Needles and Pearls

by Gil McNeil

  I’m ready for the school run in plenty of time, for once; the new shower is really great for waking you up, although I managed to do something to the nozzle that meant it went onto full throttle by mistake yesterday and a jet of water shot across the bathroom and knocked all the bottles off the windowsill.

  ‘Come on Jack. Where’s your book bag?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, find it, love, and Archie, you can’t take that to school.’

  ‘It’s for playtime.’

  ‘No swords at school, Archie.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Come on, get in the car or we’ll be late. Let’s decide what to have for tea. You can both pick your best thing and then we’ll decide.’

  ‘Not horrible macaroni.’

  ‘Okay.’

  After rejecting Archie’s choice of oysters, which he’s never actually eaten and would hate on sight, and Jack’s chicken pie, because I’m too tired to stand rolling out pastry and getting it stuck to the board, we settle on prawn tagliatelle.

  I’m in the shop, trying not to panic, but there’s still an awful lot to do. I want to sort out the wool for Connie to give to Angela at Thursday’s Stitch and Bitch. Stanley’s having a new blanket for his bed with animals on, only I didn’t have all the colours; and then I need to check the computer. And I need to get the back door sorted at the house. It keeps sticking so it’s really difficult to shut and I’ve practically dislocated my bloody shoulder on it a couple of times already. Actually, maybe Martin could have a look at it for me. I think he’s due in at some point this morning. He’s getting his quote sorted for all the carpentry work so he’s been in measuring up. I must remember to call Mr Prewitt about Elsie’s wages; she’s doing more days over the next few weeks and I want to pay her a bit extra on top of that too.

  I keep getting those sharp little cramps you get in the last few weeks, which is annoying. I know it’s just the practice ones; I had them for days with Archie, but I wish they’d pack it in. Okay, let’s find the note I put in the order book about the colours Angela needs, and then I should order some more mohair – we sold loads at the weekend.

  Martin’s upstairs poking bits of the ceiling when I go up to make tea.

  ‘This isn’t too bad, you know.’

  ‘Good. Oh, and I meant to ask you, our back door at home has gone funny. You couldn’t have a look at it, could you? It keeps sticking.’

  ‘It’ll be all the rain we’ve had. Easily sorted; it probably needs a bit of adjusting, that’s all. I’m finished here, so we can go round now, if you like?’

  ‘Oh, right. Okay.’

  ‘I’m just popping home for a bit, Elsie. I’ll be back in later.’

  ‘All right, dear. Make sure you rest. Don’t start doing your housework.’

  As if.

  We walk home slowly, with me doing my waddling.

  Martin gives me a slightly anxious look.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘You seem quiet.’

  ‘Bit tired, that’s all. I’ll be fine once I’ve had a sit-down.’

  * * *

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘You have to push it really hard, sort of lean on it and push.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It’s a bugger to shut as well.’

  ‘I can imagine. So tomorrow’s the big day then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, good luck, although I’m sure you won’t need it. Have you got everything ready?’

  ‘I think so. Well, most of it.’

  He smiles.

  ‘Actually, not even half.’

  ‘Half is better than nothing.’

  ‘True.’

  I’m pouring tea from the big blue teapot, leaning forwards slightly.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re not having, what do they call them, contractions?’

  ‘No, of course I’m not. I’m having the baby tomorrow in hospital – I told you.’

  ‘Right.’

  I’m putting a load of washing on.

  ‘Right, that’s it.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’m phoning an ambulance.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Martin.’

  ‘You’re making weird noises.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘You bloody are, and you keep zoning out, like you’re in another world, and I bet that’s a sign too.’

  ‘It’s just a sign that I didn’t sleep much last night.’

  Christ. Here comes another one.

  ‘Actually, maybe I should go in, just to get checked over. I can –’

  Oh God. Either there’s wee all over the kitchen floor or my waters have broken.

  I am not doing this. This isn’t part of the plan. Right. I’ll drive to the hospital, and it’ll all be fine. Although maybe driving isn’t such a clever idea. Martin can drive. Calling an ambulance seems a bit excessive.

  ‘Martin.’

  ‘I’m on the telephone.’

  ‘Martin.’

  ‘I know … try to stay calm, they said, and an ambulance is on its way. Right. Stay calm. Christ almighty, how do they expect people to stay calm? What, sorry, I’ll ask her. They want to know how many minutes apart.’

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘She says not many – that’s not good, is it? Yes, I’m staying bloody calm, but to be honest it’s not very easy. Can you hurry up, please. Tell them to hurry up.’

  Dear God. This isn’t like I remember with Jack and Archie. This is so much stronger, more brutal. I can’t get my breath back. Something must be wrong.

  ‘The ambulance will be here in a minute. They say you’ve got to keep talking to me. What’s happening now?’

  ‘I’m washing out the kitchen cupboards. What do you bloody think is … happening?’

  I’m making weird grunting noises now; I can hear myself, and I can’t stop. God in heaven, please let the baby be all right.

  ‘Shall I boil some water?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Boil some water, get towels, anything like that?’

  ‘Martin.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Martin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re so not helping.’

  ‘Sorry. Okay. Stay calm. Breathe. Are you breathing?’

