‘Aaargh!’ groaned Lucy as another tidal wave of contractions careered through her, taking her breath away with the full and brutal force of its impact. She gripped Claudia’s hand as the taxi hurtled through the streets of London at breakneck pace. Mid-grimace Lucy caught a glimpse of her unlikely knight in shining armour in the rear-view mirror. He appeared to be muttering frantic yet muted prayers under his breath, no doubt pleading that his Good Samaritan act of kindness would not result in the permanent tarnishing of his immaculate leather upholstery, or worse, the need for him to perform a heroic delivery on the side of Oxford Street.
Claudia’s brown hair was plastered to the side of her face with nervous sweat as she tried to remain calm and in control of her own nerves. ‘Don’t worry Luce,’ she said, reassuring her best friend that they were nearly there, that all would be well. Claudia’s hatred of hospitals and all things medical was one of the reasons why she had never wished to put herself through the pain that was currently sending her best friend into anguished spasms beside her.
‘This is not supposed to be happening!’ groaned Lucy through gritted teeth as they careered around a sharp right-hand turn. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the door handle in an attempt to steady herself.
‘Plenty of babies come early, it’s nothing to worry about!’ reassured Claudia, her fingers firmly crossed behind her back as she leant across to rub Lucy’s shoulders.
‘You’re hardly an expert,’ said Lucy. ‘How are we meant to know? Oh God, grab my phone will you and pass it over. I’m going to call the hospital again.’
This was not what Lucy had had planned for today. She and Claudia were meant to be enjoying a blow-out lunch to celebrate the start of Lucy’s maternity leave. A last meal of indulgence before Lucy found herself struck off the social scene with sleepless nights and nappies taking over her life. The plan was to have lunch and then to do some gentle pottering around the shops in search of the somewhat curious combination of stretchmark cream and lingerie. No prizes for guessing which item on the list was for her, Lucy thought with a wry smile.
She had struggled to the restaurant in quite a bit of pain. In fact, she had been feeling niggling pains for the past few hours that had come and gone like a particularly bad bout of period pain. Erring on the side of caution, she had spoken to her midwife on her way to meet Claudia. The midwife had reassured Lucy that these ‘twinges’ were probably false alarms, harmless Braxton Hicks contractions that were to be expected at this late stage of her pregnancy.
The pains had grown more intense throughout lunch but Lucy hadn’t said anything, not wishing to alarm her most un-maternal of friends, who, let’s face it, was finding pregnancy by proxy a challenging enough experience as it was! Surreptitiously, Lucy tapped the Contraction Monitor app that she had downloaded on her iPhone, logging another twinge of pain as she tried to time their frequency. Her suspicion that she was, in fact, in labour was growing stronger by the minute, though she was determined not to make a fuss until she was sure. Lucy had long ago sworn to herself that she wouldn’t fall into the category of hysterical first-time mother when millions upon millions of women had gone through the process of childbirth before her with nothing even as advanced as pain relief to ease the process. However, by the end of lunch she was feeling faintly terrified; if what she was currently experiencing were merely Braxton Hicks, how unutterably dreadful would the real thing be? It was hard to contemplate.
Her waters had broken, or more accurately, ruptured, in as explosive and humiliating a way as possible, all over the floor of Selfridges lingerie department just as she had tried to negotiate her enormous bump past a rail of silk briefs that would have been hard-pushed to cover a mere inch of her disproportionately large and swollen derriere. Shoppers had looked aghast as she shrieked in horror, puce with embarrassment, having realized what must have happened. Claudia had come hurtling out of the fitting room at the sound of Lucy’s desperate yelp and, having rapidly assessed the situation, dragged Lucy towards the lift amidst mumbled apologies to the startled shop assistant who stared gaping at the floor, dumbfounded.
By the time they had made their way out of Selfridges and onto the heaving streets thronging with tourists and Saturday shoppers, Lucy had started to panic. With one hand on her lower back to support herself and the other shielding her protruding stomach, she began to sob. Claudia, in full protective tigress mode, sharpened her elbows as she pushed and shoved, yelling ‘Get out of our way! She’s in LABOUR for Christ’s sake!’ at the top of her lungs, clearing a pathway for Lucy to follow along behind.
Eventually they lurched over to a taxi rank and pounded on the window of the first unsuspecting driver in the queue – the man who was currently doing a good imitation of Lewis Hamilton in his desperate bid to deposit his unexpected cargo safely at the hospital doors.
Reassured by the midwife that all was well, Lucy dropped her phone in Claudia’s lap as another agonizing surge of pain twisted through her. A garbled, inaudible screech escaped her lips.
‘What was that, Luce?’ asked Claudia, trying to ignore the bone-crunching grip of Lucy’s fist as she reached for her hand once again.
Taking a deep breath in, Lucy looked at Claudia, her eyes pleading. ‘Call him!’ she begged. ‘Please, Clauds, I need him…’ she tailed off as she closed her eyes and began to concentrate on her breathing.
Claudia reached for Lucy’s phone with her free hand. ‘Okay, Luce, I’ll call him now. Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay,’ she muttered as she found his name and pressed the green button, sending a silent prayer that whatever he was doing and wherever he was, he would answer his phone.