Babies in Waiting (33 page)

Jenny advised us that we shouldn’t attend antenatal classes where people were going to go on and on about the pain of labour, or where we might be told too many labour horror stories. After my brunch with Robyn and Caro I tended to agree with her, so I skipped quite a few of the classes at the hospital. One of the last classes was all about breastfeeding, though, and I really wanted to learn about that, so I went along. Gemma had already decided she was going to bottle-feed (and believe me, I tried to persuade her otherwise), so she didn’t come.

Quite a few of the women who’d been there at the beginning of the course had already given birth and weren’t there. I’d had a text from Susie and she’d had her baby . . . she’d had an amazing hypnobirthing and waterbirth experience. She said she’d write me a long email all about it when she had the chance. Louise’s due date had come and gone, so I was really surprised when I walked in to see her sitting by the open window on an upright chair, fanning herself with a sheaf of notes and looking none too happy.

‘Hi,’ I said, going over. We hadn’t really been in contact, and I was a bit worried that things would be awkward, but she gave me a big, relieved grin.

‘Hello, you!’ she said warmly. ‘Look, do me a favour, please don’t say, “Why are you still here?”, or “Gosh, thought we wouldn’t see you here again,” or definitely not “Still pregnant?” Because believe me, I’ve heard them all, a hundred times, this week already.’

‘How overdue are you?’

‘Five days. Nearly a week. One hundred and twenty hours. Many, many, heavy, hot minutes. I’ve actually been to this breastfeeding class before, but I am so bored of sitting at home and waiting for something to happen, I thought I’d come and do it again.’

‘I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard not to focus on the due date you were given, but they do say you should see it as a due month rather than a single date.’

‘A due
month
? Oh my God, I’m not having another three weeks of this.’

‘They’ll induce you, though, won’t they?’

‘I’m having a sweep, where they loosen the membrane through your cervix, tomorrow. If that doesn’t work, I have to wait another five days before they’ll induce me.’

‘Induction’s supposed to be really painful, though, isn’t it?’ I said, doubtfully.

‘Not if you’re numb from the waist down!’ said Louise cheerfully, and I remembered she wanted an epidural. Well, each to her own, I say.

‘Well, I hope it happens soon, or at least if you have to wait I hope it cools down a bit.’

‘I know! This has to be the worst possible weather to be heavily pregnant. I’m just sweltering all the time.’

‘Me too. I spend hours at home sitting with my feet in a bucket of ice water. Not elegant, but it’s the only thing that cools me down.’

‘Really?’ Louise said. ‘That sounds like bliss. I’ll give it a go when I get home.’

‘Where’s home now?’ I asked. She obviously wasn’t working any more, so I supposed she’d moved out of Adam’s house.

‘Ah . . . well, it’s not what I’d have chosen, but Brian and I have ended up sharing a flat in the centre of Kingston. It’s small. Very small. Way too small for a woman this shape and a man his size.’

‘Are you . . .’

‘Together? No. He just had nowhere to go. It’s an awful situation, but what can you do? He keeps telling me I messed up his life and that I have to help him now.’

‘
You
messed up his life? Louise, he’s the one who cheated on his wife and got someone else pregnant. He has to take some responsibility for his actions and get off his arse and do something to change the situation.’

‘Ah, we’ve had that conversation about a hundred times. He keeps saying he needs time, and to be honest, I just don’t have the energy to fight him any more. Anyway, it can’t go on forever. I think he’s starting to do something. He seems to spend ages online and talking on his phone in his room. Maybe he’s about to get a job.’

‘Is he helping financially?’

‘A bit, but I’m okay. I saved practically every penny I
made working for Harper Graphics. I can take a good few months off without having to worry.’

I’d forgotten what Louise was like . . . she’s so resourceful and independent. It makes me feel like a right ditzy, useless blonde, I can tell you.

‘And what about . . . was it Adam?’

Louise smiled a little. ‘Adam, yes. Harper Graphics is his company.’

‘There was a little something going on between you, wasn’t there?’

‘Well, kind of, but he was understandably hacked off when he found out Brian was living in the house, so he asked me to move out.’

‘Ouch.’

‘It was pretty horrible. Anyway, he’s back, and I ran into him in town the other day.’

‘And?’

