeat he’s just seen. He takes my hand and kisses it, gazing into my eyes.

Look at that, Ree. That’s our child; I knew she’d be strong.

He is strong, Nik. I’m the one who gets kicked all the time, I smile.

As the due date of our firstborn approached, we had been picking names. He was confident we were having a daughter, as was Umi. They’d ganged up on me and kept taking turns in referring to my belly with a girl’s name. Recently he’d been calling my bump Maya. We weren’t supposed to choose our own name: Motaba had already quashed the idea when we brought it up in conversation during a recent lunch at Shakti Bhavan. She had told us it was bad luck to give a child a name that wasn’t selected by the alignment of the stars. Nik and I disagreed with her and were going to pick a name we wanted.

He puts his mouth to my stomach and says softly, I love you, Maya. Can’t wait to meet you. The machine pushes out the reading.

He’s going to get a complex, I reprimand, through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, I’ll go fill the bath, and he walks towards the bathroom.

Nat King Cole’s melodious voice sings on the CD player, When I fall in love.

Nik bends from the waist and bows as he waits by the end of the bed. Your bath has been drawn, my lady. He helps me get off the bed, lifts me into his arms and walks to the bathroom. Umi asks if she should leave; she is standing awkwardly by the bed.

I look back at her with panic in my eyes. She acknowledges my angst and follows.

The water in the large bath covers my belly, helping with the pain, and a calmness washes over me. I love water, swimming in it, washing in it, hearing it; it reminds me of happier times in my childhood. Nik and Umi grab stools and sit next to the bath. Umi is making a note of the timing of my contractions. I sip ice-cold water from a glass proffered to my mouth by Nik. The contractions get closer and closer.

***

SALLY STANDS AT the bathroom door and commands, Time to get out of the bath and onto the bed.

Nik stands behind my head, his arms around my breasts. The water splashes everywhere as I’m lifted out of the bath. The tracksuit bottoms he has changed into are soaking wet.

Now, let’s dry you off. Can you stand? he questions.

I nod in reply. My husband is tall and well built; his T-shirt clings to his broad chest. His sparklingly golden eyes stare intently for any sign of pain.

Umi hands him a soft white towel. He engulfs me in it, scoops me up and carries me to the bed. He pulls the nightdress sleeves up my arms and starts doing up the buttons.

Umi and Sally prop pillows behind me. The bed has been placed against the wall of the birthing room, and a clear-plastic baby crib with a white blanket has been put to one side.

Let me get this round you, Sally continues in her soft lilting voice as she wraps the elastic belt around my stomach. The discs are positioned as before, and the monitor screen comes to life with a beeping sound and a blinking wave graph. Sally adjusts the nodes panel and presses a red button to record the heartbeat. Out of a horizontal slot just below the screen, a piece of paper tape, similar in size to a till receipt, begins to come out. She examines it as it curls out and then her brow furrows. She quickly tears the paper out and asks Nik to help move me.

The head of the bed is electronically tilted to sit me up; the base of the bottom part of the bed is lowered, my bottom straddling the edge, legs bent at the knee and stretched wide, my companions holding a leg each. My breath halts as a steel clamp wraps around my full belly, and the chronic waves of pain come without any respite.

I have to push! I shout.

Wait. Let me check how far you’re gone. Sally is crouching between my legs. She lifts her head. Go push, but wait for a contraction. Good girl. Now get your strength back.

I can’t do this. It hurts so much; Nik do something!

Yes, you can, my love. Come on, breathe. Umi, can you get some ice? Umi rushes to a small thermos she has placed on the side table and brings out some ice.

Oh God, there’s something wrong. I know it.

Everything’s fine, reassures Sally.

Please, get the baby out, I plead with her.

One more push, dear. Remember, only with a contraction.

It is all too quick. The baby’s head is crowning one minute, and the shoulders and the rest of it follow the next. I let out a primal scream as my insides tear.

Sally stops me from pushing. Wait I need to loosen the umbilical cord. She holds up a pair of scissors and gestures to Nik. Congratulations, it’s a boy.

His face fills with a lopsided grin, and his head disappears as he cuts the cord. Sally places our son on the bed next to me and uses a clear-plastic tube attached to a rubber bulb to suck out the mucus in his nose and mouth.

He is dark blue in colour, and my first thought is, how strange, he’s the same colour as Peter, neither of our families are dark skinned.

Nik leaps towards the emergency cord by the right side of the bed and pulls it. A taste of bitterness fills my senses. Something is wrong. Please, please don’t let there be anything wrong, I pray silently.

The big hand is on two and the little hand is on three.

As the double doors swing open, I can hear a siren. Umi is pushed out as a male doctor and nurses fill the room.

I glimpse our friends waiting outside the room. There is an orange glow from the flashing light. Peter rushes to Umi ’s side, grabbing her hand, guiding her gently to a chair, their faces full of shock as different equipment is brought into the room.

What’s the Apgar score? the doctor barks at Sally.

Three, Sally replies, glancing at Nik, brushing a finger under her eyes as she turns her face away.

My heart hurts like someone has just taken hold of it and is squeezing it like a lemon.

The baby is like a rag doll, his arms and legs floppy, and he hasn’t made a sound. The doctor hurriedly wraps him in a blanket and starts rubbing him vigorously. He lays him in the plastic crib on the side of the bed and suctions the mouth again, checks the colour of the mucus, and puts a small clear-plastic mask over his mouth and nose; he attaches a large red rubber balloon to the end and starts pressing rhythmically.

Two nurses, one mousy haired and the other a dark-haired Chinese woman, arrive with a closed incubator and plug it into the wall opposite the bed.

I stare at our baby boy. His colour changes from dark blue to a pale brown, however his fingers and toes are still dark blue.

A red spotlight is placed in the incubator. The monitor that was by the bed is taken to it. They work together silently and mechanically, adding and attaching wires and tubes to the incubator. Our son has small pads put on his chest and back; lines of wire from these pads are connected to the monitor. On the screen, a faint green axis records a wiggly line with small peaks and troughs; underneath, in a box, the numbers change, and a little heart begins to blink. I inhale deeply, my lungs thankful for the oxygen.

On the wall clock the big hand is still on two and the other is on six.

Nik’s face is pale. I feel nothing. Sally has come back to the bed and gives me an injection in my thigh. We have to deliver the afterbirth, Reena. I want you to push one more time.

She moves back to the position she was in at the birth and gently pulls as the contractions come. The afterbirth is delivered and placed in a dish. She quickly examines it and hands it to a thin Afro-Caribbean midwife who had arrived to help at the birth. I wonder why I’m empty of all emotions.

Nik