by Carmen Reid
‘But our dads . . .’ she tried to restrain her tears long enough to get the words out. ‘Yours left and mine shags around. It’s not exactly promising, is it?’
He hugged her harder and didn’t say anything for a while, then he answered: ‘No-one turns out exactly like their parents, Bella. Let’s just give ourselves a chance. You can’t promise this will work out and neither can I, but we both really want to try and that’s enough.’
‘I feel so vulnerable and dependent,’ she said in a frightened voice. ‘And I hate it.’
He held her for a long time, then kissed her forehead. For a moment she was calm, then she put her face against his chest and burst into tears again. ‘Oh God and then there’s the kitchen!’ she sobbed.
‘Bella, it can’t be that bad!’ he said.
‘It is, it’s terrible. Come and look.’ She heaved herself up and shuffled into the appalling slippers she seemed to wear all the time.
They went down the stairs slowly, Don following his lumbering wife. At the bottom was the kitchen, finished that day, a gleaming, brushed steel tribute to modern kitchen design. A glassy black granite surface glittered in the light of the tiny overhead spots. The walls were crisp white, bordered with a splashback of more glossy black tiles.
The Aga looked a little uncomfortably unfashionable.
‘Wow,’ said Don. ‘I’m impressed.’
Bella just burst into tears again.
‘What don’t you like about it?’ He put his arm around her back.
‘I want the old one back. It looked like the kind of place where mums make soup and kids eat biscuits and play with their toys on the floor . . .’ her voice trailed off into another volley of sobs.
‘Bella,’ he was smiling as he hugged her awkwardly over her mountainous bump, ‘you’re going to be a great mum. You don’t have to bake cakes . . .’ Another sob, so he added: ‘Unless you want to.’
What should he say next?
‘Do you want to replace the doors?’ he suggested. ‘Maybe you could get wooden doors like the old kitchen?’
‘That’s a good idea.’ She sounded slightly brighter. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she sniffed. ‘Wooden doors.’
She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. ‘Oh God. I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go and blow my nose and wash my face, I’ve got to get a grip.’
Chapter Twenty-one
TWO DAYS LATER, all the delivery vans had come and gone, the house was almost complete and Bill had been back personally to change the kitchen doors. He had seemed a bit bemused, but never mind, Bella was deliriously happy with the results.
‘It’s fantastic,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking of with the stainless steel, so cold and impersonal.’
‘Quite tricky to clean too,’ he told her. ‘You’ll be getting grubby little handprints on everything soon.’ He gestured to her stomach, now an eye-popping mound which looked far too heavy for her frame to support.
‘Any day now then, is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s actually due tomorrow, but the first ones are always late, aren’t they? Just as well, there’s still a few things left to do.’
She ran through her mental checklist: curtains for all the rooms, more towels and sheets. Don was taking her shopping at the weekend for the final baby bits: nappies, cotton wool, vests.
Bella felt quite sad to see Bill go. He had been knocking around the place with his workers ever since she moved in. As he drove off in his little blue van she realized it was the first time she’d been alone in the house during the day.
After lunch she fell asleep on the sofa and when she woke up at about four she lay still, feeling the baby stir inside her tummy. Suddenly it made a big movement, almost a roll which came with a loud clicking noise, more like a clunk. She couldn’t believe she had just heard the baby! What the hell was that? A joint flexing?
She heaved herself down off the bed and stood up. There was a very odd sensation between her legs, like a hard ball pressing down from inside. She took several steps, but it was still there, she had to waddle with her legs apart. The weight was incredible, like a great big pendulum. The baby’s head had obviously moved right down, ready to go. But she knew it could still be days away.
When Don got home that night he found Bella in her by now regular position on the sofa, in the black trousers and tartan shirt.
‘Hello hon.’ She held her arms out to him. ‘We have to celebrate tonight, the decorators have moved out and the place is finally ours,’ she said.
‘Well, I’ve got chilled white wine, microwavable duck and noodles, ice-cream and about a kilo of grapes,’ he said, holding up his shopping bag up.
