I wrote to Mum straight away:

Dear Mum,

I miss you and Dad so much. I’m so lonely here and I’m very very frightened about having the baby because I know it hurts a lot, and I’m scared of hospitals. I know I’ve let you down and you’ve every right to be ashamed of me, but please please please will you come and visit me when I’m in the hospital after the birth? It will help me get through it, knowing you’ll be coming to see me.

With lots of love from Laura xxx

I knew it would be pointless coming right out with it and begging to keep my baby. She’d say a flat no. But if she came to see me she might just fall helplessly in love with the baby. It was her grandchild, after all. She might want to look after it. She might somehow overrule Dad. It was my only hope.

It wasn’t as if I was lying. I did miss her and I was certainly frightened about giving birth. It was getting nearer and nearer. The baby was getting much larger now. It was a strain pulling my pinafore over my huge bulk. I could hardly bear to look at it when I took my twice-weekly bath. I couldn’t work out why it was so big when babies were so small. How on earth was the baby going to get out? I knew how, of course, but it seemed impossible.

I shuddered at the thought of being torn open. What if I screamed, and kept on screaming? How long would it last? I knew it took hours and hours. When Big Pam had her baby it went on for two whole days, and she had to be stitched up afterwards. She came back from hospital with a special blow-up rubber cushion because it still hurt so much when she sat down.

I decided it might be worth praying to Sarah’s little statue, begging not to need a cushion after I’d had my baby. I wished I had a convenient door in my tummy, so I could open it and simply take the baby out. I knew they gave you an operation if they thought you were too small to give birth, but that meant cutting you open with a knife and that seemed terrible too.

I started to get dreadful nightmares, and every time I had the mildest tweak in my tummy I clutched myself in terror. Yet when I woke up early one morning with a pain like a period and a nagging ache in my back I couldn’t help feeling excited. I lay in my bed in the linen cupboard, holding my stomach.

‘You’re coming, aren’t you?’ I whispered to the baby. ‘I can’t wait to see you.’

The pain didn’t really seem too bad, though it was hard to get comfortable. Maybe the other girls had been making a fuss about nothing. Perhaps I was going to manage the birth with ease. I needn’t even bother to go to the hospital. I could just lie here peacefully and the baby would slip out when it was ready. I’d wrap it up in my pillowcase and when Miss Andrews came looking for me she’d find me sitting up with my baby in my arms, looking serene and beautiful like a Madonna.

The pains started to get a little stronger. And then stronger still. I had to leave the sanctuary of the linen cupboard and stagger to the bathroom. My waters broke before I could get into a toilet, so then I had to find a cloth and mop them up as best I could, groaning now as I crouched down.

‘What on earth …?’ One of the girls had come wandering into the bathroom, rubbing her eyes sleepily. It was Sarah of all people.

I tried to ignore her, still mopping, trying not to cry with humiliation.

‘Has your baby started?’ she gasped.

‘No, I just felt like wetting the floor for the thrill of it,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘Oh goodness!’ said Sarah. ‘I’d better go and tell Miss Andrews.’

‘Don’t! Not yet! I’ve got to get washed and dressed and pack my bag and—’ I started, but then another pain came, so sharp this time that I couldn’t even speak.

‘Wait there!’ said Sarah and rushed off.

I wasn’t capable of doing anything but crouch, rocking with the pain. Then Miss Andrews came, still stately even in her quilted dressing gown. She was so calm I felt relieved to see her.

‘It’s hurting so!’ I gasped. ‘I’m sure it’s coming now!’

She put her hands on my stomach and timed the length between the pains.

‘Calm down, Laura. You’ve hardly got started. I think there’s plenty of time for us both to have breakfast, and then I’ll drive you to the hospital,’ she said firmly.

I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t taking me seriously, when she’d been in such a panic over Jeannie, but I didn’t have the energy to argue. I struggled to wash and dress in my well-worn pinafore and packed my case with my nightie, washing things, and all Mrs Chambers’ books. Sarah insisted on helping me and took my arm when I went downstairs.

