JACQUI HAD discovered that she was pregnant just before the visits to Wistbourne were suspended—and she was relieved not to have that extra burden placed on her while she was preparing herself for motherhood. She was delighted—but at the same time worried that she might be about to disappoint Helen and her team if she couldn’t visit the Sous when summoned, should the occasion arise.

Paul was, regrettably, less than thrilled at the prospect of a new arrival. He had finally ceased teasing Jacqui about Wistbourne, but now he was crossly reproving her, saying they ought to have waited. The bequest from Gavin had been a help, but that money was soon spent and the budget was still tight.

Jacqui could only retort that she couldn’t conceive a child on her own: Paul must have had something to do with this turn of events—a remark to which Paul had no answer.

It was plain that all was not well in Jacqui and Paul’s marriage. She did her best to smooth over the moments of friction that occasionally erupted, but eventually something might give. She hoped for the best.

It was now Paul who sometimes came home late from work. He had been in the habit of moaning whenever Jacqui returned late from one of her Wistbourne excursions, but now the tables were turned. Paul never offered any explanation other than the bland excuse ‘work pressure’. Jacqui did not press him further. She was beginning to be afraid of what she might find out.

And on top of it all, there was the constant threat that Helen might call at any time and order her instantly to Wistbourne. It was not that she hated the assignments—on the contrary she had become quite attached to the creatures. Indeed, she imagined that even if all the Sous had been the same length, she would still be able to tell Wiggy, Wally and Weeny apart. No: it was the frustration at not being able to get any useful information out of these meetings.

Maybe something would change—but not just now, if that could be avoided!

Jacqui’s pregnancy progressed without any problems. For a two or three weeks she was affected by morning-sickness, but in time that subsided. In due course the baby began to kick vigorously, and sometimes, in bed, she would draw Paul’s hand onto her stomach and ask him to feel the movements. At first he seemed indifferent, but gradually he was drawn into the mood of expectancy and excite­ment at the approach of the ‘little stranger’.

With a month to go, Jacqui took maternity leave from the Mercury, and was given a hearty send-off by her colleagues. She had also contacted Helen, who had assured her that there would be no calls on her ‘services’ during the critical weeks—whatever happened at Wistbourne. Jacqui took this to mean, even if the Sous sprouted wings and flew off to Trafalgar Square, she would be left in peace!

Paul, meanwhile, went on a spending spree and and procured all the paraphernalia that the forthcoming arrival demanded: cot, push­chair, playpen, car-seat, and so on. And Paul’s parents came up with all the soft toys, rattles, and baby clothes that would be needed. It seemed that the ‘happy family’ was coming together again—and Jacqui felt only a mild regret that her mother and grandparents were no longer there to witness the event.

It was a mild but blustery morning in mid-winter when Jacqui’s contractions started, and Paul promptly drove her to the hospital. And sure enough, late in the evening she was delivered of a fine eight-pound boy, whom they decided to name Nathan—this was Paul’s choice, but Jacqui was quite happy with the name. He was adorned with the most charming bright blue eyes and Paul’s dark hair. Paul was thrilled to bits and insisted on rocking the ‘little stranger’ in his arms over and over again, despite the nurses’ protests.

Back home, the new regime of baby care rapidly took over their lives. Nathan was not the most fretful of infants but he certainly did his share of bawling lustily in the middle of the night. Usually, Jacqui’s going to nurse him was enough to quieten him down—but if he was not due for a feed, it was often Paul who was better at calm­ing him, by gently cradling him and moving him to and fro. Jacqui had learnt that this was often the case. Paul also took upon himself most of the task of changing nappies, much to Jacqui’s relief.

But as the months passed, and the frequent night-disturbances showed no sign of letting up, the irritation showed itself again. Paul was becoming bad-tempered once more, and more often than not, when the crying erupted, he pulled a pillow over his head and refused to be disturbed. Poor Jacqui therefore was saddled with almost all the tasks of baby-care, and became irritable in her turn.