‘I could grow to love you, Mr McCartney,’ she answered.
She went to bed early feeling tired and heavier than ever. Her stomach was tingling, there were little ripples of contractions passing up and down it and she could feel it go hard then relax again.
At about four in the morning, she stumbled out of bed to go to the loo. As she sat there she was aware of a strange trickling sensation. Investigating with toilet paper, she found an alarming quantity of mucus spilling out from between her legs.
She had expected ‘the show’ to be a ‘plug’ of mucus, not vast bucketfuls of stuff.
The birth was going to happen some time in the next day or two. She felt a small thrill take hold of her, mixed with panic. Now?? Not yet!!
She couldn’t feel anything – no contractions, nothing different – so she went back to bed.
Just before 6 a.m. she woke to small stitchy pains travelling across her stomach. She lay in bed watching the numbers stack up on the digital alarm clock. The pains lasted just a few minutes. Then at 6.23, they were back . . . and again at 6.57.
Just after 7 a.m. she woke Don.
‘You’re having a day off today,’ she said, amazed at how calm and relaxed she felt.
He opened his eyes and smiled. ‘Really?’
Then he sat bolt upright. ‘Oh my God, you mean . . . Has it really started?’
‘I think so!’
Chapter Twenty-two
‘I’VE GOT TONS of things to do Don, come on, let’s get up.’ Bella threw back the covers and hauled herself out of bed.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked nervously. ‘You’re in labour.’
‘Oh God, it won’t kick in properly for hours. The bathroom needs a good wash down. All the baby things need to be washed and dried, they’re still in their packets. God, you have to go out and buy nappies!’
He was looking pale with terror.
‘For God’s sake,’ she said, lowering herself slowly down to hug him, ‘I’m the one giving birth, remember.’
‘Aren’t you at all worried?’ he asked. She looked at him: stubbly, dishevelled hair, putting on his glasses. Why? As if that would help?
‘God no,’ she was incredibly calm, ‘I weigh so much, the stairs buckle under me, my fingers look like fat sausages, I’ve had this great mass hanging in front of me for months. I can’t wait for it to be out of here—’ she pointed at her stomach.
‘But it’s got to come out through . . .’
‘Don! Shut up!’
She pulled on the massive maternity bra and pants: ‘Two more things I won’t miss about being pregnant,’ she said and then as she hoisted herself into the black trousers and tartan shirt, he added: ‘And two I won’t.’
She padded all the way downstairs to make breakfast in her new kitchen.
The stitchy pains were so mild, she could almost ignore them as she got on with juicing oranges, cutting bread for toast and boiling up a big pot of tea.
She could hear Don showering. When he came down, barefoot, in chinos and a denim shirt, he made a quick call to the office to tell them his paternity leave was starting now.
She could tell by his smiles his boss was teasing him mercilessly.
‘That’s enough,’ Don said. ‘I’ll ring you later . . . yeah, thanks, mate.’
‘Do you really think it will arrive today?’ Don asked. ‘On the due date?’
‘Well, it’s starting. Who knows how long it will take?’
‘That would just be so like you to give birth on the right day. Not early, not late, just exactly on time,’ he said and they both laughed.
‘Have you called the midwife?’ asked Don.
‘Let’s have breakfast, then I’ll speak to her, then we’ll clean the bathroom.’
‘It’s clean, Bella!’
‘I want the bathroom and the bedroom extra clean.’
‘Well, leave it to me.’
‘No, I want to help. Otherwise I’ll have nothing to do, just hours and hours of mild labour. Anyway, I feel so energetic!’
‘Good grief . . .’ he went into TV reporter mode: ‘A woman gave birth on her bathroom floor yesterday still clutching a scrubbing brush in her hand. “I just wanted my house to sparkle,” said management consultant, Bella Browning, who is currently in talks with the Flash marketing department.’
‘Ha ha,’ she said and went off to phone Annie.
