‘Holyfuckingfuckfuckingcrapfuckinghell…’
‘I am getting there as quickly as I can, madam.’
Eliza raised her head slowly from its position between her knees and saw in the reflection in the rear-view mirror that Saleem – the unflappable, smiling, hardworking owner of Kidlington Kabs – was genuinely alarmed. And now that the wave of pain had subsided, she felt an inkling of embarrassment about screaming swear words in front of the man who usually drove her parents home from the pub. So she tried breathing deeply instead; or rather, as deeply as she could manage, given that most of her trunk was currently occupied by another human.
‘That’s good, madam, my wife was telling me that breathing helped,’ said Saleem, beaming toothy encouragement into the mirror. ‘And have you tried panting? She did a great deal of panting.’
Well, bully for her, Eliza thought. She was exhausted already and not in the least interested in trying to sound like the family Labrador. This was awkward enough.
Eliza scanned the back seat of Saleem’s black Mercedes estate for her phone, which she had flung aside just as the last contraction had begun. She eventually found it in the pocket in the right passenger door, sitting pretty alongside a pack of complimentary tissues. She might be needing those, she thought. She speed-typed a text message.
Mum I’m in labour and you need to come back right now.
Hmm, on second thought, a text like that might cause her mother to have a coronary. Mum was not the type to respond calmly in a crisis. And it was hardly practical, anyway – she and Dad were currently about 33,000 feet up in the sky, en route to Dublin. The captain could hardly turn the plane around, even for the arrival of a grandchild. No, they’d have to get off and then immediately buy a ticket back and her SOS would ruin a long-awaited weekend away together, which they definitely deserved. She’d better not send it. Yes, she’d let them have at least twenty-four hours of peace before she told them the news. They’d be back soon enough. Refraining, coping on her own, was the grown-up thing to do, after all. She needed to grow up; she was going to be a mother.
But why, why did this baby have to arrive three weeks early? Everybody had told her that first babies took ages to come out, that she’d finish up the third trimester rolling around like a walrus, chugging raspberry leaf tea and chicken vindaloo by the gallon, desperate for anyone, anything, to get the sodding thing out. It was this certainty that had led her to assure her parents that it would be perfectly fine for them to squeeze in a mini break away together this weekend.
Yes, of course, she’d said: I’ll look after the dog. Yes, no problem, I’ll water the garden. You go and enjoy yourselves! I’m just going to sleep most of the time, anyway.
Sleep? Feck. Not much chance of that now.
Arrrggggggggghhhhh, another one. Fucccccckkkkk. She needed someone to hold her hand.
Serena. She’d text Serena.
Help. The baby’s coming and I need you to come! Mum and Dad are away.
Eliza concentrated on breathing in and out as she felt the pressure building in her abdomen and making its way inexorably upwards. That bloody witch at her NCT class had told her that this would feel wonderful and empowering, the pinnacle of her womanhood. But she had lied, damn her. This was excruciating and she was clearly powerless to stop it. This baby was forcing its way out into the world and she was merely its conduit.
Her phone beeped.
Oh crap – am visiting York with Mum but I’ll set off now. With you asap. Hang on in there.
York to Oxford – what was that? Three and three-quarter hours, best case? More like four hours plus, if Serena was going to take her mother home first. Bugger. She was going to be on her own for a while. But that was OK, wasn’t it? She had managed on her own for a long time. She was a strong, independent woman. Definitely. She had got this.
Oh, but should she call Ed? He was the father, after all. He could hold her hand and help her breathe…
Fuccccckkkkkkkkkkk. Buuugggggeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrr. Arrrrssssssse.
Second thoughts, there was no way in hell that man was going to see her like this. Why should she let him see her at her most vulnerable? He’d hurt her deeply and she didn’t need any more damage in that department. And it wasn’t as if he’d been an enthusiastic expectant father; he had failed to attend every single ante-natal check, sometimes cancelling at the last moment. ‘Work,’ he’d said, every time. No, she’d tell him in a bit. He was only a few miles away and could get there quickly, anyway. It would be better if he came towards the end. Or even afterwards. That, actually, is what he deserved, she decided.
‘We are almost there, madam. Just one more roundabout.’