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Things came to a head one night when the crying broke out as usual. Jacqui point-blank refused to budge and practically pushed Paul out of bed. Wearily he marched into Nathan’s room. But after a minute or two, instead of quietening down, Nathan began screaming all the more loudly, and it was a long while before he stopped. Then in the morning, when Jacqui went to give him his first feed, she noticed a pink mark—one could hardly call it a bruise—on Nathan’s forearm. She gently touched the mark, and Nathan cried out apparently in pain. She confronted Paul.

“You didn’t—slap him, did you? How could you, Paul! Haven’t you learned anything?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Jacqui, I just ‘lost it’ for a moment,” Paul admitted. “He just wouldn’t stop yelling. It was only a gentle pat on the arm—honestly, Jacqui, that’s all it was.”

Jacqui didn’t believe him. It must have been a bit more than a ‘pat’. That was the last time that Jacqui let Paul attend to Nathan’s night-time interruptions: she knew now that she had to take on the whole burden upon herself—however tiring.

Helen called several times to ask how they were getting on, and sounded pleased with Jacqui’s reports on Nathan’s progress. And once she came to visit them, bearing a plush pink rabbit and a construction toy (‘for when he’s a bit older’). She was thrilled to make Nathan’s acquaintance, and insisted on holding him time and time again, rocking him to and fro and cuddling him.

“I’ve no children of my own,” she commented, ruefully, “in fact, never been married. Never felt the need to—my career always came first. And I’m getting on a bit now…”

“Surely you’re not past forty are you?” replied Jacqui. “You’re never too old: maybe ‘Mr Right’ will show up one day. And you’ve said before, the Wistbourne assignment seems to be a dead end.”

“I’m thirty-nine. And yes, I often wish I could be shot of Wist­bourne. It’s a stalemate of a job. No action. Nothing’s changed: we’ve tried your approach of crouching down before the Sous many times—but nothing happens. Nothing! And sometimes I feel like marrying if only to change my surname! Why am I saddled with ‘Moon’? The lads at the camp—bless them!—poke fun at it. Call the Sous the ‘Moon-men’ or something. I’m used to it.”

Jacqui recalled how she’d had to suppress a giggle upon first being introduced to Helen Moon.

“You could execute a Deed Poll,” she said, trying to reassure Helen. “My mother did that after my father left us: that’s why my maiden name was Hartmead, even though Gavin and June were my maternal grandparents. And I’m sure something will turn up. Perhaps you could leave the Service?”

“No. The Army is my only career. I’ll stick it out till I’m discharged.”

The months passed. Nathan was now an active and inquisitive toddler, exploring and investigating wherever he could and forming his first words. He was just coming up to his third birthday when, one day, the phone rang. But it wasn’t Helen. It was Imogen Beeley.

“Remember me?” she began, brightly. “Fine. Well, I don’t know if you’re aware, but Father’s just coming up to his hundredth. Yes, God willing, he’ll ‘make his ton’, just as he promised he would! And we’re throwing a small party at the Pine Trees, and we’d love to have you and your husband along.”

Jacqui was only too happy to accept. Paul, on the other hand, declined. He had only met Hector the once, and hardly knew him—and someone needed to stay to look after Nathan. It would save them a baby-sitter, and care homes and toddlers didn’t really mix! But Jacqui guessed that, in truth, he wasn’t keen on meeting her ‘associates’.

So on the due date, Jacqui, smartly dressed, drove over to Pine Trees. There she met a small group of people, most of whom she didn’t know: several of them seemed to be ex-Service and extremely elderly, and she guessed that they’d been Hector’s Army comrades. Joyce and Helen were also there, so the Military were well represented. Imogen welcomed her warmly and presented her to Hector, sitting in his wheelchair looking frail but resplendent in full uniform and wearing his medals. He was now completely blind, but he recognised Jacqui’s voice and was delighted to meet her again. He proudly flourished the card from the King that he’d received that morning—as was the custom for new centenarians. Jacqui noticed that the King’s greeting was also in Braille—a kindly touch.

“I told you I’d make it,” he whispered, wheezily. “And I did!”

Wistbourne was not mentioned, of course.

The party was fairly brief, because Hector was too frail to put up with long gatherings. So it was not long before Jacqui was bidding farewell to Imogen and Hector—for the last time, she thought, ruefully.

And so it turned out. About ten days later Imogen phoned to say that Hector had passed away in his sleep, quite peacefully.