The Antenatal Group

by Amy Bratley

  ‘What’s up?’ he said, dropping off the table and cupping her face in his hands.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, giving him a small smile. ‘I’m in a strange mood. I’ve been talking to Erin, you know, the older lady in the antenatal group? She lost her last baby. He died in her womb. I guess it’s scared me. I don’t want anything to go wrong.’

  Mack stopped playing for a moment and turned towards Lenny, frowning.

  ‘Come on, Len, mate,’ said Mack from the other side of the room. ‘I thought we were rehearsing?’

  ‘Nothing will go wrong,’ Lenny said, kissing her nose. He turned to face Mack. ‘Okay, mate!’

  Mack plugged his guitar into his amp and started to play incredibly loudly. The baby kicked. Lenny moved over to the microphone and picked it up.

  ‘I’d better get back to Mel,’ Rebecca said. ‘See you later.’

  Lenny blew her a kiss, but wasn’t really looking at her. Rebecca sighed, picked up her bag and left.

  The sea was fish-skin silver. The beach was empty apart from a woman walking her dog. Rebecca and Mel walked along the road at the back of the beach, talking about possible baby names for a while, then more about how Erin must have felt after losing Josiah. When they reached a postbox, Rebecca pulled out the letter.

  ‘Wish me luck,’ she said to Mel.

  ‘Good luck,’ Mel said. ‘Who’s it to?’

  ‘My mum,’ Rebecca said. ‘I’ve finally written to tell her the truth about Lenny and the baby.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Mel. ‘That’s brilliant.’

  Rebecca smiled gratefully at her. She held the letter at the letter slit and closed her eyes. She said a silent prayer to the universe, and let it drop in among the other letters. Walking away, Mel started speaking, but Rebecca could only think about her mother’s expression when she picked up the letter from the doormat. She’d be smart in her work suit, her hair neatly pinned up. A tremor of panic ran through Rebecca when she imagined her opening it. Why did Rebecca think she would accept this news? From everything she knew of her mother, this news would make her ashamed and disappointed. Christ, she’d probably have a heart attack.

  ‘Rebecca?’ said Mel. ‘Are you listening? I was just saying that for ten minutes after I told Leo to leave the other night I felt better. More in control, you know? I said to him, if you can’t be positive and supportive about this major event in our lives, then I don’t want you in my life. I asked him to leave, and only come back if he was prepared to give it all his best shot. I know he’s terrified, but, fuck, so am I.’

  Mel gave Rebecca an exasperated smile and they both stopped to watch the sun fall on to the sea through a break in the clouds, like a theatre spotlight moving around a stage.

  ‘Now I’m wishing I hadn’t told him to go,’ she said quietly. ‘I miss him really badly. Especially after everything Erin told us. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it really does. But you were strong. You did the right thing with Leo, because he’ll have to decide what he really wants. I’m not so sure I have . . . maybe writing was the coward’s way out.’

  ‘You have done the right thing,’ said Mel. ‘You definitely have, and writing is best because it will give your parents time to think about where you’re at. Don’t worry too much. I’m sure they’ll be pleased for you. Maybe this will be the thing to bring you closer.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Rebecca. ‘I hope so.’

  The women linked arms and carried on walking, keeping their eyes on the setting sun, both wondering what on earth was going to happen next.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Finding her Evian water-spray bottle in her washbag on the table beside the hospital bed, Katy clutched it in her fist but paused as she felt a contraction coming. She decided the contractions made her feel as if she had a cheese wire around her middle which someone was tightening with pliers. She leaned over the side of the bed, raising her bottom in the air and stuffing her face in the mattress to groan, quietly thanking Alan’s sister for making her such a gorgeous birth costume. Already she knew the whole labour process was going to be pretty unsightly for Alan.

  ‘Well done,’ said Alan, rubbing her back briefly until the pain relented. ‘Shall we have some music now?’

  As she quietened, he moved across the room to turn on the CD player. Track one of Benedictine Monks Gregorian Chants: Volume One burst into the room.

  ‘Turn those fucking monks off!’ Katy hissed. ‘And you don’t need to congratulate me every time I have a contraction. We could be here for days. It feels like we have been here for days.’