She had expected Annie to play it cool and offer to come round later. But in fact, she said she would be there in an hour. Bella felt mildly irritated. What would the three of them do all day?
‘Honestly, Annie, don’t come before twelve. I’ll phone you if anything changes,’ Bella told her.
They cleaned the bathroom and the bedroom and the kitchen, then Bella made Don hoover the whole house.
The baby clothes were put through the wash and chucked into the tumble drier.
‘We haven’t got nearly enough,’ Bella told Don. ‘You’ll have to go and buy some more when the baby’s here.’
‘How will I know what to get?’ he said anxiously.
‘Just go into baby shop looking clueless and say “newborn baby, about this big.” They must be used to it,’ she giggled at him.
He kissed her on the mouth. ‘This is it, Bella, our last few hours as a couple. It’s about to change for ever.’
‘Well a shag is out of the question,’ she said.
‘I know, probably for months.’ He hoped this was a joke.
‘About six weeks, actually,’ she answered.
‘Oh my God!’
‘Are you sad?’ she asked. ‘I don’t mean about the sex, obviously you’re devastated. But about the changing for ever.’ She scanned his face.
‘No. Well, maybe a bit. I’ve loved every moment of the two of us. I just hope the three of us is going to be as good.’
‘Of course it will be.’ She put her arms around him and leaned against his cheek. ‘I hope it is too. I love you, Don.’ After a pause, she added, ‘You are going to get me through this OK, aren’t you?’
‘Of course.’ He stroked her head.
Not long after Don had come back with the nappies and other essential groceries, Annie arrived laden down with bags.
‘Hello. Hello, Bella and you must be Don.’ Out of breath, she plonked one enormous bright yellow bin bag on the doorstep, then offloaded the holdall she’d had slung over her shoulder.
‘Good grief, what is all this stuff?’ asked Bella.
‘You’ll see,’ Annie said.
Don picked up the yellow bag.
‘If you take that one upstairs, I’ll get set out first. Bella, you put the kettle on.’ She saw the look on Bella’s face and added: ‘For tea!’
Annie had asked for a table up in the nursery and she laid out all her equipment there.
‘OK,’ she called down the stairs, ‘Bella, if you can come up, we’ll do a little check-up.’
Blood pressure, urine sample, baby’s heartbeat, then it was time for the internal. Bella stripped off her trousers and pants and felt uncomfortably exposed as she lay down half naked on her bed. She watched Annie don thin latex gloves and take out a tube labelled VAGINAL EXAMINATION JELLY . . . urgh.
‘No-one in the world likes these, do they?’ Bella asked, trying to make small talk.
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Annie. ‘Now, just relax.’
‘Of course. Why should I be at all tense at the prospect of you jamming a great big latexed hand up my fanny?’
Annie looked at her quite sternly, Bella thought.
Ouch, it was surprisingly painful. She wasn’t prepared for that. Either Annie was the clumsiest internal investigator ever or it was something to do with labour.
‘OK,’ said Annie. ‘Only two or three centimetres, so we’ve a long way to go. Why don’t you come down and we’ll have a light lunch.’
Annie had brought a flask of homemade vegetable soup, which she was advising Bella to eat. She also filled the teapot with camomile tea bags before pouring the hot water on top.
Don ignored this spartan regime and made rounds of toast smothered in melted cheese with pickle, and strong black coffee.
‘Goodness,’ Annie couldn’t help herself. ‘Don’t you worry at all about stomach ulcers?’
‘No,’ said Don with a grin.
Bella’s face winced slightly with the pain of another contraction.
‘How are you doing?’ asked Annie.
‘It’s OK actually, just like a sharp period pain, but then it goes away completely.’
‘What would you like to do after lunch?’ Annie asked. ‘Maybe a walk, or we could do some yoga stretches. Or maybe there’s a video you’d like to watch while I give your shoulders a massage?’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Bella.
‘I’ve brought a lovely video with me called Birth Lines.’
‘Oh God no, how about Woody Allen?’
