Mother's Story

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘But I still prefer Beth,’ Jessica asserted. ‘I’ve always liked it. And I quite like Elsa.’

  ‘Elsa, that’s another lion name – have you been watching Born Free? If this is the route we’re taking, what about Simba?’

  Jessica laughed. ‘No, Guy can have Simba for his next one.’

  Matthew sighed. ‘Shall we agree to disagree and see what we get?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep.’ Jessica nodded. ‘But it’s good to have a top three at least.’ So that’s settled. Leo for a boy and Bethan for a girl!

  ‘Absolutely.’ Matthew took a large sip of his wine. ‘Exciting, isn’t it?’

  Jessica nuzzled closer to her man, resting her head on his arm. ‘It really is.’

  20th January, 2014

  I loved hearing my mum say that stuff at the baby shower about falling in love with me at birth. But then I remembered the time she took me shopping when I was about seven. We went into the only children’s clothes shop on the High Street, run by a woman she knew from slimming club. I didn’t really like the clothes – they were fussy and impractical, with too many buttons, itsy-bitsy ribbons and voluminous underskirts – but everyone wanted them because they were French. I pretended I did too, because I didn’t want to be the odd one out. Anyway, my mum had no intention of buying anything: the clothes were way overpriced and out of our league. The woman was called Irene; she was short, had wild curly hair and wore scarlet lipstick. She greeted my mum loudly, as though they were great mates, and swooped forward and kissed her. As she did so, her sickly-sweet perfume tickled my nose. My mum was a little ruffled, to put it mildly; she didn’t kiss anyone, not even us that often. Irene then glanced at me and said, ‘Oooh, this little duckling might yet become a swan!’ I felt tears gather as my cheeks burned and my heart beat loudly in my throat. I might have only been seven, but I knew she was calling me an ugly duckling.

  Two things hurt me that day. Firstly, I hadn’t realised I was a gosling. I hadn’t given any thought as to my attractiveness or whether I was pretty. I was just happy being me. The realisation was hard. And secondly, I was floored by the fact that my mum didn’t say anything in my defence. Nothing. Instead, she laughed nervously as if in agreement and clutched her handbag. It’s funny how those little things come back to you so vividly. I can see now, of course, that she was just laughing politely to put her friend from slimming club at ease. But back then, aged seven, it stung so much. And then later at the baby shower, I remembered it again, and felt suddenly hollow. I vowed that when I had my baby, I would think it the most beautiful creature in the whole wide world. I would never let anyone call it an ugly duckling.

  Eleven

  It was July the twenty-fourth. Jessica sighed, blinked and turned slowly onto her side. It was now quite routine for her to wake in the early hours and have to rethink her sleeping position. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on the clock. It was 4 a.m.

  ‘Urgh.’ She groaned, very loudly. Though not trying to wake her husband exactly, a small part of her was irked that he got to sleep like a baby while the real baby that was growing inside her was busy nudging her awake and squashing her bladder until she paid it the attention it demanded. It bothered her a little that Matthew got to be one half of this parenting duo and yet for the past nine months or so had carried on leading a normal life. He slept through the night and didn’t look like he had swallowed a beach ball. How was that fair?

  Waking at this ungodly hour had become a habit. Jessica would toss and turn until 6 a.m., when she could stand it no longer and, driven by boredom, would pop Matthew’s sweatshirt over her pyjamas and go in search of tea and crap television. Then, as if Old Father Time was playing a trick on her, at 8 a.m., when the rest of the world was gearing up for the day ahead, she would be so drowsy she could sleep for hours.

  She found some relief for her aching back and cramping legs by placing a small cushion between her thighs and moving onto her side. Reaching down to locate the cushion, which had previously sat on the spare bed in the guest room, she realised to her horror that she had wet herself.

  ‘Oh God! What on earth?’ Mortally embarrassed, she pulled her hand above the duvet and ran her thumb pad across the underside of her fingers. They were wet. Jessica reached over with difficulty and snapped the bedside lamp to life. Her heart rate slowed when she saw that it wasn’t blood. She surreptitiously sniffed her hand; it smelt sweet and definitely wasn’t pee. ‘Okay. Okay.’ She took a deep breath, realising that her waters had broken. This was quickly followed by the awareness that she had a new sensation in her stomach. It was a grumbly pain sitting in her lower abdomen, a bit like period pain, but tighter. She rubbed at the skin, taut across her swollen womb, and breathed out.