‘There now. Good girl!’ she said, as if I was a little dog. ‘In thy sorrows thou must labour. It’s God’s word.’

‘I bet God wouldn’t say that if He were a woman,’ I said.

‘I do wish you wouldn’t blaspheme, Laura,’ she said primly, but she still sat me down in the dining room and went to collect my breakfast for me.

I didn’t really feel like anything to eat and sat staring at my cornflakes until they went soggy.

‘That’s a waste,’ said Marilyn, collecting dishes.

‘She’s in labour,’ Sarah announced.

All the other girls stared at me and I felt a fool. Marilyn softened, though. When all the other girls had gone off to do their chores she came over to me with a bowl of sliced banana, sprinkled with brown sugar and cream.

‘Here,’ she said softly. ‘A little treat. That should keep you going. It’s not proper cream, it’s top-of-the-milk, but it tastes just as good.’

‘Oh, Marilyn, thank you!’ I took a spoonful. ‘It tastes utterly delicious. You’re so kind!’

‘Well, it’s a special day for you, isn’t it?’ She patted my shoulder. ‘Don’t be scared. They’ll look after you in hospital. Once you’ve had the baby it’ll be almost like a little holiday. You can just stay in bed and have everything done for you. I really enjoyed it.’

I stared at her. ‘You’ve had a baby, Marilyn?’

‘Yes, I have. A little girl. You keep that a secret, mind,’ she said.

‘Were you here, at Heathcote House?’ I was astonished.

‘That’s right. I was ill after I’d had the baby and I didn’t have anywhere to go. Miss Andrews let me stay, if I did little chores to help out. Then the cook left and I took over – and now here I am. Deputy matron,’ she said, proudly.

‘So you gave your baby away?’ I asked.

‘It was for the best. I couldn’t keep her. Miss Andrews said she’d gone to a lovely doctor and his wife,’ said Marilyn.

The only doctors I knew were the Bertrams and I didn’t think them at all lovely now.

‘Isn’t it awful working here still? Doesn’t it keep reminding you of giving up your own baby?’ I asked.

‘I like it here,’ Marilyn said doggedly. ‘I like to feel I’m helping.’

I thought she was crazy, but it would have been rude to keep on questioning her. I carried on eating my banana, waiting tensely for the next pain. It was really sharp again.

‘Breathe deeply, Laura. It’ll be over in a minute. There you go,’ said Marilyn, holding my hand.

‘Why does it have to be so painful,’ I gasped, when it eased at last.

‘I know. It’s a beggar, isn’t it?’ said Marilyn. ‘Still, this time tomorrow it’ll all be over and you’ll have your little baby in your arms.’

‘This time tomorrow?’ I said, horrified. ‘I can’t go on that long!’

‘What are you going to do then? Stay pregnant for ever?’ said Marilyn, tweaking the end of my nose. ‘Don’t be silly!’

‘I might have known Laura would be making a fuss,’ said Miss Andrews, coming into the dining room in her tweed suit and a pink blouse with a big bow. It slightly softened her scariness but I still dreaded being in a car with her all the way to hospital.

Yet Miss Andrews was surprisingly nice to me on the drive to the hospital. I thought she’d scold me all the way, but she told me all about a Victorian lady called Miss Heathcote who had inherited the house when the rest of her family had died, and decided to turn it into a special home for girls in distress. I think she was telling me this story to try to take my mind off things, but when I doubled up in pain with a contraction she switched to a calm murmur: ‘There, there. Breathe slowly. Keep calm. That’s it. Well done.’

She was so encouraging that I found myself asking if she could stay with me in the hospital.

‘No, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Laura. It’s not allowed. But I’m sure the nurses will be kind,’ she said. ‘You’re so young I’m sure they’ll do their best to look after you properly.’

She did come in with me though, to get me signed in at the reception desk. She even carried my suitcase for me and raised her eyebrows at its weight.

‘More books?’ she said.

‘Yes, but they’re not mine,’ I said quickly. ‘Mrs Chambers lent them to me. And she said you’d approve of them.’

