Babies in Waiting (31 page)

‘I have to say, darling, you’re being very brave about all this. I’d be terrified!’ said Caro, taking a huge gulp of her champagne. ‘You hear such stories!’

‘I don’t want to listen to—’ I started, but Caro wouldn’t be stopped.

‘There’s a woman I met at work whose baby got stuck, so she had to have one of those epi-things . . .’

‘Episiotomy,’ I said warily. This was definitely not a story I needed to hear.

‘Anyway, apparently they normally only make one cut, but it was so stuck they had to cut her four ways. She was in a wheelchair for weeks afterwards. She couldn’t stand up or everything would have fallen out through her pelvic floor!’

Robyn leapt in with her own lovely story. ‘There’s a girl I met snowboarding, anyway her sister had to have the baby sucked out with a plunger thing . . .’

‘Ventouse,’ I said, wishing I could just put my hands over my ears and sing ‘La-La-La’ till they stopped.

‘And then there are the epidurals that don’t work . . .’

‘And tearing! I heard of someone who tore right through to her bum . . .’

‘Stop!’ I yelled. ‘My God, I thought we were getting together so you two could be supportive! How is this supposed to help me? I have to give birth to this baby. I don’t have a choice. Hearing every gruesome horror story you can think of doesn’t make it any easier!’

They both looked suitably hangdog. I hadn’t really missed drinking during my pregnancy, but right about then I could have poured myself a bucket of the lovely champagne they were drinking and slurped it up in one go.

I tried to get the conversation off babies and giving birth, and soon Rob and Caro were sharing all the gossip
from their jobs and their far more interesting lives. It was just like old times, and Rob told a completely filthy story about her and a co-worker and a middle-of-the-work-day shag behind the screen in the training room that had me laughing so much I nearly peed myself. I’d really missed this. Of course I couldn’t join in and drink like I used to, but then I’d always been the good girl in our group, always in a long-term relationship, always quite well-behaved, so not much had changed. I was just happy there would be brunches like this in the future, and that there’d be space for a pushchair next to the table. Little babies sleep pretty much all of the time, I’d read on the baby website, so I was pretty sure that within a few weeks of the birth we’d be back, chatting and gossiping.

I had to go just before midday because I had to get to the first of my hypnobirthing classes. I kissed Caro and Rob and promised them that James had their numbers to text the moment the baby was born.

So, hypnobirthing. I read the book Susie, the woman I met at the antenatal classes, recommended, and it turns out it has nothing to do with a dodgy bloke with a ponytail saying ‘Look into my eyes’. It’s all about deep breathing and relaxation, and trusting your body to do what it’s designed to do. I was so inspired after reading the book, I wanted to tell everyone. Pain-free birth with no drugs! It was the most amazing thing I’d discovered since eyelash extensions. Anyway, the book says you have to do the course, so I emailed Susie, and she sent me details of the teacher she’d been to. It wasn’t cheap, but I figured you
can’t put a price on a pain-free labour . . . and after I’d watched those YouTube videos of women giving birth in blissful silence, I would have paid double for the course!

I’d asked James to read the book, and he said he’d get round to it. He’s not much of a reader, so I wasn’t holding my breath. He raised an eyebrow when I told him what the course was going to cost, but he could see I was certain about it so he didn’t argue. He’d gone off to play football first thing, but he did remember to say ‘Good luck!’ before he went.

The course was in a wonderful old Victorian house, with a big plum tree in the front garden. I was a few minutes late because I walk a lot slower than I used to, so everyone else was sitting in a circle already when I huffed and puffed my way in. I sat down and fanned myself with the thick wodge of course notes that had been left on my chair. I had a vague feeling that I’d forgotten something. Let me think – loose comfortable clothes, pen and paper, water bottle – I had all of those. Then I looked around the room. I was right. I had forgotten something. My husband. Everyone else was paired up. There were four pairs who looked married, or at least like conventional heterosexual couples, one gay female couple and a pregnant girl of about my age who was there with a woman who had to be her mum. And then there was little old me, there all on my own. I wanted to crawl into a hole. I couldn’t leave now, and I couldn’t even ring James and beg him to come, as he was running around on a football pitch and his phone would just ring and ring in his bag in the changing room.

Our hypnobirthing teacher, Jenny, who I’d spoken to on the phone, was a tall, lovely, soft-spoken woman with thick, red hair down to her waist. She welcomed me, and said, ‘So glad you’re here, now, Toni. We were just going to go round the circle and say our names and what we hope to get out of the hypnobirthing experience. Tell us your story.’

