by Carmen Reid
‘Well, basically, I will do all your antenatal care . . .’
‘Can you come to my office?’ Bella chipped in.
‘Well, I don’t see why not,’ said Annie calmly.
‘Right.’ That was a major Brownie point.
‘And then when you are in labour, I’ll come to your home and deliver the baby.’ This sounded too easy, too much like ‘I’ll come to your home and deliver your parcel.’
‘So . . . how much experience do you have?’ Bella asked.
‘I’m a fully qualified senior midwife, I’ve been doing home births for about fifteen years now.’ Annie fixed her with a slightly stern look and Bella saw the network of tiny lines around her eyes and mouth and realized she was much older than she at first looked, probably mid-forties.
‘Right. And what happens if anything goes wrong?’ Bella asked.
‘Yes, everyone asks that,’ said Annie. ‘Obviously, if it’s major we rush you to hospital in an ambulance. But our transference rate is about 10 per cent, mainly requests from the mother. Ninety per cent of our babies are delivered naturally without any intervention or even pain relief. You should compare that with the figures at the hospital down the road.’
Aha, figures. Bella was starting to relax.
‘We find that women labouring at home with a midwife they know and trust deliver much more safely than if they are whisked off to hospital where all kinds of strangers are prodding and poking at them, strapping them to machines,’ Annie said.
‘So you don’t give any drugs at all?’ Bella asked.
‘We prefer not to. We have a TENS machine on hand but we prefer aromatherapy massage, hot baths or a birthing pool and natural remedies.’
‘Well, I’ve read a home birth book,’ Bella said. ‘A friend gave it to me, but I just wonder if it isn’t all a bit idealistic. It’s all smiley happy people having a back rub while babies pop out. What about all the screaming and blood and agony?’
‘Well, there’s a bit of that too – but birth is not half as bad as they make out on ER,’ Annie smiled. ‘If you’re in a good atmosphere with people you know supporting you, it can make all the difference.’
Bella noticed how slight Annie was. Her thin legs were crossed and her desert boots gaped at her bony ankles. She just didn’t look strong enough to be a midwife.
‘So what do you need for a home birth?’ Bella asked. ‘We’re moving house next month, by the way.’
‘All pregnant women are moving house or decorating. It’s a rule,’ Annie smiled again and Bella smiled back. She was warming to her . . . a little bit.
‘First of all we need to talk about your health,’ said Annie. ‘Truthfully!’
‘Right.’
Annie read her way carefully through Bella’s maternity notes.
‘Are you still drinking and smoking?’ she asked.
‘I’ve cut right down.’ She did not need another lecture.
‘Well you’ve got to stop, Bella. I can’t overemphasize how bad it is for the baby. Are you doing any exercise?’
‘I ran every morning till about month six, now I’m power walking and going to the gym once or twice a week.’
Annie looked a touch horrified and recommended an antenatal yoga class.
Then she asked: ‘When do you stop work?’
‘I was going to work right up to wire, but the project I’m on might wind up a week or two early, so I might have a bit of extra time off.’
‘Good,’ Annie said. ‘I think you need it, because you’ve not really had the time to give this baby much thought yet, have you?’
This was said kindly, but Bella felt a little bit stung. She knew it was true and she did feel ready to slow up a bit now, read the books, mooch round the nursery shops and think about names. There and then she decided she was going to give Annie a go. She would get regular antenatal visits in her office, sign up for the yoga classes and mull over a home birth.
Once Annie had left, Bella called Tania for a second opinion.
‘You don’t think it’s just a bit alternative and hippie?’ Bella asked.
‘Home birth?’ Tania answered. ‘No, it’s ultra modern and cool. De rigueur in Notting Hill. The NHS is too PC, private is “Too posh to push”, so everyone’s having their baby at home.’
‘Oh well that’s OK then,’ Bella said, heavy on the irony. ‘God, Tani, this is birth not a fashion statement!’