‘Hm!’ said Miss Andrews.

It was almost as if we were having a little joke together. I was glad she was with me when I had to give my details to the large lady at the desk inside the hospital. She sucked in her breath in shock when I said I was fourteen.

‘I’m fifteen in a couple of months,’ I said, as if that made any difference.

‘Fourteen,’ she repeated. ‘You’re the youngest yet! My goodness! What’s the world coming to?’

I felt myself blushing painfully but then the pain distracted me and I had to lean against the desk to stop my legs buckling.

‘I’ll take Laura through to the ward,’ said Miss Andrews.

She took hold of my suitcase again, and cupped my elbow with her other hand, helping me down the polished corridor. Our shoes squeaked as we walked.

‘Now why can’t we get our floors at Heathcote House as shiny as this?’ she remarked. ‘I think Marilyn should get you girls to use a little more elbow grease. I know you all think it very unfair that you have to do the chores, but it’s very good for you. It keeps you supple and fit and it’s very good training for the future, when you have your own homes. And your own husbands and babies,’ she said.

I’m having my own baby already! I thought, but I kept my lips clamped together.

We went down endless corridors, stopping every now and then when I felt a particularly painful cramping. I tried to keep track of where we were going so that running away with my baby was still a possibility, but I lost track in the end. At last we went through double doors marked NIGHTINGALE MATERNITY WARD. I’d never heard a nightingale sing, but I was certain it didn’t yowl furiously. The noise was coming from a dozen or so babies in metal cots at the end of their mother’s beds.

‘It’s nearly time for their ten o’clock feed,’ said Miss Andrews. ‘Only another ten minutes to go.’

‘Why aren’t they feeding them now though?’ I asked. ‘They sound ever so hungry!’

‘Sister Fisher prefers the babies to stick to a rigid routine,’ said Miss Andrews.

I didn’t like the sound of Sister Fisher. I didn’t like my fellow patients either. They were all much older than me and were frowning. The two nearest me leaned out of their beds to whisper to each other. I overheard.

‘Good God, she looks about twelve!’

‘It’s one of those awful Heathcote House girls!’

‘They shouldn’t put them in the ward with us. They should be kept separate in their own room!’

Did they think I was going to contaminate them? I glared at them fiercely, and then clutched my cramping tummy.

A nurse came scurrying by with a pile of clean napkins in her arms.

‘I’m from Heathcote House, Nurse, bringing one of my girls,’ Miss Andrews called. ‘Where should she go?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll ask Sister,’ she said. ‘I’m new on this ward.’

Her long dark hair was supposed to be tucked up in a bun but most of it straggled down her neck. She looked even more anxious than I was, but she gave me a distracted smile. I managed to give her a smile back.

She ran to find Sister Fisher who was behind some curtains attending to a patient. We heard the nurse being roundly scolded. Then she came back, still clutching her nappies.

‘So sorry, Sister’s busy with the breast pump on a new mother,’ she said breathlessly. ‘She says you’re in the bed right at the other end.’

‘Thank you, dear,’ said Miss Andrews. ‘Come along, Laura.’

She led me by the elbow down the ward with everyone still staring. It was a total Walk of Shame. We stopped at the small bed at the end, made up so firmly it didn’t look as if I could ever squeeze my huge hulk under the covers.

‘Here we are!’ Miss Andrews said brightly, as if it was a luxury hotel. ‘Well, I should get undressed and into your nightie. Good luck, Laura!’

I wanted to cling to her like a little girl, but I clasped my own hands to stop myself.

‘Thank you,’ I murmured.

‘Don’t look so scared! It’s not such a big deal. Think of all the people in the world. What do they all have in common?’ she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, unable to cope with riddles.

‘They’ve all been born! An everyday occurrence. Every minute. Every second!’ she said, and walked off, waving at me.

Yes, and someone’s dying every second too! I shouted inside my head, but I didn’t dare yell it out loud. I stood watching her walk away and then I drew the curtains around my bed and hastily struggled into my nightie, terrified that someone would open them while I was standing in my awful scrunched-up knickers with my massive tummy on display.

