by Ruth Heald
‘No,’ I say quickly.
‘Well, the house is big enough for loads of children. You could run a nursery here.’
I laugh. ‘Don’t get carried away.’
We go back inside to discover that Ian has already put the food out. Amy grabs a handful of crisps and then pulls a collection of pink balloons and more banners out of her bag. Half an hour later, the living room is covered in decorations.
Amy looks at my stomach. ‘Not long to go now,’ she says. ‘How do you feel about the birth?’
‘Terrified.’ Lately my anxiety has been building. I’ve heard all sorts of horror stories from friends with children.
‘Yeah, I’m not surprised. I’d be terrified too. I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t be. Pushing something that size out of you.’
‘OK,’ I say, covering my ears. ‘Enough. It’s going to happen, and if it gets too much I’ll just have to take the drugs.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. You can deal with pain, anyway. I remember when you broke your wrist and still went into work.’
‘Yeah, that was stupid of me, wasn’t it?’
The doorbell interrupts our conversation and I open it to see Mum, a bemused look on her face. Melissa and her husband Graham are just behind her.
‘What on earth were you talking about, Katie, when you said you wanted to come and live with me?’ Mum says.
Amy grins at her. ‘You got the sob story too, did you? Poor Katie in her big house in the buggy belt…’
Mum and Amy both laugh.
‘Come on, Katie,’ Amy says, seeing my frown. ‘I was only joking.’
‘Are you OK?’ I ask my mother, as she slips off her shoes. ‘How are your headaches?’
‘I told you, I’m fine. It was just a check-up.’ My mother puts her hand on the radiator to steady herself and for a moment she looks fragile. My heart lurches. She’d had dizzy spells when we were younger, as well as the headaches. I wonder if it’s all coming back.
‘Hi, Katie.’ My sister leans forward to kiss me on each cheek. Graham, her husband, does the same and out of the corner of my eye I see Mum disappear into the house. Melissa leans on Graham for support as she carefully takes off her heels.
‘You look glowing,’ she says, smiling.
I smile back at her. I’m so happy she’s here. I know how difficult it is for her. The celebration must remind her of the baby she’s wanted for so long. She didn’t even attend her best friend’s baby shower.
‘I’m so glad to see you,’ I say.
Inside the house, Ian presents Mum with a glass of champagne, my sister with a glass of sparkling elderflower and Graham with a beer. Ian’s always been good at remembering the little things: how Mum takes her tea, my sister’s preference for a non-alcoholic drink, my favourite cocktail at the bar just down the road from work.
After Mum, Melissa and Graham have come inside, the doorbell doesn’t stop ringing and soon a crowd of us are assembled in the living room. There are people from all different times in my life: some of the girls from work, a couple of friends from music college and a few more I’ve known since school.
Amy introduces some games and soon everyone is laughing as they try to put nappies on a doll blindfolded. I’m opening the presents when the doorbell rings again. I look up in surprise. I’m not expecting anyone else.
I open the door and see Paula.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Hi. I’m sorry to bother you. I just wondered if you had my torch? I wouldn’t ask, except I’ve got a bit of DIY to do today.’
‘I’m so sorry. I think I’ve misplaced it.’ I look helplessly back into the house as whoops of laughter come from the living room. I’ve got no idea how long it would take me to find the torch, and I can’t really leave my own shower to look for it.
‘We’re just having my baby shower,’ I continue apologetically, although she can’t have missed the banner outside. ‘Can I give it back to you another time?’
Amy wanders out from the living room. ‘Hi,’ she says to Paula. ‘Are you coming in?’
It seems rude not to invite her in now. ‘Why don’t you join us? We’ve got champagne,’ I say. ‘And we could use your expertise.’
I wonder for a second if I’ve misspoken. Perhaps the last place a doula would want to be is at a baby shower. Too much like her job.
But she smiles brightly. ‘I’d love to join you,’ she says, stepping inside.