Annie said ‘Of course,’ and Don rolled his eyes.
Bella sat cross-legged in front of Annie who massaged her shoulders with wonderful smelling oil as all three of them watched Manhattan. Don kept getting up to pace about the house on some supposed errand or other and Bella would occasionally clutch at her sides and say ‘Ohhh, that was sore.’
By the end of the film the contractions were coming every ten minutes and Bella was finding them painful.
Annie ushered her upstairs for another check-up, which revealed a dilation of about four centimetres, then sent her for a hot bath. Don moved a stool inside the bathroom, so he could sit beside Bella and Annie stayed in the nursery so she was around, but not too obtrusive.
After twenty minutes in the bath, Bella got Don to help her out so she could sit on the loo for a bout of crampy, painful diarrhoea.
‘Look on the bright side,’ she said weakly, climbing back into the bath and turning on the hot tap. ‘At least I won’t need an enema.’
Don was starting to feel more nervous. This was really happening. He’d watched women give birth before but in squalid conditions, shouting out words he couldn’t understand and it had been like watching a film.
This was Bella, here in the bathroom, in the bath.
Annie came in with a little ball of Plasticine. She stopped up the bath overflow and ran the hot tap again. She tipped in a little oil and the room began to smell of warm summer holidays.
All three of them breathed deeply and felt a little calmer.
Bella was squeezing Don’s hand: the pains were shooting up her stomach. She screwed up her eyes and gasped with the intensity of them. But the water was hot and comforting and she tried to relax in between contractions.
Already it was 5 p.m. and soon Annie wanted her out of the bath to do another set of checks.
Bella was irritated by this. Somehow she lumbered out and Don and Annie wrapped a huge towel round her and supported her to the bed. Don went down to the kitchen to throw some food together while Annie performed another painful examination.
‘Ouch,’ said Bella loudly. ‘Can’t you be more gentle?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Annie said then prodded just as hard again. ‘OK, about five centimetres now.’
‘Five centimetres? Are you sure?’ Bella said grumpily. ‘This is going to take for ever.’
‘Calm down, Bella, some women are slow at t
he start, then it all rushes out at the end. Just go with the flow. The baby’s fine and so are you.’
‘It really hurts now,’ Bella said.
‘Let’s try the TENS machine, then come down to the kitchen and have a change of scene.’
Annie dried her thoroughly, then stuck the electrodes onto her back and gave her the little control panel to hold.
‘OK, you just push those buttons when you feel a contraction coming on. It stimulates endorphin production,’ said Annie. ‘Give it a whirl. If you don’t like it, we’ll take it off.’
Bella pushed down the button and felt a mild flicking on her back. She pressed again and the flicking increased to a sort of stinging pain. She couldn’t really see how that was going to help, but at least it was something else to think about. All this waiting was driving her demented.
She was just waiting, waiting for the next contraction and the one after that and for the next hour to pass so she could be a bit closer to getting this over with.
Down in the kitchen, she huddled in an armchair with her control panel and watched Don cook pasta with bolognese sauce.
‘Are you going to have some?’ he asked Annie.
‘I don’t eat meat,’ she replied.
‘Have the pasta with butter and grated Parmesan then. We’ve got fantastic tomatoes too,’ Don said.
‘OK. Thank you,’ said Annie.
Fantastic tomatoes? thought Bella grumpily. How the hell could he think about tomatoes when she was in this much pain?
‘Bella, what can I get you?’ Don came over and asked her so kindly, she forgave him immediately.
‘Just some apple juice please.’ She screwed up her face against another contraction and zapped up the counter-effect on her machine. It seemed to block out the intensity by pummelling small electric shocks all over her back.
The pains were bad now: they clamped right round her stomach and back. But then they released and everything felt fine again, felt good in fact.
She was starting to count in the moments when her eyes were screwed up against the pain and she knew the contractions were getting longer. How long could this all go on for? It had been about ten hours since the first twinges. Most first labours took about 12 hours, so there could be as little as two hours to go. Hallelujah!