I nearly ripped my fingernails off trying to prise the sheets open, and then I clambered in. I still had my curtains closed but couldn’t face the performance of getting out of bed again to open them. I wanted to stay shut away from all the other women in the ward and their crying babies. After a few minutes they all quietened, presumably feeding.

Sister Fisher didn’t appear. She must still be busy with this breast pump, whatever it was. I stared down at my own swollen breasts inside my nightie. Might they need pumping? It sounded a terrifying procedure. I crossed my arms over them protectively. Then the pain started up again, and I lowered my hands to my stomach.

It was hurting so. Why couldn’t human beings be like kangaroos? Their babies came out thumb-sized and crawled up to their mother’s pouch. I didn’t really like the idea of a gaping pocket in my tummy, but anything would be better than this pain. I was sweating and had to bite my lip to stop myself screaming. I was surely about to have the baby now.

‘Help!’ I called feebly. ‘Please help!’

A pale gaunt woman came round the curtain. She had an elaborate white cap on her head, an apron starched as stiff as a tea tray, and a dark navy dress almost down to her ankles. If she’d carried a lamp with one raised arm she’d have looked the spitting image of Florence Nightingale in my Child’s History Book at home. I suddenly realized this ward had nothing to do with birds.

‘Was it you calling out?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I whispered fearfully. ‘Please, I think I’m going to have my baby any minute.’ It was just like being back in the Infants, when you were about to wet yourself.

‘I very much doubt that, but I’d better take a look,’ she said. ‘Lie down properly now, and pull your nightgown up. Legs wide apart.’

She raised the sheets as if they were made of gossamer and peered at me closely while I blushed. She even felt me, which seemed like an assault.

‘You’re barely dilated, silly girl,’ she said briskly. ‘But we’ll get you prepared once feeding time is over. Now you lie there quietly and think beautiful thoughts. We’ll keep your curtains open, so we can keep an eye on you.’

I did as I was told. I watched the other mothers and their babies. Most of them were feeding them themselves, but a few had bottles. The babies didn’t seem to mind, they just sucked determinedly. The woman in the next bed to me sat her baby up and patted it on the back. She nodded to me. I nodded back.

‘How old are you?’ she called.

‘Nearly fifteen,’ I whispered.

‘My God! You’ll make the Guinness Book of Records,’ she said. ‘Whatever do your parents think?’

I wanted to tell her that it was none of her business, but I seemed to have lost all my spirit. ‘They’re ashamed,’ I mumbled.

‘No wonder!’ she replied. ‘Honestly, girls nowadays! I was still playing with dolls when I was your age.’

Her baby gave a little burp as if it was agreeing with her.

I turned away from her onto my side, feeling dreadful. It was so unfair. The French boy across the channel was about to become a father, but no one was making him feel awful.

‘You don’t need a father,’ I said silently to my baby. ‘You’ll be fine just with me as your mother.’

I wondered if the baby believed it. I pictured it with dark hair flopping over its forehead and a foolish expression on its tiny face, babbling with a comic accent.

‘No, no, no!’ I whispered, shaking my head.

‘It’s a bit late to say no now,’ said the woman in the bed next to me, but she must have been concerned when she saw my face. ‘Hey, Nurse! The little kid’s acting weird. Can you check she’s all right?’

‘I’m busy helping Baby Smith to feed. She’s OK. Sister Fisher has examined her. She’s not due for yonks,’ the nurse called.

I wondered how many hours she meant by ‘yonks’. I didn’t see how the pain could get any worse. It was already ten times as bad as any period I’d ever had. Twenty times worse. Couldn’t they even give me an aspirin? I thought I’d have doctors and nurses all around me, telling me what to do, holding my hand, helping me. I didn’t expect to be stuck in a big ward with a lot of hostile women looking at me disapprovingly, and a nursing staff who didn’t take me seriously.