  ‘Matt.’ She gently rubbed his back. He made a small groaning noise, but remained on his side, deep in sleep. ‘Matt!’ She spoke a little louder and her rubbing turned into a small thump.

  ‘What?’ he croaked. This was never a good time for him.

  ‘My waters have broken.’

  ‘It’s too early,’ he mumbled and pulled the duvet up over his shoulder from where it had slipped.

  ‘What do you mean it’s too early?’ Jessica sat up in the bed. She jabbed him in the back with her elbow. ‘I’m having the bloody baby, Matthew!’ She started laughing as the full realisation of what she was about to do flooded her body and brain.

  Matthew pushed himself up into a sitting position and opened one eye fully. His hair was flat on one side, the other stuck up like a 1970s Gonk. ‘What, really? What, now? How do you know?’ He blinked furiously and rubbed his face.

  Jessica nodded. ‘I’m sitting in a pool of amniotic fluid.’ She lifted the duvet and looked beneath it briefly. ‘In fact, so are you.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’

  Jessica laughed as her husband leapt from their marital bed as if he’d been stung.

  He felt around on the floor for his pants. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be screaming and gripping the headboard or something?’

  ‘I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ve never had a baby before.’ She smiled, patting the duvet flat around her.

  ‘How do you feel?’ He sat on the side of the bed and pushed his arms through the long sleeves of his QPR shirt.

  ‘I feel okay, excited, nervous and happy!’

  ‘Good, good. That’s all very good.’ Matthew exhaled through bloated cheeks. ‘I’m feeling quite nervous too.’

  ‘I can tell, Matt. You have your pants on back to front.’

  Matthew looked down. ‘Isn’t it bad luck to reverse your clothes once you’ve put them on the wrong way round? I think it might be.’ He put his jeans on over the top of his back-to-front pants.

  Jessica studied her man. ‘Are you sure you want to wear your football shirt? I don’t want to sound like an old nag, but there will be photographs taken that we will want to keep, possibly forever and ever, and you will be immortalised in your QPR top.’ She chewed the inside of her cheek.

  ‘Exactly! That’s why it’s perfect. Plus I want Leo Anthony to see these beautiful blue and white hoops the moment he is born!’ He pulled the fabric away from his chest and raised it to his mouth for a kiss.

  Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘Or your daughter…’ she offered. Bethan, my little Beth…

  ‘Yep. Or her. In fact, this is perfect – if it is a girl, she might marry a footballer who plays for QPR!’ Matthew’s face lit up at the idea.

  Jessica lifted the duvet and shouted down into the depths, ‘Stay where you are, baby. Your dad has lost the plot.’ She resurfaced and looked at her husband. ‘I don’t really want that to be our daughter’s highest aspiration.’

  ‘Why not? They’re loaded.’ He grinned.

  ‘Have you been talking to your mother?’ she asked playfully. ‘Ooh, ouch.’ Jessica’s expression changed as she sat forward and drew breath. The internal punch came out of nowhere. ‘Shit, that hurt a bit.’

  ‘You okay?’ Matthew stroked th
e hair from her forehead. She nodded, feeling decidedly less perky than she had a minute ago. ‘Are you going to be all right to sit in the car or shall I call an ambulance?’ he asked, concerned.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine. We can just go slowly, right?’ She didn’t admit to the tiny tremor of fear that travelled up her spine. If this was how she was feeling at the beginning…

  Jessica buckled herself into Edith, stretching the belt as far as it would go across her vast bump. She watched Matthew coming out of the house. Just as he was about to shut the front door, he dived back inside; he had clearly forgotten something. She closed her eyes briefly. Hurry up, Matt, please. She considered beeping the horn, but didn’t want to incur the wrath of Mrs Not Very at this ridiculous hour. He reappeared, grinning and holding a bag up. ‘Your bag!’ he mouthed.