  Alan held his hands up in the air, as if asking for mercy. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘No problem.’

  ‘But thank you,’ said Katy, through gritted teeth. ‘Thank you.’

  Since her waters had broken on the bus, much to the irritation of the bus driver, who threw a few paper towels down on to the floor while she clambered off on to the pavement, Katy’s contractions had been erratic. At first, there was nothing, and the midwives at her hospital check had advised her that if the baby hadn’t been born within twenty-four hours the labour would have to be induced to reduce the risk of infection. There had been a room free in the labour suite, so Katy and Alan had stayed in hospital, but after hours of irregular contractions, Katy was only two centimetres dilated and she’d been given a gel pessary to help. Except it wasn’t helping. In her birth plan, Katy had been against being induced. She wanted to do the whole thing naturally and to feel in control. But all this waiting in the labour ward with nothing much happening was – well, it was awful. Despite giving herself a stern talking-to, she was becoming demoralized and beginning to feel as if she didn’t have any idea what her body was doing. From other rooms, she heard cries coming from women who were in the final throes of birth and, though she’d been in pain on and off for hours, her pain was clearly nothing like theirs. She’d been checked by a midwife, but wasn’t dilating any further. The midwife had given her the option of going home and returning in the morning, but it hardly seemed worth it. And, actually, because it wasn’t going to plan – and the minutes in between contractions stretched out hopelessly and ineffectually – the whole process had become slightly terrifying. Thankfully, since she had Erin’s story in the back of her mind, the baby’s heartbeat on the foetal monitor was strong and steady and Katy’s blood pressure only very slightly raised.

  ‘It will all kick off properly in a bit,’ said Alan happily, trying not to yawn in the pink vinyl chair he was reclining in, his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. ‘You should try to get some rest while you can. Everything’s going to work out just fine, angel.’

  Katy nodded. She smiled over at Alan from the side of the bed, his calm instructions reminding her of a holiday they’d been on to Tobago a few years back, where they’d stayed in an incredible hotel with an infinity pool overlooking the ocean. It was meant to be a dream trip, but she had caught tropical flu on the plane over and had been the most poorly she had ever been, not leaving the bedroom the entire ten days. Alan had been a hero, bringing her little bowls of ice cream to soothe her throat, resting wet flannels on her forehead, flinging open the window shutters and asking people in the pool to keep the noise down. She’d hated feeling so vulnerable and mortal – but something about this situation gave her a similar sensation, which was dreadful, since she was having a baby, supposedly the most natural and empowering thing on the planet.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ she said. ‘My feet are swollen, my back aches and I’m nauseous.’

  Even though she’d read every book there was about labour, the information seemed to have fallen out of her head. Her brain was muddled. She couldn’t remember how long each stage of labour was supposed to last. It now seemed as though Ginny’s advice had been no help at all. Katy sighed. She knew that if she was going to be able to carry on she needed to sleep. Lifting herself up on to the bed, she asked Alan to come and lie with her. He stood, stretched and dimmed the lights. Perching on the very e
dge of the bed, he wrapped his body around hers, kissed her neck and gently massaged her shoulders. She felt his breath on her skin and closed her eyes.

  ‘I love you, Katy,’ he said, as she felt sleep wash over her. He kissed her again and closed his eyes. Within minutes, they were both asleep.

  The sleep didn’t last for long. Less than an hour later, Katy’s contractions started up again. This time she understood what they meant by contracting. They were so unbearably painful, and she was so incredibly tired that, when she discovered she was only three centimetres dilated after hours of sucking in gas and air, which made her sick, she begged for an epidural. Alan didn’t even question her on the decision, for which she was grateful. When the contractions slowed again, she was given an induction drug via a drip. Attached to the drip, a foetal heart monitor strapped around her belly and unable to feel her lower body, Katy couldn’t move. Though she tried to keep her spirits up, she felt trapped. She had retreated within herself, more frightened than at any other time in her life. Alan was doing all the talking, keeping a flow of information from the midwife’s mouth into her ears. He was her umbilical cord, but even though she could see his mouth moving, she wasn’t wholly absorbing the meaning of his words. Fluctuating heartbeat. Labour not progressing. Baby in distress. Failure to progress. Surely this couldn’t be happening to her? When more people flooded into the room, offering up their opinions, Katy began to panic.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, in tears when, on the foetal heartbeat monitor, she heard the baby’s heart racing, then slumping, racing, then slumping. ‘That can’t be right?’

