by Lisa Swallow
“You okay?” he asks.
Oh god, I’m going to puke. The pressure between my legs hurts so fucking much. “Uh. Yeah, great Jem. Fucking awesome.”
“Jesus, you are so like Ruby, it’s bloody scary.”
“I don’t think I am.” I dig my fingers into his shoulders and bite down on my sleeve. “This. Is. Bullshit,” I pant out. “Help me to the bathroom.”
“Hurry up. The ambulance said ten minutes.”
Did he just say hurry up? “You could’ve driven me.”
“No way. You’re not having a baby in my car. I’m not a fucking midwife.” I turn to retort, but he bites back a smile. “Safer this way, summer Sky.”
With relief, I close the bathroom door and lean against it. My stomach hardens as the spasm hits again. Is this Lily’s fault? Did the panic set in more discomfort? I rub my side where she kicked me. As the tightening subsides, the results of my studying everything pregnancy and birth related doesn’t help as words like placental abruption drift into my mind.
A warmth seeps along my leg and my heart leaps in alarm. Did I just wet myself? The stain grows.
My waters.
No. No. No.
Stay calm.
“Jem! Can you grab me some more clothes. And the bag by the bedroom door,” I call.
Keep it together. Keep it together.
I peel my damp jeans off and stagger towards the toilet. Why can’t Dylan be the man outside the door?
Sitting, I hold my head in my hands, caught by another wave of throbbing pressure. Labour is stomach pains, right? Not backache or this pressure? Is it? Shit. I grip my hair, giving into the fearful truth. Why did I deny labour might’ve started, as if in some weird way denial would stop everything until Dylan returned?
Something inside me shifts, and my evening takes a turn into a weird parallel world; one I won’t come back from in a hurry.
“Jem!” I scream. “The baby.”
The door flings open with Jem holding a pair of my jeans in his hand. “What?”
The pressure seizes my body. I can’t do this. This hurts too much. It’s too soon. “What do I do? I have to push. I can’t!”
Jem stares at me, and I stare back, time halting. I’m having my baby in the bathroom? With Jem Jones as my emergency birthing partner?
“I suggest stepping away from the toilet,” he says brown eyes wide.
“Very fucking funny, Jem,” I say and pant.
“Can you wait for the ambulance?”
If I wasn’t attempting not to push this baby out, I’d be shouting at him for asking another stupid question. As if I can bloody stop this. I shift onto my hands and knees, scared to stand. “No! She’s early, Jem. I have four weeks to go.”
“Shit, Sky.” Jem runs his hands through his hair and grips, elbows out at right angles. “What do I do?”
“Just fucking help, Jem!” I yell. “I can’t do this on my own.”
How did he cope with Ruby’s labour? What if he’s one of those guys who pass out at the first sight of a baby being born?
“I want Dylan,” I say through a sob. “I’m scared.”
I drop downwards where my back rests against the marble of the bath, and I stare at the downlight above, wishing I was anywhere but here, with anyone but Jem. But Jem is here, and if he hadn’t been, this would be happening in front of Lily and her impeccable timing.
27
SKY
I study the picture on the wall, opposite the bed, in my private hospital room. I can’t figure out what the image is supposed to be, an abstract of colours, bright to match the surroundings. I don’t feel like I’m in hospital, the suite hotel-like.
What time is it?
The weird hell of my baby’s birth happened somewhere else. To someone else. I’m okay, baby’s okay, and I’m where I should be: in the hospital. I should’ve been here three hours ago, not terrified on my bathroom floor.
The baby isn’t with me. Four weeks early isn’t as dangerous as I worried, but observation needed, and she’s in the nursery. I’m relieved we’re both okay or as okay as I can be considering the last man on earth I expected was the first person to touch my baby.
I shift uncomfortably, sore. Where’s Dylan? He should be here by now, as soon as Jem or anybody told him he’d be on a plane back to London.
