Tickled Pink

by Christina Jones

  They instantly recoiled. ‘Christ, Pose. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Nothing. What do you want?’

  ‘Two pints of lager and a bit of civility.’

  ‘The first I can manage, the second’s in short supply.’ ‘Bugger me, it’s like being served by Hogarth all over again.’

  For the next hour Posy served customers with grim determination, ignored Flynn, and cursed herself for being so stupid. If anyone was going to get Lola over Nigel’s deception it would be Flynn, of course. She’d probably encouraged them to get together. It was all her fault. Oh, sod, sod, sod!

  Lola eventually emerged from the cellar looking pale and gave Posy a wan smile. ‘Did the carnival meeting go okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Good. Can you and Flynn manage? Only I feel pretty awful not helping out, it’s just that I don’t seem to be able to smile much at the moment.’

  ‘Flynn and I can manage perfectly, thank you. Oh, and now that Flynn’s told me what’s going on, I reckon if I was in your shoes I’d not only be grinning from ear-to-ear non-stop, but I’d also be whooping with joy and swinging from the chandeliers.’

  Lola looked at her in amazement. ‘You are very, very strange sometimes, do you know that? Why on earth could you imagine that I’d be feeling anything other than suicidal?’

  ‘Christ! Where do you want me to start? You’ve got the most gorgeous, sexiest, kindest, funniest, nicest man in the world and –’

  ‘Posy!!!’ Flynn’s yell brought The Crooked Sixpence to a standstill.

  She shrugged at Lola. ‘He gets very masterful, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Posy –’ Flynn glared at her. ‘Don’t. Please.’

  ‘Okay.’ Smiling sweetly at him and Lola, she swept out into the bar to collect empty glasses from the tables. What did it matter, anyway? She’d survived Ritchie, she could surely survive this?

  The Pinks, Vi and Rose, even Amanda and Nikki, all wanted to talk about Tatty’s baby. Clearing the tables took ages. Every so often she glanced up. Flynn and Lola were always talking, heads together. Bugger it.

  During a lull, while she was emptying ashtrays and half listening to Neddy Pink wheezing about playing the accordion during the carnival queen competition, the door crashed open. Sonia stood quivering on the threshold, the size of a small bungalow and nowhere near as attractive.

  She glowered at Posy. ‘Where’s Ritchie?’

  ‘How on earth should I know?’ Posy was thrilled to notice that Sonia now had treble chins. ‘We don’t work the same shifts, as you’re well aware, so he certainly isn’t here.’

  ‘Don’t believe you.’ Sonia wobbled. ‘He didn’t come home for his tea.’

  The Crooked Sixpence was riveted.

  Posy shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s got tired of your cooking. God, Sonia, he isn’t here. I haven’t seen him for ages. Maybe he’s working late.’

  ‘He isn’t. I’ve phoned the shop. He left at his normal time. I think he’s in here with you. You won’t leave him alone, will you? You’ve enticed him! You’re a cow! A bloody man-stealing cow! I’m going to –’

  ‘Posy –’ Lola called from behind the bar. ‘Get her out of here.’

  ‘Only too delighted.’ Posy grabbed Sonia’s podgy arm and wheeled her smartly out of the bar to rousing cheers from most of the customers, and whoops and yells from the Pinks.

  Fortunately the evening had grown too chilly for the al fresco drinkers to be occupying the trestles, so there was no audience.

  Posy let go of Sonia’s arm. ‘Right, now bugger off. Stop behaving like a mad woman and go home. Ritchie isn’t here, understand? I haven’t seen him, okay? Just get out of my face!’

  Sonia took a deep breath and screwed her mouth up. Her forehead and chin rushed to meet each other. Posy winced. It was like Sigourney Weaver in Alien all over again. She truly didn’t blame Ritchie for staying away. For a second there was silence, then Sonia let rip with a yowl that would have terrified a banshee.

  ‘Shut up!’ Posy snapped. ‘For Christ’s sake, have you no dignity? Oh, shit, what are you doing?’

  Sonia had collapsed to the ground, clutching her stomach and still screaming.

  ‘What?’ Posy bent down. ‘What – oooh, God!’

  She took one last horrified look and flew back into the pub. ‘Quick! Call an ambulance!’

  ‘Good on yer, Pose! The Pinks stamped their feet and whistled. ‘Way to go!’