  Midwives offered placatory words. Doctors looked concerned. She was checked and checked again, but nobody actually seemed to be talking to her. What seemed like hours was probably only a matter of minutes. Gripping Alan’s hand, she listened to the baby’s heartbeat until it appeared to stop completely. She gasped. She held her breath. The baby had died. But the heartbeat started again.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she said, breathing hard. ‘Oh no, oh God, please no. GET THE BABY OUT!’

  ‘Katy, the baby’s distressed,’ a doctor said, holding her hand while she wept. ‘We need to get you down to theatre for an emergency C-section.’

  A form was shoved under her nose. She signed it, retching. At the same time, another midwife cut off her labour outfit (there was no time to waste) with scissors, shaved off her pubic hair with a razor and removed the nail varnish from her toes. If she’d been able to move, she would have curled up into a ball. She sucked her thumb. Her entire body shook. She didn’t care any more. She wanted the baby out. She knew one of them was going to die – would it be her or the baby? Let it be me, she said in a silent prayer. Let the baby live.

  ‘Could you put these on, please, if you’d like to come into theatre?’ the midwife asked Alan, handing him blue scrubs, a hairnet and covers for his shoes.

  ‘There’s no way I’m not coming,’ he said, pulling off his jumper. Then his T-shirt. And his trousers. Standing in his underpants, the midwife shook her head.

  ‘You put them on over your clothes,’ she said, widening her eyes at Katy.

  Alan cracked up laughing, and Katy wondered how he possibly could. She reeled, confused by how ludicrous he suddenly seemed. Rich, successful, effective, Alan was stripped down to his pants and laughing with the midwife while she was contemplating the possible death of her baby or herself. Were they in parallel universes? Alan scrabbled to put his trousers back on, then, seconds later, she was being pushed through corridors in her bed, knocking against walls as they rushed towards theatre. Alan caught up and was by her side, ridiculous in his blue hat.

  Failure to progress. There it was. Failure. The worst word.

  ‘You’re going to be fine, Katy,’ Alan said. So did other people, who she didn’t know. They were just words. ‘Fine’ was easy to say, but nothing was further than the truth. This was hell. This had all gone horribly wrong. She racked her brains for all the things she had done wrong in her life and wondered if she was being punished for them. In the operating theatre, incredibly bright lights hurt her eyes. She covered her face. This was all wrong. Alan sat by her side, holding her hand. He looked ever so pale, despite his constant tan. There were so many people in the room, all scrubbed up, prepared. She felt as if they’d been down there waiting for her, knowing that she’d never do it properly, that she’d fail. One of the doctors proudly announced that she was his sixth emergency C-section that evening. She gleaned that he was trying to reassure her he knew what he was doing. She said thank you, though it was hard to speak. Her body was shaking so violently now her teeth were audibly chattering.

  ‘Let’s get this baby born,’ the doctor said urgently, before raising a green sheet between her eyes and whatever they were doing with their scalpels. She lay back and felt a few tugging sensations before one of the surgeons spoke.

  ‘Katy,’ he said, in a quiet, serious voice. ‘You have a baby boy.’

  At the same moment, he lifted the baby up above the green sheet so she could see him. Dangling there in the air, for just a second, his arms outstretched and his face in an angry, squashed-up frown, was her baby. He was bigger than she imagined and more screwed up. His eyes were closed. He looked too floppy. The image imprinted itself on her memory in a snapshot. Katy found herself crying, but the cry sounded odd in the operating theatre with everyone going about their business in each corner of the room. Shouldn’t her baby boy be crying by now? She heard a squeak. Was that a cry? Alan leaned over and kissed her, but now the midwife was by her side. Katy couldn’t see the baby.