The nurse appears within seconds of me pressing the call button; a short woman, hair scraped back into a ponytail, round-cheeked friendliness on her face. She wasn’t here when I arrived half-dazed. No drugs for my delivery, but I can safely say I was not on this planet.
“Is Dylan here yet?” I ask before she can close the door.
“No.” I swallow and my eyes tear. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he called to say he arrived at Heathrow”
“He could’ve called me,” I say, voice breaking.
“You were sleeping. You need to rest.”
“But I need to talk to him!” My petulance echoes in my head. I want today over. I want my baby, and Dylan, and I want to go home.
“Where is she?” I ask.
The nurse smiles and sits on the edge of the bed. “Let me check you over while I’m here.”
“What’s wrong?” I push back the covers. “Is she okay?”
“Baby’s fine. I’ll fetch him in a moment.”
I hold my arm out dutifully as she slides a cuff around my arm. “Him?”
As the machine takes my blood pressure, she clips something over my finger to take my pulse. I can guarantee it’s high. “Sky, you have a boy, remember?”
“No, my baby’s a girl.”
The nurse’s smile grows. “I can assure you he’s a boy.”
After she was born, the warm, slippery body lying on my chest, the wisps of dark hair and the breath against my skin, blocked out anything anybody said to me. Then they wrapped her up and took her for a few minutes before I held her again.
“No. We were told—she’s a girl.”
“Ultrasounds can be wrong sometimes, Sky. There’s always the chance of a surprise like this.” She tidies away the equipment she used. “The main thing is he’s healthy and doing well considering his impatience.” She squeezes my hand with a smile. “And so are you. We want to keep an eye on him for a few hours, but he’s absolutely fine. No breathing problems.”
Boy? Does Dylan know?
“Do you want to come and see him?”
I pull my hand away and the sheets up against me. “I’m tired. Tell me when Dylan arrives.” Turning my back on her, I curl up in the bed, numb.
DYLAN
I let Sky down.
I fight the conflicting turmoil: the aching need to hold Sky, the chest tightening need to see my son, and the head pounding fury at Lily.
When Jem first called, I listened in shock as he gave shaky details. Jem told me he was at the birth, and I had images of him in the delivery room, half-pissed off it was him and half-relieved somebody was there for her.
No. It’s fucking worse than that. My heart leapt several feet across the room when Jem said he hadn’t told me everything. My mind scattered with fear: the baby was sick, Sky was badly hurt, either or both of them were dying. In Jem style, he calmed me down and gave perfunctory details. Mine and Sky’s baby was born in our bathroom, only Jem there, and scant words about Lily’s presence. He mentioned he’d tell me later, but everything was okay, and the police had her.
A son. That’s fucking surreal. All these months I’ve pictured a daughter; looked at Quinn and wondered if they’d be friends as close as me and Jem. Sky and me chose pink and dresses and oh so much little girl stuff. We don’t even have any boy’s names picked out.
The torturous journey from France drags, and my repeated attempts to call Sky are answered by nurses. I arrive in the early hours, relieved I didn’t need to navigate busy daytime streets too.
Resisting the urge to burst into Sky’s room, I slowly open the door and peek in. She sits up in the large bed, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the door. The m
inute she sees me, she throws the bed sheets to one side and struggles to climb from the bed. I’m with her before her feet touch the floor. Her body sinks against my chest, and Sky grasps at me as she buries her face into my jacket.
“I’m sorry, Sky, I’m so fucking sorry. I never thought… we didn’t think.”
“I know. It’s fine.”
I lift her face from my chest, so she looks into my eyes. Her tear-streaked face pale and exhausted. “Are you okay?”
“Everything’s weird,” she says. “Like it didn’t happen to me.”
I glance around the room. “Where is he?”
“In the nursery.” I stiffen. “No, sh— he’s fine. Just a precaution, but they aren’t worried.”
I dig my hands into my hair. “Why did this happen?”
“Just one of those things. Pregnancy’s unpredictable, isn’t it?”
“Not because of what Li…?”
Sky’s face hardens, and I refuse to bring the woman into our moment. “Would’ve happened anyway.”