  She smiled and nodded through the slightly foggy glass. The bag had been packed and sitting by the front door for the last fortnight. Twice she had checked its contents and on both occasions had removed items that had been surreptitiously inserted between her nursing bra and super-absorbent sanitary towels. The first was a vodka miniature with a label attached saying: ‘DRINK ME!’ and the second a picture of Zac Efron cut from a magazine and placed inside a rather cheap wooden frame, with the words ‘I’m the baby’s real dad!’ scrawled across the front. Jessica giggled as she pictured Polly’s handiwork.

  Matthew raised his hand, about to grab the knocker and slam the front door, but then he nodded in her direction and dashed back inside again.

  ‘For God’s sake, Matt!’ Jessica ran her fingers over her forehead and simultaneously rubbed the flat of her palm across her tummy; she was feeling uncomfortable and getting the occasional flare of pain. Her nerves were building and Matthew’s unhurried excitement was threatening to make her shout.

  Finally he skipped up the path and jumped into the car, throwing the bag on the back seat before fumbling with the ignition. ‘Sorry. First I forgot your bag and then I had to go back for change for the car park. How we doing?’

  ‘Okay. I’m good. Let’s just get going.’ Jessica bit her lip, trying not to cry. She knew none of this was Matthew’s fault, and she managed a watery smile.

  ‘That’s my girl.’ He winked and flicked the indicator as he pulled away from their house.

  St Saviour’s Hospital in Shepherd’s Bush was approximately fifteen minutes away by car. Jessica knew this as they had driven there in a practice run in the early hours only last month. She looked at the clock: it was 4.30 a.m., which meant they would beat the rush-hour traffic.

  Every traffic light was green and in no time at all Matthew was pulling Edith up on the yellow lines with the words ‘DROP OFF’ painted on the tarmac. Jessica smiled as she realised that the next time she’d be getting into the car it would be with her baby in tow. A wave of excitement swept through her.

  Once inside the hospital, she felt her breathing regulate and her muscles relax slightly. Just being in a building where people were on hand for every eventuality made her feel more confident. Matthew abandoned her to the care of a silent porter who plopped her in a wheelchair while he went off to park the car. She hoped he wouldn’t be too long. She wanted him by her side.

  The nurse that met them at the entrance to the delivery suite was very calm, bored almost. She leant her elbow on the reception desk as she scanned Jessica’s notes and tapped her chewed Bic pen against her teeth. Jessica would have liked a bit more urgency or at least attention; she noted the scruffy, faded scrubs and the way the woman’s Crocs were heavily worn, sloping inwards. She decided this woman had the walk of an ambler – nothing was going to hurry her, not even the impending arrival of Leo or Bethan.

  ‘We’ll check you over and see what’s happening,’ bored nurse mumbled without looking up from the notes.

  ‘I think what’s happening is I am having a baby…’ Jessica tried to make her comment humorous.

  ‘Might be a false alarm; anything really.’ She finally looked up.

  ‘My waters have broken and I think I’ve started having contractions,’ Jessica offered with a quiver of nerves. Supposing she had made a mistake? Was it her waters that had broken? Had she thoroughly checked? Could it have been pee? But she was in pain, of that she was certain.

  ‘Okay, but things might still be a little way off.’ The nurse smiled in a way that said she had seen it all before.

  Jessica scanned the little room in which she found herself. The strip-lighting overhead was harsh and the suspended ceiling was stained with what looked like water damage from above. She was strangely glad of the sepia blobs and pondered them, trying to make countries out of the random shapes; one was almost Italy and another, if she squinted, a passable state of Texas. She sat on the bed with her back supported by four plump pillows that kept her upright. She was comfiest with her knees bent up towards her chest and her feet planted firmly on the plastic-coated mattress that crackled every time she moved or flexed her toes. The labour pains were occasional and each one was slightly more ferocious than the last. As the latest one subsided, she heard Matthew’s laugh in the corridor. He pushed open the door, waving to the bored nurse and chuckling as he did so.

  ‘Where on earth have you been?’ Trust him to be making friends with the gloomy, Crocs-wearing woman. She hated the fact that she was alone in the brightly lit room while he was enjoying a jolly good laugh somewhere else.

  ‘Oh God, you wouldn’t believe it,’ he puffed. ‘Parking is a bloody nightmare even at this time of night. I don’t know why anyone has a car in London, I really don’t. They are more trouble than they’re worth, even Edith! Think I might take Boris’s advice and get a bike.’ He sighed. ‘That nurse seems nice.’ He pointed to the corridor.