I gave a tentative push, hoping that the baby would be born there and then in the bed just to show them. Nothing happened. I tried harder. Maybe it was blocked up inside and wouldn’t ever come out, not even if they cut me open? I started to shake, but I was determined not to burst into tears in front of everyone. Maybe I could distract myself with a book?

I reached for the bag in my locker and found one of Mrs Chambers’ books, I Capture the Castle. It didn’t look very promising. I’d seen too many castles on the Welsh coach tour to want to read about them now. I opened it without enthusiasm but the first paragraph was so extraordinary that I became gripped. I read on and on, getting more and more interested. The ward might not have existed. The pains interrupted my reading, making the page blur, but the moment they started fading I was back in the old castle with Cassandra.

I was startled when someone tapped me softly on the shoulder. It was the young nurse with the untidy hair.

‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to make you jump. Is that a good book? I love reading too, though I never get time nowadays,’ she said. ‘Sister Fisher has sent me to look after you. Can you come with me?’

She helped me out of bed, and even put my slippers on for me. I leaned on her while we shuffled the length of the ward, everyone staring again. She took me to a little side room. There was a sink and a toilet and a hard-looking bed covered in wipe-down leatherette, like our three-piece suite at home. It didn’t even have proper bedclothes, just one white cloth. I had to position myself on it carefully and then lie flat on my back. It wasn’t easy, but I managed it.

The nurse was over at the sink, filling a bowl with water. Perhaps it was for washing the baby when it came out?

‘Don’t look so worried. It won’t take too long,’ she said.

‘The other nurse said I won’t have the baby for yonks, whatever that means. So what do I do? Just lie here until it’s born? Will you … catch it?’

She stared at me. ‘You’re not having your baby yet! I’m just giving you your shave and enema!’

I didn’t know what she meant – but then it became all too clear. This was far worse than being examined by Sister Fisher. I could feel myself going bright red with embarrassment and the nurse blushed too, though she was trying hard to be matter of fact. The shaving was bad enough, but the enema was appalling. I only just reached the toilet in time.

When at last it was all over she helped me go to yet another room, equally bleak, but with a bed with proper sheets and a blanket. She wouldn’t let me put my nightie back on, making me wear a ridiculous gown that tied at the back and showed my bottom.

‘There! You’re all ready now,’ she said.

‘What happens here?’ I asked fearfully.

‘Nothing really. You just wait until you’re ready to push,’ she said.

‘I am ready to push now!’ I insisted.

‘Sister Fisher said you won’t be ready for a long time,’ she said. ‘Not till this afternoon. Maybe this evening.’

‘But it’s hurting so badly now!’ I said truthfully. It felt as if the baby had hated the enema as much I did.

‘You’ve got to open up more. Then you’ll feel this great urge to push,’ she said. ‘Well, that’s what it says in the nursing book. I told you, this is my first day on Nightingale. If you hurry up a bit your baby will be my first birth!’ She looked at me hopefully.

‘I’ll try,’ I said. I wanted her to be there to help me but I wasn’t sure she knew what she was doing. Her hand shook a little while she was shaving me and I had painful little nicks down there.

‘You’ll have a doctor too,’ she said, guessing what I was thinking. ‘Or maybe even Sister Fisher.’

‘What’s your name?’ I asked her.

‘I’m Nurse Robinson,’ she said. ‘But you can call me Carol if you like. And you’re Laura, it says so on your notes. Mrs Laura Peterson.’

‘Mrs?’

‘Sister Fisher says we have to put Mrs for everyone, to avoid unpleasantness,’ said Carol.

‘But everyone knows I’m not married,’ I said. ‘I’m not old enough!’

‘I know. But it’s the rules. Sister Fisher’s rules anyway.’ She lowered her voice. ‘She’s an old bossyboots!’

‘Yes, she’s ever so scary,’ I said, and then tensed with another contraction.

Carol took hold of my hand and squeezed it tight while I gasped. ‘Gosh, it looks awfully painful!’ she said, when it was easing.

‘It is!’ I said.

‘I think being on this ward is going to keep me on the straight and narrow,’ said Carol. ‘My boyfriend keeps on at me, wanting to do you-know-what, but I can see the consequences now! Did your boyfriend talk you into it, Laura?’