I offer her a glass of champagne which she readily accepts, and introduce her to Ian, who’s pouring more drinks in the kitchen.
‘You’ve done so much work on the house,’ Paula says. ‘It’s like a completely different place.’
I hear a hint of accusation in her voice which Ian clearly doesn’t catch. ‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘It needed gutting so we could start again.’
She turns to Ian. ‘It’s amazing. You’ve really ripped out its heart.’
‘This kitchen is all new,’ Ian states proudly. ‘We’ve tried to make the most of a small space.’
‘We’ve kept the original features,’ I say, carefully. ‘The Victorian tiles, the fireplaces…’
‘Oh, I’m sure you have. That’s what they go on about on property programmes, isn’t it? Original features?’
‘It is,’ I say, and laugh.
‘So how do you know Katie?’ Ian asks Paula.
‘Actually we met when I moved here. Paula helped me out with a torch before you fixed up the house. She came round to get it back.’
‘In which case, I owe you a debt of gratitude, Paula. Thanks for helping the mother of my children in her hour of need.’
‘No problem,’ Paula says.
We walk back through to the living room, and I introduce everyone to Paula.
‘Paula’s a doula,’ I say brightly.
‘That will come in handy,’ Amy laughs. ‘Imagine if you went into labour today. At your own baby shower. You’d have an expert on hand to help.’
I laugh too. ‘I don’t think that’s going to happen.’
Amy smiles and then goes to the kitchen to get more champagne. She walks round the room and tops up any half-empty glasses.
‘What’s a doula when it’s at home?’ Mum asks Paula.
‘I help pregnant women with labour and often afterwards too, helping their recovery.’
‘So you’re a midwife?’
‘No, not a midwife. I thought about that but decided against it. Midwives are so overstretched these days, they can’t give women the care they deserve. I can offer much more of my time and care, to help a mother have the birth she wants.’
‘We didn’t have doulas in my day,’ Mum says.
‘I expect you didn’t need to,’ Melissa replies reasonably. ‘There was a lot more money in maternity care back then. You’d have had more attention.’
‘You could do with a doula, Katie,’ Ian says, turning to me.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I say quickly.
Ian turns to Paula. ‘Katie’s a bit anxious about giving birth to twins.’ I flush, embarrassed. Giving birth is something women all over the world do every day. I shouldn’t feel afraid, but I do.
‘I could teach you some breathing exercises,’ Paula says kindly.
‘Breathing exercises!’ Mum snorts with laughter. ‘I don’t think breathing exercises are going to cut it when it comes to the pain of birth.’
‘A lot of the women I’ve helped have managed their births without any pain relief by using the correct breathing. It’s all about having the right frame of mind. The problem is that these days most women are scared to give birth. They think they can’t do it without medical help. But of course they can. Women have been giving birth for generations.’
‘Didn’t a lot of women used to die in childbirth?’ Mum says, caustically.
I scratch my arm anxiously and my sister reaches out to give me a comforting pat on the back. ‘Ignore her,’ she whispers.
Paula gives Mum a withering look. ‘I
t’s important to listen to what the woman wants,’ she says carefully. ‘And that’s my job. To help women have natural, joyful births.’
‘Well, why don’t you try out Paula’s breathing exercises, Katie?’ Ian suggests. ‘You might as well give it a go. It might make you feel more prepared.’ He turns to Paula. ‘How much does it cost?’
Paula senses my reluctance.
‘I can give you a free trial if you like. Just half an hour. I live round here, so it will be no trouble at all.’
‘You can’t say no to a free trial,’ Amy says. ‘After all, you’re not doing NCT classes.’
I nod. Perhaps she’s right. I haven’t signed up for any classes because by the time I knew where I’d be living, all the local ones had been booked up.
I smile at Paula. ‘Thanks.’
Ian grins. ‘And if that works out, then you can always help with the birth as well.’
‘Let’s see how it goes,’ I say quickly.