  She ignored him.

  ‘How are you doing, love?’

  Jessica swallowed her irritation at the fact that only after discussing the traffic problems in W12 and how well he got on with his new nursey best friend, finally – finally! – he wanted to know how she was!

  ‘I’m good,’ Jessica muttered as tightness spread from the base of her stomach to the tops of her thighs. As a new contraction threatened, her legs began to shake. ‘Oh shit!’

  ‘What is it? Shall I get someone?’ Matthew bent towards her, hovering an inch from her face, his fringe dangling close to her nose.

  ‘No,’ she breathed. ‘Just move out of the way!’

  ‘Right, sorry.’ Matthew straightened and paced by the window. ‘You are doing great,’ he added for good measure.

  ‘I haven’t done anything yet!’ she shouted.

  ‘I know, but I was trying to motivate you. I read it in my book.’

  This made her laugh despite the encroaching pain; she chuckled as she gripped her knees. ‘Can you get the lavender oil out of my bag,’ she managed, remembering her birth plan and that to combat anxiety she was going to inhale the sweet scent and let nature’s essence work its magic.

  ‘Yes of course.’ Matthew scampered around the bed and retrieved the bag, glad to have something to do. He placed it on the bed. Unzipping the sides, he pulled out a jar of spirulina powder, a mesh bag full of misshapen crystals and a pair of neon-green Lycra leggings. Jessica instantly recognised them as her friend’s belongings.

  ‘What the…?’ Matthew shook his head, confused.

  ‘Oh no, Matt! Please, no! This is Polly’s yoga bag. Not my maternity bag. What am I supposed to do with a sodding yoga mat and a block of rose quartz?’ She grimaced.

  Matthew looked from his pregnant wife to the items in his hands. He hastily shoved them back into the bag and zipped it up. ‘One day we will laugh about this, Jess.’ He smiled.

  ‘One day maybe, but not today!’ she shouted. Tears slithered across her temples as she threw her head back and almost instantly she started laughing.

  ‘See, you’re laughing already!’ He was delighted.

  ‘I know, but I really hurt and I’m a bit scared!’ she wheezed.

  ‘Then why are you laughi
ng?’ Matthew was unnerved by her giggles.

  ‘I don’t know!’ Jessica wailed as she stared at the recessed spotlights in the suspended ceiling and thumped the mattress. ‘Nerves, maybe. Do you remember when I shut my thumb in the car door but laughed because Mrs Not Very was watching and I didn’t want to cry in front of her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, it’s a bit like that.’ She sighed.

  ‘What, you think Mrs Not Very is watching?’

  ‘No! Of course not!’ She raised her voice and scrunched the top sheet in her fingers, in no mood for his humour. ‘But it bloody hurts and I know people in the corridor can hear me, so I’m trying to stay happy and positive, even though I feel a bit shit.’ Jessica took a deep breath and arched backwards; tears spilled from the corners of her eyes into her scalp.

  ‘It’s okay, baby.’ Matthew smoothed her hair back over her forehead.

  She lifted her head and smiled. ‘I’m sorry.’ She sniffed up her tears.

  ‘Hey, don’t be sorry. It must be scary. I wish I could magic it all over.’

  Jessica saw his eyes crinkle with love and concern and it lifted her. ‘Not too much longer and we will have our little baby.’

  Matthew beamed at the realisation. ‘I can’t wait.’ He gripped her hand.

  ‘Me neither.’

  The wave of pain subsided, a midwife came and went, things seemed to have slowed.

  Jessica dozed. Matthew half straddled the mattress and with one foot on the floor, he held her close.

  Opening her eyes, Jessica shifted her position and looked at her husband. He was drooling onto his QPR shirt. He snored loudly and woke himself up. ‘Oh, hello, you.’ He smiled. ‘How are you? Any action?’

  Jessica shook her head. ‘I feel like a fraud. It was all happening so fast and now nothing. What will they do if nothing happens?’

  ‘Well it’s got to come out eventually.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Einstein.’ She shoved Matthew in the ribs and watched as he wobbled and slid from the mattress until both feet were firmly on the floor.