‘Bella, you live in central London, they can get you to hospital in ten minutes flat, I’m sure it will be fine. How’s your new house?’
‘We went there this morning, it looks empty and sad and depressing.’
‘You need to decorate. When can I come and look round?’
They fixed up a date for the weekend.
Bella and Don were eating out with Mel and Jasper that night, so they drove across town crammed cosily into Bella’s car.
‘I can’t believe you can still get into this thing,’ Don teased as they sat almost cheek by cheek in the low seats. ‘Isn’t driving a bit difficult now?’
‘No, it’s lovely . . . I can whiz around and duck and dive and forget that I’m a great big huge pregnant whale when I’m on dry land.’
‘Any more metaphors you’d like to stir into that cocktail?’ he teased.
‘Oh shut up.’ She fired up the engine and reversed out of the space. ‘I’m the mathematician, you’re the wordsmith. Can we leave it at that?’
‘So, who are we going to name our child after?’ he asked once they were on the road. ‘Wordsmiths or mathematicians?’
‘I don’t want to name him or her after anyone,’ she said. ‘I want something totally unique.’
‘Oh no . . . not Bellabel Ginseng Algebra Browning!’
She snorted with laughter.
‘What about your heroes?’ he asked. ‘Maybe Benito?’
‘Who??’
‘Mussolini, of course . . .’ he carried on over her protests. ‘Woody? For Woody Allen? And what’s Einstein’s first name again?’
‘Frank,’ she answered. ‘Frank Einstein,’ then over his laughter, she asked, ‘You want Dylan, don’t you? After the great Bob?’
‘Yes!’ he answered. ‘Please, can we?’
‘NO! Absolutely no way!’
‘Well if we’re doing musical heroes, I suppose you’ll want Robbie or maybe Ronan. . . or Posh,’ he said, so she whacked him on the arm.
‘How about Karl . . . after Marx?’ was his next suggestion.
‘Mark . . .’ she said. ‘Markie McCartney. Hey! I like that.’
‘Hmmm,’ he answered. ‘And girls?’
‘It won’t be a girl,’ she said with a grin.
‘No?’
‘No, I just know.’
‘You sneaked a peak at your last scan, didn’t you?’
‘I’m not saying!! I just know.’
‘You are a totally devious, cheating woman, Bella,’ Don was teasing but stopped when he saw her expression change abruptly. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked urgently.
‘Nothing, nothing . . . sorry. Anxious baby thoughts, that’s all. Sorry,’ she said, gluing her eyes to the traffic lights in front of them and willing the big hit of Chris guilt to go away.
‘It’s going to be great,’ he said soothingly.
‘I hope so,’ she answered.
Chapter Eighteen
‘BELLA, BELLA, WAKE up. Your alarm’s been beeping for ages.’
She opened her eyes and looked at Don wearily.
‘Oh Christ.’ She rolled onto her side and pushed herself up off the bed.
She was heavy and extremely tired. It was impossible to get a full night’s sleep now. She had to empty her bladder at least twice a night and despite having pillows between her knees and under her bulge, it was hard to get comfortable.
Still, she had to keep going. It was already April, she was in her eighth month and the Merris deadline had to be met before she could entertain any thoughts of dropping this little load. She cranked herself
up and put on her dressing gown, tying the cord over the bump so she looked like a walking Easter egg. She waddled to the bathroom, pinned up her hair, washed her face, slapped some make-up on.
Back in the bedroom she put on large white bra, pants, black maternity support tights, which practically came up to her armpits, then a flapping white shirt and the grey polyester suit and flat shoes.
Don was looking at her from the bed.
‘Don’t say anything,’ she warned him, ‘I look like shit, I feel like shit too. The stylish, sexy woman you married has turned into a monster.’
He laughed, but she didn’t.
‘I hate this, Don, I feel like a whale. I know you’re going to make lots of nice reassuring noises but I am a whale.’
Don said: ‘I’m your whale mate, then.’
