“Um…Suze…” My stomach is bunched with nerves. “Actually…”
“Knock, knock!” There’s a fresh voice at the door. “It’s Louisa here! Can we come in?”
Louisa? This can’t be happening. She’s the aromatherapist I hired for the birth. How the hell did she…
“Your mum’s been busy calling all the people on your list, just to make sure they knew!” Suze beams. “She’s so efficient! They’re all on their way.”
I can’t cope. Everything’s moving too quickly. Louisa has already got out some little vials of oils and is rubbing something orangey on the back of my neck. “There!” she says. “Does that feel good?”
“Lovely!” I manage.
“Becky!” Mum’s shrill voice is sounding from outside the room. “My darling!” She comes rushing in, clutching a bunch of flowers and a paper bag full of croissants. “Sit down! Take it easy! Where’s your epidural?”
“She’s managing without one!” says Suze. “Isn’t she amazing?”
“Without one?” Mum looks appalled.
“Becky’s using yoga and breathing techniques to cope with the pain,” says Paula proudly. “Aren’t you, Becky? She’s already four centimeters!”
“Love, don’t put yourself through it.” Mum grabs my arm, looking close to tears. “Accept the pain relief! Take the drugs.”
I feel like my tongue’s glued to the bottom of my mouth.
“Now, this is jasmine oil,” comes Louisa’s gentle voice in my ear. “I’ll rub it into your temples….”
“Becky?” Mum says anxiously. “Can you hear me?”
“Maybe she’s having a contraction!” exclaims Suze, grabbing my hand. “Bex, breathe….”
“You can do it, love!” Mum’s face is screwing up tighter and tighter, as though she’s in labor herself.
“Focus on the baby.” Paula’s eyes are gazing intently into mine. “Focus on that lovely baby of yours coming out into the world….”
“Look.” I finally find my voice. “I…the thing is, I’m not in labor….”
“Becky, you are.” Paula rests her hands on my shoulders.
“Bex, conserve your energy!” Suze shoves a straw into my mouth. “Have some Lucozade. Then you’ll feel better!” Helplessly I suck at the sickly drink, and then stop dead as I hear hurried footsteps approaching. I know those footsteps. The door swings open and this time it’s Luke, his face pale, his eyes dark and tense as he surveys the room.
“Thank God. Thank God I’m not too late….” He seems almost speechless as he comes toward me on the bed. “Becky, I love you so much…. I’m so proud of you….”
“Hi, Luke,” I say feebly.
Now what the fuck do I do?
The thing is, in a lot of ways this is the perfect birth.
It’s twenty minutes later and the room is full of people. Felicity the reflexologist has arrived and is manipulating my toes. Maria the homeopath is measuring out some pills for me to take. Louisa is arranging essential oil burners around the place.
I have Mum and Suze sitting on one side of me, with Luke on the other. I’ve got a flannel on my forehead and a water spray in my hand and I’m wearing a long baggy T-shirt which Suze and Mum basically manhandled me into. I’m relaxed, music is playing, I’m managing without an epidural….
There’s only one tiny hitch. And I still haven’t plucked up the courage to tell anyone.
“Becky, would you like some gas and air?” Paula is approaching me with a face mask attached to a tube. “Just to take the edge off the pain.”
“Er…” I hesitate. “Well, OK. Thanks!”
“Breathe it in just as you feel the contraction beginning,” Paula instructs, handing me the mouthpiece. “Don’t leave it too late!”
“OK!” I put the face mask over my nose and mouth and breathe in deeply. Wow. This is fantastic! I feel like I just downed a bottle of champagne!
“Hey.” I take the mask away and give Luke a beatific smile. “That’s really nice. You should try it.”
“Becky, you’re doing amazingly.” He’s clasping my hand tight, not taking his eyes off me. “Is everything OK? Is everything going according to your birth plan?”
“Er…most things!” I say, avoiding his eyes, and quickly suck in some more gas and air. Oh God. I have to tell him. I have to.
“Luke…” I lean forward, feeling a bit tipsy from the gas and air. “Listen,” I whisper in his ear. “I’m not having the baby.”
“Darling, don’t worry.” Luke strokes my forehead. “No one’s in any hurry. It takes as long as it takes.”
Actually…there’s a thought. I mean, the baby’s going to come out sometime, isn’t it? I could just stay here and not say anything and drink Lucozade and watch the telly. And eventually something will happen and they’ll just say, “Becky was in labor for two weeks, poor thing!”
“I spoke to Dr. Braine, by the way,” Luke adds. “He’s on his way over from the Portland.”
“Oh.” I try to hide my dismay. “Great!”
In desperation I breathe in the gas and air again, trying to come up with a plan. Maybe the bathroom has a window I could climb out of. Or I could say I want to walk down the corridor, and then find a newborn baby and just quickly borrow it for a moment….