“And Jem. Shit, that’s insane.”
Sky laughs. “Poor Jem. I don’t think he’ll ever look at me in the same way again.”
“Did he hold the baby?”
Sky curls a hand around my fingers, her understanding interrupting my jealous thoughts. Jem held my son before I did. “Jem helped us.”
A gentle knock at the door interrupts the moment, and I blink back to where we are. The door opens, and a woman stands in the doorway holding a tiny figure wrapped in a white hospital blanket. My heart swells to explosive levels as I stare at the nurse approaching us.
“He’s doing well. I thought you’d like to meet your son.” The young woman’s smile beams towards me, and I’m lost to everything apart from the impossibility in front of my eyes.
My baby. My son. I reach out, and the nurse carefully places him in my arms. Soft, dark hair pokes from beneath the blanket, and I’m stunned when I look down. He’s tiny.; his head would fit in my hand. He weighs nothing to me, but this child in my life will be the heaviest responsibility I’ll carry.
I touch his face; the warmth and softness confirm this is reality. The silence wraps around us, holding me to him.
“Hey, little guy,” I whisper and place my lips on his head. He smells odd, in an amazing way, sweet and warm, unlike anything I’ve come across before. But this child is unlike anything from before. He snuffles against my cheek, and alarmed, I pull my head back. His mouth moves, and his eyes open.
I swallow down the thick emotion gathering, eyes welling, as I move him closer to meet his eyes. Blue eyes. Sky’s eyes, as if looking into another piece of myself the way I have since the moment Sky let me in.
I don’t care who sees, who watches, who anybody tells when a tear escapes. I swipe it away with my free hand unable to look away from him. I’ve waited months for this moment, spent days imagining him, wanting our baby with us.
I have a family.
Sky touches my jacket sleeve. “Dylan.”
I look back, useless, not knowing what the hell I do next. Do I give him to Sky? The nurse?
I echo my thoughts. “He’s tiny.”
“He’ll grow,” says the nurse with a small laugh. “And he’s perfect.”
“Yeah.” I touch the perfection she talks about, my large fingers across his cheeks and nose. “Isn’t he?”
I shift around on the bed, swinging my legs around so I’m stretched out next to Sky.
She watches me with him, pale faced, eyes moist to match mine and strokes my face. “You okay?”
“I can’t put this into words,” I whisper. “I can’t believe he’s here, that I’m a freaking dad.”
The door closes with a gentle click as the nurse leaves, informing us we can call her when she is needed.
“Come here,” I say to Sky, and she snuggles into me, wrapping her arms around my waist so her face is close to our son too. “You’re incredible. I can’t believe I wasn’t there. I said this would happen. Shit, I’m glad Jem was with you. Kind of. The psychotic bloody—”
My burbling’s interrupted by Sky jabbing a finger into my side. “Don’t swear, and I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Her arm tightens around my waist and her words eat at me. She needed me, and I wasn’t there.
28
DYLAN
I’m worried about Sky. She insisted she leave the hospital the next morning, and her mum arrived that afternoon to see her grandson and lend a hand. Each time Karen walked around the room cuddling and speaking to the baby, I thought of my own mum. I’ve thought about her a lot over recent months, feeling cheated I can never share any of this with her. Will my dad crawl out of the woodwork again too?
I haven’t spoken to him for years, never forgave him for what he did to my family. Something that will never ever happen to mine. You don’t marry someone and have children and then leave. Selfish bloody bastard. A year into Phoenix’s success, my dad appeared, wanting to “reconnect.” Such a fucking cliché. He doesn’t talk to me for years, and then he visits his wealthy son.
Just no.
But for the first time in months, I wished I had family to show my son to. Sky reminds me we can visit my gran and take pictures for her to hang on the wall next to choirboy Dylan, and I smiled at the Sky I know peeking through the quiet girl.