‘Yes. I suppose so. Though I didn’t fully realize what he was doing. And he wasn’t really even my boyfriend,’ I said in a rush.

‘Oh dear. Well, never mind, you’ll have a fresh start soon. You’ll go back to school and no one will know you’ve ever had a baby,’ she said, trying to be comforting.

‘But I’m keeping it!’ I said.

‘What? Sister Fisher said all the Heathcote House girls have their babies adopted,’ she said, surprised.

‘Not mine!’ I said, starting to cry.

‘Oh, don’t cry! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. The sister on my last ward said I kept putting my foot in it, and I do!’ she said. She looked near tears herself.

‘It’s all right. You weren’t to know,’ I said quickly.

‘Well, I’d better leave you to get some rest,’ she said, standing up.

‘Oh, please don’t go!’ I said, alarmed at the idea of being left in this small room all by myself.

‘I can’t stay long, or Sister Fisher will be on the warpath.’ She consulted the watch pinned upside down on her uniform. ‘Another five minutes?’

She stayed for nearly fifteen, telling me how she’d wanted to be a nurse ever since she was four and had been given a little nurse’s dress and a red bag of kit.

‘There was a bandage with plastic scissors and some plasters and some ointment and pretend medicine in a little blue bottle with a cork. I adored it! I played all my dollies were in hospital after that. I can’t believe I’m doing it for real now. Actually, it’s all a bit too real sometimes. What do you want to do when you get older, Laura?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. I did wonder about being an actress but I don’t think I could ever make it. I love reading. Maybe I could work in a bookshop. I’d like that,’ I said, thinking of Aunt Susannah.

‘I love reading too. Did you ever read the Sue Barton books? They’re ever so good. All about nursing,’ said Carol.

I had always thought they looked rather dull, but I pretended to be enthusiastic to please her. She started telling me the whole plot of her favourite one. I didn’t really listen properly but it was soothing to hear the sound of her voice, and she held my hand again when the pain started up. But then another nurse put her head round the door.

‘There you are! Sister Fisher is looking for you, Carol!’ she said.

‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to go, Laura, but I’ll pop back as soon as I can, OK?’

It wasn’t OK at all, but I didn’t want to get her into trouble. I lay there by myself, and the pain got worse, and then worse again, and there was no way I could distract myself. I wanted to read, but my book and all my things were back in the main ward. I heaved myself off the bed, staggering a little, and as soon as the next contraction eased I tried dashing back to the ward, holding the back of my gown together so I wouldn’t expose myself. I must have turned the wrong way because I couldn’t find it.

I ended up in another toilet with something utterly disgusting in a kidney-shaped bowl by the sink. I thought at first it was a dead baby and nearly fainted, but when I dared peep again I saw it was some kind of bloody membrane. The nurse who had summoned Carol came in and saw me staring at it, hypnotized.

‘You’re not meant to be in here,’ she said, hurriedly putting a cloth over the bowl.

‘What is it?’ I whispered, my throat dry.

‘It’s just an afterbirth, that’s all,’ she said.

‘What’s that? Is it a baby gone wrong?’ I asked.

‘No, all babies have them when they’re in the womb. It’s to keep them safe,’ she said.

‘You mean I’ve got one inside me?’ I said, horrified.

‘Don’t worry, it’s all very natural,’ she said. ‘Jesus, you poor kid, you don’t know a thing, do you?’ She shook her head at my ignorance.

I was used to being the one that knew a great deal, but you didn’t study childbirth at the Grammar. I felt mortified.

‘I was trying to find my way back to the ward but I got lost,’ I said.

‘You’re not supposed to be on the ward now. You’re in the side room ready to be taken to the delivery room when the baby’s about to be born,’ she said. ‘Come on, I’ll take you.’

‘But I wanted to go back to get my book,’ I explained.

‘I’ll find you something to read,’ she said. She led me back to the side room and then disappeared. She was gone a longish time and I thought she’d forgotten – but at last she came back. She thrust an old magazine with a faded pink and blue cover at me. ‘Here, it was all I could find.’