  They’d obviously spent far too much time with Flynn.

  Posy yelled towards the bar. ‘I mean it! Get an ambulance! She’s having the baby!’

  ‘What?’ Lola looked confused. ‘Where?’

  ‘In the bloody car park! Just get an ambulance!’

  Posy skidded outside again. Sonia was hunched and still screaming on the gravel. In less than thirty seconds the whole of The Crooked Sixpence were gathered round shouting encouragement.

  ‘Do something!’ Sonia roared. ‘Get Ritchie! I want Ritchie!’

  Posy, whose entire childbirth experience had been from sex education videos at school and soap operas since, patted her on the top of the head because it seemed like the only part that wouldn’t cause damage.

  ‘Piss off!’ Sonia snarled. ‘Get Ritchie, and get him away from me!’

  At the business end of the action, Neddy Pink was just priming his accordion. Vi and Rose bundled him mercifully out of sight.

  Amanda and Nikki looked at one another in total horror.

  ‘Puts you right off sex, doesn’t it?’

  ‘God, yeah, if this is what it ends up like. Best contraceptive going if you ask me.’

  Posy gazed helplessly at the crowd. The ‘push, duck’ and ‘don’t push for gawd’s sake’ factions appeared to be equally divided. All of them, without exception, were childless. None of them had a clue what they were supposed to be doing.

  ‘We really need Tatty,’ she said to Lola. ‘She’s the pregnancy expert after all.’

  Lola gave a little shriek and ran back into the pub.

  ‘Get Ritchie!’ Sonia screamed. ‘Get my mobile out of my pocket! I want Ritchie! Oooh!!!!’

  Posy scrabbled through Sonia’s pocket and shakily dialled Ritchie’s mobile number.

  ‘You still know it off by heart you bitch!’ Sonia yelled.

  Posy shrugged. ‘Yeah, so I do. Christ! Where is he?’

  She could hear Ritchie’s phone ringing in her ear, and a strange echo as well. Bloody hell, gremlins on the line. That was all she needed.

  The Pink twins stopped peering at Sonia, and tapped Posy on the shoulder. ‘It’s ringing in her ’andbag, Pose, duck.’

  It was. Grabbing Sonia’s handbag, Posy ferreted through heaps of junk and dragged out a second mobile phone. It was still ringing. She switched off Sonia’s and it stopped.

  ‘I took it off him,’ Sonia gasped between bursts of pain. ‘I forgot. I thought you’d ring him or he’d ring you, so I took it off him.’

  Jesus Christ! ‘You’re completely mad! Now what are we supposed to do?’

  ‘I don’t knooooow!’

  Flynn appeared amidst the mayhem. ‘Ambulance will be here in about two minutes.’

  Posy, if she hadn’t hated him for loving Lola, could have kissed him.

  She could also have kissed the paramedics when they arrived.

  Sweet-looking, young, and totally in control, they muttered things like timed contractions and cervical dilation and administered something through a gas mask, and all the while calmed the screaming lump that was Sonia.

  ‘Royal Berks it is then, love. If we step on it you’ll get your baby delivered there in a nice clean bed. If not, it’ll be the back of the ambulance. Either’s preferable to this gravel, though, isn’t it?’

  Sonia gave another howl through clenched teeth as they shovelled her into the back of the ambulance.

  Posy let out a sigh of relief, just as the youngest paramedic bundled her in, too.

  ‘Best to have a friend with her,’ he said chee
rfully, slamming the doors, if her husband’s not around.’

  ‘She’s not my fucking friend!’ Sonia screamed, lunging towards Posy before collapsing again and pulling greedily on the gas and air.

  ‘I’m not staying in here . . .’ Posy started – but it was far too late.

  With blue lights flashing and sirens wailing, the ambulance rocketed away from The Crooked Sixpence.

  All the way on the bouncing, jolting, madcap journey, the paramedic timed Sonia’s contractions, made her comfortable, attached various monitors, and kept up a string of unbelievably bad jokes as he asked questions and filled in pages on a clipboard. Posy huddled in the furthest corner of the ambulance, clung on to a strap and eyed the gas and air with envy.

  It was hardly fair that Sonia should have all the relief.

  Arriving at the Royal Berks was something like the end of the Wacky Races. Umpteen ambulances and cars seemed to be parked at odd angles, as trolleys and wheelchairs made collision course dashes for the doors.