Paula looks at my belly. ‘You haven’t got too long. Believe me, the last few weeks whizz by. You should start thinking about birth partners, if you haven’t already.’
‘Well, I’ll be there,’ Ian says. ‘I wouldn’t miss the birth of my twins for the world.’ He rubs my belly affectionately, but I can’t help feeling a nagging worry. He’s difficult to get hold of when he’s at work; there’s no guarantee he’ll get there in time.
We go back into the living room and open the presents. I’m humbled by everyone’s generosity and I start to feel emotional. The tiny babygrows and little rattles make everything seem suddenly real. I imagine holding my babies in my arms.
Amy and Paula come with me into the kitchen to get the cake, and Amy takes the opportunity to top up her champagne. ‘You know,’ she says, slurring her words slightly, ‘I could be your birth partner, if you’re not sure about Ian.’
She must have seen my doubtful look when Ian said he’d be at the birth. But Amy lives miles away, and there’s no guarantee she’d get there in time either.
‘I’m sure Ian will be there,’ I reply hesitantly.
‘It might be a good idea to have someone else on call just in case you go into labour and Ian’s not around,’ Paula says.
‘Yes,’ Amy smiles. ‘And I’d be perfect.’
I nod. ‘Of course you would,’ I say, despite my concerns. ‘I’d love it if you’d be my reserve birth partner.’
Amy laughs. ‘When you put it like that, how can I refuse?’
After we’ve devoured most of the cake, people start to drift off home, until only my family and Paula and Amy remain. They tell me to relax, and that they’ll clear up. I sink into the sofa and try to find a comfortable position that accommodates my pregnant belly.
Ian starts taking down the banners in the living room and I look at him happily. ‘That went really well,’ I say.
‘I can’t believe we’ll be meeting our babies soon,’ he replies, coming over to the sofa and stroking my bump.
‘I know.’ We stare into each other’s eyes, connected now and forever through the babies growing inside me.
I feel a baby kick Ian’s hand and we both smile.
‘You’ll be a great mother,’ he says.
My sister comes in. ‘He’s right, you know, Katie. The babies are lucky to have you.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply gratefully, knowing how difficult it must have been for her to say that.
‘I brought you a present,’ she says. ‘But I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everyone. I thought I might cry.’ She looks tearful now as she presents the gift, wrapped in pink tissue paper. I open it carefully.
Inside is a tiny red and blue striped hat. ‘I knitted it myself,’ she says. ‘I was keeping it for our first baby. But I’d like you to have it.’
I feel tears well up in my eyes. I ease myself off the sofa to hug her and we stand still for a moment in the embrace. Perhaps there’s a chance that having the twins will bring us closer together rather than pushing us further apart.
But our hug is interrupted by a scream. Then a loud crash. We pull apart, shocked. I run into the hallway, Melissa behind me.
We’re just in time to see Amy tumbling down the stairs. Her leg bends at an unnatural angle as her body lands on top of it and I hear it crunch into the floor. Then her head bounces off the tiles with a sickening crack.
Eight
‘Amy!’ I cry out, running over.
Ian is already next to her, bending over to check her breathing.
‘Be careful,’ Paula says. ‘She has a head injury.’
I sit down on the floor beside her and stroke her hair. ‘Amy?’
She lets out a tiny groan and moves her left arm ever so slightly.
‘Amy, can you hear me?’
‘Katie?’ Her voice is a whisper.
‘We need to get her to the hospital,’ Ian says.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say softly to Amy. ‘You’re going to be fine.’
She starts to sit up unsteadily. ‘Ow,’ she cries out.
‘Stay where you are for a moment,’ Ian says.
‘What happened?’ Amy mumbles.
‘She’s slurring her speech,’ Paula says. ‘That can be really serious.’
‘It’s the drink,’ Ian replies. ‘She’s just drunk.’
I nod, partially reassured. She’d been slurring before she fell.
Amy tries to stand and Ian quickly puts his arm underneath her to catch her as her legs give way and she collapses back down to the floor.
