Page 39 of Out of Control

“The midwife said you’re supposed to phone the hospital for advice.”

“Then phone!” Adele’s eyes widened at the sharpness in Fiona’s voice and she immediately softened it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”

“You’re more scared than I am.” Adele took her mobile into the kitchen.

Fiona paced in the same way Adele had been doing. The younger woman was right — she was scared. Scared of being in this situation and failing another baby in the same way that she’d failed her own.

“They said I can go in if I want, but it sounds like only early stages of labour and I might be more comfortable at home. I said I’d stay put for a bit.”

Fiona nodded, willing to be led by the person with the physical symptoms.

Adele started the film again. Every few minutes she got up and paced the room. Fiona watched her out of the corner of her eye, trying not to pass on her anxiety but aware someone needed to watch the progress of Adele’s labour objectively. The girl was getting up and down more frequently as the film reached its romantic climax: a church dressed for a winter wedding, surrounded by snow that was too white and pristine to be real.

“I’ve wet myself! Your carpet! Sorry.” Adele lumbered from the room and up the stairs. Fiona heard the bathroom door shut and lock.

No! She ignored the carpet and ran after the girl. “Unlock!” she banged on the bathroom door. “We have to be able to get in if you get into trouble in there.”

There was a shuffling noise and then another click of the lock. Fiona sank down onto the carpeted landing. “Shout if you want me to come in. Otherwise, I’ll give you a few minutes’ privacy.”

“I think that was my waters breaking . . .” The words disappeared into a loud groan which seemed to go on forever. “It’s getting more painful.”

Fiona’s mind fixated on a section in one long-ago book about the increased risk of infection to mother and baby after the waters broke. “We need to get you to hospital. I’m going to phone an ambulance.” She spoke loudly and slowly to penetrate the moans from within the bathroom. “And I’m going to open the bathroom door so that if you . . .” she was going to say ‘collapse’, but that might put the fear of God in the girl, “. . . so we can reach you easily. Back in two ticks.”

She went downstairs to make the call so she could hear without the competition of Adele’s moans. “No! That can’t beright . . . she’s in labour and it’s Christmas Eve . . . and I’ve had too much to drink. A taxi? OK.”

A six-hour wait for an ambulance! Fiona’s brain felt suddenly sharp. She’d finished the last glass of wine at least an hour ago. She knew the route to the hospital like the back of her hand — she’d taken her mother to enough appointments there. But if something happened to Adele and the baby . . . She couldn’t bear the responsibility of losing another baby.

Adele’s groans were coming more frequently now, and with such a ferocious intensity that there might be a wild animal caged upstairs.

Fiona called all the local taxi firms. They either didn’t answer or were fully booked. “Christmas Eve, sorry, love,” was the stock answer if she tried to plead. The Uber app was on her phone but never used. At some point it had seemed the sensible thing to download in case she ever found herself stranded. She pressed it now and slowly worked her way through the prompts. Either she was doing it wrong or there was nothing to be had here either, or at least no takers for her requested journey.

Adele screamed and Fiona fumbled the phone. She pushed it into her jeans pocket and raced back up the stairs. Adele was on all fours and her fringe was stuck to her forehead with sweat. She didn’t acknowledge Fiona’s entrance. Her face was closed in, as though her entire being was concentrated on her belly. In between the harrowing cries, the silence felt deep and ominous, punctuated only by Adele’s exaggerated deep breaths and panting. Eventually the younger woman managed to speak. “Are they coming? Please say they’re coming.”

“They’re coming.” Keep her calm and don’t scare her any further. Fiona forced her own terror away and tried to pull her professional persona into play. “Give me a minute.” She went back onto the landing to check her phone.

Still no message from Joe. Who else could she call late on Christmas Eve? Someone who wouldn’t be deep within the bosom of their family? Meeko. The possible arrival of her best friend was like a mirage. He was the epitome of calm. When he hugged her, she felt as though she was in the safest place in the world, with someone who cared for her unconditionally and without judgement.

Except that Meeko had given her the cold shoulder at the baby shower, and in the week since then she’d received no communication from him at all. Whenever she’d turned up for breakfast at the hotel, he’d either been and gone or hadn’t yet arrived. She’d messaged him twice and been blanked. In all the years they’d known each other, they’d never gone so long without some form of communication, most often instigated by Meeko. Something had happened to alienate him and she didn’t have a clue what.

Adele screamed again. Fiona went back into the bathroom. The young woman had moved from hands and knees to a squatting position. “Push, push.” Adele was talking to herself in an oblivion of natural urges.

“No! Don’t push. Pant.” If she pushed, the baby would arrive here, on the bathroom floor, and it would die. “Pant.”

The message got through and Adele panted like a marathon runner. After thirty seconds she repositioned herself and looked like she was going in for the finale. “Can’t hold it no more.”

Fiona pressed the green telephone symbol next to Meeko’s name and then flung her phone onto the landing while shouting, “The baby’s here, please come!” Then too much happened all at once to think about the recent coldness of her best friend. She placed a clean, soft towel on the floor between Adele’s feet just as the baby slithered into the world. Adele sank down like a deflated balloon and started to cry great huge, heaving sobs. She gently stroked the baby on her stomach. Excerpts fromeverything Fiona had ever heard about helping someone give birth danced in her head and formed a jumbled mental checklist. Right order, wrong order? Truth or old wives’ tales? She had no way of knowing but tried to action them anyway.

Cord round the neck? She knelt close to Adele and lifted the baby. It was sticky with mucous and blood but the cord was definitely not strangling it.

Airways clear and breathing?

“Is it alive?” Adele whispered between sobs.

Fiona put her little finger in the baby’s mouth and realised too late that she wasn’t scrubbed up for doing such things. Tongue wasn’t blocking throat. The baby still hadn’t cried. Should she be checking anything else? In the old-fashioned films didn’t they smack the baby? The umbilical cord still attached baby to mother, and Fiona managed to place the little girl face down on Adele’s stomach and gently tap the tiny buttocks. And again, a little harder.

“Don’t hurt her! Is it a girl?”

A tiny wail. And then another one, a little stronger. Fiona lifted the baby a little and showed her to Adele. Ineffective kicks and punches were now accompanying the wails.

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