The doorbell rang. It was the taxi. She and Geoff now took a shared minicab to work. It was a posh minicab – plush Rover with driver who could speak English, drive and get them there – but still a minicab, not a limousine.
Geoff didn’t say anything to her at all now, just ‘Umm’ for Good Morning then hid behind his paper.
It always got like this towards the end of the job. Everyone hated you because your criticisms of their work were made public and acted upon. This was the toughest part. It was the natural human ‘shoot the messenger’ response and she tried not to take it personally, but she always felt a bit hurt when it kicked in.
The baby rolled round in her stomach. She hadn’t had time for breakfast and a hard lump of heartburn was stuck in her chest.
‘Geoff, I hope you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘We’re passing a café in a few moments, I’m going to ask the driver to pull over so I can get something.’
‘Ummm.’
‘Do you want anything?’
‘Ummph.’
God Almighty, she hadn’t faced this kind of behaviour since primary two.
She was glad when she was finally in her little office, closeted away from the growing panic enveloping the company. The merger had just been announced, along with Merris’s resignation from the chief exec position. Everyone now knew the changes were happening and the anxiety was palpable.
Bella Browning, 28, first solo project, had set this all in motion. She felt badly in need of some reassurance, so she decided to phone the office.
‘Good morning, Prentice and Partners.’ She felt better just for hearing that on the other end of the line.
‘Kitty, hello, it’s Bella.’
‘Bella! How are you? We haven’t seen you for ages. You must be huge by now. Promise you’ll come for Friday drinks?’
‘I’ll see. I don’t know what’s happening on Friday yet, I’ll try. I’ve missed you all.’
‘It’s been so quiet, no-one’s been in the office apart from Susan.’
‘Is she in now?’
‘Yup, I’ll try the line, but come and see us on Friday.’
‘I’ll be there if I can.’
She held for several long minutes. She had barely spoken to Susan since Christmas and she now felt a nervous twinge about it.
‘Bella, hello, how are you?’ Susan’s voice was crisp and professional.
‘I’m OK. Well, actually I’m having a bit of a confidence crisis about Merris. I’d really like to talk you through my final report before I give it, just to make sure it’s all right.’
‘Of course it is. I have every faith in you, Bella,’ Susan answered.
‘Is there a good time to phone you later today? I’d really like to just take you through an outline,’ Bella persisted.
‘That’s fine. How about 3.30? But Bella, don’t worry, I’m sure it’s very good work.’
‘Thanks, Susan, I needed to hear that.’
‘I’ll speak to you later then.’
‘Bye.’
She had made the call on her mobile – it was time to be very careful. Now her desk phone was ringing. Janice from Merris’s office wanted to know if Bella could go in and see him now.
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ Bella answered thinking AAAAAArgh and scrabbling to get some papers together. She could feel her heart thud in her chest and the baby churned around inside her stomach.
She didn’t know what this could be about and felt panicky. She took her ten-pack of cigarettes out of her briefcase and lit up with shaking hands.
By the fifth drag, she was starting to feel steady, by the seventh she was toughening up again. Her analysis had been correct, her suggestions good – there was nothing she needed to worry about: if the chairman wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth first, ahead of the board – he was bloody well going to.
Janice showed her into Merris’s office. She’d forgotten how old-fashioned it was – wood panelling, portraits of horses and ancestors on the walls, him behind a vast desk in an over-upholstered swivel chair.
Merris, as ever, looked like a dapper politician in a dark three-piece suit, complete with watch chain and tiny yellow carnation bud in the buttonhole. His grey hair was combed back neatly and he fixed his pale blue eyes on her. ‘My word Bella, you have torn through us like a hurricane, haven’t you?’ was his opening gambit.
‘No not really,’ she said, settling down in the chair he indicated. ‘Hurricanes are destructive, I want to help you build something strong for the future.’
‘Yes, I appreciate that,’ he said, then added: ‘I’m very pleased with the merger.’
