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John is a fairly open guy, so holding off on telling everyone that they are expecting a baby hasn’t suited him. Still, Niamh made him promise not to tell any of the lads until at least three months – but now that they are well beyond it he’s looking forward to getting to the pub and breaking the news. If I was around he would have told me alright and he half thought of ringing Davey early on, but in the end he didn’t bother. He knew Davey would be happy for him, definitely, but ultimately not really give that much of a bollocks.

Me and Pam didn’t do that wait three months thing. We were too excited when we found out that we were going to have a baby. I figured we may as well tell everybody because if the worst happened and it didn’t work out we’d end up letting everyone know then, anyway, so as to have shoulders to cry on. So what’s the idea with holding off? I never quite understood it, but it’s a common enough thing, I guess, and Niamh hadn’t wanted to take any chances.

It’s a great time for them, anyway, and they’re totally embracing it, loving every minute. Apart from crippling foot cramps and being exhausted the whole time, Niamh’s the happiest she’s ever been. Pamela was like that too when she was preggers. I think that’s why Robbie turned out to be such a lovely, placid and easy person. There was zero stress in the lead-up to his birth.

Although, saying that, he was a couple of days early, which we weren’t expecting at all, so that did make us a little anxious right at the end. It also meant that I made the terrible mistake of watching one of the Alien movies the night before. I had it in my head that he’d be a couple of weeks overdue, so it didn’t occur to me that watching little aliens burst out of people’s stomachs might be a bad idea so close to your wife giving birth.

It was.

There’s a suction yoke that they sometimes use to help the baby come out during the ‘Push! Push!’ bit. It temporarily elongates the crown of the head so that it looks the exact same shape as the alien’s head in those movies. Couple that with the fact that the little fucker is blue. Nobody ever told me that. He came out with a blue, alien head on him and a scrunched-up angry face – he looked hideous. I screamed so loud that the doctor started laughing at me. I was screaming louder than Pam.

Then the doc threw him to the midwife, who seemed to flip him from hand to hand, snipping this and snipping that. Robbie looked so damn slippery that I got worried and told the midwife to be careful. She just laughed at me like the doctor had. As if to say, ‘Don’t worry, dipshit, I’ve done this before.’ She was right too. In two minutes flat she had him cleaned, powdered and resting in his own little heated spot in the delivery room.

His crying had stopped by the time I went over to him. Pamela was still in the horrors at that stage, giving birth to the placenta. That’s another thing I didn’t know about. The placenta – just when you think it’s over they have to push this fucking thing out. I glanced back and thought, poor Pam, but turned back around to study the face of my new little boy. It was perfect. He still had a little frown on him and a single tear remained. It rolled down the left side of his tiny round cheek and I wiped it away before it travelled any further. I made a silent promise to him then that I would always be there to wipe away his tears. It was a promise I could keep for just two years, but it had been one that I’d cherished each time I kept it.

I loved his cry. It never bothered me, not once. I loved being the person to stop the tears, to make him feel better. It made me feel better. It made me feel like a man.

He’s crying now.

Not over anything serious. It’s just that his nose is all stuffed up and he can’t get to sleep. Pamela is with him. Like she always is. Calming him, making him feel better. Her everlasting patience and soothing voice are working. She is so strong. How did I not see her strength when I was alive? She always impressed me, don’t get me wrong. But the way she handles everything now, especially with Robbie, mystifies me.

She hasn’t been out in ages. She could do with a night out but doesn’t even see it herself. Doesn’t care about it. All she cares about is him. Still, I know she’d enjoy herself if she was with the lads now. They’re all down in the local, where John is finally after breaking his big news.

‘That’s fantastic. Do you know who the father is?’ Davey says, all thrilled. Fanny laughs and gives John a slap ’n’ grab high five.

‘Congrats, my man, that’s super news.’

John beams. ‘Thanks.’

‘What are you going to call him? Or her?’

‘Don’t know yet. Well, if it’s a boy I want to call him Chris, actually.’

Fanny looks into his pint and says quietly, ‘That would be nice.’

‘Yeah except Niamh doesn’t like the name – never did.’

‘Really, why the fuck not?’ asks Davey, slightly annoyed.

‘Ah, there was some kid in her primary school who they all called Pissy Chrissy for whatever reason and it turned her off the name … guess he smelt like piss or something.’

Davey chuckles. ‘Fair enough.’

This sucks for me. Some knobhead from Niamh’s class has robbed me of a namesake just because he couldn’t hold his piss? I would have loved them to name their child after me – I’d be remembered for the rest of that guy’s life. I guess I can understand it, though. For some reason the name associations you develop from school days stay with you, no matter who comes along after. If there was a kid in school called Philip that you hated, then you can be sure you’ll hate that name for the rest of your life. It’s like how I’d never been mad about the name Pam, as there was a frizzy-haired teacher’s pet who used to always rat on me in my class with that name. Even Pam couldn’t change my dislike for the name and she’s my wife.

Fred arrives from the bar with a big smile on his face and pint in hand. ‘What’s the story, lads?’

‘Alright, Fred, guess what?’ Davey says.

‘What?’

‘John’s not gay!’

‘No way, since when? Does Niamh know?’

‘She does now,’ John says, taking out his phone and showing Fred the picture of the baby scan.

It takes Fred, the dummy, a minute to figure out what it is, then he says, ‘No way! She’s preggers? Congratulations, man. Do you know if it’s a boy or girl?’

‘Nope, find out on the day.’

I can’t wait for him to find out. The namesake thing doesn’t matter, anyway, because I can see her. I can see my best friend’s little girl growing inside Niamh; her tiny fingers have already started to develop. Soon she’ll have her own set of unique prints. Then her skeleton will begin to harden; she’ll grow eyebrows and eyelids, her wrinkled skin will start to smooth out. Next she’ll be able to open her eyes and follow light before her lungs develop enough for air. Then comes the most beautiful and amazing thing of all.

Then comes life.