‘What happened?’ she asks again.
‘You fell down the stairs.’
‘I tripped,’ she replies.
‘Oh my god,’ Paula says. ‘There was stuff at the top of the stairs. A box of screwdrivers. I nearly tripped on them myself. I should have moved them…’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say.
‘Let’s just get Amy to the hospital,’ Ian says quickly.
‘I’ll drive,’ I offer. ‘I haven’t been drinking.’
I turn to Paula, Mum and Melissa. ‘Can you let yourselves out?’ I ask hurriedly.
‘No problem,’ Melissa replies. ‘You get to the hospital.’
* * *
By the time we reach the hospital Amy is more coherent. After a couple of hours in A&E, it’s confirmed that Amy has broken her leg. She’ll be stuck working from home for the next few weeks, with her leg in a cast. Ian pays for her to get a taxi home, and then I drive us back.
Back at the house, Paula’s left me a note reminding me of her phone number and thanking me for the hospitality. Give me a ring to book in those breathing exercises, the message says, and a few days later, she comes to the house.
‘Not long to go now,’ she says when she arrives.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Our lives are about to be turned upside down.’ I laugh, but inside I’m nervous about how I’ll cope.
‘They do say two at the same time can be difficult. You only have one pair of hands.’
‘I hope I can handle it.’
‘Of course you can. You’ll just need some help. I’m sure Ian will step up.’
‘I hope so.’ I’d thought his work would calm down as it got nearer to our babies’ births, but it hasn’t. He’s distracted by it and it’s making him careless. Like the way he left the screwdrivers at the top of the stairs, causing Amy’s fall.
‘So what exactly does a doula do?’ I ask, as I lead her into the living room.
‘Well, usually I help the mother prepare for the birth, teaching breathing exercises, explaining clearly what will happen. The antenatal appointments with your midwife should really cover all of this, but so often they don’t.’
I nod as I think of my own antenatal appointments. I’ve been in and out in ten minutes each time.
‘And then during the labour itself, I act as an advocate for the woman, making sure her wishes are respected, and there are no unnecessary interventions,’ Paula continues.
‘The women are lucky to have you,’ I
say, honestly.
‘Are you giving birth at the hospital down by the station?’ Paula asks.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
I notice Paula’s furrowed brow. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, concerned. ‘Isn’t it a good hospital?’
‘I’ve had mixed experiences there,’ Paula says. ‘It depends which staff you get on the day.’
I place a protective hand over my belly.
‘Should I change hospital?’ I ask. There’s still time.
‘No, no. In all honesty, you never know who you’re going to get on the day in any hospital. The best thing to do is to be fully prepared, write a birth plan and have someone by your side who you trust to stick up for you.’
‘OK,’ I say, a knot of anxiety growing in my stomach. I’m not sure I trust Ian to arrive in time, and Amy’s not an option anymore either, since she had her accident. ‘I’ll have to work that out then.’
‘Can Amy still make it?’
‘No, she’s broken her leg. She won’t be able to dash across London.’
‘Gosh, poor thing. Is there anyone else?’
I sigh. ‘I’d ask my mother, but I think she’d just stress me out. She has such strong opinions, and because she’s a nurse she thinks she’s always right.’
‘Take some time to think about who you might want to have with you. I can help you with a birth plan. Have you thought about it at all?’
‘I want to try and do it naturally,’ I say, ‘but if it gets too much then I’ll have pain relief.’
Paula laughs lightly. ‘There’s your problem right there,’ she says. ‘You’re already thinking of it as pain. And pain is a negative thing. The trick is to change your thinking. Don’t think of it as pain, think of it as an enormous natural energy, pushing your baby out of your body. Every contraction takes you one step closer to your babies being born. And that’s what you want, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, uncertainly. ‘But I’ve heard the pain can be horrendous.’
‘You can breathe through any pain. Honestly, I’ve helped so many women breathe through the contractions. No one regrets having a natural birth. But often people regret having a medicalised one.’