  ‘Um . . . I’ll get a taxi back, then,’ Posy said cheerfully to the paramedics. ‘Now you’ve got her here okay.’

  They must teach paramedics brute force as well as bad jokes, Posy reckoned, as they grabbed her and she found herself hurtling between them into the smell and noise and strange other-world atmosphere of the hospital.

  ‘You stay with her,’ the youngest one commanded as they whisked off towards Gynaecology and Obstetrics. ‘She’ll need a mate.’

  ‘She’s already had mine,’ Posy muttered, but no one was listening.

  By this time Sonia was so high on the gas and air it was like a girls’ night out for one.

  The handover was completed in record time, with incomprehensible words and figures being bandied between the green-suited paramedics and a very pretty nurse.

  ‘Right, Mum,’ the nurse smiled down at the writhing Sonia, ‘let’s get you sorted. You’re not due in for a week or so, so we’ll have to see what we can do. Lovely that you’ve got a friend with you.’ She looked at Posy. ‘Are you her birth partner?’

  ‘No, I’m bloody not.’

  ‘Whatever.’ The nurse trundled Sonia away and indicated that Posy should try and keep up. ‘We won’t have very long to wait for baby to arrive. If you’d like to tell me what her choices were.’

  ‘Her what?’

  ‘Choices. For the birth.’

  Oh, right. God . . . what had Ritchie said? Posy nodded. ‘Oh, yes, she’s having Marti Pellow and the birthing pool.’

  There was a slight flicker of consternation on the nurse’s face. ‘Bit tricky right at this moment, what with this one being the teeniest bit early. Double booking so to speak. I wonder if Mum would mind Celine Dion?’

  ‘She might not but I damn well would,’ Posy said hotly. ‘Haven’t you got any Fat Boy Slim?’

  ‘This is an emergency maternity unit, not bloody Radio One.’

  Mercifully at this point, Sonia was wheeled out of sight. Posy collapsed on to an uncomfortable plastic chair alongside two very young boys and a grubby man with a beard, all wearing gowns and silly hats and with masks dangling on to their chests.

  One of the boys looked at her. ‘Are you with the one they’ve just wheeled in?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Wow. Are you lesbians, then?’

  ‘No.’

  The other boy sniggered a bit. ‘You not going in, then?’

  ‘Christ, no. I’ll sit out here with the wimps.’

  ‘We’re not wimps,’ the bearded man growled. ‘We’re on a break. We’ve all been in there for over twelve hours with our partners. We’ve been sent out to rest.’

  Twelve hours? Dear God . . .

  A plump man in grey combat trousers and matching baggy top appeared in the corridor. ‘Who’s with Mrs Dalgetty?’

  Posy winced at the name. ‘No one. We couldn’t find Ritchie, er, her husband . . .’

  The plump man twitched in agitation. ‘So I’ve been told. I was told she was with a friend. If you’re her, could you come this way. Mum needs some support.’

  ‘I’m not her friend and I’ve never been supportive. Don’t look at me.’

  ‘Come along! This is a time for solidarity. Not squeamish are we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Goodness, you wait until it’s your turn. Come on.’ The boys and the bearded man looked distinctly envious as Posy slowly stood up and dragged her heels towards the delivery suite.

  It wasn’t a bit like they portrayed childbirth on television. There seemed to be an air of total disinterest. Monitors were beeping and Sonia was still gulping gas and air and there was a drip attached to bits of her hidden from view. The midwife and a nurse smiled happily at Posy and promptly disappeared.

  The plump man in the fatigues beamed too. ‘Mum seems to be doing okay. Pity Dad couldn’t be on hand, but there you go. She’s nicely sedated now and the contractions are under control. Push the button over the bed if you need anything.’

  ‘I’m not staying in here alone,’ Posy said stoutly. ‘Supposing she has it?’

  He laughed as he headed for the door. ‘Well, that is the general idea, but actually I’d say we had a little while to wait yet. Hope so. I’ve got four more on the go along this corridor.’

  He closed the door behind him. Celine Dion was screeching off key from an unseen source. Sonia wasn’t making any noises at all but looked wet and lumpy and asleep so Posy ignored her.

  Why the hell wasn’t Ritchie here? He damn well should be here. He deserved to be here . . .