‘Well, we didn’t have any major, life-changing conversations, if that’s what you’re asking. But we had a cup of coffee, and a chat. I explained a bit about Brian, and I hope . . . well, I hope maybe we can be friends after all. I told him we could meet up again after the baby was born. I just didn’t expect to have to wait so damned long!’

Anyway, then the class started, and very interesting it was too. I learned loads, and I got really excited that in a week or so I was going to meet my baby and feed him or her. When the class was finished, Louise struggled to her feet.

‘Right, I’m off to find the biggest bucket I can, empty the contents of my freezer into it and stick my feet in.’ She picked up her bag and gave me her trademark wide grin.

‘Lou,’ I said, not sure how to say what I wanted to say, ‘I’m sorry. I know I judged you, and, well, I’m sorry. I hope things are okay for you and the sprog.’

‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘I deserved to be judged. I’m living with the consequences of my actions, so I’m doing my best to make things all right.’

‘Well, I hope the consequences of your actions will have made you a nice dinner when you get in,’ I said, smiling.

‘Fat chance,’ Louise laughed. ‘I’ll ring the Chinese on my way home and they’ll deliver.’

We said goodbye then, and, on impulse, I went to give her a kiss and a hug. It was a funny old hug, with our enormous bumps getting in the way. But it was nice. ‘I’ll give you a ring in the week,’ I said.

‘Do. I’d like that. And I’ll let you know as soon as I pop. And don’t you dare go and have yours before me!’ Then she waved goodbye, clambered into her little car and was off.

As the late-summer weather grew muggier and cloudier, Gemma felt less inclined to go out. Her dad handed her his credit card and told her to stock up on DVDs, so she bought a few films and box sets of her favourite US sitcoms and dramas and settled herself on the sofa in the airconditioned living room every day for hours on end. Ben popped in sometimes, but he never stayed for long, and he spent half his time texting Kat. He’d had a massive argument with his mum about her not passing on Gemma’s message. Gemma felt a bit guilty that she’d caused them to row, but the up side was that Hannah had backed off and stopped ringing her and visiting all the time. Now Toni was on maternity leave, she came round too sometimes, bringing biscuits, caramel popcorn and ice cream. Most of the time, though, Gemma was happy to settle on the big sofa on her own, feet up, cool drink close at hand and the remote balanced on her bump.

She knew about Braxton-Hicks contractions: she’d been having a few a day for weeks on end. She knew that the
painless but intense tightenings of the muscles of her uterus were just practice contractions, but, one steamy, humid Tuesday, they seemed to be coming more frequently than usual. Maybe it was the heat, or the fact that she had drunk several glasses of fruit juice. She’d noticed the baby got more active if she had sugar.

She had one quite intense one, when her uterus went as hard as a rock, during the title sequence of an episode of
Desperate Housewives
. Then she had another one as the next episode was starting. She picked up the DVD case and idly noted that the episodes were forty-two minutes long. She got up to get another drink, and glanced at her watch. It was two fifteen. When the next Braxton-Hicks came, she checked the time again. Two fifty. Thirty-five minutes since the last one. It was funny, she didn’t remember them coming so often before.

She suddenly felt restless, as if her legs were desperate to move, and she couldn’t bear the idea of sitting around on the sofa any longer. She went upstairs to shower and change out of her scruffy tracksuit bottoms. Maybe she’d go and sit out in the garden in the shade for a bit, or even go for a little walk. But as she washed in the shower, she glanced down and saw a smear of something on the tiles of the shower floor. When she crouched down to look, she saw it was a blob of mucus, with a little blood in it. Had it come from inside her? It must have. As she stood up to wash her hair, another contraction squeezed her belly, and this time it was mildly painful, like an intense, but brief period pain.