  ‘Yes, Martin, I’m breathing.’

  ‘Good. That’s good … Oh God …’

  ‘Oh thank God. The ambulance has arrived; they’re pulling up outside. Just hang on, I’ll go and get… hang on, okay?’

  Jesus. Where does he think I’m going to go?

  There are two ambulance men standing in the kitchen now, while I’m crouching by the fridge making involuntary noises. Damn. I wish I’d washed the kitchen floor. There’s all sorts down the side of the fridge; it’s really embarrassing. If only I wasn’t such a slut it would be sparkling clean. If I can just …

  Christ, here comes another one.

  I’m doing my grunting thing again, as the ambulance men start unzipping their nylon bags.

  ‘You stay where you are. Bob, go and get the other bag. Thought you’d start without us, did you, love? Where are you off to then?’

  Martin is halfway out of the kitchen door.

  ‘I’ll just be outside, Jo, okay?’

  The ambulance men exchange glances.

  Actually, I think I recognise one of them; he’s the same one who took Mr Pallfrey in, the one who predicted I’d go into labour on the High Street. Great.

  ‘It’s going to be fine, love. Let’s just have a look, shall we? Can you move a little bit?’

  I grip on to his arm.

  ‘Right, I’ll take that as a no then, shall I? Thought I recognised you – you’re the lady who was with the gent who took a tumble, aren’t you? The one with the dog.
Dave will be so annoyed – it’s his day off. He loves it when we get home births.’

  Home births? Jesus fucking Christ, why won’t anyone believe me? This is not going to be a home birth.

  I’m crying now, and I want to punch somebody. This is so unfair. I had my slot booked and everything. I’ve packed my bloody hospital bag.

  I am not having this baby here and that’s final.

  ‘You’re all right, love, it’s going to be fine. If you could let go of my arm for a minute we can try to get you more comfy.’

  Comfy. That sounds good. Although unless he’s got a sledgehammer or an anaesthetic in one of those bags I’ve got a horrible feeling we’re way past comfy. God in heaven, here we go again. This is so much stronger than with Jack. The epidural was wearing off by the time I had him, but it was nothing like this. This can’t be right. Something terrible is happening.

  ‘Okay, let’s set up for a delivery, Bob. Get the kit in, would you?’

  ‘No. I’m not. Not here. I’m having a Caesarean.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sweetheart.’

  ‘I bloody am.’

  ‘Right, okay, you are, love, and you’re doing fine. Just let’s get you kneeling over a bit so I can have a quick look. Can you do that for me? No need to stand up, but it’s a bit tricky for me to help you with you like that. Can you do that for me, poppet?’

  Great. I’m about to give birth with someone calling me poppet.

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Don’t. Call me. Poppet.’

  He grins.

  ‘Sorry. My wife hates it too. You’re doing so well. Here, hold Bob’s arm – he does weight training. Grip as hard as you like.’

  Bob gives him a Look, but takes hold of my hand and squeezes.

  ‘You’re doing grand. Is that another one starting?’

  Starting? The last one hasn’t finished yet. Bloody hell, I’m frantically trying to remember the classes I went to with Jack and Archie: breathe out and count, visualise a beautiful object, which is easier said than done when you’re clinging on to your fridge. Well, bollocks to that. I want my Caesarean.

  ‘I want. Caesarean.’

  ‘I know. We’ll sort that later, my darling.’

  I nod, and put my chin down.

  ‘Shall we get him back in for you, love?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His Lordship. He’s outside, pacing up and down your back lawn. Fat lot of good he’s doing out there when he should be in here helping you.’

  I think Bob would probably like to be released from my gripping his arm.

  ‘I’m. He’s. Not.’

  Oh sod it. I haven’t got time for this.

  ‘No.’

  Actually, I think I might be dying.

  There should be longer gaps between contractions. I remember with Jack thinking how strange it was: one minute you’re clutching the gas and air and trying to go with it, like a huge wave coming towards you that you have to try to swim through, and not hold your breath, and then it’s over and you’re back to normal. Feeling nothing, chatting before the next one. Nick and I did the crossword and made up rude limericks and all sorts, but there’s no time, there are no gaps this time. Something must be wrong.

  No. I can do this. I know I can. I will do this.

  ‘Try not to push yet, love – I haven’t got the sheet out.’

  Try not to push? Is he mad?

  ‘Can you, right, okay. Well, you just carry on – that’s it. Bob, pass me the … I can see the head, lots of hair. That’s it, hang on, pant – can you pant for me? That’s it. We need to slow down, just for a minute. Try to hang on, love.’

  I can’t see anything now, just blackness and stars, but that’s probably because I’ve got my eyes shut. Everything’s squeezing, every single bit of me. And then it’s not. Someone is holding my shoulders, supporting me, and suddenly, for a second or two, I feel light and calm and everything stops.

  I open my eyes and I look down. And there’s a baby. A real baby, covered in blood, and I’m shaking. Like I’m freezing cold, but I’m not. She’s moving. And opening her eyes. She’s. Christ, it’s a girl. She’s a girl.

  I’m crying now, and so is Bob, quietly, still holding my hand.