‘Um . . . I’m Toni. I’m thirty-six weeks pregnant, and me and my husband James . . . I do have a husband . . .’ (Oh God, listen to me, what if the woman who’s here with her mum doesn’t have a husband? Does it make me sound judgmental?) ‘ . . . Um, not that you need a husband, well, you do a bit, someone has to provide the sperm . . .’ (Stop talking, Toni, there’s the lesbian couple here, where did they get their sperm?) ‘ . . . Anyway, James isn’t here because I didn’t know we were supposed to bring our husbands, but, um, anyway . . . I want to have a pain-free birth so I hope I can do it without him. I mean, not without him at all, just without him here today! He’ll be here next week. I guarantee it!’

I was relieved when I stopped talking, but I bet not as relieved as the other people in the room were. Jenny took a deep breath and said, ‘Well, I’m sure we’ll all enjoy meeting James at our next session. And do remember, hypnobirthing doesn’t guarantee a pain-free labour, it just helps you to connect with your body’s natural processes.’

We spent three hours doing breathing exercises and guided meditation. Whenever the pregnant one needed a partner to help them, Jenny came over and did the exercise
with me. After a while I stopped feeling awkward and self-conscious, and I really got into it. In the last meditation, with Jenny’s soft voice describing a sunlit beach, and the gentle music playing in the background, I actually drifted off to sleep. I learned a lot. But the most important thing I learned was that you can’t do hypnobirthing without a partner to help you.

I walked home slowly, thinking about it. James hadn’t said he wouldn’t help me, he just hadn’t been very interested, and I had a feeling if I asked him to do some of the exercises with me he would think they were silly and that they wouldn’t work. Jenny had told us that for hypnobirthing to work for us, we needed to be positive and committed and to avoid negative people and people who told us birth horror stories (that was Rob and Caro off my list till after the birth too, then!). But how do you avoid someone negative when they’re your husband and birth partner?

When I got home, he was lying on the sofa, covered in mud, with a pack of frozen peas on his leg. He wanted to tell me all about the disgusting bad tackle that had taken him down and the massive bruise coming out on his shin. After what felt like an hour of football talk, he remembered to say, ‘How was your course?’

‘Fine,’ I said vaguely. It didn’t feel like the right time to start a major, serious discussion about it. I’d bring it up with him well before next Saturday’s class and hopefully everything
would
be fine.

She didn’t recognise the number on her phone. Normally, when that happened, she ignored the call and let it go to voicemail, but for some reason, she answered it. ‘Gemma?’ said a female voice she didn’t recognise.

‘Yes?’

‘This is Kat. I’m Ben’s girlfriend.’

Somehow, Gemma knew this was the short, dark-haired girl she’d seen Ben with all those months ago. She didn’t know what to say. It was one thing knowing Ben didn’t want to be with her, but another thing altogether to know he was with someone else.

‘Gemma?’ Kat said into the silence.

‘Yes. What do you want?’

‘Can we meet?’

‘Why would I want to meet you?’ Gemma knew she sounded rude, but she didn’t care. She was hugely pregnant, uncomfortable and hot, and she didn’t need Ben’s new girlfriend rubbing her nose in how she’d lost him.

‘I know you probably don’t want to talk to me,’ Kat said. ‘But I only just found out about you. I mean I knew Ben had a girlfriend before, but he’s only just told me you’re pregnant.’

‘So?’

‘Well, I was a bit freaked out. A lot freaked out, actually, but then I heard that he’s hardly seen you since he found out. I told him he hasn’t treated you right. I’ve spoken to him about it, and I think he wants to try again.’

‘Try again?’ Gemma felt her heart lurch.

‘To be a good dad,’ said Kat. Gemma swallowed hard. So, not to try again with her. Kat continued, ‘He hardly ever sees his own dad, and he doesn’t want that to happen to his little girl.’

‘I still don’t know why I have to meet you,’ said Gemma stonily.

‘You don’t, if you don’t want to. But I thought you might not answer a call from Ben, after he’s been so shit to you. He’d like to see you.’

‘Okay,’ said Gemma dubiously. ‘Get him to call me. But I still don’t get why you’re doing this.’

‘Ever heard that saying, “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer”?’ said Kat. ‘Not that you’re my enemy. But I love Ben, and I want to keep him in my life, and you’re too important to ignore.’

And then she hung up.