Eliza was now staring fixedly at a speck of dust on the mat beneath her feet, but the way her body was slipping back and forth on the black leather seat told her that Saleem was now throwing the car around the bypass with wild abandon. He was probably worried that her waters would burst and damage his upholstery and, to be fair, she didn’t blame him. It was quite likely. She was surprised they hadn’t gone already; what had begun as period pains a few hours ago had developed quickly into an agony so severe that she barely had time to breathe between contractions. This baby clearly didn’t want to wait.
Eliza raised her head and saw that they were approaching the hospital building. She decided to send one more text. Because when she needed comfort, she knew where to get it.
Hello. It’s Patience’s sister. I’m in labour. Please bring her to the hospital asap, please.
*
‘Well, won’t you look at that,’ Natalie the midwife said, her hand and wrist currently exploring the dark recesses of Eliza’s cervix. ‘You’re eight centimetres. Baby will make their entrance soon.’
Through the swirling mist of Entonox, Eliza pondered the midwife’s use of pronoun. Eliza’s grammar pedantry became worse when she was anxious or in pain.
The pain did, however, have one benefit. It was a distraction from her high levels of anxiety about this pregnancy. Having decided that she definitely wanted to keep her baby – how she could ever have thought differently baffled her now – her focus had shifted to an obsession about its health. She had feared that every twinge meant a miscarriage, and that every check-up would bring bad news. She had held her breath throughout her first scan at the hospital, examining the technician’s face for any sign that she might be withholding information. She had drunk alcohol during the early days of pregnancy, had eaten goodness knows how much shellfish and unpasteurised cheese; there were so many ways in which she could have done this child harm. And in the back of her mind – no, who was she kidding, in the front of her mind, too – she thought of her mother’s innocent joy at birthing two healthy children.
What if her baby was disabled and she just didn’t know it yet? Even though all of the tests so far had come out negative, she knew she was far from out of the woods. There was still no in-utero test for Rett syndrome, and who knew how many other rare genetic faults.
‘All done,’ Natalie said, snapping off her latex gloves and walking over to the sink to wash her hands. ‘After this, I’m just going to pop a monitor onto your tummy for a bit, to check how baby’s doing.’
‘Is that normal?’ Eliza asked, her eyes wide. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Natalie smiled and approached the bed. ‘It’s totally normal, sweetheart,’ she replied, fixing the strap around Eliza’s bump. ‘Try not to worry. You’re doing great. Have you got someone coming to be with you?’
‘Yes,’ Eliza said. ‘My sister. She should be here soon.’
‘Lovely,’ Natalie replied, adjusting the monitor to locate the baby’s heartbeat. ‘That’ll help. And I’ll get someone to bring you a cup of tea. That’ll calm you. And do you feel peckish? It might be good to keep your strength up. We could bring you toast?’
Eliza felt another contraction building, and with it a nausea which was now undeniable. She had never felt less like eating in her life.
‘Just tea, please,’ she replied, attempting a smile through gritted teeth. Natalie nodded and headed to the door as Eliza rolled onto her side, groaning.
Five minutes later, when she was in the only position she found even remotely comfortable – on all fours, hospital gown gaping wide, her naked bottom saluting the sun, or rather, the strip light above her bed – someone knocked on the door. Natalie again, she thought; what medical horror had she planned for her this time?
But it wasn’t Natalie.
‘Tea? And I’ve brought some toast in case you… Oh!’
It was a man’s voice.
Shit.
And then it all happened at once. As Eliza yelled ‘Jimmy!’ she rolled onto her side at speed in an effort to hide her elephantine nakedness. But she was too big, her body too unstable, and the bed too narrow. She screamed as she lost her balance and fell, as if in slow motion, off the side of the bed and onto the floor.
‘Shit, shit, shit, sorry. Shit. Hang on, I’ll hit the button.’
Suddenly, Jimmy was standing beside her. She felt a searing pain in her abdomen and howled. He crouched down and put his arms around her.
‘Stay down here, just in case,’ he said, as she tried to pull herself up. ‘Wait until the doctors and nurses come to check you over.’
‘OK,’ Eliza replied, writhing in agony.
‘What… the… hell… are… you… doing… here… anyway?’ she panted. Oh God, she had finally started panting.
‘I’m working as a healthcare assistant. I pick up the occasional shift here. I’m considering applying to study midwifery.’
