This Time Next Year(7)

‘Try and stand,’ Connie said, taking her hand. ‘Trust me, it’s better.’ Connie held Tara up, encouraging her to push down on her forearms for support. Tara rocked back and forth, huffing and whimpering through it with her eyes closed. ‘OK, we can work on your breathing but you’re standing at least.’

The double doors of the ward swung open and a midwife wearing light blue coveralls marched in.

‘How are we doing, ladies? I’m sorry we had to put you in together but I’ve never seen so many babies want to come in one night before. Lucky I didn’t have New Year’s Eve plans, hey?’ the midwife chuckled.

‘They’re all after the prize money,’ said Connie. ‘This one claims she didn’t even know about it.’

Tara’s pain had passed, her eyes were glazed over and she was staring off towards the window. Connie watched her; she knew that feeling – she’d been in labour for four days last time.

‘Oh, you didn’t hear?’ said the midwife. ‘The London News went and offered a cheque to the first nineties baby born in the city. We’re all desperate for someone from Hampstead Hospital to be the first. Though the paper must have more money than they know what to do with, if you ask me.’

‘Fifty thousand pounds,’ said Connie.

What Connie couldn’t do with fifty thousand pounds. She could pay back Bill’s parents the money they’d loaned them. They could rent a bigger place. She could even buy the baby some clothes of its own – clothes that hadn’t already been worn by three older cousins and a brother. She couldn’t get her hopes up. There were thousands of other women all over London probably thinking the same thing.

‘It’s sponsored by some nappy brand. I think you get free nappies for life too,’ said the midwife.

‘She’s definitely going to cross her legs till midnight now,’ Connie laughed, but the laugh turned into panting as another wave of pain rolled down into her belly.

‘Right, hop up onto the bed, Mrs Hamilton,’ the midwife said to Tara. ‘I need to see how far along you are.’ She drew a cubicle curtain around the bed and pulled on some rubber gloves. A few minutes later she stepped away from the bed and shook her head. ‘You’re not having the baby tonight at this rate, you’re still only six centimetres. You need to get moving, get walking up and down.’

‘That’s what I told her,’ Connie shouted through the partition.

‘But how much longer?’ Tara whimpered. ‘I’m so tired, I just need to sleep.’

An alarm rang out in the corridor. The midwife quickly pulled off her gloves and washed her hands at the sink.

‘I’ll be back to check your measurements shortly, Mrs Cooper.’

The midwife swept out of the room as briskly as she had arrived, the double doors swinging noisily back and forth in her wake. From behind the plastic partition Connie heard slow, childlike sobbing. She pulled herself off the bed and drew the curtain back so she could see Tara again.

‘No, no. No time for tears. We got work to do,’ said Connie.

‘I can’t do it any more, I haven’t slept for two days.’

‘Where’s your man?’

‘I sent him home. He hasn’t slept either, I thought one of us should.’ And then the pain came and she curled instinctively into a ball. Connie felt her own starting. She took hold of Tara’s wrist and gently drew Tara’s face up towards hers. Tara started mewing, pained little mews like a cat being strangled.

‘That’s a cat, what did I say? Did I say cat, did I say sheep, or did I say hippo? You got to go lower, come on, copy me.’

Connie started mooing big, heaving moos from the depth of her diaphragm. Tara’s whole face blushed red, her eyes darting to the door. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. No one here but us, come on.’ Tara gave a tentative ‘mur’ sound. She scowled with concentration. ‘Lower, bigger, much bigger, MAAHOOOOOOOOOO … ’ Connie thundered. Tara stared at her in bemusement. She tried again, copying Connie. Connie nodded silent encouragement. At first Tara’s breathing was self-conscious, still clinging to some urge to be ladylike, but gradually she let herself go and started imitating Connie’s heaving moans.

‘It helps, don’t it? Now get down here like this.’

Connie dropped down onto all fours and swayed her bulk backwards and forwards on the matt. Tara copied obediently. Connie’s contractions were getting more intense now. She felt like screaming but she wanted to stay in control for Tara, to show her how to command the breath and ride it out. The women rocked backwards and forwards together silently.

‘Did you get a pre-labour manicure?’ Connie asked, looking at Tara’s perfectly polished nails.

‘Yes,’ Tara said, stretching out her palm. ‘Why?’

‘Did you get a bikini wax and all?’ Connie asked with a grin.

‘That’s a bit of a personal question,’ said Tara, frowning.

Tara was still rocking slowly back and forth when an involuntary loud trumpet sound erupted from her rear end. Tara took a moment to register what had happened before clasping a hand over her mouth. Connie chuckled, a long, hearty chuckle.

‘There’s far worse going to come out down there, so you best get relaxed about a bit of wind, prissy missy.’