He told her the very big price he’d achieved. She whistled and he laughed at her.
‘Do they know about the appeal case?’ she asked.
‘They know it’s a remote possibility. You’re very concerned about that, aren’t you?’
‘If you lose, it would be a disaster. Well, less of a disaster now you have new partners,’ she said.
‘We won’t lose,’ he replied and made it sound like his final word on the subject.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘I’m moving upstairs, which makes me feel a touch sad, but thank you for reminding me that chief executives can’t go on for ever. I don’t know who’s replacing me yet, our new partners will want to have a say in that, but I’ve called you in here, Ms Browning because I’d like to recommend you for the post of financial director.’
He paused for her reaction, but she didn’t make one. She was thinking about Geoff, the current financial director, tutting at her in the taxi and wondered where he would be going, so Merris named his price.
She whistled again.
They looked at each other, then finally she said: ‘That’s a very generous offer, Mr Merris. But I’ve got a lot to think about at the moment. I’m five weeks away from giving birth for the first time and to be frank, well, I’m not sure if I have the experience yet.’
That was the clincher. A financial directorship would be very nice and would certainly pay the mortgage but it wasn’t in the career plan just yet. She had a lot more consulting to get under her belt first.
But Merris said: ‘I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you could do it,’ then added, ‘Well I don’t expect an answer straight away. Feel free to come back to me any time.’
She smiled at him.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘I am looking forward to your report because I’m expecting you to tell us that the merger and strategies we’ve put in place, thanks to you, are going to have a very positive effect.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I hope that will encourage everyone.’
‘Excellent. Now we may not have the chance for another personal chat before you leave, so I want to tell you how grateful I am for your work. I’ll be telling your boss that too. But I’d rather you came and worked for me than anyone else.’
‘Well, I’ll give it some serious thought.’ She smiled at him.
She stood up with the feeling that the meeting was drawing to a close.
‘Now—’ he opened a drawer and brought out a small exquisitely wrapped box. He stood up and walked round the desk to hand it to her: ‘This is a token of my appreciation.’
She took it from him thinking, Jewellery from a client, oops. It struck her as somehow inappropriate.
‘Please open it,’ he said.
‘Right.’ She wondered how to handle the situation.
She tugged at the ribbon and lifted the lid on a white teething ring attached to a large solid silver bear. It was quite the most ridiculous gift for a baby ever, but she was still touched at the sentiment.
‘Thank you, Mr Merris,’ she said, holding out her hand for a businesslike handshake.
‘You can call me Tony,’ he said shaking her hand firmly and patting her arm. ‘In fact, you already have once.’
She blushed slightly.
‘Yes, I have, sorry . . . I can be a bit . . .’
‘Don’t apologize,’ he cut in. ‘That’s what I like about you, Bella. You’ve got guts. I’m surrounded by yes men and look where it’s got me. I think it would do me good to have a “no woman” around.’
‘A “no woman”, I like that,’ she smiled. ‘Thank you so much for your support. Now, I’d better go and put that report together.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I look forward to it.’
She swanned out of his office and back to her own, smiling all the way.
At 3.30 p.m. she telephoned Susan to tell her about the latest developments.
‘It’s gone so well, Susan, he even offered me a job.’ She said this lightly to imply there was no question of her taking it.
‘And what did you say?’ Susan asked.
‘I told him I had a lot on my mind right now and I’d get back to him. But I’m with you, Susan. I want to let you know how committed I am, despite the baby.’
‘Despite the baby’ – she didn’t like herself for saying that. Having a baby was not something she should be apologizing about. Hello, this is century 21.
‘I appreciate that,’ Susan replied. ‘Are you handing in the report and finishing up there next week?’
‘Yes, probably on Wednesday/Thursday.’
‘Well, next Friday we’re taking you out for a maternity leave party and as of then you are off. Don’t count it as official leave, have the three weeks extra on us. You deserve it.’
Bella felt touched now. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘That means a lot.’