Devoted: The Blackwell Lessons Part 42

'Come here you!' Michael grabs Marc in a big hug, and Marc slaps his back.

'Michael,' says Marc. 'Meet your sister-in-law. Sophia Blackwell.'

'We've already met,' says Michael, throwing me a wink. 'I like her. You've chosen well.'

'Don't you go getting any ideas now, little brother,' says Marc. 'We look a little alike. I don't want Sophia getting confused.'

I laugh. 'So where do we go from here?'

'Michael can visit,' says Marc. 'And he can meet his nephew.'

'Nothing would make me happier,' says Michael.

'I am so relieved,' I say. 'About everything.'

'I'm sorry you had to go through this,' says Marc.

'It's okay. You thought you were protecting me. I understand.'

I have that strange feeling again. Like something is squeezing my stomach. Softly at first, and then harder and harder until I feel a tiny twisty sharp feeling between my legs.

I suppose I must go a little pale or something, because Marc says, 'Sophia? Are you okay?'

The feeling pa.s.ses and I nod. 'I think so. But Marc ... our baby might be coming.'

81.

Marc stares at me. 'You're going into labour? Here. Let me help you. Come into the lounge. You need to sit somewhere more comfortable.'

As Marc leads me down the hallway, I have the feeling again. The strong tightening that creeps up my legs and goes all around my stomach. I stop for a moment, gripping Marc's hand.

'Are you uncomfortable?' Marc asks.

'Not exactly. It just feels ... weird.'

'Come sit on the sofa,' says Marc.

'It looks like you two need some privacy,' says Michael. 'Can I get you anything? Call anyone?'

Marc gives a curt shake of his head. 'It's fine. Rodney has been briefed. Everything is in order. Keith will drive you home. Come back when the baby is born.'

Michael grins. 'I will. You know I will.'

I find I'm not comfortable on the sofa and have to stand up. As I'm standing, I get another tightening. Which I guess is a contraction. Although I'm not sure, because I thought contractions were supposed to really hurt.

'Maybe the baby isn't coming yet,' I tell Marc, walking back and forth. 'Remember what the doctor said? About practise contractions? That you get some that aren't the real thing?'

'I remember.'

'And this is too soon, isn't it? The due date isn't for weeks.'

'I have a feeling the baby is coming.'

'I thought I was supposed to be the one who had feelings.'

'I'll call the doctor. And ask her to come here with the midwife.'

'I think we should wait,' I say. 'I don't want to call them out for nothing.'

'Sophia, this isn't nothing,' says Marc. 'Look at you you can hardly sit still.'

'It's really not that bad,' I insist, pacing around the living room. 'Honestly. It could be a false alarm.'

'And if it isn't?'

'Well I have to warn you that in my family, babies come quickly. I was born in three hours.'

'I'm calling the doctor.'

Over the next few hours, the contractions get much more intense. But the doctor and midwife still haven't arrived.

Marc makes countless phone calls and even contacts an emergency midwife. But no one comes.

'What's going on?' I ask Marc, holding on to the back of the sofa. 'Where are they?'

'There's a protest in central London,' says Marc. 'Nothing's getting through. And an accident on the South Bank means the medical helicopters are tied up. My own helicopter is on the other side of London. I'm trying to get a private one, but they're all being used by millionaires avoiding the traffic.'

'Aren't you one of those millionaires?' I say, taking deep breaths in and out.

'No Sophia. I told you before. I'm a billionaire.'

I feel another contraction coming and lean into the sofa, swaying back and forth.

Marc holds my hand.

I can tell this is hard for him. He can't help me and it is killing him.

'Christ someone needs to get here now,' Marc barks, running a hand through his hair.

I try to focus on my breathing, but it's getting harder and harder.

Suddenly everything feels boiling hot, inside and out.

'I need to take my clothes off,' I say.

'I'll help you.' Marc pulls my jumper over my head and helps me out of my maternity jeans. 'If the midwife turns up, I'll dress you again before she comes in.'

'I don't care,' I say, my eyes closed. 'I really don't care. Marc, can you do something? Please? I really can't stand this.'

'You and me both,' says Marc. 'Here.' He squeezes my hips between his palms, and weirdly it helps.

'How did you know to do that?' I groan.

'Research.'

I manage a laugh, but it's quickly followed by a moan. 'Oh no. Here comes another one. How can they hurt so much?'

Through the discomfort, I dimly hear a knock at the door.

'Marc!' I shout. 'It's them.'

'I can't leave you-'

'Leave me! Go get them! They'll have painkillers. Please Marc!' I let out another moan and grip the back of the sofa, swaying back and forth on my bare feet.

I hear female voices, and then a nice, soft blonde lady wearing cowboy boots and a red shawl comes gliding into the room with Dr Christian.

'Sophia?' she says. 'I'm Alice. Your midwife. How are you doing?'

'How do you think she's doing?' Marc snaps.

Alice laughs. 'It's okay Mr Blackwell. Her body is just doing what millions of other women's bodies do. Nothing to worry about.'

'She's in excruciating pain,' says Marc. 'How can I not be worried?'

'It's just mother nature,' says Alice. 'Now Sophia. I need to examine you. Would that be okay?'

I grit my teeth and nod.

'It's good you're already undressed,' says Alice, kneeling down. 'Makes it a bit easier to have a look.'

I grip the sofa as she examines me, letting out a moan of pain.

'Is this strictly necessary?' Marc barks. 'Can't you see she's hurting enough already?'

Alice doesn't reply for a moment. I glance down and see she's gone pale.

'What's the matter?' I ask.

Alice gives a little cough. 'How long have you been in labour Sophia?'

I shake my head at the sofa. 'I don't know. Ask Marc.'

'Four hours,' says Marc. 'The pains started four hours ago.'

'You mean she's been in pain for four hours?' Alice asks.

'They ... weren't so bad at first,' I stammer.

Alice blinks. 'You weren't feeling anything at all four hours ago? No tightenings?'

I shake my head. 'No.'

'And this is your first baby?'

'My first.'

'Well.' Alice glances at Dr Christian. 'This labour is progressing extremely quickly. I can't quite believe this, but the baby is nearly here.'

'But it can't be.' I say. 'My waters haven't broken or anything. Oh my G.o.d!' I grab the sofa again, feeling another wave of fire wash over my insides. I want to be sick, it hurts so much.

When the wave pa.s.ses, Marc puts an arm around my shoulder. 'Sophia. The baby is coming. Did you hear what the midwife said?'

'You mean I'm going to give birth here?' I say, a note of panic in my voice.

'It's going to be difficult to get you to the hospital at this stage,' says Alice. 'The roads are still rammed. You don't want to give birth in the back of an ambulance. It would be much better for you and the baby to do so at home.'

'She can't give birth here,' Marc snaps. 'She needs proper medical care.'

'Women have given birth at home for generations,' says the midwife. 'And Sophia looks fine to me. No cause for panic. The baby's heart beat is fine too.'

'I don't want to give birth here,' I say, aware I'm sort of shouting.

'Sweetheart,' says Alice. 'I'm not sure you're going to have much choice-'

'I want to go into the garden!' I say, pus.h.i.+ng myself to my feet and staggering out of the living room.

'Sophia,' Marc shouts. 'You should be indoors-'

'No Marc. I have to be outside. With you. Just the two of us.'

The midwife nods. 'Whatever helps you cope. We'll give you a few minutes. Shout if you need us.'

Marc takes my arm. 'Let me help you.'

Somehow, I manage to get through the French windows and into the garden.

I sink onto the beautiful, cool lawn. As my knees touch the gra.s.s, my waters break.

'Oh my G.o.d!'