I hated the Woman’s Weekly. It was an old granny magazine, and the stories were as weak and unappealing as the coloured cover, but it was all I had, so I read every word. I even read the knitting patterns, which were far more complicated than the one I’d used for my matinee jacket and bonnet and bootees. They were a waste of wool anyway, because the weather had turned very warm.

Then the pain got so bad my eyes blurred and I just lay there, crying, feeling desperately alone. I wanted Mum. I actually called out to her in the midst of contractions, though I knew she couldn’t possibly hear me. Carol didn’t come back, and the other nurse only appeared briefly, checked me all over, and said I still wasn’t ready. More hours went by. It felt as if they’d all forgotten about me. It was the middle of the afternoon now. I’d somehow missed lunch, which seemed especially unfair.

Then Carol popped in briefly and held my hand again for a little while. I said I was starving hungry so she gave me a stick of the Kit Kat she had in her pocket, but somehow it didn’t taste right.

‘Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick!’ I gasped.

She managed to get a cardboard bowl under my chin just in time.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I gasped. ‘What a waste of your Kit Kat!’

‘Oh well, never mind,’ she said, though she sighed.

‘Do you think there’s something wrong with me – or my baby?’ I said. ‘It’s just taking so long and it hurts so terribly. Couldn’t I at least have some aspirin?’

‘I’m certain that’s not a good idea,’ she said. ‘But I’ll go and ask Sister Michaels if you’re ready for some pain relief.’

It seemed bizarre that she had to consult her to see if I needed it, when I was the one experiencing the pain, but it was clearly the rule. She went and fetched Sister Fisher, who looked suspiciously at the sick bowl.

‘What’s this dark stuff?’ she said. ‘It’s not blood, is it?’

‘No, Sister, she was just a little sick with chocolate,’ said Carol.

Sister Fisher frowned at me. ‘You shouldn’t be eating at this stage, you silly girl. Where on earth did you get the chocolate from?’

I saw the panic on Carol’s face.

‘I just smuggled it in,’ I said quickly. ‘Oh, Sister Fisher, please can’t you make the pain go away? I think I’m dying!’

‘Nobody’s allowed to die on my watch,’ said Sister Fisher. She checked me over, and put an odd metal thing on my tummy, leaning her head against it.

‘What’s that?’ I asked anxiously.

‘Ssh! I’m listening to your baby. Ah, I can hear his little heartbeat ticking like a clock,’ she said.

‘It’s a boy?’ I said, wondering if she could see through my skin too.

‘Or a girl. It’s a pretty safe bet it’s one or the other,’ said Sister Fisher. ‘Now cheer up, child, I can assure you you’re not dying. You’re doing well. Just a few more hours to go.’

A few more hours! I thought she must be joking – but she was right. They gave me the gas and air machine Belinda had told me about, but it made me feel sick again, and it didn’t really seem to make much difference to the pain. I couldn’t help screaming when it was at its peak, and a new nurse put her head round the door to say I was frightening another patient just starting her labour. I was past caring. Then Sister Fisher gave me some kind of injection which did blot out the pain a little, but it blotted me out too, so that I couldn’t properly focus, lost in a strange alien dreamworld.

It was supper time before they said I was fully dilated. It felt as if I’d been torn so wide apart I was ready to give birth to an elephant. I was so tired and woozy by this time it seemed a possibility. I pictured my baby like a little Dumbo, with enormous ears and a stubby trunk, and held onto my tummy, telling it that I’d love it no matter what.

Then they put me on a trolley and wheeled me into another room with a higher bed with terrifying stirrups at the end, and steel instruments laid out like bizarre cutlery in a tray. There was a doctor in a mask and gown who nodded at me, and pointed with a blue hand that I should lie on the bed. I thought he had some bizarre skin complaint. It took me a while to realize he was wearing surgical gloves.

‘Hello, Mother,’ he said to me, which took me totally by surprise. Mother! It was the first time anyone had called me that. Why didn’t he call me by my name? Why didn’t he comment on my age?

