I really have to force myself to avert my eyes when I’m dragging Majella through the kitchen of the Mountrath. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many food-safety violations in one place, and we were only in it for thirty seconds max. There was a pigeon on one of the counters.
I slide the passenger seat back as far as it will go and throw down one of John’s fleeces for her to sit on. ‘Okay, you just lie back there and get yourself comfortable. We’ll be at the General in twenty minutes.’
Then I pass Majella my phone, which we’ve been using to time her contractions. They’re three and a half minutes apart now, and judging by what she said to the kitchen porter who told us to have a nice day, they’re getting stronger.
Majella lowers herself slowly into the car and eventually gets the seat belt around her on the fourth attempt. ‘Take the Knock Road, bird – it’s three minutes faster. Pablo’s been doing drills.’
‘Would the main road not be better? The Knock one is so narrow –’
She grits her teeth and starts to pant. ‘Oh … fuck … another … one. Shiiit.’
I’ve let the ball drop on Call the Midwife, so I can’t really remember what you’re supposed to say when someone’s in labour. ‘Breathe, Majella!’ I chance. ‘Don’t forget to breathe!’
After a minute of huffing and puffing her face relaxes and she melts back into the seat. ‘That was the worst yet. Pablo better be on his way. I won’t get through this without him. I’m meant to have his stupid crystals in the delivery room.’
‘He won’t be long now.’
‘Do you have anything I could take? I’d dry gargle a couple of Solps at this stage, Ais.’
‘I might have a paracetamol in the glove box there – have a look.’
‘For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with you! I need real drugs!’
‘How long between those last contractions?’
She checks the phone. ‘Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Let’s move it, come on!’
‘Knock Road it is so,’ I concede, and start the Micra.
We’re only gone about two kilometres and one contraction so strong that Majella asked the Pope for forgiveness when I fly around a bend and nearly go straight into the back of a trailer piled high with round hay bales. It’s crawling along and we won’t have any chance of overtaking it till the Rathborris crossroads, which is about ten kilometres away. This never would have happened if we’d taken the main road.
‘Shite, anyway,’ Majella groans. ‘Who is it?’
I pull slightly to the right to try and see who’s driving the tractor, but I don’t recognise the hat. ‘I don’t know. It’s a ninety-eight reg.’
‘Ford?’
‘John Deere.’
Majella closes her eyes. ‘Ninety-eight John Deere. Let me think. It’s not Kellys. Is it Maguires?’
I take another look. The driver’s shoulders look very defined, and I can make out his impressive biceps from here. ‘I think it’s Seán Óg!’
‘Beep him, Ais. Go on! Beep him to high heaven!’
‘He has on those big noise-cancelling headphones.’
‘His life’s in danger if he doesn’t get out of our way. I’ll strangle him myself.’
I lean on the horn but we crawl along behind the tractor for what feels like an hour but is actually an agonising eighteen minutes, which I measure in Majella’s contractions that are now coming every three minutes. At one point I debate stopping the car and getting out to catch up with the tractor on foot, but I can’t leave Majella when she’s in this state. After another contraction and a full twenty-one minutes behind Seán Óg it dawns on me. ‘John will have his number! Ring him there and stick it on speaker.’
The sound of the dial tone fills the car as we inch along. It rings and rings.
‘Oh, here’s another one already,’ Majella shouts. ‘Fuuuck!’
‘Ais! How’s Majella?’ Just hearing John’s voice makes my shoulders relax a bit.
‘I’m … not … fucking … well … arrrgh,’ Majella roars, her voice about five octaves deeper than normal. She’s red in the face now.
‘Holy shit,’ John shouts back. ‘Maj, from the sounds of it I think you might be going through transition already. Did your mam ever say if your own birth was fast?’
‘I … was … born … on … the … kitchen … floor …’ she gasps.
‘What’s transition?’ I ask, hoping it means that the baby might be having second thoughts about coming out any time soon.
‘It’s basically the part of labour just before the shit hits the fan,’ John explains.
‘The midwife told me they scoop that away so fast nobody sees it,’ Majella shrieks, panting now.
‘No, I mean, the baby isn’t far from being born,’ John says, his voice sounding serious. ‘You better put the foot down, Ais. And Majella?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I want you to think of the contractions as waves. Ride the wave. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. In through your nose and out through your mouth – that’s it.’
Majella does as she’s told, and I can see her face start to soften. ‘It’s easing off,’ she gasps. ‘I’m riding the wave. I’m just riding the wave. Ahhhh.’
‘John, we’re stuck behind a tractor on the Knock Road. I think it’s Seán Óg Maguire. Can you ring him?’
‘He’ll never answer. I’ll have to send him a video on Snap.’
‘Since when do you have Snapchat?’
‘I’ll have to download it. I hope I have space on my phone now. Hang on, I might have to delete something …’
Majella interjects. ‘Where is Pablo, John?’ she wails. ‘I need him.’
‘Don’t worry, he’s here beside me. We’re just coming off the N7 now.’
‘Pablo, can you hear me?’ Majella cries. ‘Pab, the baby’s coming! It’s really coming!’
‘He’s asleep, Maj. He passed out when I told him you were in labour. When he came to, Matt and Denis gave him a brandy for the shock, and he’s been asleep ever since.’
‘Jesus Christ! How did I ever fall for a man who can’t hold his drink! Oh shit, here comes another … wave! Aarrghh!’
‘Keep breathing, Maj,’ John shouts. ‘Imagine your muscles are like jelly. Relax your jaw. Let the wave just wash over you. Your body knows what to do. You know what to do. Deep breaths, good woman. You can do this.’ Then his voice changes. ‘Horse, it’s me. Aisling is behind you in the Micra. It’s an emergency. Pull in as soon as you can, will you? Good lad.’
‘Aaarrrghhh,’ Majella groans. ‘Oh Jesus, I’m starting to feel pressure down below. Is that good or bad, John?’
‘Well, it depends how you look at it.’
I can feel the sweat pooling in my bra now. This is usually the part of Call the Midwife when people are boiling water and tearing up sheets. Beside me, Majella’s eyes are screwed shut and her chest is heaving.
‘Ais, I’m really scared,’ she gasps. ‘I can’t have a baby on the Knock Road. I’m not calling it Knocknamanagh.’
‘Anna, if it’s a girl,’ John shouts.
‘We’re going to get you to the hospital in time, Majella,’ I say, my eyes trained on the trailer in front of me. Come on, Seán Óg! Check your phone! I’ve seen you do it behind the wheel a hundred times before! But there’s nothing. We just continue to crawl along at a snail’s pace. Then suddenly the left indicator on the trailer starts to blink.
‘He’s opened the Snap!’ cries John.
‘He’s turning in! He’s turning in to a gateway, Maj!’
‘Fuuuck … here’s … another … waaave!’
‘John, I’ll let you go. See you at the General.’
‘I love you, Ais.’
‘I love you too.’
‘And Maj,’ he calls, ‘remember your body is made to do this. And don’t forget to breathe. We’ll be with you in ten.’