Gran leaps out of the car* and rushes to get a wheelchair and help. Dad tells Dermot to park the car – I didn’t even know my brother could drive. Mum is rushed up to the maternity ward with Dad and we’re left in the Accident and Emergency surrounded by patients on trolleys and slumped in chairs, some groaning and some bleeding. There is a strong whiff of disinfectant, and a feeling of chaos in the place, and a lot of other stuff I don’t want to think about or identify.
Gran consults with some nurses then ushers us to the stairs, saying that the lifts are for patients and medical staff and not day-trippers like us. The family waiting room is on the maternity level, four floors up, so that’s eight flights of stairs and it takes us quite a while to huff and puff up. I’m sure Gran has done this deliberately to keep us occupied and also out of the way while more important matters are being dealt with.
We find Dad pacing the corridor and he says Mum is with the nurse. Then a doctor comes and she and Dad both disappear through a door. It’s agony not knowing what’s going on and I want to cry, but we have to be strong for Mum, and for one another, now.
What if something is wrong with our baby? It’s terrifying to think of that. What if Mum is in danger? I have never been so scared in my life. Time passes more slowly than it ever has before, slower than very slow motion, yet my heart is beating faster than it ever has and I am gasping for breath but trying not to show it. I notice that Dermot’s hands are shaking and Gran’s eyes look very moist.
Dad comes back and says the baby is in distress so they’re preparing Mum for an operation to deliver the baby by Caesarean section. We can go and see her now for a minute before she goes to theatre.
Mum is in the last bed in a ward full of women. She looks pale and scared but she forces herself to smile at us.
‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘It’ll all be OK. The little varmint is coming early and out through the sun roof, no less.’
I think they might have given her something already because she’s sort of slurring her words and if this wasn’t such a serious situation, that would be almost funny.
She clutches Gran’s hand and Gran goes, ‘You’ll be fine, darling, and so will baby.’
‘I hope so,’ Mum whispers.
I realize I love Bumpy Quinn and I want to meet Bumpy in person and for everything to be all right. My heart might break right now at the thought that anything could go wrong.
This is the most frightening time of my life. I want to help but I don’t know what would be good to do and what would be disastrous. Everything is so quiet you can practically hear the hum of our panic. I don’t know why, but I start to sing. It’s ‘I’d Do Anything’, a number from Oliver! that Mum and I often change the words to. This time I sing it for real and do her part too.
Mum smiles and I think she looks a bit less worried. Dermot and Gran look impressed and I don’t even care that all the women in the ward are staring at me. When I finish they even applaud me!†
As Mum is being wheeled away, she says, ‘I’ll be back for another of those as soon as I can, Jen.’
I feel like I’ve done something good, something useful, but it doesn’t ease the awful worry.
Then, the agonizing wait begins. It feels like hours but, in fact, Baby Harry is born twenty minutes later. He is put in an incubator because he is early and so small – only five pounds, Gran says, and I think she means two and a bit kilos. We are allowed to look at him through a glass partition and he is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. I know everyone says that about their baby but Harry really, really is GORGEOUS.
He’s curled up in a little ball with his fists pressed against his face, sleeping off his dramatic arrival into the world. He has dark hair and I am relieved we don’t have another strawberry blonde in the family. Dad puts his hand beside the baby so we can see just how small he is. That’s my baby brother right there. I want to run through every room in the hospital and tell everyone I meet about Harry Quinn, who has already made a big mark on the world, our world, my world.
We go and see Mum and there are hugs and tears and we all tell her how well she’s done. Harry is healthy and strong, Dad says, and he’ll be out of the incubator and ready to go home before we know it. SO, there’s shopping to be done, because he’s here sooner than expected and we are sooo not prepared.
I can’t wait to get him home and hold him. And make sure that Gypsy doesn’t think he’s her new plaything.
I text Uggs and Dixie: baby harry arrived early i.e. tonight!
Dix goes: NO WAY – HRA!
Uggs: WOW! CONGRATS.
Just when I think there’ll be no message from Gypsy I get: WOOF!‡
Dermot looks at the floor, red-faced. ‘Harry must have hated Ten Guitars if his response was to get born early.’
‘Or maybe the opposite,’ Mum says. ‘He might have got fed up of waiting to get out and about and start being a star like his big brother and sister.’
Then it hits home – I’m still the only Quinn girl! Smiley face.