  ‘We normally let you hold the baby immediately, but your little boy needs attention,’ she said, as another person rushed into the room. Katy had one thought that wouldn’t go away: shouldn’t the baby be crying by now? Alan moved over to the baby and she saw his body moving very slightly, in a way that she knew was him trying not to cry. Was the baby dead? She was so tired her eyes were closing. The surgeons were still working on her abdomen, talking her through what was happening, but their words weren’t making any sense. Alan was no longer by her side. She was aware of the baby being pushed out of the hospital room in a glass box – an incubator? Alan glanced at her with wide eyes, looking utterly helpless.

  ‘I’ll look after him,’ Alan said. ‘I’ll find out what’s going on.’

  Katy swallowed. Her heart broke. She hadn’t heard her baby cry. She willed herself to speak. Is he dead? Katy mouthed silently at him, tears dripping down her face.

  He rushed over to her side and kissed her cheeks and head and held her arms.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, tears on his cheeks. ‘Of course not. He’s alive and he’s beautiful. He’s here. He’s just had a difficult birth, but you did it, angel. You did it.’

  Katy stopped feeling anything. I didn’t do it, she thought. I might as well have not even been here for all I actually did. She had been passive, immobile, paralysed. For a moment, while the surgeons continued to work, she stared at the ceiling, straining to remember the baby’s face which had appeared above the green sheet. He was alive? What if they mixed him up with another baby boy? Would she be able to recognize him? She began to panic, and somebody in the room mentioned that her blood pressure was pretty high on the monitor.

  ‘It’s okay, Katy,’ a midwife said. ‘You’re okay now.’

  She nodded. Alan would look after the baby. Alan wouldn’t allow anything to happen. She tried so hard to keep her eyes open, but she was so incredibly tired.

  ‘Well done,’ the midwife said, smiling sympathetically down at her. ‘That was an ordeal. You coped well. I know this was far removed from the birth you wanted.’

  ‘Can I see him? Katy asked. ‘Can I see my baby now?’

  She needed to see him. But she was so very tired.

  ‘Soon,’ said the midwife. ‘Yes, soon.’

  She hadn’t slept more than an hour in thirty-six. The drugs she’d had were affecting her. Her eyes wouldn’t stay open. She told h
erself that the baby had been born, that he was alive. Alive and safe with Alan. Her eyes closed, and she fell into a black, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Mum!’ exclaimed Mel, opening the door of her building to find her mum standing on the doorstep. ‘You’re a day early!’

  Mel’s mum, Bella, put down her suitcase, let her handbag slip off her shoulder and on to the floor and held her arms outstretched towards Mel. In her long, cream, belted trench coat, pressed within an inch of its life, her soft silvery hair pushed up in tortoiseshell combs, cheekbones dusted with pink blusher and smiling lips painted a delicate plum colour, she was everything that represented home for Mel.

  ‘Come here, my love,’ Bella said, pulling Mel into her chest. ‘Let me hug you.’

  At the sight and feel of her mum, a lump formed in the back of Mel’s throat. A hundred memories rushed into her mind: all those times in her life when life had thrown her a curveball and she’d needed someone, her mother was always there. She felt her shoulders drop a couple of inches and let out a little cry.

  ‘I know, love,’ Bella said, hugging her tight. ‘I know.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Mel squeaked. ‘It’s seeing you, Mum. I’ve tried to be really strong, but I’m nearly due now and I’m exhausted and scared and—’

  ‘Of course you are, love,’ Bella said. ‘But I’m here now. I’m going to help. I hope you don’t mind me being early. I couldn’t stand to stay with your aunt any longer, with all those stinking cats on the table licking the butter straight from the tub. And I’ve been desperate to see you and find out how you really are. You’re almost ready to drop, aren’t you, love? Aren’t you going to let me in?’

  Mel swallowed. She felt she’d been so strong so far, apart from her waterworks display at the first antenatal class, but seeing her mum made her feel floppy and incapable. Even getting up the stairs and explaining what was going on felt almost impossible. Did this feeling of being a child in your parent’s company ever stop?