She finished showering and towelled herself. When she dried between her legs, there was an unmistakable smear of blood. Despite the heat of the afternoon, she felt suddenly chilled and began to shake. Was this it? Was the baby coming? It was too early! She was only thirty-seven weeks pregnant. She tried to think. Her father was at work in the City, obviously. Her mother had gone into town too, for an all-day spa break at the Sanctuary. Her mobile would be off, and she’d be unreachable . . . and anyway, she was a forty-minute train journey away too. Ben. She’d ring Ben, and Toni. Maybe Toni could tell her she was just being silly and that everyone had symptoms like this a few weeks before the baby came. Yes, she’d ring Toni first. But Toni’s phone went straight to her voicemail, and when Gemma thought about it she remembered Toni had an antenatal appointment that afternoon. She wouldn’t be long, though, surely? Gemma rang back and left a message: ‘Hi, Toni, it’s me. Um, I’m having some pains, and there’s been a little bit of blood . . . I think it might be the show. Can you call me? I’m worried I might be in labour, but maybe I’m just being silly. It’s too early, anyway, so I’m sure it’s nothing. Anyway, it’s um . . . about half past three.’

She got dressed slowly, and put a sanitary towel in her knickers, although there was no sign of any more blood. She checked her watch. She hadn’t had a Braxton-Hicks, or contraction, or whatever for a while . . . maybe it was all a false alarm. Maybe it was . . . oh God. The next contraction was unmistakable, intense and actually quite painful, and seemed to go on for a good thirty seconds or so. She
picked up her phone, her hand shaking, and dialled Ben. Thank God, thank God, he answered on the first ring.

‘Ben . . .’ She didn’t worry about polite niceties. ‘I think I’m in labour,’ she said, and burst into tears.

‘Are you at home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you get to the front door and put it on the latch? Do that and go and lie down, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m coming right now, Gem, don’t worry,’ he said, and he rang off.

She made her way downstairs slowly, holding on to the banister with both hands, and did as Ben had asked. She didn’t want to lie down or even sit down, so she went into the kitchen and made herself sip some fruit juice. Should she ring the hospital? Not yet. She’d wait for Ben to come. They could ring together. When the next contraction came, it was just ten minutes since the one she’d had upstairs. Things seemed to be speeding up very quickly indeed. This wasn’t at all like they’d said it would be in the antenatal classes. ‘Seventy-five per cent of first babies are late,’ Donna had said reassuringly. ‘And, with a first labour, from your first twinge, in most cases, you’re looking at at least twelve hours till you see your little one for the first time. So you should have plenty of time to get to the birth unit calmly and slowly.’

Calmly and slowly, my arse, Gemma thought, as another contraction came, just eight minutes later. Where the hell was Ben? That was when she remembered that Donna had also said, ‘Every labour is different, though. You might
just pop your baby out in three hours, or you might go twenty-four hours and need a Caesarean. There’s no way of knowing.’

When Ben arrived, a few minutes later, she was on all fours on the kitchen floor panting like a dog. She looked up when he rushed in. He was sweating and red-faced, his hair all over the place.

‘You look a mess!’ she said between breaths. He was kind enough not to comment on what she looked like.

‘I ran all the way here,’ he said, falling on his knees beside her. ‘I waited at the bus stop for about ninety seconds, and I couldn’t bear to wait any longer. There’s a massive traffic jam up and down the high street in both directions. What’s happening?’

‘Contractions, basically,’ she said sitting back on her knees. ‘They’re coming closer and closer together, and each one is longer and more painful.’

‘How close together?’

‘Six minutes apart, the last two.’

‘That’s close.’

‘I think . . . um, I think you should call an ambulance, Ben,’ she said. He didn’t argue, just took out his phone and dialled 999.

He went into the next room, and she heard him giving information to the controller. He came back in to ask her for the postcode, but she was having another contraction. As soon as it finished, she gasped it out and he passed it on. When he hung up, he came to sit next to her on the floor.

‘They say there’s been a big accident on the motorway, that’s why there’s a traffic jam, and that most of the ambulances have been called over there. They’re making us a priority, she says, but, well, it might be a little while.’

Gemma burst into tears, and Ben awkwardly put his arm around her.

‘Do you want to get off the floor?’ he said tentatively. ‘Maybe go and lie on your bed?’

‘I don’t want to lie down!’ she growled. ‘This is the most comfortable position and I like the floor, it’s cold.’

‘Okay . . .’ he said, ‘but can I get you some towels or something? For your knees, and in case . . .’

At that moment, her waters broke, drenching her lower half and making her cry harder. Ben ran up the stairs, opening doors until he found the airing cupboard. He grabbed an armful of thick towels and ran back down to Gemma. He gently helped her to take off her soaked tracksuit bottoms and dried her, then wrapped a clean, dry towel around her waist.