  ‘Sorry, love. Gets me every time.’

  Dave looks up.

  ‘She’s lovely. You did a grand job. Quickest I’ve ever seen, but you’re fine and she is too. The midwife will be here any minute. You just stay where you are. Do you want to cut the cord?’

  My hands are shaking, so he puts his hand over mine.

  ‘There you go.’

  He hands me the baby, wrapped in a green blanket.

  The baby. My baby. She’s looking at me, with those navy-blue newborn eyes, locked on to mine.

  ‘Hello.’ She moves her fingers. ‘Hello, sweetheart.’

  She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  She’s here. And she’s safe. And it’s all over. Thank God.

  I’m so happy, so deep down happy I really don’t know what to do with myself.

  ‘The midwife will want to check you over but I’m pretty sure she’ll be happy for you to stay here, if you’d like to. Or we can take you into hospital. Let’s wait and see what she says. Bob, put the kettle on. Handy us being in the kitchen, isn’t it? Get your husband back in now, shall we, love?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Tower of strength he’s been out in the bloody garden. Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean –’

  ‘He’s not my husband.’

  ‘Right, sorry, your partner. He’ll want to see the baby, won’t he?’

  Martin has briefly appeared at the kitchen window, and made a choking noise before he disappeared again.

  Bob’s smiling.

  ‘He looked pretty pleased. Give him a minute and then I’ll go and get him. Takes a bit of getting over, seeing the woman you love going through something like this. Took me weeks with my wife. There, that’ll be the midwife. I’ll go and let her in.’

  She’s very impressed.

  ‘Let’s get you upstairs and pop you into bed, shall we, my love?’

  I try to stand up.

  ‘Actually, could I stay here a bit longer?’

  She smiles.

  ‘Come on, chaps. Help her up the stairs, would you; this woman deserves a nice comfy bed. And a medal.’

  I’m lying looking at the baby. She’s so like Jack, I can’t get over it.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, Martin, thanks.’

  ‘God. It’s unbelievable – one minute there was just one of you and now there’s two.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She’s beautiful.’

  ‘She is, isn’t she?’

  The ambulance men are both standing smiling, looking very proud.

  ‘Is there anyone you need to call?’

  ‘Gran.’

  Martin smiles.

  ‘Here, use my mobile. I called Mum, I couldn’t help it, I was in such a state, but she’s promised not to say anything.’

  ‘Gran.’

  ‘Yes, pet? Are you all right? I was going to pop round. I got you some of that body lotion you like. Hospitals are always too hot and –’

  ‘Could you come round to the house?’

  ‘Of course I can, pet. What’s the matter? You sound odd. You’re not having twinges, are you? Reg, get the car out, she’s starting. REG.’

  ‘Gran.’

  ‘Yes, pet.’

  ‘Actually, I’ve finished. The baby’s here.’

  ‘What? Oh my Lord, I’m coming, I’m on my way. Just hang on, pet. Reg, Reg, get the car.’

  ‘Gran.’

  ‘Yes, pet?’

  ‘Here, talk to the midwife. Everything’s fine, I promise.’

  Gran arrives just as the midwife has finished washing the baby. She’s still got her plastic pinny on when Martin brings Gran upstairs.

  ‘Here she is.’

  Gran’s smiling, but
looking pretty frightened.

  ‘Oh pet, are you all right? I was that worried. Are you sure she’s all right, Audrey?’

  The midwife smiles; I’d forgotten Gran knows everybody round here.

  ‘She’s fine, right as rain. She did very well. Quick deliveries can be complicated, but not this one, and her scar’s fine.’

  She’s been telling me there’s always a worry about old Caesarean scars when you have what she says is called a precipitous birth, but everything’s fine, and I can stay here, which is great.

  She puts her blood-pressure box back into her bag.

  ‘Just keep an eye on her, Mary – she’ll be tired.’

  ‘I should think she will.’

  ‘And if she starts any big bleeding or anything unusual, ring me. But I’m sure she’ll be fine, and I’ll be back later on this evening. But call me any time if there’s anything worrying you. I’ve left the number by the phone downstairs. I’ll let the hospital know, and the GP – he’ll probably pop along later. Congratulations, my dear. I’ll let myself out.’

  ‘Oh Gran.’ I’m crying again, which is so annoying but I can’t seem to stop. ‘I’m so happy, I don’t know why I keep bloody crying.’

  ‘It’ll be the shock, pet, but it’s all over now.’

  Actually, it’s only just beginning, but never mind.

  We both look at the baby. She’s fast asleep in her Moses basket, wrapped up tight in the new sheet with rabbits on, and the cream cotton blanket Audrey found in the drawer in the spare room. Her room now. The baby’s room.

  ‘She’s perfect, isn’t she?’

  ‘She is. I was sure she’d be a boy.’

  ‘I know, your first great-granddaughter. Maybe your only one, unless Vin gets a move on, so you’d better make the most of her.’

  ‘I will, pet. Aren’t you clever?’

  ‘Aren’t you going to pick her up for a cuddle then?’

  ‘I thought you’d never ask. Shall I bring the things up first?’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Just a few bits and pieces, and –’