  After she’d read all the labels on things, and not managed to silence Celine, and peered at Sonia a couple of times just to make sure she was still alive, boredom set in. Where was the excitement and the screaming and the heaving and shoving of earlier? Why had it all gone so quiet?

  The door opened slowly and Flynn grinned at her. ‘Is it safe to come in?’

  Posy was so delighted to see him that she hurled her arms round his neck before remembering that he now belonged to Lola and she hated him. ‘Oops, sorry . . . She disentangled herself. ‘Yes, all seems to be okay. Oh, you’re such a star. Have you come to take me home?’

  ‘Too right. I was dumbstruck when I realized what had happened. How on earth did you manage to stop yourself from killing her in the ambulance?’

  ‘With difficulty. But who’s looking after the pub?’

  ‘Ellis arrived just as the ambulance left. I thought it would do Lola good to chat things over with him.’

  ‘Brave of you, considering. Leaving her with the Lothario of Steeple Fritton, I mean. Oh well, shall we go?’

  Flynn gave her a quizzical look then nodded. ‘Sure. I’ve got the jeep outside and the parking seemed a bit odd and – Jeeze, what the heck is that noise?’

  ‘Sonia in labour.’

  ‘Not unless she’s sharing her bed with a hundred piece orchestra.’

  ‘Oh, that’s Celine Dion on a bad tape. I can’t find the off switch. Marti Pellow and the birthing pool were a bit busy. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Don’t leave me!’ Sonia snatched the mask off and yelled from the bed. ‘You can’t leave me on my own!’

  Posy and Flynn looked at one another. Flynn shrugged. ‘Do you reckon we should stay?’

  Posy groaned. ‘Christ, I suppose so, but this is just so farcical. I certainly don’t want to be here, and I’m the last person on earth she wants with her. Still, at least she’s stopped making a noise. They’ve given her something to take away the pain and apparently the contractions are gathering themselves up or something ready for the final push.’

  ‘Oh, great. A little more information there than I needed, thanks.’

  Sonia gave a sort of shuddering sigh and burst into tears. Posy stared at her with distaste, but knew they couldn’t just walk away. They stood beside the bed looking at her. Sonia looked back with absolute loathing then clutched at Posy’s hand and screamed.

  On and on and on.

  ‘Holy shit!
’ Flynn looked petrified. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I think this is it –’ Posy pushed the panic button and pulled an agonized face at Sonia. ‘Er, hang on . . . we’ll get someone . . . and bloody let go-of my hand! You’re breaking my damn fingers!’

  The doors burst open again and the doctor and midwife and the pretty nurse all piled in. They took one look at Sonia writhing and screaming and elbowed Flynn and Posy out of the way.

  The panic subsided in the blink of an eye. All was instantly calm and serene, with Sonia being hushed and praised and encouraged, and the midwife and doctor moving gracefully together with all the skill and finesse and grace of ice dancers.

  ‘I must say,’ the pretty nurse sidled up to Posy, ‘if Baby Dalgetty is a boy and takes after his Dad, then he’s going to be a right looker.’

  ‘Um, I suppose so.’ Posy shrugged. ‘He’s not bad.’

  ‘Not bad?” The nurse looked across to the far side of the room and devoured Flynn with her eyes. ‘He’s the most bloody gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.’

  Posy shrieked with nervous laughter. ‘Oh, him? God, yes he is, but he’s not the father.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize he was yours. You are so lucky . . . Don’t suppose you fancy part-exchanging him for a mechanic with a beer gut, do you?’

  ‘Tough one,’ Posy sighed, thinking that if only Lola hadn’t come to Steeple Fritton then Flynn might really be hers and she could preen and primp and say so. ‘But he’s actually in love with my friend . . . oh, no, not the one in the bed. She’s not a friend. I hate her. She’s married to my ex-fiancé. He dumped me for her when he got her pregnant. No, this other friend is –’

  The nurse blinked. ‘Go on. This is even better than EastEnders – oh, damn, no more time for small talk. Here we go.’

  Everyone had suddenly taken up playing positions round the bed. Sonia’s language was atrocious. Posy and Flynn huddled in a corner, averting their eyes and closing their ears, then suddenly Sonia’s staccato screams were overtaken by more lengthy high-pitched ones,

  ‘It’s a boy!’