‘I… didn’t… know,’ she said, before trying to take in a long, slow breath as she’d been taught.
‘No. I haven’t told the care home yet. They don’t know I have another job. I don’t want them to get wind that I might leave.’
‘Oh… I… see.’
Then suddenly there was a crowd.
‘Stand back,’ a voice said, and Jimmy complied. He was replaced with a smiling woman with a stethoscope around her neck.
‘What hurts?’ she asked. ‘Or is that a silly question.’
Eliza would have laughed if she wasn’t in such agony.
‘Just... down… there,’ she replied.
‘Is it worse than before?’
Eliza thought for a moment. ‘Maybe.’
The woman nodded to her colleagues and three of them stepped forward, took hold of Eliza under her arms, and hoisted her back onto the bed.
Eliza’s head swam and stars appeared in front of her eyes. But even through the swirling patterns, she could see that the room had turned into a circus. There were at least six people staring at her. She could no longer see Jimmy.
‘Just lie back on the bed for us, Elizabeth,’ the woman said. ‘We just need to check how your baby is doing.’
As two nurses helped Eliza into a reclining position, she realised that the monitor she’d been wearing had been ripped off.
‘We’re just going to attach a monitor to your baby’s head,’ the doctor said after she’d finished checking Eliza over. ‘It’s more reliable than the tummy monitor. It won’t hurt the baby.’
‘Is there something wrong?’ Eliza asked once more, her anxiety levels now sky-high.
The doctor didn’t answer her.
‘That’s it, Elizabeth,’ she said in her best bedside manner, gesturing for Eliza to lie back on the bed. Then she put yet another latex-gloved hand where the sun didn’t shine. ‘That’s it. I’m just going to… pop… this… in… there… Good!’
The woman removed her hand from between Eliza’s legs and looked up at the screen beside the bed. Eliza was no longer able to turn around, but she could hear that the machine had begun to beep once more. All of the medical staff stood silently, their eyes glued to the monitor and the language it was speaking, a foreign language Eliza did not understand.
Eliza felt her face drain of colour and vomit rise up into her throat.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said.
One of the nurses swiftly placed a cardboard bowl beside her head. Eliza leaned over and retched into it. She brought up some liquid, but not much else; she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
‘It’s all right, love. You’re fine. Lots of women are sick during labour. It’s all totally normal,’ the nurse said, putting her hand on Eliza’s shoulder in an attempt to reassure her.
But Eliza felt as far from normal as it was possible to feel. She was also fixated on the faces at the foot of her bed, who were interpreting the squiggly lines behind her head. They were giving nothing away.
Finally, the female doctor spoke.
‘Baby looks OK, Elizabeth, despite your tumble. We’ll leave you to labour for a bit and come back to check in half an hour. You seem to be progressing well. OK?’
Eliza managed to find the energy to nod, just as another wave of pain and pressure began to sweep over her. She closed her eyes to block out the crowd. It didn’t seem right that they were there. This was just about the two of them. The baby and her.
*
When she opened her eyes, the room had cleared. The only people who remained were Natalie and Jimmy, who had reappeared by her bedside.
‘OK, love,’ Natalie said, ‘you’re on the monitor and you’re labouring well so I’ll just pop out to check on one of my other ladies and come back in about ten minutes to see how you’re getting on.’
Then the door shut behind her and Eliza and Jimmy were alone.
And then she started to cry; huge, shuddery tears.
Seconds later, Jimmy was sitting on the bed and putting his arms around her.
‘Eliza, Lize, it’s going to be OK. It will be, I promise. I’m here. You’re not on your own. I’m here.’
Eliza collapsed into him, not caring that she was half-naked, or that she smelled of sick, or that her hair looked like an octopus catching a wave. And through the pain and the tears, she acknowledged that being held by him felt nice. Very nice. But she was still crying.
‘Lize, please stop crying. It’ll be OK. Just breathe.’
‘Everyone… keeps… telling… me… to… breathe,’ Eliza replied, ‘but… I’m… so… frightened.’
‘Why? You heard the doctors. Everything seems fine.’
‘I… don’t… deserve… fine.’
Jimmy withdrew from their embrace and sat down on the bed, lowering his head so that he was face to face with Eliza.
‘What do you mean? Of course you do.’