Everybody we’re close to wants to visit, and I attempted to put people off, but Sky insisted people came to the house in Berkshire. Odd for such a private person, though good for me because I could show off my beautiful son. For the first few days, Sky’s exhaustion continued, and myself and her mum took over allowing her to sleep. Everywhere I turned, somebody wanted to hold or fuss over him.
Karen left today, after a week’s stay. Her own son needs her back in Spain. Sky’s reaction was unreadable. She took our son, fed, and changed him without allowing me near and settled him in his crib in the nursery. Then she sat in the lounge with him asleep upstairs, curled up on the sofa beneath a blanket, and slept.
I haven’t left the house much, apart from the occasional trip to my studio insisted on my Sky. Sky’s happy to stay in the house too, not unusual for us anyway. One week already feels like a strange eternity, like we’ve been a family forever.
The nurse spoke to me before she left, asking me to keep an eye on Sky’s mental state after the trauma surrounding the baby’s birth. Sky seemed fine at first, full of life. Recently, she’s distant and lost in thought, but I am too. We’re trying to find our feet; both dazed by new parenthood.
I don’t talk to Sky about Lily. The police want to interview Sky about events, and I’ve managed to put them off. I know she’ll have to speak to the police soon, but is she strong enough right now? Jem’s told the police his side of the story, and that’s enough for them to keep Lily in custody. They can’t predict what she’ll do, and we’re safer with her locked up. Safer for Lily too because if she steps anywhere near me or my family, I’ll end up arrested for my actions.
Despite all this, there’s a strange energy around Sky.
Energy she’s currently using to reorganise the kitchen.
I halt in the doorway and stare at Sky, and the items on the floor split into two piles. She sits next to them, shoving tea towels and cloth napkins into a large, black plastic bag.
“Spring cleaning?” I ask.
“I think we should redecorate, like I did the apartment.” Sky gestures at the walls. “I never liked this colour. White is too stark. I think warm colours. Maybe we could buy some paint this afternoon.”
“Or maybe we can contract somebody to do it for us?”
She scowls. “No, I want to do it myself.”
Dark shadows sit below her eyes, hair loose and untamed, but Sky’s showered and dressed in leggings with my blue shirt she adopted as hers, months ago. I’m partly relieved because she’s heading away from the direction of quiet exhaustion I saw her heading in.
“Okay. Maybe next week?” I suggest.
“Or today.
Well, tomorrow I guess.” She balls a cloth napkin and shoves it into the bag.
I rub my face and pull out a chair to sit. Plates piled on the table are sorted into sets, mismatched colours rest in a separate pile. “Can we talk about a name?”
Sky doesn’t look up from her sorting. “I told you, I’m happy with whatever you choose.”
“I know, but I want to choose together.”
“Really, Dylan, I don’t care.”
Now I’m confused, considering the arguments we had over girl’s names. We never discussed boy’s names, and now she doesn’t want much input into our baby’s name? In fact, she cuts the conversation dead each time we have it. Does Sky genuinely not care?
“I made a list. You could too and we can compare? We can’t just call him the baby anymore.”
“Sure.” She holds up a weird kitchen utensil “Do we need this?”
I have no clue what the thing’s for and shake my head. “How long have you been awake, Sky?” I ask. “You didn’t sleep much last night.”
“That’s normal for a new mum.” She looks up and smiles.
“Yeah, but most mums sleep when their baby does. You’ll burn yourself out. Things can wait until we get used to everything new.”
“I’m fine, Dylan. It’s good to have energy for things like this, right?”
“I guess…”
I’m torn. Sky’s happy and full of life, but my instincts tell me otherwise. How many new mums don’t care about their baby’s name? She cares for him, there in an instant when he needs, but sometimes the feeling she’d rather I took over niggles.
“I made up his bottles.” Sky stands and opens the fridge door to indicate the row. “I wrote down when he needs them too.” She closes the door and points to a list on the fridge.
“Okay,” I say.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m worried about you.”
Sky crosses the kitchen and touches my face. “Why? Everything is good, isn’t it?” She looks past me. “Is he awake?”