Ben rang later that afternoon, and they arranged to meet for coffee on the high street. She hadn’t seen him for ages, even though she’d seen Hannah almost every
week, and he looked downright shocked when she walked into the coffee shop.

‘Wow, Gem, you look . . .’

‘Pregnant?’ she said, sitting down.

‘Very. Very pregnant.’

‘Well, the baby’s due in six weeks. She could be born today and she’d probably be okay.’

‘Six weeks.’ Ben wiped a hand over his face. ‘Wow.’

‘So your girlfriend makes your phone calls these days.’ Gemma couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

‘I’m sorry. I would have phoned, but I thought you probably wouldn’t speak to me. I’ve been really shit.’

‘You have been, but I’d always speak to you. You’re my baby’s dad.’

‘Kat says that no matter what happens, I’ll always be her dad. She says it’s really important that I have a relationship with her, even before she’s born, and then from the minute she’s born.’

‘Kat says? What do you say?’

‘I say . . . that Kat’s right. I was so angry with you for doing this to me that I wasn’t thinking right. I was thinking about me, and about you and how you’d messed up my life. I wasn’t thinking about the most important person.’ He gestured awkwardly at her belly.

‘Sounds like Kat talked some sense into you, finally,’ said Gemma.

‘Kat is . . .’ Ben seemed to be struggling to find the words. ‘Kat is amazing.’

‘And you’re happy with her?’ It was such a difficult question to ask, but Gemma had to ask it.

‘Really happy,’ said Ben, and awful though it was to see it, Gemma had to admit he did look happy when he spoke about her.

They talked more easily after that. Gemma told him about the scans she had had and promised to email him pictures. He asked to come and see the baby’s room and asked her if there was anything she needed. She hesitated then. ‘I suppose you haven’t changed your mind about . . . being there.’

‘Being where?’

‘There. When she’s born.’

‘What, like . . . in the room? I thought you . . . well, I thought you wouldn’t want me to.’

Gemma looked stung. ‘I asked you! I rang your mobile weeks ago and spoke to your mum. She said she’d talk to you, and then you never rang back, so I assumed—’

‘My mum answered my
mobile
?’

‘She said you were in the shower.’

Ben stood up and walked away from the table. Gemma could see he was very, very angry. He came back and sat down. ‘She never told me. I swear, Gem. I know I’ve been flaky, but I would never not ring you back about something as important as that.’

‘So do you want to?’

‘Yes,’ said Ben firmly. Then he nodded his head vigorously. ‘Yes. If you want me there, and I can be there to see my little girl born, then yes.’

Gemma smiled and squeezed his hand. He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then he reached under the table and came out with a crumpled plastic bag.

‘I got her something,’ he mumbled. Gemma opened the bag, and inside was a soft, brown teddy bear with a pink bow around its neck. ‘I chose it,’ Ben said. ‘Not Kat, or my mum. I chose it for my girl.’

Gemma stroked the bear’s soft fur. She was close to tears. How could he be in love with someone else? It was just awful. Still, even if he wasn’t hers, it looked like he was going to be there for his daughter. And that was the most important thing.

When she got to thirty-eight weeks, Louise stopped work. Adam had not returned from sailing – he’d initially planned to be back a few weeks before she was due, but for some reason he had stayed on the boat. Louise hoped it wasn’t just a ploy to avoid seeing her. She’d done her handover via email, sending him a final report and balance sheets, and handing on day-to-day running of the firm to Alan until Adam got back. She was proud of the work she’d done: it hadn’t been as challenging as her work for Barrett and Humphries, but she’d given it her all, and she knew she’d done a good job. She reasoned that even if Adam thought she was a terrible person, he couldn’t fault her managerial skills.

And now it was just a waiting game. It felt very strange. Louise had got her first job straight out of uni, and she’d always worked. Other than the few weeks before she’d gone to work for Adam, she’d never had time off that wasn’t a holiday with a predetermined end date. For the first week or so, she rushed around, organising the flat
and buying all the little things she hadn’t thought of before. Because she wasn’t going out to work every day, it grated on her even more that Brian was still there and still showing no signs of moving on. His every little habit grated on her; the way he ate, the way he hummed under his breath when he was concentrating, his sloppy washing up. She’d tried a few times to ask him if he had plans to move on, but he kept saying that he wasn’t ready. They’d had a few blazing rows, but most of the time they lived side by side in a monosyllabic, uneasy truce. She didn’t have the energy for anything else.