‘I… don’t… I… got… rid… of… it.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’re having it. We’re both here, aren’t we? You’ll be holding your baby soon.’
‘You don’t understand,’ she said, speaking quickly between pants, reckoning that if she said it as quickly as she could, she wouldn’t feel the impact of what she was about to say. ‘I got rid of a baby. Years ago. When I was a teenager. A perfectly healthy baby.’
‘Oh, Lize.’ There was a pause, during which Jimmy passed Eliza a tissue. ‘Don’t be silly. What’s in the past is in the past. You are not some evil person. You’re human. This is a new start.’
‘The last time I was in pain like this was then. When I had the – the abortion. What if this baby dies, too?’
‘It won’t. It just won’t. You heard them – the baby is fine.’
‘But what if it’s like – like Patience?’
‘Then it will be awesome, like her,’ he replied, not missing a beat.
There was a knock at the door. A woman Eliza didn’t recognise peered around it.
‘Are you Eliza?’ she said. ‘I’m Catherine and I have Patience with me. I’m sorry we took so long. Staffing problems. Can we come in?’
*
And so it was that Eliza went from no birth partners to three. She now had Jimmy, Patience and Catherine, a woman she had only known for a matter of minutes but who had now taken up a position at the foot of the bed next to Natalie, issuing regular updates from ‘the business end’, as she so delightfully put it. Catherine had, it transpired, birthed four children, one in the hallway of her block of flats, with only a postman for company. She was no-nonsense and Eliza warmed to her immediately.
Patience was parked to Eliza’s right, as close to the bed as was practicable; close enough for Eliza to reach out her hand, which Patience was grasping. She had not brought her eye-gaze computer – Catherine was apparently a new member of staff and hadn’t been told to bring it – but it didn’t matter. Eliza knew her sister so well that her presence was enough. And having Patience actually hold her hand, instead of just resting it in hers, had an extraordinary power. The warmth of her hand felt like a transfer of energy. With Patience there, she felt as if she might actually be able to do this.
Jimmy was on Eliza’s left and he was holding her other hand firmly. He had sprung away from her when Catherine and Patience had entered, like a little boy caught breaking the rules, but Eliza had decided that enough was enough. She had reached for his hand then and not let go, and Jimmy had not flinched. She hoped he didn’t mind, because she had no plans to let go of it, ever.
‘Just keep pushing, like you’re doing a poo,’ Natalie said. ‘There’s a good girl. That’s it. Baby’s coming.’
‘Is it?’ Eliza asked, breathless and exhausted.
‘Yes, I can just make out the top of its head. When you feel the next contraction, push with all of your might.’
Eliza didn’t feel like she had any might left. Her face was bright red, her eyes were bloodshot and she was exhausted. She had been pushing for at least an hour now. Never mind doing a poo; it felt like she was pushing all of her innards out onto the bed. She’d be entirely inside out soon, surely, and all that would be left of her would be a steaming pile of red, purple and brown organs, slithering onto the floor.
‘Come on, lovey. That’s it. Biiiiigggg push,’ said Catherine.
‘You can do it, my girl, you can do it,’ said Jimmy.
My girl, Eliza thought. He said my girl.
And then Patience squeezed her right hand, an unmistakable message from sister to sister.
You can do this, Lize. You can do this.
Yes! I can do this, Patience. I will do this for you.
Eliza put her chin down onto her chest and pushed with every sinew in her body.
‘That’s it!’ shouted Natalie. ‘Now pant for me. Pant. Don’t push.’
And so Eliza channelled the family Labrador once more.
‘That’s it. The head’s out. You’ll see baby with the next push.’
Eliza felt the now familiar tightening of her muscles and roared.
There was a feeling of release, of an emptying.
Then there was a cry.
She wasn’t sure if it was hers, but it was a joyous cry, a cry which said fuck you to fear, and fuck you to failure.
‘You have a perfect little girl!’ announced Natalie.
Jimmy kissed her on her cheek and told her he was proud; Catherine cried happy tears and searched her handbag for her hankie; Patience squeezed Eliza’s hand even tighter.
And then a red-faced, puffy and angry-looking infant was placed on her chest. Eliza looked down at her daughter’s face, at her swollen eyes opening just a crack to take in her new world, and she vowed there and then that she would never look back.