He didn’t seem at all interested in me, just my nether regions. He told the nurse to get my legs strapped up to the stirrups. I hated the indignity.

‘I don’t need to be strapped to them! I promise I won’t run away,’ I said.

‘There now. It’s simply so that Doctor can see properly,’ said the nurse.

We seemed to be stripped of all identity – I was Mother, he was Doctor, she was Nurse. She wasn’t the older nurse, she wasn’t Carol, she was someone new and I wasn’t sure I liked her. She was curly blonde, and though I couldn’t see much of her face because she was wearing a mask, she seemed very pretty.

‘Where’s Nurse Carol?’ I asked.

‘She’ll be busy on the ward just now,’ she said. ‘I’m Staff Nurse Symonds.’

I wished they could do a swap. I badly wanted to hang onto her hand. The next pain was so terrible I lost all inhibition and screamed my head off.

‘Don’t waste your breath screaming – try pushing now,’ said the staff nurse.

I tried and something seemed to have given way, because I found I could push down hard. I pushed and pushed and pushed until I thought the veins would burst out of my forehead – but nothing happened.

‘Why isn’t it coming?’ I gasped, as the pain died away.

‘It’ll take a while yet,’ she said. ‘You’ll need to push a bit harder. No, not yet – wait till the next contraction.’

I couldn’t see how I could possibly push harder.

‘It hurts so,’ I whimpered.

‘Well, having a baby is no picnic, I’ll grant you, but it’ll be worth it when you’re cradling Baby in your arms.’ Then she realized who I was, and softened a little. ‘I know it’s tough for you – and you’re so young.’

‘Too young,’ said the doctor. ‘She’s very narrow. I’m guessing it’s a forceps job.’

He seemed to have forgotten I had a head with ears.

‘Forceps?’ I quavered.

‘Don’t worry, save your strength,’ said the staff nurse, but she was glancing at the tray of metal instruments. The biggest one was the worst, with two great steel curves at the end. I tried to imagine them being inserted into me, clamping the baby’s head. I pictured the doctor’s blue hands yanking hard.

I didn’t need to be told to push harder on the next contraction. I pushed so hard I thought I might burst, harder and harder and harder.

‘Good girl! That’s right, that’s great! The baby’s head will be crowning soon,’ Staff Nurse Symonds said excitedly.

I didn’t understand what she meant. I saw the baby’s head with a little crown on top, like a painting of baby Jesus, and felt a thrill of pride. The next contraction came almost immediately, and I pushed again, spurred on by fear of those gleaming forceps, and suddenly I felt something burst right out of me, not just the head but the shoulders, the whole slippery body of my baby.

‘Well done, well done!’ Staff Nurse Symonds cried. ‘You have a little girl!’

The baby gave a little cat-like wail, as if she was calling for me.

‘My little girl!’ I said, weeping. ‘Oh please, can I hold her?’

The doctor was giving her a quick examination, but she seemed to pass muster, because he passed her over to the nurse, who wiped her face and wrapped her in a little blanket.

‘Here you are,’ she said, her eyes shining as if she were truly happy for me. She lay my baby on my chest and I held her close, smelling her strange little head with its damp wisps of hair. It seemed a miracle that I had made this complex little creature, her hair, her skin, her blue eyes with perfect eyelashes, her tiny fingers and toes.

We were still attached by a cord, and I didn’t really want the nurse to cut it – I wanted us to stay properly attached for ever. After a while I had a further contraction and managed to push the afterbirth out too, and then I had to put up with the indignity of the doctor stitching where I’d been torn. When it was over there was such a feeling of deep peace in my body that I felt I would never want to move again. I held my baby and felt her relax, lulled by the rise and fall of my chest.

‘She’s nodding off to sleep,’ said Staff Nurse Symonds. ‘I’ll put a nappy and a nightgown on her and then pop her in her cot.’

‘In a minute,’ I pleaded. I wasn’t ready to let my baby go. I wanted to hold her safe for ever.